First of the three Halloween chapters- in which lots of people start noticing things about Harry that he wishes they wouldn't.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Inviting Someone Dangerous to Tea
"And there. It's done."
Harry blinked as the potion gave a final slow roil and turned black. Draco was right. It was finished. He could see the compulsion that twined about Draco's neck and shoulders shudder, once, as though someone had fed it more than it could bear. Then it cracked and fell away.
Draco blinked and touched his shoulder briefly, as though he had felt something brush it. Then he glanced at Harry. "I can hardly wait to use it," he said. His face was dreamy. "Can you imagine, Harry? Everyone gave up hope on my being a magical heir to my family, except for my father, and that was only because he wanted to deny the truth. But now everyone will have no choice but to accept it." He carefully slid the black liquid from the cauldron into a vial he had standing ready. Since Snape was gone, and Dumbledore remained in his own office, there was no one to see or care if Harry and Draco ducked in and out of Snape's potions lab and borrowed his equipment. "I'll be an heir after tomorrow."
Harry narrowed his eyes, his joy at the cracking of the web fading. "Draco. Tomorrow is Halloween."
Draco blinked at him. "It is?" he asked, and then snorted. "Of course, it is, Harry. I hadn't forgotten."
"But you promised your mother that you wouldn't use the potion on Halloween," Harry reminded him. He couldn't believe Draco had forgotten, any more than he'd really forgotten the date, but he might have hoped Harry wasn't remembering that.
Draco opened his mouth once, then turned away and concentrated on the black, stirring potion.
"Draco."
Draco stared at him sullenly over his shoulder. "I want to use it, Harry," he said. "You know that Halloween's my best chance of summoning a ghost, any ghost, and this potion should break down any barriers that still exist."
"You promised your mother that you wouldn't." Harry folded his arms and stared Draco down. "And now I want you to promise me."
Draco gnawed at his lip.
"I don't want to make you swear an oath," said Harry. "Please, Draco. Just promise me. Just give me your word. It's dangerous. I know that spell doesn't talk about all the consequences of the potion." It certainly never mentioned that you would have a compulsion to brew the damn thing. "Say that you won't summon Julia Malfoy or drink the potion or offer her the potion."
Draco attempted to look coy. Or maybe that was cunning, Harry thought. His friend's face hadn't worn his normal expressions in so long that it would take Harry time to learn them again. "What will you give me if I do promise?" he wheedled.
"Nothing," said Harry. "This isn't a bargain. This is for your own safety, Draco. I want you safe."
Draco kicked the cauldron.
"Promise me, Draco," said Harry.
Draco bowed his head, but Harry could hear his rebellious mutter. "What do you care? You'll be in your formal meeting with my parents and other dangerous Dark wizards, anyway. And I can't attend that meeting because I'm not a magical heir." He spat the last words, then glared at Harry through a strand of hair. "Don't you see why this is important to me? I thought you did, after I explained it."
Harry rubbed his face with one hand. The Many snake on his arm hissed. "We could blind him. Then he would have no choice but not to use the potion."
"You be quiet," Harry told it, and faced Draco again. "I do understand," he said, trying to make his voice soothing. "I do. But, as you pointed out, I'll be busy in this formal meeting." And that other one, too, with Peter and the Seer. Harry still didn't plan to let the Seer actually look at him, but he would meet with Peter and take his phoenix web off. "I want to be with you when you use the potion. Please, Draco, promise me you'll wait."
Draco stared at nothing for long minutes. Harry waited, not knowing if he would have to make another argument or not.
Draco let out a windy sigh. "All right," he said at last, most ungraciously. "I promise."
Harry smiled and clasped his hand. He was startled when Draco used the hold to pull him into a hug, but not displeased. "Thank you," he whispered. "I knew I could trust you."
Draco's arms tightened almost convulsively around him, as though he knew what Harry was not saying. I can trust almost no one else.
Harry knew he was annoying his Housemates. His fingers tapped on his legs, his feet tapped under the table, and his wand all but tapped inside his sleeve.
He couldn't help it. He was nervous. The Great Hall was fuller than he had ever seen it, crowded with the students of the other two wizarding schools, who had arrived that afternoon. Harry had got over his temptation to stare at them early on, though the silvery hair of the part-Veela students from Beauxbatons had drawn his attention, and the thick furs of the Durmstrang students. Madame Maxime, from Beauxbatons, was very obviously part-giant, and Karkaroff, the Headmaster of Durmstrang, made Harry's scar bristle and itch when he walked past. So he might be a former Death Eater, Harry thought. They were all the kind of things that he would have to remember.
But, right now, he was more worried about other former Death Eaters who should be arriving at the school soon, by which method he didn't know. It was Halloween night.
"Good evening, students."
Harry concealed his groan. Dumbledore was rising to make a speech. From the sound of translation spells going into effect, at least he would only make it once, but that meant that the food would be later in coming, and perhaps Harry would miss the arrival of his allies. Lucius had said in his last letter that they would meet "after dinner," but that was taking normal Hogwarts dining habits into account.
"I am most pleased to welcome our fellow wizarding schools to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament," said Dumbledore, his eyes shining in what Harry thought was a maniacal fashion. Of course, he was on edge. Harry took a deep breath and told himself to relax. Even Draco was staring calmly at the Headmaster, and no longer looked agitated at the thought that he might have to wait to use his potion. If he could be serene, then Harry could be. "It is a grand tradition that has been neglected for too many years. I realize that I have not explained much about the Tournament, so I shall do that, that all of our students, even those who are not participating in the Tasks, may understand what is at stake."
Harry groaned under his breath and looked around for distraction. There was none. Everyone else looked interested in what Dumbledore was saying, and the lack of food on the plates wouldn't let him occupy himself with eating.
Millicent poked him, and hissed at him to sit up straight and stop embarrassing Slytherin. Harry turned his gaze back reluctantly to the head of the Hall. He didn't know what was wrong with him. Normally, it would have been no trouble to conceal his true feelings and let matters fall out however they would.
Perhaps it was lack of time to relax, he considered. He'd spend the last few days wondering what the meeting with Peter and the Seer would be like, and how he could convince Vera not to look at him. That was on top of helping Draco finish up his potion, and managing a few additional lessons, both privately with Connor and with many of the younger students attending, and trying to get Connor to tell him what he was arguing with James about (unsuccessfully; his twin had proven close-mouthed on that point). The dreams about Voldemort, which had made his scar bleed every night this week, hadn't helped, either.
He couldn't collapse, though. It wasn't allowed. He forced himself to listen to what Dumbledore was saying as if it were the most important thing in the world.
"…three champions, one from each school. The champions shall be chosen by means of the Goblet of Fire, which considers the names submitted to it and selects the most worthy. These students will have to be intelligent, creative, and flexible, as they will be participating in three dangerous Tasks." Dumbledore smiled as a wave of gasps swept the tables. "Not impossible, I assure you, but they are dangerous.
"Each student is judged by a panel that includes both interested and impartial wizards. They will award a certain number of points for completing the Task, but also for how the student completes the Task, and the skill and character the completion demonstrates. The student with the largest number of points after the completion of all three Tasks wins the Tournament, a thousand Galleons, and honor and glory for his or her school."
The murmurs were more excited now. Harry frowned at the students who were discussing the Tournament; it even sounded as if some of the Slytherins had fallen victim to that nonsense about honor and glory. I wonder what's more attractive? The purse or the fame? The purse, I hope. Fame is not all that comfortable, and certainly nothing that someone should risk his life for.
"Our visiting students will join our students in classes for observations," Dumbledore concluded serenely, "but have their own assignments and own lesson plans owled from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. We wish to give them the experience of a Hogwarts education, but not to demand that they drop their own lives completely, of course!" He smiled, and some of the students dutifully chuckled. Harry shot a longing glance at the doors of the Great Hall, and wondered if his allies were arriving now.
"And that is all I have to say." Dumbledore clapped his hands, and the food finally, finally appeared on their plates. "May you have a pleasant feast!"
Harry heard the translation spells repeating Dumbledore's words in French and a mixture of Eastern European languages. He wasted no time in starting to eat, though Millicent's elbow in his ribs once again forced him to slow down. His mind sped up gradually, but this time it felt smoother, the way he had organized and arranged things when Snape and Draco had first changed on him. He had much to do, but he could manage it, if he thought like this.
"What is the matter with you?"
Harry jumped a bit when Millicent hissed in his ear, but then relaxed. After all, she was her father's magical heir, and had told him, rather abruptly that afternoon, that she would be attending the meeting with him. "I just don't want to miss the meeting," he breathed back at her.
Millicent narrowed her eyes at him. Harry turned away from her gaze and concentrated on his dinner. The bread was rather dry, but he preferred it to letting Millicent see him too closely.
"You won't," she muttered at last. "They'll wait for us, if we are held up, but I don't think we will be." She took a dainty bite of her own food, a French dish Harry didn't recognize, before she went on. "And it isn't just that. I haven't been looking, but, Merlin, Harry, you look awful. What's the matter?"
"What isn't the matter?" Harry cut himself off before he could step into a tirade, though. He was not about to burden Millicent with his own problems. "No, I'm sorry. I just haven't been sleeping well lately." It not only happened to be true, it was a great all-purpose excuse.
Millicent chewed thoughtfully at her bread, as if to demonstrate how someone should eat it, and then shook her head. "It's not just that. Or not only that. Come on, Harry, spill."
Harry raised his eyebrows and returned to his dinner. "There's nothing to spill, as you put it, Millicent."
"Yes, there is."
Harry ignored her for the rest of the meal, thought she managed to come up with taunts and indignant queries that he would ordinarily have responded to. She was getting angry, he saw, when they stood up to leave. Good. That meant she would be more likely to mistake his reactions for something other than what they were, and would be preoccupied with her own emotions.
He did not want people to worry about him. If they worried, they would ask questions, and Harry had too many secrets to hide. Besides, if they worried, they might offer comfort, and he might be too weak to prevent himself from taking it.
The meal done with, they filed out of the Great Hall. Most of the talk Harry could hear was about the Triwizard Tournament, and he shook his head and snorted. Things like that mattered so little in the grand scheme. Why was everyone so concerned about it?
Then he forced himself calm again. They're concerned about it because it matters to them, Harry. And it doesn't really matter if it doesn't matter to you, or you don't think it important. They do. You can hardly dictate what other people value.
His breathing eased, and he turned his head and caught Millicent's eye. Millicent nodded, and they slipped away from the rest of the Slytherins, slowly enough that no one else noticed them go, except Draco, who murmured, "Have fun," in a tone that smacked of jealousy.
Harry sighed. Well, we'll use his potion and see what happens soon enough—when taking proper precautions.
Millicent led the way to the Room of Requirement, looking over her shoulder with a frown now and again to make sure Harry was following. Harry licked his lips as they came nearer and nearer the place. "How were they going to get in?" he whispered to Millicent's back.
Millicent shrugged. "Dad said that Starborn had found out some ways past the wards from the Dark Lord's minions, including one of them that got on the grounds last year."
Fenrir Greyback, Harry's mind supplied at once. He shivered, even as his concern grew. He hoped that Narcissa had dropped her contact with the committed Death Eaters and her attempts to convince them that she might be interested in allying with them. Remembering the wound on her arm, though, he doubted it.
They reached the Room of Requirement. A door was already visible. Millicent nodded at nothing in particular, then turned and met Harry's eyes. "Ready, Potter?"
Harry cocked his head. She almost never called him by his last name anymore. "Of course," he said. "Unless you know something I don't, and this is really just an attempt to kidnap me and drain me of my magic."
"Not all of us are the Minister." Millicent's voice was extremely dry. "No, I just meant whether you were ready to enter a room full of suspicious Dark wizards experienced in detecting deception, especially since you seem so determined to prevent anyone from asking questions about you."
Shit. She wasn't distracted, after all. Harry lifted his chin. Well, I know how to deal with this. I've danced harder patterns. "No one will have to ask questions like that, because no one has to worry about my health," he said calmly.
Millicent sneered at him and turned away. As she opened the door, which was made of some thick black wood that Harry didn't recognize, he took the chance to cast some wandless glamours on himself. He couldn't hide everything, but he could conceal the deepest shadows beneath his eyes and the agitation that might reveal itself in the small lines about his mouth.
Just a sacrifice I have to make if I want to dance with wizards like this.
The Room of Requirement had shaped itself into a comfortable enough place, Hawthorn supposed. There were enough chairs for all of them, including Potter and Millicent when they arrived. The seats themselves were plush, either deep green or black, and circled around a hearth blazing with warm light. The walls themselves were white wood, whorled with so many delicate designs that Hawthorn kept looking up and thinking she saw the Parkinson crest among them. Of course, the others probably saw the crests or mottos of their own families.
She sat in one chair, acutely feeling the absence at her side. She would have thought Dragonsbane would come with her this night of all nights, wanting to meet with Potter, but he had only said that it would not be proper, and she hadn't been prepared to argue with him. He saw the future, including the deaths of anyone who came near him. It was extremely hard to argue with him.
Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy sat together on a divan beside her, sideways to the hearth, speaking together in soft voices. Hawthorn could not be sure if they were conducting an argument or not. She sniffed, and then smiled. Both of them smelled determined, which told her nothing, really.
Nearest the fire on the right side of the circle were Adalrico and Elfrida. Elfrida was five months gone in pregnancy now, but that did not mean she looked the worse for wear, as many witches did. She was puellaris, and she had given up much that she might have had for the sake of protecting her children. Her face was radiant, and whenever Adalrico said something that might relate to children, she would respond in a spirited snap. Hawthorn fully approved. The birth of pureblood children was rare enough. It was good that this one had a powerful mother protecting her.
On the left side of the circle, Arabella Zabini took a whole couch for herself, her hair tightly braided with silver pins that left no doubt about her Songstress status. Hawthorn met the other witch's eyes and exchanged a small, guarded nod. Arabella had never been a Death Eater, and had never seemed to care about much beyond studying and raising her son and making herself beautiful—and singing, of course, but that was part of her magic and the result of her study. Hawthorn had no idea why she had really agreed to come to this meeting, nor what benefit there might be in it for her.
Close beside Arabella's couch sat a hunched figure, covered in a dark cloak. Hawthorn did her best to ignore her. She smelled wrong. She was wrong. None of them could actually deny Acies Lestrange the right to come to a meeting like this, but it still made Hawthorn uncomfortable.
The door of the Room opened then, and Potter and Millicent stepped inside. Hawthorn found herself shifting forward before she realized what she was doing. She realized that she had missed Potter's magic, which draped itself over the room in a purring carpet of song and strength. Hawthorn shook her head. I could get addicted so easily.
It had been like this with the Dark Lord, too, at least when she had first met him, but he had changed sharply not long afterward. Harry did not smell as if he would change. Besides, the pull of his magic was entirely unselfconscious, without the edge of the compulsion to it that always rode Voldemort's power. He moved through the world, wild and glorious, before he commanded anyone to do anything about that moving.
Hawthorn took a deep sniff, trying to pull in more of that magic.
She narrowed her eyes when she realized what she was smelling underneath the scent of power. Stress, fatigue, aching weariness, the way that she smelled herself when she'd been up for all three full moon nights. The boy looked fine, particularly given that the only light in the Room was the low radiance of the fire, but he smelled as if he should have been on edge, ready to snap or collapse.
Hawthorn leaned back on the couch and slowly brought her fingers together. I would not like him to collapse. He is our ally, and a powerful wizard besides.
Perhaps there is something I can do.
Harry relaxed when he saw the people in the room. They were all ones he had met at least once, though Arabella Zabini's sharp, inquisitive eyes were almost a stranger's to him.
No. Wait.
Harry narrowed his eyes at the cloaked figure on the furthest chair. "Who is she?" he asked, not realizing until the words were out of his mouth that his magic had already identified the cloaked figure as female.
The witch shifted, and then stood. Her voice was so low and rough that Harry could easily have mistaken her sex. "My name is Acies Lestrange." Harry snarled and twitched his wand into his hand, but the witch shook her head calmly. "No. You need not prepare to defend yourself. Rodolphus and Rabastan are distant cousins to me. I am not an heir of the true line, only of a small one. I was never a Death Eater. But I did want to meet you."
Harry let out a small breath. "All right," he said. "Why?"
"Will you permit me to look at you?" Acies lifted a hand to the hood of her cloak. "Meeting my gaze is rather uncomfortable, but it will explain more than words ever could. Indeed," she added, with a hint of humor to her words for the first time, "without this gaze, I don't think that you would believe my story. And since you are vates, I feel some kinship to you already."
Harry blinked. Almost no one knew he was vates. "Who are you?"
"This," said Acies, and dropped her hood.
Harry met her eyes, but they weren't a human pair of eyes. They blazed at him, and heat swept over his body as though the fire had come out of the hearth. Harry felt wind follow after the fire, and then a steady roaring invaded his ears. His braced legs kept him from collapsing to the floor, but it was a near thing. He ground his teeth as singing similar to the music he had heard at Grimmauld Place arose, though he was sure Acies had not opened her mouth since those initial words.
Then the sensations stopped. Harry looked up to see that Acies had put on her hood again.
"What was that?" Harry whispered. His own voice shook. He attempted to push the shock away and master himself, but it was harder than he had expected. Only the full moon night he had run through the Forest and the dark gate he had gone through on Walpurgis Night rivaled what he had just experienced in wildness.
"You will believe me now, I think," said Acies. "One of my ancestors grew obsessed with breeding magical creature blood and abilities into our line. However, there are relatively few magical creatures who whom wizards can breed with any ease. When he had secured those abilities for his children, he went after the ones we could not physically breed with." Acies chuckled, and Harry was not surprised to smell smoke rising when she did. "He could not, despite the experiments he tried, actually mate any of his relatives to those creatures, but he could and did link their minds, in effect exchanging their thoughts. All but one of his daughters died of the shock. She lived, and she had children, and some of us have had thoughts like that creature's forever after. A small part of us is them."
"And what was the creature?" Harry asked.
"A dragon, Mr. Potter," said Acies, calmly. "Wildest of all magical creatures. I have sensed what you are moving towards, and I have seen you from a distance. I wanted to see you close, that I might know if you really are the vates that we have been waiting for, or merely another lie. You have met my gaze, and proven that you are what your magic's beacon claimed. Thank you." She stepped back and sat down in her chair again. "I consider myself your ally now. The monies of my part of the Lestrange family, and any help that I might personally give, are at your disposal."
Harry blinked, and blinked again. The contact with her gaze had unexpectedly refreshed him, made him feel freer than he had in some time, and he had won another ally, it seemed, for a very small price. "Thank you," he said, unsteadily, and then turned and faced Arabella Zabini, who reclined beside Acies. "My lady Songstress. Why have you come?"
Arabella smiled gently at him. "I wanted you to know, Mr. Potter," she said, in that deep, thrilling voice, "that I have books you might be interested in, books written in Parseltongue."
Harry blinked. "How did you acquire them?" He wondered if all of them had planned this together, to further unsettle him, but he did not think so.
"Now, Mr. Potter." Arabella inclined her head and peered up at him between her lashes. "A lady never reveals all her secrets. Suffice it to say that I have them. I will be willing to give you one of them in return for a promise from you. A simple promise, of course, and one that I think you would probably give anyway, but one I want to be sure of. I have no intention of tying myself to someone who will act against my interests."
Harry frowned at her. "You weren't a Death Eater."
"But I am a Dark witch," said Arabella softly. "Both declared to the Dark and someone who uses Dark magic, Mr. Potter. Studying song the way I have is not something the Ministry approves of, because my songs can be used to persuade others of many things, truth only one of them. I want your promise that you will never declare yourself a Light Lord. We have had enough trouble with Dumbledore on that front. As long as I know that you won't become another threat like that, then I am hardly going to require that you declare any other formal allegiance. Only what you won't. It is true that you do not aspire to be like him?" Her eyes shone like Blaise's when she was in a passion, Harry realized. Otherwise, she looked largely different, both more alive and darker of skin than Blaise was.
"I do not aspire to be like him," said Harry. This, he could say in a steady voice. "It would be death to my ambitions as vates. No, by Merlin and my magic, I never aspire to become a Light Lord."
Arabella smiled as though someone had just offered to kiss her hand. "Very good, Mr. Potter," she said. "I shall send the book in a few days. That is all I wanted to ask of you."
Harry nodded, and then turned towards Adalrico and Elfrida. Millicent, who had seated herself beside her parents, started to say something, but her mother was already speaking, eyes shining with a strength that Harry had not thought she possessed.
"Mr. Potter," said Elfrida, her hands cradled around her belly, "I have come to ask you to extend your formal alliance with my family to the babe I carry."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Mrs. Bulstrode," he said, "I would have done that without your asking, just as I assume you would have considered yourself allies of any younger sibling or cousin I might have. Why do you feel the need to ask for more of it?"
Elfrida smiled at him. Harry caught his breath as he saw how it transformed her face, shading it with a glow of white-gold magic. Merlin, I wonder what exactly she looks like when she's defending her children. "Because," she said with supreme confidence, "the world will change when you rise to power. I know it. I would have my second daughter know that magic from the moment of her birth. I would like to ask you to attend her birth and spare what attention you can to her over the years, so that she never grows up with the cringing mixture of fear and awe that too many other wizards have around strong magic." She did not look at Adalrico, but Harry saw him flinch anyway. "Millicent is as old as you are, so she had no chance to know you as Marian will. She will live in the future you craft. Will you do this? I know Marian is only one among many wizarding children whom you will affect, but she is one of only a few who might grow up without that fear that has ruined so many things about our world."
Harry could feel his eyes soften. Elfrida was right. Fear had controlled too much of the way everyone related to powerful wizards, from the way that Death Eaters followed Voldemort to the way that his mother and Dumbledore had tried to control him. "Of course I will do it," he said quietly. "I am honored. Mrs. Bulstrode, and I wish that all mothers were as dedicated to their children as you are."
Elfrida gave him a smile of breathtaking sweetness, and sat down again. Adalrico just coughed in embarrassment when Harry looked at him. "I was here just in case you refused," he muttered. "But you didn't."
Harry snorted back at him, and turned to face the Malfoys. Narcissa gave him a faint smile. "I came here to see how you were, Harry," she said. "How are you?"
Ah. Harry should have known that Narcissa was probably the hardest challenge he would face in this room. She had been concerned about him the other weekend, after all. "Very well, Mrs. Malfoy," he said.
Millicent coughed.
Narcissa leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. "Is that true?" she asked. "Harry, I know that you have an unusually low amount of concern for yourself, but you should not. I know you are reluctant to speak on personal grounds, so I will talk about our alliance instead. If you run yourself to death trying to be vates and protector for everyone, then you cannot help us. Remember that."
Harry relaxed. He knew how to deal with this, too. "Of course I remember that, Mrs. Malfoy," he said. "I would never do such a thing."
"Liar."
Harry jumped. The word did not come from Millicent, or even from Narcissa, who was watching him with utmost concern. It came from the chair where Hawthorn Parkinson rested. Harry looked at her, and found her eyes narrowed, her nose flexing as she sniffed.
Bloody glamours, Harry thought, as he frowned at her. Should have known they wouldn't fool a werewolf's nose. Why don't any of the books teach glamours to fool scent the way they do sight and sound?
"You smell nearly sick with stress and fatigue," Hawthorn said softly. "I assume that you have concealed the evidence, but I know that it is there. I would be surprised if it were not. My daughter has owled me about what you have been doing to try and save your guardian, and the private lessons you have been holding, and many other things that would tax your time and patience."
Bloody Pansy! Harry kept his expression calm with an effort. "Other people have already spoken to me about this, Mrs. Parkinson," he said. "I promise, I am sleeping more, and one of my burdens has just been lifted from my shoulders." Draco finished the potion, and his compulsion has lifted. Of course I'm happier. "I am alive to all that my duties demand of me. I will not fail you. I will swear that by any oath you like."
"We're more afraid that you'll keep your promises to us but destroy yourself in the process, Harry," said Narcissa softly, pulling his attention back to her. "I think it's time for an arrangement like the one I know the Parkinsons and Bulstrodes employed last year. I will ask Draco to watch over you more closely." She glanced at Hawthorn. "I am sure that Hawthorn could ask Pansy to do the same thing."
"We'd be glad to do it," said Millicent unexpectedly. "We already do, and owl our parents about you, Harry—"
Bloody Millicent. Harry gave her a glare that she ignored with supreme ease.
"But I think it's time to actively interfere." Millicent smiled serenely at him. "It won't be too much trouble to make sure that you go to sleep on time and don't wear yourself out, will it, Harry? After all, you yourself said that you've been trying to improve matters."
"I don't need minders," said Harry, unable to keep silent any longer. He turned towards Lucius, who had sat silent through all this, watching him with a cool, assessing gaze. "Sir, you and I have been doing a truce-dance for nearly two years now," he said quietly. "It will be complete come Yule. You would not have entered the dance with me if you did not think of me as an equal, would you? Not a child, not someone who needs minders."
Lucius shook his head slowly, barely stirring his long hair. Harry relaxed. He had put Lucius on the spot, forcing him to claim equal status for Harry unless he wanted to impugn his own honor, but it had worked. Surely the others would have to see that someone whom Lucius respected would keep his promises and was not in need of people to trail around after him.
"I trust you to complete the truce-dancer, Mr. Potter," said Lucius. "I came here merely to see if you intended to change your mind about giving me whatever gift I ask for come Yule."
Harry relaxed further. Lucius is predictable. Not safe, but Harry knew every step of this dance, and he could take part in it without feeling as though someone would suddenly turn on him. "No, sir," he said. "I promised that, in gratitude for all you've done for me—" he meant the permission to free Dobby "—and I do intend to keep that promise."
Lucius nodded. Then he smiled. Harry took a step backward. Lucius isn't supposed to smile like that.
"That said," Lucius murmured, "it would do me no good at all if you collapsed, as you did the Christmas we began the truce-dance, and spent the day in the hospital wing. I do not fancy receiving my gift from an ally who cannot stand. It would make me look weak. I suggest that you let your friends watch over you, Mr. Potter. There is no shame in such a thing. All the greatest wizards have had such close guards around them." His eyes flashed for a moment, and his right hand twitched, as if he would touch the Dark Mark hidden on his left arm. "Their relationship to them has been defined by their own souls. The Dark Lord did—what he did. Dumbledore treats no one as an equal, but manipulates them all. Given that you have resolved never to be a Light Lord, and to help others around you, I should think an arrangement of mutual aid would be agreeable to everyone involved."
Harry stiffened. His mind raced in circles again, for just a moment.
I'm not going to be able to get out of this.
Then he forced his breathing smooth, and told himself it could have been worse. So more people were looking at him, instead of no one. It did not mean he had to let them see the truth. No one would find out what Lily and James had done. He would make sure of that. No one had to accompany him to all his meetings with the magical creatures in the Forest, either; Harry could point out that they wouldn't trust another wizard or witch, and force his minders to stay behind. He was already watched in the lessons. He could use magic to keep business like this letter he had to write a few days after Halloween private.
The hardest thing to hide is going to be the nightmares, he thought, particularly if they've got Blaise and Draco watching me. But I need practice on glamours and illusions, anyway.
He met Lucius's eyes and nodded. "If you concur, sir, then I'll trust your judgment."
He saw the surprise on Hawthorn's face, and Narcissa's, before they hid it. Harry managed to dredge up a smile for them.
They aren't going to see anything I don't want them to see. I'm more worried about convincing this Vera that she doesn't really need to look at me.
"Did anyone need anything else?" he asked, wondering if the meeting could conclude now and he could go meet with Peter and the Seer.
Hawthorn leaned back in her seat and listened to her allies deny that they needed anything else. She, too, shook her head when Harry looked inquiringly at her. She had come along simply to see what the others wanted and to renew her ties with Harry, if they needed renewing.
You're thinking of him as Harry now, you realize.
She did realize that, but there was little to be done about it, she thought. She was growing closer to the child than she would have believed possible, given that he was so powerful. Being a Death Eater had never been like this, could never be like this.
And he seemed determined to destroy himself before letting anyone else suffer. Protect and defend and serve, the words Narcissa had written to him, and he seemed to have taken them to heart more completely than anyone Hawthorn had ever known of, or even read of in history.
Even with the victory they had won, Hawthorn thought they had lost something. She could smell Harry's determination, and knew that he probably intended to hide himself even better than he had been.
I might be able to do something about that, she thought. He cannot be as good at facing a "threat" of help he does not know is coming.
After all, if he is so dedicated to us, the least we can do is be dedicated to him in return, and catch him when he falls, the way he would catch us.