Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!
This is late because it's the longest chapter I've ever written, plus eleven thousand words. Stupid monster chapter.
Chapter Forty-Six: Harry's Stake
Draco had followed everyone else to the hospital wing, though he'd lingered behind out of necessity. Harry's distress reached across the distance that separated them, as piercing as the exhaustion that had made Draco faint on the day before the First Task. This time, though, he couldn't faint, because the emotions were not exhaustion—a simple heavy pressure—but the chill slime of guilt, and the stone wall of determination, and a vision of looking down a long, starless well that Draco had learned to identify as Harry's self-loathing.
Harry might have survived whatever happened in the hospital wing, but he would need Draco when he came out.
And he did, for all that when he finally managed to force his way through the crowd outside the doors of the hospital wing, he didn't look as if he needed anyone. Draco caught his breath at the sight of Harry's face, so grimly resolved that he thought his father would have bowed his head and stepped aside. Harry looked as if he were going to an execution or a battle. He hated what he was doing, or so Draco knew from the emotions he radiated, but nothing would stop him from doing it. Events had finally kicked him past his reluctance to bring attention to himself, or to interfere with other people. Things were going to happen now.
Draco pushed himself away from the wall, letting his own pride and awe and love support him in the face of those overwhelming emotions, and stepped up to Harry's side.
Harry's green eyes had been absolutely fixed on the path ahead of him, as if nailed there, but they turned and met Draco's now. They flickered when Harry realized who it was. He inclined his head in a rapid nod, and then turned forward and strode on again, as if pushed by a great wind.
Draco smiled and fell into place at Harry's right shoulder. He may hate what he's going to do, but not everyone does. I rather intend to enjoy it. I'm just glad that he doesn't have empathy that matches mine.
Harry hated on what he had to do as he walked.
He was setting the limits in his mind, drawing them sharply, reminding himself of what he could not do, no matter how angry he became. There were Snape and Draco behind him—and he trusted Draco to restrain him even more than Snape—but they were more flexible on matters of free will than Harry was. They might think it reasonable for Harry to do everything that was against Dumbledore's will, simply because the Headmaster was an enemy right now.
Harry didn't want to. He had had enough of that. He would demand information. He would make absolutely sure that Dumbledore had rules established for his interaction with the wards and the protection of the school after this. He would make it understood how very, very displeased he was that Dumbledore had told him nothing about McGonagall also entering Harry's name in the Goblet. Dumbledore had rigged it so that only Connor's name would come out, of course, but that still meant he had no right to ignore the danger Mulciber presented. He should have told Harry about this on Christmas night, if not sooner.
Harry could feel the throb of the Headmaster's power spreading out before him. Dumbledore had retreated to the Great Hall, and gone no farther. He intended to make a stand there.
Harry wondered why at first. The more public this was, the worse it would be for Dumbledore. But he understood it when he stepped through the doors of the Great Hall and met a number of skeptical and surprised gazes. Dumbledore was using mild compulsion on the witnesses. What they saw might not be what they thought they were seeing.
Harry snarled in spite of himself, and felt the Dark rage, thestral-like, stamp its hooves inside him. This was why he might lose control and destroy all his own fine intentions. He could have dealt with Dumbledore endangering him as only a breach of his promise, the way he could have dealt with Mulciber threatening him as just what a Death Eater would do. For someone to threaten his own life was no more than what he expected. To threaten or hurt other people…
This must be dealt with first.
Harry took a moment to glance over his shoulder and make sure that Snape and Draco were free. Snape nodded slightly to him, indicating that he once again had his Occlumency shields braced against the onslaught, though he might not be able to speak. Draco moved nearer and rested his hand on Harry's shoulder. The slight haze in his eyes cleared at once.
Using his empathy and his focus on me to chase away the compulsion, Harry decided, and then turned to face Dumbledore.
"Let them go," he said quietly. "Now."
The Headmaster watched him in silence for long moments. He had a look that Harry had never seen in his eyes before. This was probably the way he appeared on the field of battle, Harry reflected. His gaze was clear, but testing, and his magic swirled lazily around his body, a barely visible silver shimmer in the air, gathering and coiling its strength beneath it like a tiger about to spring.
"I would feel better," said Dumbledore at last, "if I knew what you were planning."
"I am planning to make you answer for your crimes," said Harry. "And that means that you will answer me as to the state of the wards, as to the state of the gray web holding the merfolk in the lake, as to why a Death Eater could roam the school unsupervised and cast the Imperius on the professors, and as to why you never informed me that Professor McGonagall had put my name in the Goblet of Fire."
"I did not."
Harry blinked at McGonagall as she stepped forward from the crowd of mute, fascinated, staring people. He frowned when he looked at her, and especially when he saw Dumbledore's frown. Apparently, McGonagall should still have been under his compulsion. How had she broken free?
A line of blue light crawling down from the ceiling answered that. It lapped around McGonagall's feet like a pool of spreading water—one of the wards of Hogwarts, reaching out to her.
Harry gave a smile he was sure was hard, and glanced at Dumbledore. "The wards seem to prefer the Deputy Headmistress to you, Headmaster," he said softly. "Is that because you've been abusing them?"
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "You do not know what you are saying, Harry," he murmured. "As always, you think only of the immediate ramifications of your actions, and not of the consequences that might lie out of sight. Consider what will happen if you drag private matters into the public sphere."
"I hardly think your incompetence a matter for privacy any more," said Harry, moving a few steps forward. "Professor McGonagall, you were put under Imperius to place my name in the Goblet of Fire, and then Mulciber, in disguise as Moody, Memory Charmed you into forgetting that you'd done it. Dumbledore would have known at least that you had put my name in, if he had looked. Given that he's using these wards to spy on people, he could have known far more than that. But he never bothered to inform either you or me."
"You cannot trust what a Death Eater tells you, Harry." Dumbledore's voice was deep, a song of flowing water. The people under his control were swaying slowly back and forth, Harry noted, though the motion was so slight he would not have noticed it if McGonagall weren't standing still. "I did not investigate the matter because I assumed that Minerva simply wanted you to enter the Tournament. That is all."
"I do not feel I can trust you either, Light Lord." Harry tilted his head back. "Release these people."
"Harry—"
"Do you really fear them seeing and hearing the truth?" Harry asked. From the storm gathering in McGonagall's face, he could see why Dumbledore would, but he could hardly admit it if he wanted to present himself as acting in good faith. "Release them. I will not ask you again."
Dumbledore just shook his head, his face now wearing a patient smile. For all his wariness, Harry thought, he still believed he could win, and that it would just take a few stronger applications of his old tricks. "Harry, you are a child in age, for all your experience. There are many things you do not understand about politics in the wizarding world. I am a Light Lord, as well as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and you cannot simply command me."
"I warned you," said Harry quietly, and awoke the snake that lived in his magic.
He hated doing it, but the hatred did not keep him from opening the snake's jaws and beginning to eat Dumbledore's magic, any more than his sorrow and rage last year had kept him from pinning Connor to the wall when he crossed a certain line. This had to be done. Dumbledore would never believe him in earnest if Harry did not back up his threats. And the one good thing about doing this was that Harry spared anyone else from having to make the same decision.
Lily had often told him that what set Dumbledore apart from other wizards was his capacity for making the hard choices, the ones that other people would dither over until it was too late. Harry would have to be able to make them, too.
And it is harder than I ever believed it was, away from the comforting security of knowing what my place is in the world, and knowing that there's an absolute good in protecting Connor and fighting the Dark Lord. I have to judge what's good and what's evil on my own, now, and there is so much chance of making a mistake.
So I'll decide, and if I make mistakes, I will face them.
Dumbledore's power washed towards him, and poured smoothly down the snake's throat. Harry had done this once before, though then he hadn't realized what he was doing; he had simply ripped and torn at Dumbledore's magic, seizing it indiscriminately. Now, he had learned a bit better, and directed the snake to eat the compulsion on the witnesses. Witches and wizards stirred and began to buzz as the snake steadily swallowed more and more.
This power, unlike that which he had stolen from Voldemort and the Death Eaters last year, did not make Harry ill. It was the magic of a man who had dedicated his life to Light, after all, no matter how much he had slipped up in these last years. Harry therefore did not vomit it back up, or need to use it for something else immediately. He made it part of himself, pressing the alien power into his own until they blended seamlessly together.
The raw power pouring from his body grew stronger and stronger, strong enough to sing in his ears, and Draco gave a drunken little giggle behind him and whispered, "Your magic smells like roses."
Odd, Harry thought, but then could pay it no mind as Dumbledore began to fight back.
The magic glimmering around the Headmaster formed into a vortex and headed straight for Harry. He didn't know if it was the result of a spell or a specific gift of Dumbledore's, and he had no time to find out. He lifted a hand, and his wandless magic poured easily through his skin and formed a Harry-shaped barrier that extended out and in front of him. The vortex met it, and both it and the barrier shimmered and vanished as though they were mist burned away on a summer morning.
Harry lifted his head with difficulty, and fixed his eyes on Dumbledore's. The snake hissed, wanting to eat more of the Headmaster's magic, but Harry restrained it. He had made his point, from the terror behind the mask of calmness on Dumbledore's face.
Besides, he'd eaten enough that he would really hate to absorb more, at this point. He felt top-heavy. It would take him some time to become accustomed to the new weight of power.
"I can stop now," he said quietly, though he knew Dumbledore would hear every word, even under the excited, confused buzz coming from behind him. "You have two choices, Headmaster. Oppose me, and you'll lose more of your power. Yield to me, and you at least have a chance of getting out of here with some of your magic intact." He forced his lips to move into a smile. "I promise nothing about your dignity."
Dumbledore continued staring for a long moment. Harry could all but feel his mind racing, as though he had swallowed some of his thoughts, too. There were other plans he could make. There must be other plans he could make. Dumbledore was used to fighting back, through war after war when it must have seemed as though the Dark would win. Normally, nothing could stop him. There must be some third option he could find, some way out of the tight bargain Harry proposed.
Perhaps, if he had had more time or hadn't been in front of a crowd of staring outsiders, including his own outraged Deputy Headmistress, Dumbledore might have found a way. As it was, he bowed his head, once, his eyes still glimmering with battle-readiness. "Ask your questions, then," he said.
Harry nodded, once, and put the snake to sleep. "Why did you leave holes in the outer wards?"
"I did not know they were there until I began to inspect them after you captured Rabastan Lestrange." Dumbledore was trying hard to make it sound as though this were not his fault, but his voice was not as melodic and reassuring as usual; Harry had stripped him down to near bone, and it showed. "Then, yes, I found many small holes that Mulciber must have worked to expand into larger tears, and others that had not registered as holes, but as doorways opened by professors keyed to the wards. Those are ordinary occurrences, as when Professor Snape wishes to bring in potions ingredients that the protective spells in the wards might object to. Normally they are closed at once. That did not happen this time."
"And you did not sense it?" Harry demanded. He had to raise his voice slightly as the voices of the witnesses turned into shouts of anger and disbelief. "You did not close the doorways when they didn't shut on their own?"
"I did not pay as much attention to them as I should have," Dumbledore admitted. "I was concentrating on the inside of the school, and I can only spend so much time in contact with the wards before I must retreat and rest. That is why the professors are keyed to the wards in the first place," he added, obviously trying to regain some face. "They are responsible for making sure they shut the doors they open, rather than leaving such duties entirely up to the Headmaster."
"Rather hard for them to remember it, when a Death Eater is using Unforgivable Curses on them. Why did you pay more attention to the inner wards, at the expense of the outer?" Harry heard at least some people muttering in confusion about the Death Eater and the Unforgivable Curses, but he would make them understand in a moment. For now, he wanted to hear the reasons from Dumbledore's own mouth. Mulciber would have said anything to save his life. He could have been lying.
"I was watching matters inside the school," Dumbledore began.
"Spying," said Harry coolly, and heard several outraged gasps.
"I was watching," Dumbledore corrected him, tone going frosty. Harry suspected they were near the limit of how much he could push the Headmaster without backing up another threat. "I wanted to be sure that the students inside the school were safe. Matters are delicate in the time of the Tournament; it's not unknown for students from different schools to develop intense rivalries, when they are quartered so close together. And, of course, when we have a fourth-year student with the power of a Lord walking about, it pays to keep a close eye on him."
A few gasps trod on Dumbledore's announcement. Harry wondered if it came from his admission, or if there were some people who had not believed that Harry's power was Lord-level until Dumbledore confirmed it.
He will turn this back against me if he can. I must not let him.
"You devoted so much attention to the inner wards that you neglected the outer ones," Harry summed up. "It was negligence, and not malice."
Dumbledore obviously wanted to find something to say against that, but with Harry cutting down the options to two—negligence or malice—he must have realized that a denial would make it seem as if he had done it on purpose. The best he could do was say, "Yes. I should have paid more attention."
Harry shook his head. "Do you think, Headmaster, that you deserve to remain in charge of a school where you care more about watching the students than the students' enemies?"
Dumbledore's eyes widened. Harry simply stared at him. He did not know if he could get Dumbledore actually backed out of the Headmaster position—he suspected not, not when the admission was negligence and not malice—but if he made one broad threat, then he could look compassionate and humane when he put restrictions on Dumbledore instead.
Yes, I can look that way. And I make myself sick with these lies. Of course, I don't like being honest, either. I wish that I could sit in a corner and not have to speak at all. I wish everyone would leave me the hell alone and not pay attention to me.
Someone moved at the edge of the crowd behind Dumbledore, where McGonagall still stood with the ward coiled around her feet. A moment later, Lucius Malfoy was bowing with poise Harry had never seen from him, his voice helpful and solicitous.
"Forgive me for interrupting, Mr. Potter, Headmaster Dumbledore," he said, "but I came to witness the Second Task. I sit on Hogwarts' Board of Governors, and I considered it my duty. Mr. Potter, I am sure that the other members of the Board could be called together, if it is deemed necessary. Most of them are deeply concerned with the school's safety, as their own children—and my own son—live here ten months out of the year. We could hold a vote. The Governors, voting unanimously, can sack the Headmaster."
Harry met Lucius's eyes for a moment, and saw a chill gleam of amusement dart out of them. He was playing the game, then, and would follow where it led. He would not push for Dumbledore's sacking if it proved impossible, but he had added a new pressure, to show that the Headmaster had more opponents than one child.
"I made a mistake," Dumbledore was saying now. Harry felt his power briefly flex, as if he were about to throw it over the minds in the room or add it to his voice, and then he obviously remembered what Harry had done to him the last time he compelled people. His magic settled back down again. "I must confess, I am old and sometimes do not think as closely about things as I should, but I would never willingly endanger Hogwarts." Harry could hear the ring of sincerity in his voice, and knew that that alone, along with Dumbledore's reputation, would convince a great many of those watching. "It was the result of carelessness on my part, and not malice. I have already admitted that. I do not see that I should be sacked for a mistake."
Harry lifted his head consideringly, and glanced at Lucius. "Hmm. What do you think, Mr. Malfoy? Is the Headmaster of Hogwarts allowed mistakes?"
Lucius curled his lip to hide laughter, but gave a judicious nod. "I think so. He is only human." That would strike a blow against Dumbledore's invincibility in some of the listeners' minds, Harry knew. "I am sure the other governors will agree." That would mean Lucius was not sure of persuading everyone else to vote against Dumbledore, Harry knew. "But what are we to do to make sure Hogwarts is safe? I would not leave my son in a school where Death Eaters can intrude at will." There could be no doubt that Lucius was laughing on those last words, not if one knew him.
"The Headmaster has many burdens to bear," said Harry. "He has already admitted that. Perhaps some help?" He faced McGonagall, and saw her eyes slowly widen as she realized what he would ask of her. "Professor McGonagall, you are Deputy Headmistress. The wards seem to like you. Would you object to being more keyed into the wards? Perhaps bearing some of the burdens that Headmaster Dumbledore now carries all alone?"
McGonagall slowly inclined her head.
"Minerva has many tasks of her own," said Dumbledore, now attempting a jovial tone. "She is Transfiguration professor, and the Head of Gryffindor House. Would you make her busier yet, Mr. Potter?"
"I am willing, Albus," said McGonagall firmly. "I should not have left it this long, truly." She drew nearer the Headmaster and patted his arm tenderly. Harry could not help but be impressed, to see any Gryffindor act so well in the face of open stares. "I should have sensed what you were struggling through and helped you before this. I am sorry for my own negligence."
Dumbledore's face reflected his inner struggle, but in the end, as Harry had known he would, he had no choice but to give in gracefully. Admitting he had made a mistake was one thing, refusing help for it another. He nodded and said, "I will key Minerva to some of the wards. I swear it by Merlin and my magic."
Harry lifted his head. "Now, Headmaster, will you still find it necessary to watch the students inside more than the enemies outside?"
Dumbledore looked at him, narrow-eyed. Harry looked back. In some ways, of course, their respective positions were absolutely ridiculous: a fourteen-year-old boy chiding a wizard over a hundred and fifty years old, the defeater of Grindelwald, a Light Lord and Headmaster respected by thousands. But Harry knew—had realized, in a way he had not, before—that strength of magical power was a trump card to nearly everything else. He might not be able to demand that Dumbledore step down as Headmaster of Hogwarts, but he could demand some consideration from him. And Dumbledore would have to listen. Harry's right to demand this much was in every breath of the magic that radiated from him.
I hate it.
Harry shoved the thought away. There was no time for it right now.
"I will not," Dumbledore said at last, "I am certain, if I have someone at my side to share the burden."
Harry nodded. "And now, Headmaster, about the Death Eater roaming the halls—"
"What is this?"
Harry turned his head, and caught Rita Skeeter's eye through those enormous glasses she wore. He stifled the temptation to shake his head. She had her quill hovering above her notebook, poised to take down whatever he said.
"Professor Moody, hired to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at the beginning of the year," said Harry, his voice as steady as he could make it, "turned out to be the Death Eater Mulciber, one of Voldemort's servants, who escaped from Azkaban last year." He ignored the gasps and flinches when he mentioned Voldemort's name. Possibly he could have been more diplomatic and used one of the evasive titles instead, but he hadn't thought of it, and he wouldn't change it now, which would make him look weak. "He was the one who helped Rabastan Lestrange get through the wards, and used Imperius on various professors to bespell them into creating still more holes in the wards. Then he used Obliviate to make them forget what they'd done."
"Where is he now?" asked Skeeter, her voice trembling with something Harry suspected was eagerness. He wondered if she would have tried to track down Mulciber and interview him, if he was still alive.
"He is dead," said Harry quietly. Gasps sounded around him. "He faced me in the hospital wing and tried to make me a bargain for his freedom and life, bragging all the while that the Headmaster had not the least idea of what he'd done. I made a collar he wore to protect his mind explode, and the explosion killed him."
Some of the members of the audience edged backward, and Harry understood that, too. If this was going to be utterly in the public eye, then his own reputation would suffer along with Dumbledore's. This was why it would take some time to move Dumbledore out of the Headmaster's position. Some governors were likely to vote for him to stay not out of approval of his actions and motives, but out of distrust of Harry's.
"So we have only your word for it, then," said someone from the side. Harry glanced towards her, and made out the eager brown eyes of yet another witch holding a notebook. This was probably one of Rita's rivals, he thought, perhaps even another reporter for the Prophet itself.
"I was there," said Snape softly, his hand tightening on Harry's left shoulder. "I can confirm his story, and both of us would be willing to testify under Veritaserum."
"But aren't you Professor Snape?" asked the woman, her quill scribbling away furiously in her notebook. "The boy's guardian? I don't think that you would have an unbiased view of the matter."
"Show me someone who has an unbiased view of Death Eaters who hold them under the Imperius Curse, madam," said Snape, his voice growing extremely dry.
She blinked at him, obviously uncertain.
"Headmaster," said Harry, before they could wander too far afield. "I want to know why you never sensed Mulciber's deception."
"The collar," said Dumbledore at once. "The Hounds in the Ministry wore similar collars. When they were removed, they nearly killed them. I did not wish to harm Professor Moody. I had no reason to doubt that he was the real man, as he had picked up odd habits in his old age and his paranoia. I believed the collar to be merely another of them."
Harry nodded. It was the answer he had anticipated Dumbledore would give. "And you picked up nothing strange about him in all your spying through the inner wards?"
Dumbledore winced and gave him a helpless glare. Then he said, "No."
"So perhaps watching through the inner wards is not as profitable as you deemed it to be, then?" Harry pressed. "Perhaps it should stop?"
There came a sharp inclination of Dumbledore's head. He would have said something different if they were not in front of an audience, Harry thought. But then, everything would have happened differently if they were not in public.
"Good. I'll hold you to that, Headmaster." Harry pressed onto another subject. "And why did you not inform me about my name being placed in the Goblet of Fire? Didn't it concern you that someone submitted my name?"
"No," said Dumbledore quietly. "You are the most powerful student in the school, my dear boy." The word student was stressed just slightly. "It is not unusual that someone should be convinced that you would win if they submitted your name. The competition between the three schools has always been intense. If you could win the Tournament, you would bring honor and glory to Hogwarts." He paused, his eyes challenging. "But the Goblet chose your twin instead."
"Yes, it did," said Harry. He wondered if he should reveal that it had been Dumbledore who had made sure of that.
A movement off to the side caught his eye. He turned his head, and James was there, standing on the edge of the crowd where Lucius had been, his face helpless.
He came.
Harry swallowed. Explain Connor's name in the Goblet, and then he would have to explain why Dumbledore was so insistent that his twin compete, and that would lead to the reasons he had for wanting to control Harry, and that would lead to the whole mess of Lily and James and Harry's home life and his training.
He held the power to destroy both Dumbledore and his father right now, not to mention Lily. Child abuse was a taint that would stick and stink, not a mistake to be excused with a claim of an old man's forgetful memory. Harry had seen reports of child abuse trials dragged on for months and months in the Daily Prophet, and even in cases where the allegations turned out to come from a misunderstanding, a reek clung to the names of the parents involved forever after.
He would drive Dumbledore and his parents from any semblance of a normal life if he revealed the truth now. That would alienate James, permanently, just when he was making some kind of gesture of reconciliation. It would turn Dumbledore into the kind of man Mulciber had been in the last moments of his life, with nothing else to lose, and no reason to hold back on doing the utmost evil he could.
And it would bring him into contact with Lily again, and hurt her when Harry only wanted to be done with her. And it would all but ruin Connor's life, at a time when he was still under the stress of the Tournament.
And it would have everyone staring at him. It would convince most people that he was a victim, that he was deserving of pity.
Neither Harry nor his allies could afford that, at this juncture when he had to be strong. Harry himself did not think he could take it. He never wanted anyone to think him weak, that he was in some need of comfort or coddling.
Harry turned away from that poison, and said only, "And the web on the merfolk, Headmaster? I could see it coiling when I was under the lake. Something was happening. The merfolk barely interfered with the Champions when they came to rescue their prized people. Why?"
Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes. "The webs and spells which keep us safe from the merfolk," he whispered, "are three-cornered. One is linked to the selkies of Britain, one to the merrows of Ireland, and one to the sirens of Greece, as they are the three most vicious tribes of their kind, and the three most likely to harm humans." He opened his eyes again. "One of the webs has been torn free from its anchor. From the immense distance involved, I would say that the sirens of Greece are free, and that they have become part of Lord Voldemort's armies."
Harry shivered. He closed his eyes as shouts and loud denials exploded around him—wizards denying everything from Voldemort still being alive to sirens being of any good to anyone, since all they wanted to do was sing and enchant humans.
They are Dark creatures, then. Their voices compel people. No wonder I was hearing the Dark music sing under the lake water.
Voldemort does have the power to destroy a web. He can't manage most spells without a wand, but if he simply sent raw power flowing at something…who knows what he could accomplish? Or perhaps he possessed someone else and lent them magic enough to break the spell.
I wonder why I didn't dream of this? Then Harry grimaced as he remembered the sleeping enchantment McGonagall had put on him. Perhaps the vision did try to come, but it couldn't get through the barrier of that spell.
"I believe the webs on the selkies and the merrows should hold," Dumbledore was saying, when Harry opened his eyes again. "They have been destabilized, but not completely torn. They will hold firm. That is, as long as no one interferes with them." He gave Harry a warning glance.
Harry stared steadily back at him. He hardly intended to dash out to the lake and free the merpeople there. He had no idea how they would act once they were free; at least he had made sure the Dementors could harm no one, and the unicorns were creatures of Light who never would. He knew so little about merfolk that he would have to study them before he decided what to do about the webs.
He looked around the room, and realized that the news of the sirens' freedom and Voldemort's return had put a stop to the questioning. Most people looked ill. They wanted to go away and chew on everything they had heard. Skeeter was already gone, and so was her brown-eyed rival, presumably to write up their articles.
"Can I trust you to keep honest?" Harry asked Dumbledore. "To accept restrictions on your use of the wards, and Professor McGonagall's being keyed into more of them? To not use compulsion any more?" He let the snake flex around him, reminding Dumbledore of what would happen if he did not comply.
Dumbledore bowed his head, slowly, proudly.
"He will have me to keep him honest, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall, sliding an arm through Dumbledore's. "I will make sure of it." Her eyes met his, still angry.
Harry nodded to her, and turned on his heel. He could see James coming towards him, but he couldn't spare the time to deal with his father just yet. There was someone else who needed his help.
"But what makes you think that Moody is still alive?" Draco complained, then ducked as Harry lost patience with the locking spells on Mulciber's door and simply blasted the damn thing open. Harry collected the splinters of wood as they tried to fly into the hall, and shifted them into a pile on the floor. Snape stepped up beside him, wand drawn, though he relaxed when they found themselves looking into a fairly normal room. Harry hadn't thought that Mulciber would have any Dark artifacts lying about anyway—the possibility of discovery was too great—but the delicate wooden tables, silvery carpeting, and large bed seemed too innocent.
His gaze drifted over and fixed on a large trunk at the foot of the bed. It had enough locks on it to qualify it as suspicious. He strode towards it, while behind him Snape lectured Draco.
"Mulciber was using Polyjuice to resemble Moody, Draco. What have you learned about Polyjuice?"
"That it takes a month to brew," said Draco, sounding confused. "That it requires hair from a living subject, though the—" He paused. "Oh."
"Oh indeed," said Snape, and then came up beside Harry, who was studying the locks. "Perhaps you are looking for these, Harry?"
Harry glanced up as Snape handed him a bunch of keys. He blinked. "Where did you get these?"
Snape nodded at one of the wooden tables. "There, under a Disillusionment Charm." He raised his eyebrows. "You did not notice the Charm?"
Harry felt his cheeks heat up, and shook his head. He was simply moving too fast, running on too much adrenaline. He sighed, murmured, "Thanks," and fitted the first key into the first lock.
That revealed a bunch of books, but unless Mulciber had Transfigured Moody—and Harry did not think he had, as he would have to have hair for the Polyjuice—he wasn't there. Harry shut the trunk lid, as it was the only way he could fit the second key into the lock, and this time revealed a goodly number of quills, pieces of what looked like a smashed Foe-Glass, and a subtle shimmer that proved to be an Invisibility Cloak when he thrust his hands into it.
Harry shut the lock with a shake of his head, then tried the last key on the ring, and the last lock on the trunk. This opened into a chamber that seemed to spiral straight down into the middle of the floor, though really, Harry knew, it led into the middle of the trunk. He had started to set one foot on the series of steps curving along the stone wall when Snape seized his arm.
"Where do you think you are going?" he hissed in Harry's ear.
Harry stared at him, then stepped out of the way while Snape cast several sensing spells on the stairs to reveal any traps. He rubbed his face. He could have done that if he'd thought of it. He just wasn't thinking. His entire body seemed to be twitching, consumed by the need to move, to do things.
He jumped when a hand came to rest in the middle of his back. He relaxed, however, when it started to rub. "Hush," Draco whispered to him. "It's all right."
Harry wanted to say it wasn't, but he could feel the hand relaxing him, and he nodded and waited in forced patience while Snape finally, grudgingly, conceded that Harry could go down the steps, as long as both Draco and Snape followed him.
They descended into a stone room that would have fit seamlessly into one of the dungeons at Hogwarts, and was equally bare of decoration. On the floor, senseless, lay a thin and heavily scarred man, half-naked. Harry winced at the sight of him. His hair was ragged from multiple cuts, and his ribs stood out under his skin, and he was covered with bruises and minus his wooden leg and magical eye, but there was no doubt that this was Moody.
Harry knelt down beside him and shook him gently, ready to jump out of the way if he struck; it wasn't a good idea to wake a trained Auror too suddenly. However, Moody's eyes slid open to reveal a glazed expression, and Harry nodded. He'd guessed that the man would be under the Imperius Curse. Mulciber wasn't one to leave a dangerous opponent lying around without it.
"Finite Incantatem," Harry whispered, and his magic surged out and wiped the Curse from Moody's mind. Moody blinked his one eye at him, then abruptly growled and reached for a wand that, of course, wasn't there. Harry made a mental note to find it.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" was the first thing the real Moody said to him.
Harry smiled in spite of himself. "Someone come to rescue you, sir," he said. "You've spent months at the bottom of a trunk that I guess you own. Mulciber, one of the escaped Death Eaters, impersonated you and used your hair for Polyjuice Potion. I'd guess he kept you under Imperius most of the time."
Moody reached up and felt at his hair, then grunted, seeming to accept the truth of Harry's story. For all his mistreatment, he sat up with an agility that impressed Harry, and scanned the bottom of the trunk. He dismissed Draco, but his eye locked onto Snape, and he issued a low growl. "Death Eater bastard," he said.
"Moody." Snape didn't sound best pleased, and he kept hold of his wand as though he were about to use it the same way he had on Rabastan. Harry made a mental note to find out what that spell that had so unnerved the Death Eater had been. "You know full well that I was part of the Order of the Phoenix, and that I spied on Dumbledore's orders." He paused, then added delicately, "Though no longer."
Moody laughed, a sound that reminded Harry of one of Sirius's bark-like chuckles. He held out an arm, and Harry supported him without further question, holding him upright as he swayed on his one leg. "Who do you serve now, Snape? Changed your mind and decided to go crawling back to Voldemort?"
"No," said Snape. "I walk at Harry Potter's side. The boy who rescued you, Moody."
Moody turned his eye sharply back on Harry. "I did ask who the bloody hell you were," he said, as if it were Harry's fault for not telling him earlier. "Potter, eh? I know your father, and I remember reading you about in the Prophet before—all this happened." He grimaced as if he'd bitten into something foul. "Where's Mulciber, anyway?"
"Dead," said Harry quietly.
"Harry killed him," Snape elaborated, ignoring Harry's glare effortlessly.
Moody paused a moment before he turned his head back to Harry, as if he'd been waiting for his magical eye to look at him first. "I bloody hate having a blind spot," he said. "You killed a fully-trained wizard? A Death Eater?"
"Only because I had no choice," said Harry. "Can you walk, sir? I'm sure that your wooden leg and your magical eye can't be far away. We'll get you out of here and reunited with them, and then you should go to St. Mungo's, I think. They can treat you there."
"No need, Potter."
Harry jumped in shock, though he couldn't do much of that when he was under the weight of Moody's arm. Luckily, Snape and Draco had both pivoted already to point their wands at the two women who'd descended the stairs. Harry wondered if he should be reassured or not that he recognized both: Auror Mallory and Tonks.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, ignoring Moody's muttering about his secret room becoming a "blasted parade ground."
"The Minister is here," said Mallory. "So of course we came along. The reports of Death Eaters at Hogwarts have reached us by now." She bared her teeth a bit. "I regret to say that I can't do it myself all the time, since I am the Head of the Auror Office now, but the Minister's decided that there need to be Aurors in Hogwarts. A rotating guard of, say, five should be sufficient."
Harry blinked his eyes. "And you'll take Moody and Lestrange?" he asked.
"Of course." Mallory bowed to Moody. "Auror Moody is an old and valued comrade. And we should have Lestrange anyway, for questioning. We should have had him from the beginning." She gave Snape a mildly disapproving glance. Snape ignored that, too, focusing on something that he looked far more interested in.
"What has the Headmaster to say about Aurors in his school?" he asked.
"He isn't being given a choice," said Mallory. "The Minister's assigning them, and his authority to assign the Aurors to such guard positions overpowers the Headmaster's right to object. Besides, who can object to guardians who will add to the children's sense of safety? I'm sure most parents will be in favor of the move." She had a self-satisfied look, Harry realized, and he doubted that it was a coincidence Scrimgeour had chosen her to head the Auror Office.
"Indeed." Snape resembled Auror Mallory more than a touch in that moment. Harry let out a cautious breath of relief. He still needed to speak with Snape, that much was plain, but perhaps his guardian would be satisfied with this form of revenge and not go against Dumbledore.
"I assume the Minister wants to speak with me?" Harry asked.
Mallory nodded, and moved over to assist with Moody. Tonks, her hair bright green, started forward to help, but tripped over her own feet, so Mallory sent her up the stairs to find Moody's wand. "He wants to ask you some questions about Mulciber's death, Potter, and how Lestrange intruded."
Harry wiped at his eyes. Scrimgeour, James, Snape…then I can go off by myself and think about this. "Of course."
As it turned out, the interview with Scrimgeour was mercifully short. He asked a few pointed, penetrating questions that Harry suspected came from Auror interrogations, then pronounced Mulciber's death a clear case of self-defense. He would have to speak with Amelia Bones, still the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but he didn't think she would demand a trial. Harry sagged in relief.
The only remotely worrying thing the Minister said came as he was leaving. He said, his eyes studying Harry's, or perhaps the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, "I think I told you once that I had an ability to sense Dark magic, by virtue of using only Light spells all my life."
Harry nodded.
"I sensed an enormous explosion of Dark magic here on Christmas night," said Scrimgeour quietly. "It must have been powerful indeed, for me to receive so many echoes in London. Would you care to explain what that was about, Mr. Potter?"
Harry swallowed. "No one died, Minister. One person was hurt, but Madam Pomfrey healed her."
"No one died," Scrimgeour said. "But I think you are wrong about only one person being hurt, Mr. Potter." He paused a moment, as if debating, then said, "The Ministry keeps records of travel through the Floo network, you know. There was one name on the list of arrivals at Hogwarts on Christmas Eve that caught my eye. Lily Potter." He looked hard at Harry. "Could that have something to do with it, do you think?"
"She's resting at our old house in Godric's Hollow," said Harry, his own voice sounding hollow and mechanical to his ears. "You could go visit her if you like. I'm sure that she would tell you she was fine." She would, Harry knew. Lily and Dumbledore would hardly admit what had really happened that night to anyone; it would ruin them as well as Harry.
"I'm sure," said Scrimgeour. "But she made you powerfully angry, Mr. Potter. And given that, and what you said at your guardian's trial only a few days before, I have been turning certain things over in my mind. Piecing the evidence together, you might say."
Shit. Harry had confessed to not feeling safe with his parents at Snape's trial. He kept his face as bland as possible. "I hope that you catch the perpetrator, Minister," he said.
Scrimgeour smiled. It was a faint expression, with his lips pressed together, and as dangerous as a mouthful of teeth. "I'm sure I'll run them to ground eventually. Good day, Mr. Potter." He turned and swept out of the Great Hall, trailing several Aurors who'd come along behind him. Moody and Rabastan floated in their midst on conjured stretchers, as did Mulciber's body. Mallory remained, with Tonks, assigning some others to guard positions.
Harry stood where he was for a few moments, calming his breathing. Then he turned. James would be up in the hospital wing, with Connor.
"What did he mean, Harry?" That was Draco's voice, low in his ear. "You're radiating panic hard enough to—" He paused. "Do you think that he knows about your parents?"
"It's not that I'm afraid of that," Harry whispered back. "But I'm afraid of what he might do with the knowledge." And he was. Scrimgeour was relentless—patient, but relentless. Harry did not want to think what would happen if he brought James and Lily up on charges.
The only thing that Harry couldn't figure out was why Scrimgeour would expend the effort. He was Minister now, with dozens of more important tasks occupying his mind. He and Harry had done each other favors in the past, but this would be something more than a favor. He would probably put other investigators on the case instead, Harry concluded, and they would be unlikely to find as much. He made himself stop worrying about it.
"He would do only good things, I am certain."
Harry abruptly turned. Perhaps I should have my conversation with Snape now. Most of the spectators had left the Great Hall before his conversation with Scrimgeour, hurrying home to spread the news by firecall or owl post, and many others had been herded away by the Aurors. Not too many people would be around to see him and Snape talking.
"Sir," he said, "I think there are some things you should understand."
Snape's eyes widened minutely, but he nodded. "I am listening, Harry."
Harry glanced at Draco. "Do you want to tell him about what you gained, or should I?"
Draco gave him a dirty look, but nodded and stood a bit taller. "Sir, I'm an empath now," he said. "Julia Malfoy, whose ghost I summoned on Halloween, gave me that gift. I'm a Malfoy magical heir now." He smiled. "My father will wait at least a year to be certain about it, but he'll introduce me as his own heir soon."
Snape nodded, face shadowed. "Congratulations, Draco. I fail to see why Harry would wish me to know this, however."
"Because Draco is aware of my emotions," said Harry. "That means that I accept I can't hide from him, and I trust him with more of myself than anyone else." Draco sidled a step closer to him. Harry couldn't feel emotions himself, but was fairly sure that Draco would be radiating delight. "And I know he loves me, too." His voice still cracked when he spoke the words aloud. He determined to ignore it. "What I say to him, or what he says of me, is the truth. I know that we haven't been very close since you came back from your trial. I would like to be able to trust you again, the way I trust Draco. For that to happen, you'll need to stop planning revenge on my parents and Dumbledore."
Snape stilled. Then he said, "May I ask why?"
"Because I don't want anything to happen just because of what they did to me," said Harry. "Never again. That period of my life is closed. And if—" Merlin, this is hard. I hate honesty. "I do want a parent, you're my best choice, but I can't have you planning revenge on all and sundry. I can't trust you if I think that you're going to hurt me by making me relive my past at any moment." He took a deep breath, and met Snape's eyes. "I want to stay with you this summer. I want to have a proper guardian, not just in a legal sense, or just one who's opposed to my parents. I need to know that I really am more important to you than your grudge against James."
Snape made a low sound. "Of course you are, Harry."
"But it doesn't feel like that." Harry moved a step forward, and felt Draco lean fully against him, arms falling to clasp together around his waist. He resisted the urge to wriggle out of the hold. "Please, Professor Snape. Promise me that you won't seek revenge against them."
Snape dropped to one knee. "They deserve justice for what they did to you, Harry," he said quietly. "And I fear that you will never heal until they receive that justice."
"I am healing," Harry objected. "Draco won't let me be anything but honest with him now. And I can heal even more with two people I can be honest with, as long as I know that you aren't doing something I really, really don't want you to do."
Snape sighed, a sigh that seemed to drag out most of his grief and set it hovering in the air between them. "This matters that much to you, Harry?"
"It does." Harry feared what Scrimgeour would do if he discovered the truth about his parents, but he feared more where and how Snape would strike if he kept running this path of vengeance. Scrimgeour was at least scrupulously loyal to the law. With him, it would be a trial. With Snape, it could well be torture. Harry had seen how close his guardian's Death Eater side sometimes was to the surface. He did not want to encourage it—for Snape's sake as well as his own and his parents' and Connor's.
"I promise."
Harry blinked. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he had barely heard the whisper. "What?"
"I promise," said Snape. "So long as you are in need of healing and safety and a guardian first and foremost, Harry, I swear that I shall do my best to protect you. In the name of Merlin, you are more important to me than a stupid grudge from my schooldays." He paused, and seemed to be fumbling for words. "It will be hard to be civil around your parents or the Headmaster, but I promise that I will not hurt them."
Harry stepped forward, pulling gently away from Draco, and put a hand on Snape's shoulder. He didn't want to force him into a public embrace right now. "Thank you. That was what I wanted to hear."
And he did believe Snape. His own shoulders felt lighter, and the thought of dealing with his father in the hospital wing was no longer so terrible.
"Do come talk to me soon," Snape murmured as he clasped Harry's hand. "I would like to hear about Draco's empathy, and—much of the rest of it."
Harry nodded to him. "I will." Then he turned and made for the hospital wing. Halfway there, he noticed Draco walking beside him. He gave him a strange glance.
Draco gave him another one back, as though to say Harry had been stupid to think he'd let him go anywhere alone.
Harry rolled his eyes and continued climbing the stairs. He just hoped Draco didn't make his conversation with James any harder than it had to be.
James started up anxiously from beside Connor's bed when Harry entered. He came a step forward, then stopped when Draco followed and looped his arms possessively around Harry's waist again. Harry couldn't help a fretful wriggle this time, since this felt too good and he didn't like the temptation to lean back against Draco, but the arms stayed in place.
"I promise I'll be good," Draco whispered coaxingly, and Harry gave in. To have Draco behave was well worth the potential discomfort. He raised his eyes to his father's.
"I was watching the Second Task," James whispered. "I—decided I should come and see it, since my sons were in it. But I couldn't see clearly when Connor was injured, and then I had no idea what was happening until after you came back to the Great Hall." He let out a sharp breath and glanced over his shoulder at the hospital bed. "Lestrange could have killed him."
"He almost did," said Harry. "I'm only going to ask you this once. Did you know anything about Lily and Dumbledore's plan on Christmas night?"
James shook his head. "No. I—Lily sent me a letter telling me about it, in detail, afterward. But I swear to you, Harry, in the name of the sunrise our ancestors came from, I didn't know." His eyes, large and too dark in his pale face, met Harry's entreatingly.
Harry nodded, slowly. "And are you going to be a pain in the arse about Professor Snape being my guardian, or not?"
James said nothing for a long time. Draco muttered something inaudible, but Harry nudged him, and he shut up. Harry didn't think his father was refusing. He was thinking, and sometimes, that took him a long time.
James turned to look back at the bed again, then at Harry.
"I saw what you did today," he said. "And I—I don't think I can object any more, Harry. There's no point in trying to rebuild the kind of relationship we had when you were a child." Draco muttered something else, but James didn't pay any attention, and Harry forced himself not to. "You're a young man, not a child, and while I'd still like to be part of your life, I can't replace what Snape is to you."
"What about Connor?" Harry asked.
"He'll have to decide for himself." James paused, then said, "I was going to suggest in my next letter that you two consider coming to Lux Aeterna for the Easter holidays, but I don't know how well he'll take it. He said—he wrote me a letter yesterday that—" James shook his head and broke off.
"He will have to decide for himself," said Harry, unsure how well Connor's decision to forsake his parents would stand up in the face of this subdued, quiet James. "So will I, for that matter."
James nodded. "What do you want from me right now, Harry?"
Harry had to study James in silence before he could say anything. James looked sincere enough now, but he'd looked like that before, at the end of last year, and that hadn't turned out to mean anything. Harry had no obligation to give him a second chance. After what he'd done, bringing charges against Snape and then sending only silence, and then the Pensieve, and then the sharp letters, Harry knew that most people would think him totally justified in throwing his father over.
But he'd trusted Snape when he said that he would change, and he did not truly think James could be trusted less than Snape, altogether. Harry certainly had less trust in him at this moment, but he trusted no one with much except Draco.
I could do worse than to set limits.
"I want you to go home," said Harry. "I want you to write letters to me that actually talk about you, and what you're doing, rather than trying to convince me to abandon Snape. I don't want you to come and visit me unless I specifically invite you. I don't want you to mention the Easter holidays again, or press me about them, and I don't want you to mention Snape at all."
James nodded. "I can do that."
He didn't ask for more, didn't press, and Harry marked that down, carefully, as one possible difference between him and the old James.
"Connor will have to make his own decisions," he said. "But if I find out that you're trying to use or pressure him in any way, then that's the end. I'll cut off all contact between us."
"I understand," said James.
He didn't make another move, didn't say another word, just continued to gaze at Harry beseechingly. Harry wondered what he wanted from him. There was no way that they could have anything normal.
In the end, Harry didn't want to try that, either. He didn't have anything else to say to this man whom only blood connected him to.
He turned and walked calmly out of the room, his pace forcing Draco to loosen his hold around his waist. Behind him, he heard James move to resume his place at Connor's bedside.
Harry would have thought about staying, too, but he didn't want to stand in awkward silence with James, and Madam Pomfrey had assured him that Connor wouldn't awaken before the morning, anyway; she'd put him under strong sleeping charms to give the healing magic time to work. He wanted, more than anything else, to go to his room and consider the events of the day and be alone.
His plan, he quickly discovered, wouldn't work, and that was because of Draco.
Oh, Draco glared Blaise and Vince out of the room quickly enough, his face telling them that now was not the time to press Harry for the details of any of his exciting adventures. But then, when Harry sat down on his bed and said, "I'm fine, you can go now," which should have been his cue to leave, Draco sat down beside him instead.
Harry stared hard at him. "I said, I'm fine, and you can go now," he repeated.
"You didn't have an 'and' in there the first time," said Draco. "That proves I heard you. And I don't care, Harry. You shouldn't be alone right now."
"I should," Harry said. He could feel the emotions he'd pushed away waiting to swamp him. He would probably break down, the calm part of his mind noted. He didn't want anyone seeing that. He wanted to curl up and lick his wounds, and the easiest way to do that was by himself. "I have to think things through."
"You mean, brood on them."
Harry shrugged. "There will probably be some of that in there, yes," he said, and closed his eyes. Mulciber was dying, and the water was filling with blood as Connor caught the Slicing Curse across his abdomen, and Scrimgeour's yellow eyes were shining thoughtfully as they tracked the path of pieces of information to its logical end.
"You're forgetting again, Harry," Draco whispered, as his arms slid one more time around Harry's waist. "I'm an empath. I felt your emotions earlier. You hate yourself for what you've done. You hate all of this, violently—being a leader and putting yourself in the public eye and the attention that's going to come along with it. And I don't think that it works for you to bury this and sit on it in silence. It didn't work with your mother."
Harry flinched. "Don't touch me, please," he said.
Draco let him go at once, but Harry could feel his gaze on the side of his face. He refused to open his eyes. Not only would looking at Draco make things worse, but that wouldn't allow Harry to see his own visions of what had happened today as clearly. He had to look at them, to categorize the emotions that had come with them and decide how he was going to think of them, so that he could put them away.
"Why not?" Draco asked.
It took Harry a moment to connect the question with his declaration. He hesitated, but Draco had become scarily good at telling when he lied, and anyway, there weren't many deceptions he could use that Draco would believe. "It feels too good," he said. "I'm going to—I don't know, do something like lean against you and cry if you touch me, and I don't want to."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to be weak," Harry snapped in exasperation. That much, Draco should have known. Mulciber died behind his eyes, and Harry wondered if there was anything else he could have told them about Voldemort's plans. That was a reason to regret killing him, but not the strongest one. He had still been a living wizard, capable of changing. Harry still did not see what else he could have done in that situation, but he was determined to think of it with horror, so that he would never use his power casually, the way Dumbledore and Voldemort had done.
"Why not?"
"Will you ask something else?"
"All right," said Draco, calmly. "Why do you think you'll be weak if you do something like lean against me and cry? I've seen you cry before. I don't think you're weak, Harry."
Harry let out a harsh breath. This will be hard to answer, but if it gets Draco to go away and leave me alone, it's worth it. "Because this is only the beginning of the war," he said. "Things like this are going to happen all the time—people getting hurt around me, people dying, me killing people, people staring at me." People seeing me. I hate that. "I can't get used to crying about it now, or I'll never be able to stop. I thought it would be easier than this, because I had the training to prepare me. But it isn't, and that means that I'm not as strong as I should be yet. So I'm trying to finish the process."
"Fuck that," said Draco, his voice rough, and grabbed Harry and dragged him towards him.
Harry struggled for a moment, but then, just as he had been afraid would happen, the warmth crept in around him, and he found that he didn't really want to move. And oh, Merlin, he was going to do something soppy any moment. And he just couldn't afford that. He had to make conscious decisions, analyze what he had done, and know his own reasons for his own actions. He regulated his breathing and refused to let the tears burning behind his eyes fall.
Why am I crying anyway? I learned a valuable lesson from Mulciber's death. Connor will live. The Aurors took Lestrange away. Moody was rescued. Snape and Dumbledore and James all know what they have to do now. I have nothing to cry about.
The most satisfactory answer that came to him was exhaustion, but he'd slept deeply under the influence of the sleeping charm, without interruption, until the moment when he awakened under the lake. That couldn't be it. He hadn't had anything to eat today. Maybe that was it.
And if Draco would just stop touching him, Harry thought he could hold on. At the moment, Draco had shifted to lean against something, the pillows or one of the bedposts, and tilted so that Harry's head was tucked in under his chin. He was cradling Harry's shoulder with one arm, and running his free hand up and down Harry's back, and it felt incredibly good, and it terrified Harry beyond measure. He tried to curl in on himself, but the position Draco had him in wasn't a good one for it. He could feel his breath quickening with panic. He didn't think he could hide anything like this, even the few things he'd managed to conceal successfully from Draco.
I don't want someone seeing me. This is stupid. I can't do this. I'm supposed to be strong, and no matter what I am, a vates or an ally or a leader or a rescuer, that's true. I can't be strong like this.
What terrified him the most was that he couldn't just lash out with his magic and get free of Draco that way. His own reluctance to hurt Draco, and his own shameful desire to stay exactly where he was, got in the way.
"Please," he whispered. "Please, Draco, let me go."
"Not this time," Draco whispered back. "Most of the time, Harry, I would. But sometimes you make the wrong decisions. And this is one of those times." He rubbed at Harry's shoulders, making them hunch because his skin was prickling. "I promise you, I'll be here if you wake or sleep, cry or don't. I'll do anything for you right now, except let you go or leave."
Harry tried to curl in on himself, but he couldn't. He tried to prevent himself from being seen, and didn't think he could.
This is wrong. I can't have it. It's only a double-edged dream that'll slice us both open in the end…
And then he realized it didn't matter anyway, because frustrated, furious tears were already making their way down his face, and he'd shifted so that one of his arms was clutching at Draco with a death grip. Draco didn't wince, refused to wince, no matter how hard the pressure got.
"I hate this," Harry whispered. "I hate almost everything about this."
"I know," said Draco, and didn't say anything else.
Harry closed his eyes. I have to say this. He needs to know. "But I don't hate you," he said. "I can't."
Draco still didn't say anything. Harry felt another mixture of shame and guilt and self-loathing well up. How can I keep on taking from him like this? What can he possibly be getting out of this? We're not equals. I don't give him as much as I take. Shit. How can this possibly last?
"Stop that," Draco whispered into his hair. "I can feel you feeling that, you know. And I want to be here, Harry. You're giving me everything I want right now."
Harry swallowed, and forced himself, slowly, to believe that that was true. It didn't need to be true tomorrow, or for the rest of their lives. It might be true right now, and he didn't really think Draco would lie to him.
Slowly, imperceptibly, he relaxed.
Maybe it's not such a bad thing, being seen.