I will not be updating tomorrow, due to other committments, though an Interlude should be along before too long.
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Dark YuleHarry knew that he could collapse if he let himself. There were too many thoughts in his head. They were drifting in bladed circles that would spring open in swords in a few moments, and pierce him.
If he let them. If he concentrated on what his mother had said, on the things that had just happened to him.
But he didn't want to. Even when he lifted his head from Draco's shoulder, he only looked ahead, and not back, and let Snape guide them along the path of the Forbidden Forest by the light of his wand. Now and then Snape reached out to touch his shoulder, and Harry made himself appreciate the touch without thinking about why Snape felt it necessary to give it.
Draco's arm around his shoulder, and the shoulder pressed against his side, as if Draco wanted them to blend into one being, were even more comforting. Harry used them to leap from moment to moment, to coax and urge his thoughts along past that moment of most danger, until he was sure that he could have walked on his own. He still didn't let Draco go, though, or tug himself free. This time, it was because he didn't want to, rather than because he needed the support.
He knew what he would have to do when this meeting with Lucius had finished. He wondered if he should be alone, but then dismissed that. No, he would want to have Snape and Draco with him for that. Besides, if he left either of them alone this evening, he thought there was a high chance they would go into the hospital wing after Lily.
Harry didn't want her hurt more than she was. It was the end. It should have been the end a year ago, when he had taken her magic. He had been a fool to agree to answering the letter in the first place.
You didn't know who it was from then.
But he could have suspected, and avoided this, if he'd been just a bit smarter.
Well, now he was. He was going to close off that part of his life. That meant that he wouldn't hurt his mother further, and he would not let anyone else hurt her, either. Let her cease to exist to him, as much as though she had died when he was born. He need no longer remember what she had said to him.
The trees ran out ahead of them, and then they came to a halt in a wide clearing that Harry supposed must be the place. Snape halted, at least, and glanced at Draco, who nodded.
Harry stared around inquiringly. The place seemed familiar, though he couldn't make out the similarity until he turned around and saw an arch of branches against the moon. He remembered those branches.
This is the clearing where Connor and I fought the Dark Lord in first year.
Harry gave a violent shiver, and Draco cast a warming charm on him without being asked, drawing a little away to do so. Harry gave him a faint smile. "Thank you," he said, and Draco's gaze sharpened as his voice limped and croaked.
"Harry—"
"Ah, Potter," said Lucius's voice. "And Draco. And Severus. I did not expect you, at least, to join us, Severus."
"Lucius." Harry turned around in time to see Snape incline his head. The expression on his face wasn't quite visible, but his voice was laden with irony. "What can I say? Circumstances change."
"They certainly do," Lucius said. Harry realized he must have been at the other side of the clearing, under the trees there. His robes were starred with snow, and so was his hair, which he'd left free of his cloak. He turned his head, and his eyes gleamed in the wand-light as they fastened on Harry. Harry almost thought he saw a faint tightening around their corners, but it vanished at once, and anything could have caused it. "Mr. Potter. I brought some other people with me. I thought they would want to witness the end of our truce-dance, and they wish to present you with gifts."
Harry stiffened and lifted his head. "No former Death Eaters except the ones who are already allied with me, I hope, Lucius?"
Lucius laughed, a sound as sharp and cold as the wind on Harry's cheeks. "Not at all, Mr. Potter. Hawthorn is here, and Adalrico, and Elfrida, though she begs your pardon for not standing. Walking at this stage of the pregnancy is difficult for her." He held out a hand, and another figure stepped forward from the shadows to take his fingers. "And, of course, Narcissa is here, as you might have suspected she would be."
Harry resolved not to show dismay. He had thought this gift-giving ceremony would be private. He bowed to Narcissa. "Mrs. Malfoy," he said. "I'm sorry, but I did not bring a gift for you, or for the other guests." He had sent one to her already, a book of poetry by a witch who had written some of the books on her library shelves.
Narcissa smiled at him, though it vanished when Harry moved a step forward and she could see his face. Harry told himself sternly not to flinch. If they could see some kind of change on his features, they were still unlikely to remark on it. "Harry," she said. "I received your beautiful book of poetry. Thank you. And I think you have misunderstood the nature of our coming here. It is not often a truce-dance is completed, and much less one such as this one, between a Declared Dark wizard and one who is not Dark. We wished to congratulate you, and to give you gifts. We ask for no return, however. In fact, we demand none."
Harry felt his chest tighten. He could think of only a few times and places in wizarding history when it would be appropriate not to give gifts to a powerful wizard. One of them was the formation of a cadre of guards or companions who would make sure that the powerful wizard was not exposed to danger while he attended to the business of Light or Dark.
"I am not a Lord," he said quietly.
Narcissa smiled at him. "We know that," she said. "And we don't want you to be, Harry, or to Declare for Light or Dark. No matter which you chose, your choice would disappoint some of your allies. You are already reaching out across both chasms. I received a letter from Tybalt Starrise the other day, saluting me and asking formal permission to consider himself a friend of my family. He thought he should, since he is aware that you and I are in close alliance."
"How?" Harry asked in bewilderment. Tybalt hadn't even sent him a formal salutation as yet, much less seemed aware of the way that Harry was joined to the Malfoys. Now, Harry had to wonder how much his manipulation in the Forbidden Forest had really fooled the son of Starrise after all.
Narcissa shook her head slightly, her smile brilliant. "Many people saw us that day we visited the Ministry after your kidnapping, Harry. It is becoming known. And now you will have people reaching out to you, asking permission for formal alliances. And your allies must get to know each other, of course. What good will it be for you if they do not?"
Harry bowed his head, a bit overwhelmed. Trying to match this happening with the ideas that his mother had given him, that people would only gather around him because they had vile magic or wanted something from him—
He stopped his thoughts and slid them under the pool of quicksilver. Draco had already noticed the swift burst of emotion, and slid close to him, one hand reaching out to clasp Harry's. Harry nodded to him in gratitude, then faced Narcissa again.
"There's still no need for you to dedicate yourselves to me the way that the Death Eaters dedicated themselves to—" He choked, unable to say the name Voldemort just yet, after thinking how much like him he was.
"We aren't doing that," said Narcissa. "We can't be doing that, because you aren't a Lord." She winked at Harry, as if the logic made everything better. "We're simply forming the core of a counterforce, one that will fight the Death Eaters who go back to him, and Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Rosier's attack the other day, and similar attacks on Hawthorn and Adalrico—both of which failed—taught us that truth. You need us organized, Harry, not scattered and acting alone and apart any more. So we shall become part of an organization this night. We will give you gifts that symbolize that commitment. If you give them back to us, or do something for us in return, then you'll be rejecting our allegiance. So please don't do that." She ended with a little curtsey that Harry decided was all right. He had bowed to her, after all.
"All right," he said, swallowing hard.
Narcissa nodded to him, and then turned and gestured to the trees. Harry saw an odd shadow floating out to meet them. He understood what it was—a levitating chair—only when he made out Elfrida's shape reclining in it.
She smiled at him. Harry had seen some pregnant women who looked absolutely miserable, but, seven months gone, Millicent's mother only looked radiantly happy. She didn't even appear heavy, more as if her body had changed into some beautiful creature capable of protecting both herself and Marian. Blankets thick with warming charms were tucked around her, and Adalrico stood behind the litter, beaming proudly.
"Hello, Harry," Elfrida said, holding out a hand. Harry went forward and clasped it, Draco moving closely at his side all the way. "I am glad that you are the one we're dedicating ourselves to. My commitment will be less extensive than that of the others, of course, because I have the oath to my children that must come first, but whatever I can do for you, I will."
"Thank you," said Harry, feeling ridiculously as if he were about to start crying at any second.
Adalrico nodded when he caught Harry's eye. "You need never worry about my loyalty," he said, and then laughed. "The Dark Lord made sure of that, when he sent Rabastan Lestrange to kill me."
Harry scanned him anxiously, but it appeared that he was fine, and had taken no damage from the attack. "What about Hawthorn?" he asked.
"Here, Harry," said her voice, and she came forward.
Harry studied the pallor of her face with a frown until he remembered that the full moon was only a few days past, and relaxed. Hawthorn sniffed at him, and frowned back. Harry ignored that. He was sure that his scent glamours would hold up, though a werewolf's nose was strongest in the week on either side of the transformation.
"Who came after you?" he asked.
"Bellatrix." Hawthorn's voice gave the words a low, snarling twist that Harry thought was born more of satisfaction than anger. "She went away yelping for her pains, trailing blood from the arm that you had already shortened for her."
Harry refused to let himself think about taking body parts. He nodded. "And you're resolved, too, to bind yourself to me?"
Hawthorn caught his eye. Her gaze said clearly that she wasn't about to let him forget what they'd shared that one Friday she had come to the school. "Yes," she said, and that was enough.
Harry nodded again, and took a deep breath, and turned to Lucius. "Then we can finish the truce-dance, Mr. Malfoy," he said.
Lucius could feel a soul-deep thrill racing through his body. The ancient magic had been growing steadily since Potter came into the clearing, and now, with his statement, it was time for the end of the dance.
Lucius was feeling emotions roil up in him now, all the excitement and frustration and anger and wonder of the two years he and Potter had danced this ritual. Even for someone who had Declared for the Dark before he was out of Hogwarts, who had fought beside the Dark Lord in his war, who had danced the pureblood dances almost before he could speak, this was not something that happened often. The truce-dance took a long time, and was fragile in the first stages. Most purebloods trusted to some other kind of ritual to bind them to their enemies, or former enemies. Marriage or joining had done the trick in the older days.
It was the last step of the dance that caused the most consternation in those who used it.
Lucius had anticipated this, though, since the Midsummer day in his house when he and Potter had completed the third step of the dance and he had begun to think that he would see it through to the end. There was only one set of gifts that was fit to end such a sacred and mighty waltz. Potter knew it, too, and his gaze lingered on Lucius's as both of them backed away to opposite sides of the clearing.
He was not about to refuse or back out.
Lucius's heart gave one vivid jump, and then the wave of emotions crested and broke. It was as himself that he went forward to meet Potter, feeling young as he had not felt since Draco was born. It made things even better that Severus was here to see this. Severus had shown too much disdain for the pureblood dances at times, as was natural coming from one raised without them.
He strode towards Potter, and the night around him came alive with glittering blue swords of light. The truce-dance tightened around them, and compelled them to finish things. The swords cut above Lucius's head, and then flashed along beside him as he walked, defining a narrow corridor of which he could not venture. He looked at them once from the corner of his eye, and nodded. They were frost-blue, the blue of shadows on snow. Everything was as it should be.
Potter was walking forward, too, his head up and his steps preternaturally calm. He was no boy, Lucius thought, for all that his age would have said so, and five years ago he would not have been able to envision binding himself to someone this young.
But that was the mistake that Dumbledore had made. Lucius was certain of it. To the old fool, children were pawns and always had been, and he disdained their ability to be more than mindless soldiers. He had underestimated Potter, and badly, and now he would pay part of the price for it.
They met in the middle of the clearing, and the swords escorting Potter and the ones escorting him met and melted together, into a blade of pure power that hovered over their heads. It would fall on their necks should one of them do something to hurt the other now. That was not going to happen, Lucius thought in amusement as he dropped to one knee. He had never understood the ancient purebloods who had thought that precaution necessary.
Why would someone come this far and then back out? The magic around him was song, was sweet smell, was pleasurable beyond belief. No hatred or desire to betray could survive that.
Potter dropped to one knee in front of him. With all the growing he'd done lately, he wasn't much shorter than Lucius in this posture. He met Lucius's eyes, and Lucius saw no trace of wavering in him. He might have been the one who started this dance, but Potter was the one who would finish it.
"No gift is fit to carry the conclusion of a ritual so powerful," Potter whispered, "but magic itself."
Lucius nodded. Potter would have known that, of course. But usually, the wizard who gave the gift had the choice of what it would be. Lucius had demanded the right to specify his gift, though, and Potter was going to let him.
"I wish you to give me the power to speak Parseltongue," Lucius whispered.
Potter nodded. "I thought you would say that," he murmured, and then reached one hand towards his chest as the blue glow of the sword above them brightened and turned deep green, the color of forest leaves in the darkness. Lucius hid his amusement and curiosity. Potter's soul was that deep green color, then, primarily. He would have to go back to his books to identify the many meanings that shade could carry.
Potter touched his chest, and long trails of deep green power flowed out of his skin and coiled in his palm. He moved his fingers and blew on them, and the magic drifted towards Lucius, wrapped around him, and sunk in.
Lucius closed his eyes. The magic joined his heartbeat, a second echoed beat, and then settled fully into him. Potter still possessed the power to speak to snakes, of course, but he had shared his gift. Lucius was now the third living Parselmouth in Britain.
Lucius opened his eyes. Potter, understanding what he wanted, had already moved so that the serpent badge on his robes was right in front of Lucius's eyes.
"A pity that snake will not animate," Lucius said, and saw Potter's eyes widen slightly before he smiled back.
"That would be a useful weapon," he said, and Lucius could hear the others gasping, faintly. Even more faintly, he could make out the sound of the hisses that Potter was actually giving. "Alas, I hardly think the Headmaster would approve of more snakes slithering around Hogwarts."
Lucius nodded once, satisfied. He had barely admitted to anyone, ever, his admiration of Parselmouths, his wish to be one. Such dreams were for children, and he had not been a child since he was five. It had been the reason he had come to hear the Dark Lord speak in the first place, though not the only reason he had decided to follow him. The languid hissing sliding out of the Dark Lord's mouth as he conversed with his snakes was a marvel, and to hear snakes respond…
Lucius could not wait until the first time that happened.
He noticed that Potter's gaze was fixed on him, calmly, patiently, waiting, and he reached towards his own chest. Gray-blue power slipped out and snared his fingers as a solid thing, with a faint cold touch, like mist. He held out his hand to Potter, and Potter clasped it without speaking, as was proper, accepting the gift Lucius offered.
As it happened, Lucius had judged this gift carefully, and he did not think it less valuable than the Parseltongue that Potter had given him, especially since Narcissa had told him what she believed Harry would do and think and feel in the end.
Potter blinked, and shuddered, and looked puzzled for a moment. Then his eyes snapped up to Lucius's face.
"The blue-gray color," he breathed. "That was the color of your Manor and your old family crest."
Lucius inclined his head. "You are now linked to the Manor's wards, accepted as one of the family," he said. "You will be able to pass in and out of the house at will, though anyone who comes with you and is not a Malfoy in blood will still need to be verified with the wards. You are welcome to us, always. You may command our house elves." He saw Potter's eyes spark at that, but he listened in patient silence. Lucius approved. This dance was old, and not the place for whatever new notions Potter might have. "You will be recognized by old family treasures which would not normally respond to any wizard but one born a Malfoy. In good measure, you are ours now, Harry."
Potter did not react to the sudden change of name, unless the deeper inclination of his head sprang from that, and Lucius did not really think it did. "Thank you, Lucius. This is a princely gift."
Lucius smiled at him. "I feel yours is as well."
The magic swelled around them at that, the sword descending until Lucius felt the cold metal on the back of his neck. Then it turned warm, and ran away like water, and the dance ended, and they were bound.
Lucius smirked at the others as he stood and walked away from Harry. Narcissa's gaze was soft, as well it might be. Lucius had explained to her what he meant to do, and she had entirely approved.
He will be tied closely to all of us, but he is now bound most closely to the Malfoys. We have the largest claim on him. When the war is done and the normal round of life resumes, we shall have an advantage with him that no one else does.
Harry backed slowly away from Lucius, dazed. He really had not expected that, and he was still trying to determine just how he felt about it.
Draco caught his eye and smiled at him, and Harry was reminded that he had wanted to give Draco his Christmas gift when he would feel best that evening. He did now, the ancient pleasure of the magic, the ritual repeated so many times that the magic had a life of its own, still sliding across his skin. He lifted his hands and cast out a skein of light between them.
He had once calmed his destructive magic by creating things. He had not determined to do this so that he would have the solace of creation, but it made the gift he was about to give even better, after what had happened to him.
"Merry Christmas, Draco," he whispered, when he was sure that he had Draco's attention, and then remembered.
He turned and spun the light, pouring the memories into it much as he had poured the happy memories of his life with Connor into the memory album. This time, though, they took the form of images, scenes he had lived through with Draco.
He chose their first flying lesson, even though at the time he had been furious at Draco for making him show off in front of other people. Now, though, it was rather funny to see Draco lob Neville's Remembrall into the air and himself chase after it, especially because he could remember the exact infuriating smirk on Draco's face when he caught the little ball and turned around.
He let that scene waver and melt into one of the many study sessions he'd shared with Draco that first year. They'd shared the same Defense Against the Dark Arts book, since Draco had lost his that evening. Harry still hadn't been very trusting, then, but he had let Draco settle in the chair next to him and bend his head over the book beside his. Harry let the colors of the scene slide into a soft light that he knew hadn't come from the fireplace that evening, just to show Draco how supremely, deeply content he had been then, though he hadn't realized it at the time.
Then came the first party after he'd won a Quidditch game against the Ravenclaw team, and Draco laughing at him when he cast a hex on Blaise, and him teaching Draco spells, and their meeting in Diagon Alley the summer before second year, and a conversation in the hospital wing when Harry had still been trying to keep Draco from realizing that the dairy affecting his mind had come from Lucius, and flashes of the Chamber of Secrets tunnel where Draco had walked just behind him into the heart of danger—nothing closer to the Chamber than that; the direct memory still hurt too much for Harry to touch it—and some of the time he'd spent with Draco over the summer afterwards, and how he'd reached out for Draco when he missed his friend after two weeks apart, and how Draco had spoken to him before he went home for Christmas last year, and the way he'd come dashing out of the Manor when Harry had shown up there, and the talk they'd had in the hospital wing at the end of last year, and the apology Draco had given him after he'd summoned Julia and been doused with empathy, and an image of them curled up in bed together.
He ended with a memory he hadn't actually seen from outside, but thought he could imagine well enough: that of Draco hugging him tonight, just before they journeyed to the clearing. He smiled at Draco over the top of the skein of light, and then parted his hands and let it flow away.
He didn't think he could put the memories into a Pensieve and keep them around. They would be too intense for everyday sight. But as a special gift, as a way of showing Draco how much he meant to him, he could do this, yes.
Draco was staring at him with an expression that Harry knew he had never seen on his face before. He looked slightly flushed, and tears stood glittering in his eyes. But he reached out a hand, and Harry went to him without hesitation.
Draco didn't try to pull him into an embrace, just looked at him. Harry forced himself to meet that gaze head-on. If Draco had heard what his mother had said to him, there would be questions later, he knew.
But Draco just nodded for now, and whispered, "I have something to tell you. It's important. Give me—give me a little while, and I can tell you."
Harry couldn't keep his brows from arching in curiosity, but his allies were waiting at their backs, so he nodded back and said, "All right. I can wait."
He turned and met their eyes. Hawthorn and Adalrico had knelt, while Elfrida had settled further back into her chair. Narcissa, of all of them, stood in the forefront, her gaze direct and her smile warm.
"To you, Harry Potter, I pledge my loyalty and my faith," she said. "And as a token of that loyalty and my faith, I give you this." She came forward and gently laid something down at his feet.
Harry picked it up. It was a small hand mirror, made of black wood, with a silvery face. He looked up at her in question.
"This is one of the Black treasures," said Narcissa, "the one I remember the best from when I was a girl. I couldn't resist picking it up when we went—where we went." Harry almost smiled when he realized how reluctant she was to mention the name of the Black house in front of his allies, but he didn't, because it would have been a smile of amusement, and this was not that kind of moment. "Look into the mirror, and it will show you images of the place that my ancestors claimed they came from. A country of fire and air. It's lovely."
Harry blinked. "Why?"
"For when you can find nothing beautiful around you," said Narcissa, and gave him a deep, sad smile. Her voice dropped. "I felt an explosion of Dark magic before you came to us, and the trees hindered our purpose in walking to the clearing. You had an encounter with someone who meant you harm, and I recognize the look in your eyes from the summer you spent with us. It was one of your parents."
Harry hastily dropped his eyes. Narcissa's hand brushed his hair, and then she turned and walked away so that Hawthorn could come forward.
"To you, Harry Potter, I pledge my loyalty and my faith." Hawthorn's voice was deeper than Narcissa's, laden with a different music, and she placed a pot with a vine growing out of it at his feet. "Our home is called the Garden, and many Parkinsons for the last hundred years have taken the names of flowers. What I've brought you is a small plant enchanted to bear hawthorn blossoms. Speak into them, and I will hear you, wherever I am."
Harry blinked. "I thought hawthorn plants were, well, bigger."
Hawthorn laughed at him, lolling her tongue slowly from her mouth. "That is why I enchanted one to bear you flowers, Harry, and not simply brought you a bush," she said, and then backed off.
Adalrico came forward, and dipped his head. "To you, Harry Potter, we pledge our loyalty and our faith," he said. "I speak for my wife as well as myself." Harry nodded. He'd expected that, given Elfrida's condition and her training. "We, perhaps, do not do as well as the others. One gives you a gift of peace, another a gift that will bring her aid. We give you a gift of war."
He handed a small object to Harry that Harry quickly realized was a sheathed knife. He hissed to himself, but he did not think it was the same thing as the knife Lucius had sent him for one of his truce-gifts. He drew the blade, and gasped slightly. It appeared to be made of gold, though the glittering edge said it wasn't; gold would have been too soft. He touched it with one finger and glanced up questioningly at Adalrico.
"One of my ancestors fell in love with a Lady of the Light," said Adalrico softly. "But she would not have him, which is not surprising, since he was Declared Dark and had aided the Dark Lord that Lady defeated. He created this knife to symbolize what he could not have. The hilt is forged of the same rock that makes up Blackstone's walls. The knife blade is sunlight that he captured on a Midsummer evening—the last ray as the sun sank beneath the horizon on the day of longest light."
"I can't take this," Harry whispered. "It's too precious."
"You must," said Adalrico, and folded his hands firmly around the knife. "My ancestor succeeded better than he knew. The hilt is Dark, and amenable enough to our hands. But the blade is Light, and she has never been happy with us. She twists rather than strike true. She shines more for you already than I have seen her do for anyone else. Let her stay where she will be happy."
Harry nodded, and swallowed, and slipped the knife into his robe pocket. Adalrico bowed to him and stepped away.
"Is there anything else?" Harry asked, unable to believe it could end so abruptly, but unable to think of any other rituals that were required, either. He hadn't even known he would meet the rest of his allies here, and so he'd planned nothing for greeting anyone other than Lucius.
"I had one question."
Harry nodded and turned to face Lucius, who had his head cocked to one side, his hair slipping over his eyes. "Ask it."
"We felt an explosion of Dark magic before you came to us," Lucius said softly. "We felt it yearning towards the stars, and then it folded away again. We knew it must have been you. What caused that?"
Harry found himself fighting the temptation to sink to the ground again. He drew in a deep breath, and said, "My mother came to speak to me."
Lucius's eyes widened slightly. Harry wondered why. Had he not thought that Lily Potter was still alive?
No. Wait. He knows something about the prophecy now, or at least the information surrounding the prophecy. That means—
"Your mother made you that angry," said Lucius. "Most parents do not do that when they are merely contradicting their children, and you are not a child who takes so ill to a parent's high-handed decree. She could not have been in danger, or you would have brought her with you. You did not meet happily." He nodded, as though to say he were satisfied with his own reasoning. "What did she do to you?"
Harry could feel Draco trembling beside him, yearning to tell. Snape said nothing. He would say nothing, Harry knew, as much because he felt out of place here as because he would not betray Harry's secrets. But Draco was a danger, especially because he had heard so much. And this was his father. He would see almost nothing wrong with telling him.
"Lucius," said Harry. "Leave it."
"We cannot," said Adalrico, with a dawning note of horror in his voice. "Your mother. What can she have done?"
"You came broken to our home after your mother finished with you last Christmas," said Narcissa, and then her eyes widened as if she were listening to herself. "A year and a day," she said. "Did she come to demand vengeance? And what can she have done? I know you, Harry, and you are not one to let your magic fly simply because your mother made an unreasonable demand of you. What did she say? What do?"
Harry shook his head. "No," he breathed. "I will not speak of this with you."
Lucius made a noise. Harry looked at him, and blinked. He had not realized that Lucius had enough soul left in him to look sickened. "Harry, was there—"
"Do not push me, Lucius."
Harry allowed a bit of his power to flare out from his shields along with his words, and that silenced Lucius immediately. Everyone in the clearing was staring at him now, except Draco, who was clinging to his side like a monkey again, and Snape, who murmured soothing words while looking away so that Harry could have at least one gaze off him. Harry nodded.
"It is over and done," said Harry, when he thought he could speak without hitting someone, either with his fist or with a slap of power. "I see no reason to speak of it again. I see no reason for anyone to confront her. It is done. Pushing matters further in the past only resulted in blood feuds, in endless conflicts between families." He was privately impressed with himself for managing such cool words when his insides were vibrating like plucked harpstrings. "You are my allies, and I do not think this an unreasonable request." He turned his eyes to Adalrico, Elfrida, and Hawthorn. "You swore formal alliance with me, and so you are my family's friends as well as mine. You cannot take up arms or magic against them."
He glanced over his shoulder at the Malfoys. "You are not my family's allies, but we are bonded closely," he said, "more closely than ever now since the completion of the truce-dance. This is the end. It is enough. I want no one to touch my mother again. I want to forget about her."
"Your wounds still bleed," said Lucius, the strange expression lingering on his face. "That is enough reason to destroy her."
Harry forced his eyes to remain blank and calm as he watched Lucius. "I will attack you if you harm her," he said softly. "I'll suffer the backlash of magic from the broken truce, of course, but I am strong enough to survive. I am the one she hurt. I should be the one to decide what vengeance is given, and I say there will be no more."
"This would be the meting out of justice," Lucius spat, a more familiar anger working its way back into his eyes.
Harry shrugged. "I do not care," he said flatly. "This. Is. Ended."
Lucius only shook his head slowly, as though he could not comprehend how Harry thought, but he turned away without another word. Narcissa lingered, looking hard at Harry. Harry refused to meet her eyes, and in the end, she followed her husband.
Hawthorn opened her mouth, but in the end, she had to leave, and so did Adalrico. Both of them had made the terms of their alliance willingly; neither could harm James, Lily, or Connor. Elfrida did stare hard at Harry, pressing his hand.
"If you had been my own," she said, "I would have raised you with love, and with more pride in the strength of your magic than fear of you."
Harry couldn't suppress a wince, but he told himself it was only a lucky guess that let Elfrida pierce so close to the heart of the matter, and not truth. "Thank you," he said, and kissed her cheek.
Her chair floated away, with Adalrico close beside her. Harry took several deep breaths, his head clearing, and then turned and met Snape's and Draco's gazes.
"And now?" Snape asked, his voice emotionless.
"Now," said Harry, picking up the mirror and the hawthorn plant, shrinking them, and slipping them into his pockets, "we go to Dumbledore."
Albus knew they were coming long before they reached his office. That was not solely because of the wards on Hogwarts, either, or because of the spells he had cast on his moving staircase to let him know when someone was nearing his door.
He knew they would come when Lily failed. They would know where this had begun, and they would seek out the one they blamed for this, and doubtless try to hurt him.
Albus was even inclined to let them—up to a point.
The door opened, and the young Malfoy heir led the way. He walked in front of Harry, as though he were a guard. At Harry's back came Severus, his face gone so blank that Albus was reminded of the way he had looked while awaiting his trial on charges of being a Death Eater and war criminal.
Harry stepped around Draco Malfoy and looked at Albus.
Albus looked back, his heart aching. He had made a very bad mistake. He had underestimated Harry, thinking of him as only a mass of needs and emotions that he understood very well. After all, was not Harry the product of Lily's training? And had he not himself trained Lily, taught her to distinguish between selfishness and the world's need, inured her to sacrifice?
But Harry had changed enough in the period between the time he arrived at Hogwarts and now that he had become more than those needs. Albus had been aware of that, dimly, but he had thought that he need only emotionally exhaust Harry, and then isolate him with Lily, in order to turn him back into what he had been, the trained savior that the world so badly needed. People with less damaged minds than Harry had been turned that way. Albus knew the Death Eaters had used the technique.
Lily had misstepped. Harry's eyes were uncompromising, and Albus prepared himself for a list of demands.
"I consider that I have no truce with you," said Harry, speaking in a voice of flat, utter calm. Albus had heard wizards use that voice right before they committed suicide, or induced others to commit it. "You have broken it badly enough that I have no more obligations to you. I ask only noninterference. If you do not hurt me further, then I shall be content to ignore you."
"And the war?" Albus had to ask, since that was the reason he had sacrificed Harry and Lily and Peter and many other people in the first place.
"Neutral allies, perhaps." Harry looked almost indifferent. He would not let Albus touch him again; that was plain in his stance and his voice, even while Draco and Severus looked at him incredulously. "I have no objection to your helping Connor and me fight against Voldemort. That does not mean that I will consider a close working arrangement. And while I accept that I can do nothing about Connor's being in the Tournament by now, I will hurt you again if you hurt him."
Albus sat in silence. This was both more and less than he had expected. He was grateful that he would not have to pay too heavy a price for his mistakes, but he could not see what Harry was gaining from this.
I must be sure, he thought, meeting those blank, hard green eyes. He's a grown man now, I see that, but I don't know what kind of man he is, and I must, for the world to be safe.
"And Lily?" he asked.
"Keep her away from me," said Harry, "unless I ever specifically indicate that I want to see her again. Save her foot, if you can. Do not mention her name to me. I have no more interest in seeing this splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet than you do. But so far as I am concerned, I am an orphan now. I am going to write back to my father tomorrow and explain the situation to him."
"You can't mean that, Harry!"
That was Draco, bursting out with all the passion of one still a child. Albus had seen how he fought Lily, though. He wondered if he should have to consider this boy also a young man, and what it would mean if he did.
"You think I should give James another chance?" Harry looked at Draco in gentle inquiry.
"Not that!" Draco waved one hand. "You have to demand more than that from this fool! Answers, money, that he let you whip him until he bleeds…something!"
Harry turned and met Albus's eyes. Albus flinched.
"But I know why he did it," said Harry softly, into the sudden terrible silence. "He wanted to keep everything as it had been. And now he's seen that won't work. He nearly had a second Dark Lord on his hands this evening. I know that he won't try something like that again. We understand each other now." A faint mocking tone touched his voice on the last words.
"And I know why it's better to leave him alive and not attack him," Harry said. "He's a Light Lord, though he so rarely uses his magic that most people forget that. He's stronger than I am. If I tried to destroy him, he would resist, and that might destroy Hogwarts, Scotland—let us be realistic, half of Britain. I will hurt him only if I must, only if he interferes with me again."
Albus inclined his head. A terrible upset was growing in him, but he could give it no name as yet.
"And he's Headmaster of Hogwarts," Harry went on. "He's tied into the wards of the school. In the last extremity, the school will obey him. I don't fancy giving him hostages to work his will with."
"You can bring him to court." That was Severus, his voice soft, so soft, and bitter. Of course, Albus thought, as he gazed at his old pupil. He has been before the Wizengamot twice now, and not truly believed he deserved it either time. 'Tell everyone what he has done. They would prevent him from remaining Headmaster, and the Aurors do have ways of binding even Lords who have done wrong."
Albus narrowed his eyes and lifted his head. "Did you think I would let you do that, Severus?" he asked.
Severus's eyes stared through him, dark and still.
"I told you before," said Harry. "I won't have that. I won't have my so-called parents food for every carrion crow come to feast. I won't embarrass Connor that way. I won't have everyone knowing what—what happened to me." He shook his head. "They are not to see."
Albus felt a sudden surge of gratitude towards Lily. That she trained him to shun public notice might yet be the salvation of us all.
"But they should be punished, Harry," Draco insisted.
"I'm not interested in casting blame." Harry gave him a flat look. "I told you, I want this ended, cut off so it can't grow any further. That means turning my back on notions of owing them anything else, but it also means giving up the notion of vengeance."
"I hate it," whispered Draco.
"I know." Harry put a hand on his shoulder and kept it there, acting as if he had forgotten Albus were watching. "But it's done."
Albus gave a name, finally, to the feeling rising in his chest. He would have preferred it if Harry had stormed into the office, denouncing him and Lily and preparing to extract a pound of flesh in payment. This quiet, cold way of burying everything in silence was the way a pure Slytherin would take vengeance.
If he is everything that Lily made him, then she sculpted him into a Slytherin, and my advice helped that. We ruined our own plans.
That was too upsetting to think about for right now, so Albus nodded and gave his consent to Harry's terms. There was really nothing else he could do, and this time, he had no notion of violating them. All his plans so far had foundered on the rocks of Harry's personality. He would have to rebuild them from the ground up.
For some reason, though, what haunted him when the three Slytherins had left his office was not Harry's cold gaze or his words, but Severus's eyes, dark and implacable as the deeps of space.
And as unforgiving.
He and Draco were back in their room—luckily, with Blaise and Vince both in the common room bragging about dancing with their dates—before Harry thought to ask, "I thought you had a Christmas present for me, Draco?"
Draco flushed, surprisingly. "Yeah," he said. "My mum slipped it to me while you were dancing with my father." He looked down. "But it feels silly next to the one you gave me."
"Draco."
The word was enough. Draco took a deep breath and slid a flat box out of his robes, which must have been enchanted to insure that it didn't bulge and distort the cloth oddly.
"Merry Christmas, Harry," he whispered.
Harry opened the box eagerly. The other gifts he had received this night had been grand and solemn, and he valued what they represented more than he could value them for themselves. But Draco was outside that. Draco was not just an ally to him, and that made his gifts more than just truce-promises.
Harry found a wizard's chess set inside. He picked up one of the pieces, and stared. It was a Hungarian Horntail, carved as if it were crouched over a nest of eggs. As he watched, it flexed its wings and turned to glance up at him.
Rooting through the rest of the box, he found that all the pieces were dragons. The queens were Horntails in flight, the kings Welsh Greens with their wings half-spread, the pawns tiny dragonets, the rooks the Horntails on their nests, the bishops snarling Chinese Fireballs that warmed his fingers when he touched them, and the knights rearing Antipodean Opaleyes. All of them moved on their own, even if it was only to swivel their eyes and roar, and all were colored in the appropriate hues for their scales.
Harry shook his head and swallowed, then looked up. "It's wonderful," he said. "How?"
Draco blushed. "I owled the instructions to my mother," he said. "She got it made. But I paid for it out of my own vault. I wanted you to have it, Harry. The dragons didn't leave you enough of themselves. At least you can remember them now."
Harry carefully set the set on the bed and grabbed Draco, tugging him to him hard enough to make the dragons bounce and snarl in their box. He held his friend tight, until Draco made a muffled complaint about breathing. Then he muttered into his ear, "You idiot. It's perfect."
Draco shivered, which was odd, and made Harry wonder if he still had a bit of melting snow down his neck or something. But he pulled back with a pleased smile and said, "I'm glad you like it. Do you want to play?"
Harry was more than happy to start playing. It distracted Draco from asking questions that he didn't want asked, for one thing.
But it also made Draco's face flush further when he found out that the Chinese Fireballs were resistant to being moved, and he argued with several of them, while they responded by trying to bite his fingers off. For some reason, Harry found, he really liked watching Draco when his eyes were bright and he was animated like that.