Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!

This chapter horrifies me. It does get better after this, I promise, and this time, Harry has people with him who can help him immediately.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: A Dark Lord Will Be Along Any Minute Now

Albus looked down from the window in his office, charmed to reflect the view of the gate through the rose-gardens as it was at the moment, and waited, and hoped.

He had thought of having Lily come to the school long before, but it was not until he had begun listening seriously to the wards of Hogwarts, which he usually ignored unless there was a diamond-hard reason not to, that he realized what an opportunity Lucius Malfoy's visit represented. He had been aware when the Dark wizards visited Harry on Halloween night, but he hadn't bothered to listen to their conversations through the wards, sure he would hear only Slytherin games that they played with the poor unsuspecting boy. But when the wards reported to him that Harry and Draco Malfoy were speaking of his father's second visit, Albus's interest had been peaked.

Then Draco, in a private conversation with Severus, had mentioned that Lucius would wait outside the gate in the rose-gardens that he had used when he was a student at the school, and that he would be there on the night of the Yule Ball.

Albus had seen his opportunity.

He had had Lily send a letter to her son, with a warning in it if he had cared to read it, but he suspected Harry wouldn't—and even if he had, his only chance to avoid this confrontation would have been to come to the Headmaster at once and have it in Albus's office instead. He had told Lily to wait at the rose-garden gate until Harry came through, to provide a barrier between her and Harry that would let the justice ritual try to prevent them from seeing each other. Harry would remove the prohibition so that he and Draco could get through the gate, and then the rest would be simple enough.

Lucius, meanwhile, was somewhat occupied with the trees of the Forbidden Forest, which Albus had stirred unexpectedly to life when he passed them—such feats were not beyond the Headmaster of Hogwarts, though they tired him and he preferred to accomplish his ends through subtler means—and would not be along for some time. Severus had agreed to let Harry go to the meeting alone.

Albus had not anticipated that the young Malfoy heir would be with Harry, somehow having missed that detail, but he would not let it bother him. Harry would have no choice about speaking to Lily now.

And when he heard what she had to say, he would have no choice about surrendering, either.

Albus settled back, tightened his control on the trees, and watched the drama playing out below, which would change and affect the fate of the wizarding world in leading Harry back more closely to the Light.

Harry felt his heart throbbing so hard that he shook. He couldn't move, couldn't think of what to do, couldn't concentrate on anything but the sensation of his heart in his ears, it was so overwhelming.

Then he felt a second sensation—Draco's hand slipping into his.

And though he would have preferred to face Lily alone, in his fear of what would emerge now, Harry grasped the hand and squeezed back.

"Harry?" Lily's face remained grave and quiet as she held the light-globe higher so that she could see him, but her voice echoed her disappointment. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

Harry swallowed, intending the gesture to take his nervousness with it. He didn't think he succeeded, but he only sounded as if he'd been kicked in the stomach when he spoke, instead of half-disemboweled. "Not particularly, no. I said that I never wanted to communicate with you again. How much more of a hint can you take?"

"But you responded to my first letter." Lily moved a step forward, the hem of her robe sweeping the ground. Harry could not control the urge to take a step back, and Draco immediately moved close to his side and angled half in front of him, as if he would protect Harry at all costs from his own mother. "And you did not say that you wished never to communicate again in your last response. You only asked about right now. And a mother never gives up her children, Harry. It's been a year. I think that's long enough. Why can't I see you again, especially now that you have given your consent to that?" Her voice had turned into the same sort of gentle scolding that Harry remembered from nights when he was proud of something he had done and wanted to tell Connor about it. She shouldn't have had to remind him to keep his training secret, but she did, sometimes.

She shouldn't have had to remind you how much she loves you, either.

"No, Harry," said Draco sharply.

Harry turned his eyes from his mother's face to his friend's, though it was hard. Draco had been too shocked to say anything at first—his face still showed pale in Lily's light—but his eyes were rapidly filling with tears. He reached out and grasped Harry's throat, hard enough to hurt.

"I know what your guilt feels like," he breathed. "It fills my mouth with oil. And I won't let you feel it, Harry. I won't. You have nothing to feel guilty for. She treated you horribly, and she deserves everything she got." He turned and glanced over his shoulder at Lily, and Harry shivered. He hadn't known that Draco could feel such hatred as his expression said he did. "And I know you won't believe this," he muttered, "but she deserves worse than that."

"I don't see that you have any place here." Lily pointed off to the side. "This is between myself and my son. Go."

"No," said Draco, and this time shoved Harry completely behind him, so that he could face Lily. "You've torn your son apart and scattered his heart to the four winds, the way that Gerra did with Aries Black. You don't deserve to be anywhere near him. I'm going to give you twenty seconds to leave before I cast one of the Unforgivables." He drew his wand. "One. Two."

"You can't cast the Unforgivables yet," said Lily. "You're not old enough." As if in a dream, Harry saw her reach into her pocket, but he didn't know what she could be taking out. She couldn't use a wand anymore, given her Muggle state. "And I told you before that you don't have any place in a confrontation between myself and my son. My beloved son, whom I haven't met for a year and a day." She gestured to the left with her chin. "Leave, Malfoy."

"Five. Six."

Lily's hand clenched around whatever it was in her pocket.

Harry took a deep breath. He appreciated Draco's defense of him, but he couldn't let him suffer, just in case Lily did have a magical weapon with her that she could still use, like the light-globe, because it didn't require any innate magic. And he didn't want Draco to hurt his mother, either.

The emotions churned in him, knife-edged and ice-edged, but he knew his overmastering impulse. He wanted his parents to go away. If they chose never to acknowledge him again, if they never sent him another letter, if they simply ignored his existence, then he would be satisfied and do the same for them. He did not want them discussed, or punished, or hurt. What they had done was done. Harry knew them, knew what they could do now, and he pitied them. There was no reason that he need do anything else.

"Draco," he said, tugging on his arm.

Draco turned his head to look at him, but said, "She's still not gone. Fifteen. Sixteen."

Lily's hand rose out of her pocket, moving, tossing something at Draco.

Harry had always been a good Seeker, and he thanked Merlin for it now as he rose in a gentle leap and caught the flying object before it could come anywhere near Draco's face, its likely target. He felt warmth in his palm, and then a sharp sting that coursed up his arm. He grimaced. It was not as bad as the bite of the spiders last year that had incapacitated him badly enough to need the hospital wing, but it hurt.

Harry turned his hand over enough to see what the thing was, but could make out only a shattered red shell before Draco said, with a coldness that belonged in his father's voice and not his own, "Crucio."

No spell flew, though Harry did see a gleam of something around Draco's wand. He jerked to his feet, disregarding the fact that it would already have been too late if Draco's curse had really worked. Lily laughed softly.

"You don't hate me enough to cast that curse on me," she told Draco. "Could it be that you really understand how matters stand between my son and I?" She paused for a moment and cocked her head to the side. "You have a mother of your own. Can you imagine what she would feel if someone tried to interfere with your reconciliation with her?"

Draco didn't bother answering her, as if he thought Lily's words not worth answering. He came over to Harry and turned his hand over, demanding, "Let me see."

A moment later, he shrieked and swatted hard. Harry looked down as bits of red shell fell to the ground, and blinked. Still-Beetle. Of course. I should have realized it. We've used the shells in Potions before.

Then he went completely still, paralyzed along the path of the shell's venom. Draco tugged at his arm, but Harry didn't even sway. Lily let out an annoyed breath and came a few steps nearer to him.

"Harry," she said softly. "I suppose this is one way of getting you to listen. Just listen."

Harry couldn't do anything but stare at her, but Draco made a sound somewhere between a snarl and a moan and lifted his wand.

Lily lobbed something else at him. Harry couldn't turn his head to follow the path of the trajectory and see what it was, and though he struggled, his wandless magic was as much affected by the stillness as the rest of him was, since he'd bound it to his body. He heard the muffled thump of Draco slumping to the ground, and hoped that he would be all right.

"There," said Lily. "Albus gave those to me just in case I encountered any resistance on the way, but really, I didn't think I'd have to use one of them on your friend. We were supposed to meet alone." She stared hard at Harry for a moment, and then her voice softened. "I hoped I wouldn't have to use one on you, either. I wrote you in my letter that I was coming."

Harry had never read the letter. He tried to convey that with his eyes, since he didn't have any other way to say it. This was worse than the stillness caused by the Body-Bind spell. At least there, he knew movement was possible, if someone else levitated or dragged him. This felt as if he were rooted to the ground.

"Finally, we can speak without interruption." Lily took a deep breath. "Harry, I know that I haven't been the best of mothers. But I have made you what you are, and for that, you owe me a hearing.

"I did what I did for the sake of the wizarding world surviving the second war with Voldemort. You know that. I don't need to explain my reasoning to you. But I have thought of a new way to phrase it since that you might appreciate: if Voldemort wins, everything about the wizarding world dies, not just Connor. Your allies will die, since they are no longer loyal to him, and he does not tolerate anything but instant obedience. Your friends will die. Your guardian will die. Your House will be trampled into the mud, tainted with darkness everlasting, and if you think people speak badly of Slytherin now, you don't want to hear what they'll say when the Light wins again. Slytherin would be synonymous with evil, and no one would ever be Sorted into that House again. I think they'd dissolve it, or close Hogwarts, rather than allow anyone else to go into the House of the Snake.

"That means that everything new you've found in life would be destroyed. And that's unacceptable for you, I would think." She paused as if expecting some response from him, some nod or word, but then seemed to remember he was stilled. She shook her head and went on. Harry was pleading with her in his head to shut up, while his magic raced around inside the barrier of the stillness looking for some way out, but she couldn't hear him.

"It's unacceptable to the boy I raised, I know, the boy who loved Connor and who's transferred that love elsewhere. And that means that we have to build a new relationship, you and me and Albus. We're the only ones who truly understand the meaning of sacrifice, Harry. He's made the hard decisions that are needed to win this war. I've made hard decisions of my own. And you've walked the most difficult way."

Lily put out one hand and smoothed it gently over his hair, making Harry's scalp feel as if it were crawling with insects. "We'll need Connor, but he won't ever understand the meaning of sacrifice the way we do. I regret that. If I'd known he was a potential savior in the prophecy, I would have raised him that way. He would have understood that he might die, and what heroism and sacrifice and hard roads meant. But it's too late to recover him now. Albus has been testing him, but he doesn't think he's really made of the best stuff."

Harry thought he felt a finger twitch, and sent his magic down to it as hard as he could. But the motion wasn't repeated. He remembered Snape saying of Still-Beetles that they used to be used to bind powerful Dark wizards while they awaited their trials. Usually, the courtroom was built around them. He could understand why, now. Movement was becoming a foreign concept to him.

"You're the best choice for savior," said Lily, her eyes soft. "But Albus knows that pushing you into the forefront of the world would just make you uncomfortable. You haven't dealt well with the attention that you've received from your exploits so far, have you? No, you haven't. That's the boy I raised. So we'll leave Connor as the Boy-Who-Lived, and bring you back behind the scenes and behind the shadows. It'll be different, I promise. You'll have all my love, and all my attention. Wouldn't you like that, Harry? We'll build a relationship, and we'll reconcile with James, and it will be like what it was in Godric's Hollow—except better, because this time you'll be at the center of things, and not just pushed off into the shadows." Her face was glowing with love and hope.

Harry could feel what it would be like, and the picture was horribly tempting to one part of him. Last year, when Connor was fighting him and his father was missing and his guilt over what he had done to his mother was at its peak, he didn't think he could have resisted the temptation.

But he had changed, even if his mother wanted to pretend that he hadn't. He couldn't give up the friends he had, the allies he'd made, the promises he wanted to keep and the vates duties that he loved most out of all the roads he had to walk. He couldn't give up Draco, and he couldn't give up Snape. He wanted someone who would love him without any other obligations, he couldn't deny that, and there was no doubt that he would understand the kind of household Lily was talking about better than he had ever understood his own clumsy attempts to live a normal life. There was familiarity in that, knowledge that could breed longing.

But that was the only safety it offered, and what he had said under Veritaserum was true. He didn't feel safe with James and Lily, and he sincerely believed that he never would again.

His eyes must have conveyed his rejection, because Lily began abruptly to cry.

"I don't understand," she whispered. "Albus told me—and your letters said—" She blinked, and the tears fell from her eyes and tracked down her face, glimmering in the light of the globe she held. "Your letters said that you understood what I'd done for you, that you were what I made you."

Yes. I said that. But I've still changed, even if I have a bigger circle of people to care for now than Connor. And your skills let me lure in more people like that.

Lily took a deep breath. "Forgive me, Harry," she said. "You'll understand when I'm done why I must say such cutting words, harder than any words I've had to say before."

She rose, and her face assumed a look that would have made Harry flinch if he could move. That look was from the Bad Days, as he called them in his imagination. Those were the days when he said or did something that convinced Lily he didn't realize that his first duty was always to be to Connor, and she had to speak the truths she normally hid behind soft words.

"You are what I made you," Lily whispered. "You are all that I made you. Harry. Every bit of knowledge you have, every bit of skill that you possess, came from me. Your inborn magic is something that I can't take credit for, of course, and neither are the unnatural additions that Voldemort made to it." She paused, then mused aloud, "Yes, you know about that now, so I can tell you.

"I was so pleased with you when you were born, Harry. And Connor too, of course, but in those days we didn't know that there was to be any substantial difference between you, so I felt proud of you both just the same. And I played with you and sang to you and laughed with you and nursed you, and thought that I would never be happier than I was just then, with my two perfect children."

Perfection is an illusion, Harry thought, in a desperate attempt to find something that would let him release his magic or distract him from Lily's words. One that you and Draco share.

"And then Albus told me about what we must do, and I was devastated, but what could I do?" Lily drew in a breath thick with tears. "We had to do it, for the good of the world. Albus had taught James and me about sacrifice when we were still students at school, and we'd seen a good bit of it when we fought with the Order of the Phoenix. We couldn't fail to do our part.

"We came back after that night, and even before Albus told me what I had to do, I knew. You were different from your brother now, Harry. I could feel the increased magic around you. It was frightening. It was alien; no baby was supposed to have magic that strong, and you hadn't been born with it, which is the natural, correct, proper way for magic to come into the world." She swallowed. "And it was perverse, Harry. Filthy. It was like bathing in dog vomit every time I was near you."

Harry couldn't close his eyes, couldn't turn them from her. All he could do was stand there and feel as if his mind were lacerated, while his magic raced screaming around his body.

"You've never felt it," Lily whispered. "You live in the midst of it, and you can't feel how it affects other people. But, believe me, all the reactions you get have disgust at the bottom. They might be morbid fascination, or a temptation to see how deep the perversion runs, or an attraction to that kind of obscenity, because their magic feels the same way. But it's never because they admire your magic. I'm sorry if they've told you so. They don't know its true nature, then, or they want to console you and make you feel better, or they want something from you. But you are another Voldemort since your magic was released from the phoenix web."

Harry's sight dimmed as he remembered the justice ritual that Voldemort had corrupted in May, attempting to use it to drain his magic from Harry. His power was what the Dark Lord had wanted. Could there really be a doubt that it was dirty, then, and not just plentiful? Would Voldemort have an attraction to anything that was inherently pure and of the Light?

And if he was another Voldemort, then did that mean that he would do the same kinds of things as Voldemort did someday, attacking children and corrupting ancient pureblood rituals into his service?

"But my training took that away," said Lily. "It made you safe, for a long time. You didn't use the filthy part of your magic. You used the clean part, the natural part, with just a bit of the filth leaking in from time to time, and being cleansed as it came, like offal being washed in a flowing stream. Had the bindings on your magic lasted until the time of your last year at Hogwarts, or even a bit earlier, then the darkness would have all turned to light.

"But it didn't, and now you're full of the vomit again, and whatever good is in you—the history that you know, the love that you have for your brother and other people, the skills that I taught you to defend and heal—you owe to me. Without me, you would have been another Voldemort by the time you were six."

Harry tried to swallow, and the Still-Beetle venom prevented that. It didn't prevent blinking, but it prevented everything else, and the screaming mental chaos in his head, which felt as though it were ripping apart his rationalizations piece by piece, was not still enough.

What if she's right? It's true that most of the people who've professed to like and follow you are only doing it because of things that Lily instilled in you. You would have nothing to offer them if not for your knowledge and your talents, and the sheer power of your magic is something unnatural. Peter called you Voldemort's magical heir, the heir of the worst Dark Lord of this century. Who wants that? Who will follow that? Who will follow what you are, if it's all true? Who would like you or love you or pay you deference, if they knew what Lily knows?

"I can still love you, Harry," Lily whispered. "I know it all, and still I love you, and still I won't turn from you in disgust. We can cleanse the darkness from you. We can wash you in absolute, utter, shining purity. A mother's love, and a father's, too, can do that, you know."

What if she's right? What soul do you have that she did not give you? After all, who loves or likes or approves of someone like you without some kind of external reason to do so? And she was the one who taught you to love unconditionally, to accept anything from others—that same forgiveness they're willing to become your allies for—and taught you to sacrifice—something the others refuse to understand, and indeed say is wrong. No, she won't make you safe, but she'll make you honest. No one else has told you any of this. Draco and Snape either know it and keep you in the dark because of it, because they want to protect you, or they don't know it and they'll be shocked and appalled beyond reason to find out what you are. Draco's probably appalled, lying there right now and listening to it. How could you have thought that you were the kind of person who was really capable of receiving the kind of love they wanted to give? Not the Dark Lord's magical heir, full of the power that the Dark Lord learned from obscenity and murder.

"It'll be better when you're back at Godric's Hollow, Harry," Lily whispered coaxingly. "There's no one there but people who want to help you, people whose purity you can bathe in. There's no one as perverse and cruel there as Voldemort is, or as your friend on the ground is."

It took Harry a moment to work out that she was talking about Draco.

Draco isn't perverse and cruel.

The truth froze the chaos inside his mind, and then cracked it, piece by piece, like black ice. What roared up from beneath that, silent, was the same dark rage that had come over him when he confronted Umbridge and Fudge in the Minister's interrogation room.

She has no right to say that about him.

The explosion of his magic cracked the Still-Beetle venom and made his body wrench violently as it flew out of him. Harry had it under control in a moment, though, because it was his own, just like his rage. As it circled his body, he wondered if it was true that it felt filthy and corrupt to other people.

And then he didn't care, because he was focusing on Lily, and hearing again what she had said about Draco, a horrible lie in a welter of might-be-truths, and she was lying, and she had to know she was lying, and she had no right to say that, and he wanted to make her hurt.

This time, the snake didn't flow from his body. It grew on the grass behind Lily, and it lunged forward, closing its jaws around her foot. It had no need to crush her ankle, or pump poison into her. Where it bit, the ankle was simply and suddenly gone, cut away from her body as smoothly as though she had been born without one.

Lily let out a cry and collapsed to the ground, her foot clinging to her leg by the barest strip of flesh. She stared up at him, and her fear made her eyes greener. Harry found that he admired the effect. He moved a few steps forward, never looking away from her face, though his mind was busy deciding where his snake, which was swaying behind Lily in silent obedience to his wishes, should strike next.

It was so simple, here, so wild. He understood what the music he'd heard on the thestral's back had been singing about. Why not give himself to the Dark? He could have all the filthy magic that he liked then, and no one would care. And Dark Lords and Ladies were famous for not giving a damn if anyone loved them, so he wouldn't have to worry about whether or not everyone around him was lying to him, at least lies of omission. And he could do whatever he wanted to people who were like Lily, and wanted to hurt Draco or Snape or Connor or someone else he cared about.

"Harry."

Because the voice was not a shout, because it was low and not raised, Harry stopped, and turned around. Snape was coming across the grass towards them.

Snape had seen the boys leave the Ball for their meeting, and he had not gone after them. He had no desire to meet Lucius or Narcissa, should she be there. He would wait until midnight and then fetch Draco and Harry if they weren't back, but otherwise, he trusted them to handle themselves.

He first knew his mistake when the strongest explosion of Dark magic he'd ever felt burst free beyond the walls, and sent him to his knees.

He stood up again as soon as he could, though his mind was oppressed as though with a cloud and his knees wobbled. His mind and his ears both echoed with screams. The last came from students and professors who had any magical sensitivity, confused and frightened. The first came from magic in the area, as it turned tortured with the hatred and pain of a powerful wizard.

Harry can swallow magic. It's already moving towards him.

Not that he ever really doubted that the Dark magic was Harry, of course. If Voldemort had returned, the Mark on his arm would already be burning.

He staggered out of the Hall by the same door the boys had taken—in the opposite direction from all the other professors, who were trying to herd the students to safety—and towards the gate Draco had told him about, moving mechanically. The garden was full of frightened and crying children, some of them clutching each other for comfort. Snape ignored all of them, though he forced away one young girl who would have clung to his robes with a snarl. He was trying to save all their lives by getting to Harry.

Not really, his conscience, which had been suspiciously active the last few days, pointed out. You're really trying just to save Harry.

Snape shrugged to himself and pushed open the gate.

It was worse the closer he was to it. Snape could feel the Darkness of this magic now. It was not deceptive, nor especially solitary, nor compulsive. It was wild—at once the definition of Dark that probably made the most sense, and the most dangerous. This was the kind of wildness that would strike at friends as well as foes, if the wild creature was hurt enough.

Snape came out of the gate, and recognized the woman lying on the ground, and saw Draco insensible, and saw black fire burning on Harry's body, dancing up and down the skin.

"Harry." He murmured the name, but it would be enough, and started walking towards Harry. It was the bravest thing he had ever done in his life, he thought.

Harry turned.

His eyes were utterly feral. He had some control left, given the way he could focus on Snape, but that wasn't long for this world. And then, Snape thought, almost amazed he could be so calm while thinking this, neither would they be.

He stopped well short of Harry. He had often thought his charge was like a wild animal, the way he flinched and shied from most gestures of affection. He would use the same mindset now to coax him.

"Harry," he repeated. Then he drew his wand. Harry tensed, and the black fire on his arms reached out, flickering. Snape could feel its coldness from here, and sense the way the air surged towards it. Whatever went into that blackness would not come out again.

Snape laid his wand on the ground. Then he knelt beside it—both knees, without the one-kneed gesture that would show deference and might enrage Harry by its nearness to the gesture given Light Lords—and held out his arms.

He saw a fine tremor enter the black fire around Harry, even if Harry himself wasn't shaking. The gesture awakened memories in him, then, memories of the Wizengamot's courtroom. That was what Snape was counting on.

He drove away anger and confusion and hatred as he met Harry's gaze. There was already enough of that in the boy who needed a step or two more to become a Dark Lord. He took a deep breath, because this was hard for him, too, but his surliness about showing his emotions could not be allowed to rule his mood now, and let himself show his love.

Harry shuddered so hard that for a moment, Snape thought he would sink to the ground.

Then a movement off to the side drew his attention. Draco had recovered from whatever weapon Lily had used on him, and had rolled over to one side. He froze when he saw Harry, but his expression in the light was not the terror that Snape himself had feared. He simply gave Harry the look he'd been giving him lately, the one that combined ferocity and pride and love, and waited.

Harry closed his eyes.

Snape waited. They both waited, and for an intolerable moment, the air outside the garden was tight with magic and expectation.

Harry had been prepared to destroy—not only Lily, but his relationship with everyone else left behind him. Why not? It was all lies anyway. Or maybe not, but he couldn't trust them again. How could he trust them? The fact that his rage had come out like this, that he wanted to hurt people, only meant he couldn't be trusted, and no one would want to be friends with someone who was a sadist like Bellatrix. He might as well step away now and make all their dislikes come true.

And Snape and Draco were both waiting, and not running, or calling him names, or casting binding curses on him.

But she said—

But they were there.

But your magic is filthy—

But they were there.

But you know that she could be right—

But they were there.

But you weren't born with your magic—

But they were there.

Harry's mind kept bringing up words, and every time, they collapsed before the implacable actions that Snape and Draco kept presenting him with.

With a little cry, he pulled his magic back inside his body. His rage was not so easy to lock away, but he kept his back turned on his mother and his focus trained on Snape and Draco.

One mentor and one friend. They both loved him, for whatever wild and stupid reasons they had, and he could not prove them wrong, after all.

He swallowed, and crept back towards Draco. Draco was on his feet in an instant, hugging him, gently. He didn't hold hard enough that Harry might be tempted to break free. Harry lifted his arms and held him back, desperately.

Snape's hands came down on his shoulders then, and he murmured, "What shall I do with her?"

"Send her away," Harry whispered, not looking up from where he had his face buried in Draco's shoulder. It was nice. It was warm. Draco smelled good. He didn't see why he should have to see anything right now. "Please. I know you want to hurt her, but I just—I don't care. Call Madam Pomfrey and take her to the hospital wing so that they can heal her foot. I can't try to take it back, or I'll kill her."

Hot shame was washing him now, that he had that desire for pain inside him and had caused Lily's soft sobs. But at least he knew himself well enough to know that he couldn't turn around right now. At least there was that much.

Snape was silent for a moment, then said, "As you wish." Harry heard him mutter the incantation for a message spell, and the silvery flutter of one of them sped away to summon Madam Pomfrey. "Harry," he said then. "Do you feel strong enough to continue to your meeting with Lucius Malfoy, or should we return to the castle?"

Harry felt a surge of gratitude. Snape was trusting him by asking, just as he had trusted Harry to know what was best with Lily, and wasn't giving in to his own inclinations to hurt her.

"I want to go on," he whispered. "Tonight is the end of the truce-dance. I—that's going to make me feel better, because it's such powerful, ancient magic. And I don't want to go to bed or anything, anyway. I want to stay with the two of you."

Draco whispered, "Good. I couldn't let go of you this soon."

Snape sighed. "Let us find Lucius," he said, and guided Harry and Draco around in a careful half-circle, so that they would neither have to separate nor look at Lily. The mere thought of looking at her made Harry shiver in shock, and Draco tighten his hold on him.

At his window, Albus Dumbledore leaned his forehead on the glass and shut his eyes in utter despair.