Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!
Sorry this one is so late; it was unavoidable. And yes, it is largely a transition chapter, with lots of talking. Nothing to be done about that, either.
Chapter Sixty-Seven: Only Forward
Harry met Draco in the hallway outside the hospital wing. Draco had a worried look on his face, but, to Harry's surprise, it didn't relax into relief on seeing him. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and hissed, "What are you doing? Madam Pomfrey told you to stay in bed the rest of the day!"
Harry shook his head. He'd honestly forgotten his promise to the matron, and had only wanted to see Draco and tell him the decision he'd come to. "I'm sorry. I—"
Draco took his hand and pulled him back towards the door of the hospital wing. At least he kept his voice low as he snapped at Harry. "I think you should show her that hand. What if the wound becomes infected?"
"It was cauterized—"
Draco closed his eyes. "I either didn't know that, or I'd forgotten it," he whispered. He nudged the doors of the hospital wing open and pulled Harry back to his bed. Harry rolled his eyes, but complied with the motion. It seemed like something Draco needed to do.
Once he was arranged to Draco's satisfaction, Harry took the opportunity to begin his speech before Draco could go off into some rant about how inappropriate it was to be running around with a missing left hand and a cursed bite wound. "I wanted to let you know that you won't need the sleep potions and the body-binds and whatever other spells you had ready," he said. "I'm not going to go off into danger without telling you again."
Draco stared at him. Harry stared back. He did consider this a true resolution, and if he didn't yet dare tell Draco everything—Dumbledore could be listening through the wards, and was almost certainly doing so—he could promise this much. It would relieve the most pressing worry Draco had about him.
"You can't just change your whole behavior like that," Draco said at last, revealing the source of the disbelief in his eyes.
"Yes, I can." Harry balled his hand into a fist, and it felt as though the left one were doing the same, even though he knew it wasn't. Fawkes, who had briefly vanished when Lily had gone, popped into being on his shoulder again and let out a soft, reassuring croon. Harry let it soothe him back into a faint smile at Draco. "If I concentrate. If I try to remember, instead of just dashing away. I can't say I'll stop trying to save other people's lives, but I'll talk to you about it and take you along." He imagined what Dumbledore would be thinking as he listened, and made his voice soft and submissive, a sop for his invisible audience. "It's the least I could do, after—after the graveyard—" He turned his head away as though overcome.
Draco leaned forward at once, his confusion evident. "Harry?" His empathy would be telling him something much different than Harry's words and expressions, Harry knew.
"I can only ask you to trust me, Draco." Harry raised his eyes and made his gaze as intense as he knew how. "I made you the promise you wanted. Now will you please leave me alone?" He dropped a whine into the middle of his tone. That would help fool Dumbledore, too, to think that Harry was recoiling into himself instead of reaching out.
Draco blinked, once, twice. He knew Harry was passing some sort of hidden message along to him, but seemed unable to make much more of it than Trust me.Wait.
Since that was the only message Harry intended to give, he was satisfied, or he would be if his friend just accepted it, gave in, trusted him, and waited.
Draco bowed his head. "All right," he whispered. "But I don't believe that you'll keep this promise yet, Harry."
"That's understandable," said Harry. "You'll have to see me keep it first, right?" He closed his eyes. "I think I'll rest for a little while," he said. "I went—I mean, my mind feels tired. Thinking, you know." That was another silent gift to Dumbledore, to make him think Harry was tempted to talk about the conversation with Lily, but wouldn't. He let his breaths sidle closer and closer to true sleep.
Bewildered silence from the side. Harry rested, and waited, and hoped that Draco did not push it. He did mean his promise, as it happened, but Draco being too suspicious could mean a renewal of the compulsion, and then he would fail to keep his promise, because he would be dashing into danger all the time.
Besides, Draco would want to kill Dumbledore and Lily if he knew about the compulsion or the visit. Promise or no promise about Lily, Harry trusted him to find some way around his words if he felt strongly enough. Telling his parents was an option, as well as abducting Harry to Malfoy Manor.
It would take Harry some time to persuade him that forgiving Lily and Dumbledore, helping them heal, was best, rather than angrily opposing them. What they had done was—well, done. What they could do in the future was what concerned Harry, and the moment Draco let himself be persuaded Harry wanted to rest, he would start changing Dumbledore's actions.
"All right," Draco whispered at last. "All right. Since I didn't tell Connor about you yet, and it's not common knowledge you're in the hospital wing, I'll go and do that." He paused, but Harry didn't open his eyes to see the expression on his face, which left him with the gesture when Draco leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I love you," he whispered, and then departed.
Harry breathed, and breathed, and breathed, and then reached out along the bond to Fawkes. Fawkes, is Dumbledore paying attention to us at all?
The phoenix began softly singing a song that Harry thought was a lullaby. It formed a vision in his mind, however, of the Headmaster reading paperwork with a smile on his face. Harry gave a shallow nod. Yes, he thought Dumbledore had been watching him after all during the conversation with Draco, but now he wasn't.
Slowly, carefully, Harry explained to Fawkes what he wanted to do, altering his opinion several times when the phoenix gave a little croon of approval or chiding. Then he reached out, even as Fawkes lifted his voice in more glorious music, and carefully touched the outer edges of Dumbledore's mind.
The Headmaster was a floating presence in the school, a much more powerful one than anyone else. His gifts of magic and compulsion, as well as his mind, extended beyond the edges of his body like an aura. Harry walked carefully through them, guided by Fawkes, who lived in this world of light and color and fire all the time. He was alert to any small twitch that would reveal Dumbledore had noticed them and they would have to leave before he could sense who it was.
Dumbledore kept concentrating on his paperwork, though, and Fawkes found Harry an old door from the time when he used to be Dumbledore's friend. In a few minutes, Harry stood in an unfamiliar mental world, shaped like Hogwarts, but with odd decorations: much wider windows, mirrors reflecting the constant flow of sunlight through them, and only three House crests, repeated separately and in a twining flow of lion, badger, and eagle. Harry was unsurprised to see that the lion was the largest in the shared pictures, rearing over the eagle and the badger as they crouched and looked up at it.
No place for the snake here, he thought, then shook his head. Sarcasm wouldn't put him in the right mood to start gently rendering Dumbledore's compulsion powerless, and such an odd thought might shove his presence to the forefront of Dumbledore's mind.
Carefully, with Fawkes a mental presence beside him, he sought out the compulsion, here represented by Hogwarts's wards. The Headmaster had used this particular gift to enforce his will so often that it underlay all his other magic. Harry had a hard time thinking of a way to tame it, until he remembered that Dumbledore was a Declared Light wizard.
He reached up and touched the mental analogue of Fawkes, asking to borrow one bright feather—not actually a feather, of course, but the phoenix's magic and will concentrated into images. Fawkes crooned happily and let one drop into his hand.
Harry began waving it, lighting a small fire at the tip of it. The wards came alive at once, Dumbledore's compulsion reacting first to a mental intruder, and Harry felt the Headmaster lift his head, blinking.
Harry reacted back, drawing up the fire from Fawkes's feather and sending it in shining strands to loop around the compulsion. Even then, however, he did not create a web; he did not think he could do so and still keep a clean conscience about the healing. He set the light flowing in streams, delicate and fascinating—and familiar to Dumbledore. He would think his phoenix was trying to reconnect with him.
The wards turned to follow the streams. Dumbledore was thinking about Fawkes now, Harry knew, as memories of the phoenix flashed past him. He did not realize—of course, he couldn't unless he was actually in his own head now and witnessing what Harry was doing—that the wards of compulsion were flowing alongside the streams of light, subdued by their interest. There was another presence here, they knew now, but it was one who had been once been friendly. And the light was so brilliant. Anything that added friendly radiance to the inside of their master's head was welcome. Part of Dumbledore's gift would focus on following the extra light around, some of his thoughts would shift in that direction instead of focusing on other things, and he would never know what was truly happening.
And since the part of his mind taken up like that was the one that did most of his compelling, that would greatly lessen his intention of compelling other people.
It's a delicate defense, but it will do for now, Harry thought, as he slipped out of Dumbledore's mind and back into his own. Fawkes came along with him, song low and peaceful. This had been a good idea, and he was happy to have helped.
Harry did feel a faint pang of guilt. He wished he could simply have spoken with Dumbledore, instead of interfering with his free will in any way. But he didn't think Dumbledore would listen to him the way he was now, and he would almost certainly renew the compulsion. Harry had to be careful, had to hide. In time, he would, he thought, free the Headmaster from the cage he'd put himself in.
I suppose Snape would think that unworthy, he reflected drowsily, the mental effort combining with the magical to relax him. But I can forgive his crimes against me if I want, and I'm not the one who has the right to punish him for his crimes against others. What I can do is make sure he won't commit any more. That is more worthy than any other course of action, whatever Snape thinks.
Harry woke up near evening. For a few moments, he lay in silence, enjoying the slanting, purple light, his mind perfectly blank and perfectly at ease. The only person with him in the hospital wing was Fawkes, and that helped increase the sense of rest.
Then the hospital doors were flung open, and Connor came storming down the middle of the aisle of beds, staring at Harry all the way.
Harry winced when he sat up, and saw his brother's eyes go immediately to the side of his chest where the bite mark was, and then to his left hand. Harry winced again, and stifled the urge to moan. Draco told him everything, didn't he?
"I asked Malfoy to set a spell telling me when you'd wake up," said Connor casually, as he sat down in the chair next to the bed. That chair is seeing a lot of traffic today, Harry thought, attempting to take his mind off the misery of the impending conversation. "And then I asked him to leave us alone while we talked. He did both those things. That's good of him, I think." He paused. "There was one thing I didn't tell him."
Harry frowned, unable to imagine what that could be. Was it how worried he was about me? That was flattering, to think his brother was that worried about him, but from the fixed stare Connor went on giving him—for one moment, and then another, and then another—Harry doubted that was it.
"Well?" Harry asked at last, and tried to make a joke. "I've had enough suspense in the last day, Connor. Don't leave me in it now."
Connor ground his teeth with an audible sound. "I had a letter from James," he said. "It was a short letter. He didn't need long to babble at me and tell me that everything was fixed, that everything would be all right over the summer." He leaned forward, until he was approximately three inches away, staring at Harry. "He said that you wanted to come spend the summer with him and Lily at either Godric's Hollow or Lux Aeterna."
Harry sucked in a breath between his teeth. He would never have thought that James would be so stupid as to write to Connor. Of course, perhaps he thought that Connor would agree as long as Harry sincerely wanted this.
Connor had got to be more like Draco and Snape than James in the last few months, though. There were times that he would distrust and oppose Harry because he thought that would do the most good, Harry thought.
And he knew, none better, how stubborn his brother could be.
"Look, Connor—" Harry began, soothingly. Dumbledore would understand if he talked like this, he thought. Having Connor tell what he thought was the truth to other people would interfere with the summer plans, and that was not something Harry wanted to deal with, particularly if Snape found out.
I hate this secrecy. But I have to hold to it, or the thing they all think is true will be true. Dumbledore will probably panic and put me under a compulsion strong enough that I can't break it—
Wait. McGonagall. She has some control of the wards. As long as we do it when the Headmaster is occupied, or Fawkes and I strengthen our hold on him a little bit more, then I can ask her to manipulate the wards so he can't hear us. Then I can tell Connor and Draco the actual truth.
Harry relaxed. Connor didn't miss the change. He'd had his mouth open to rant, but now he sat up and shut it, his hazel eyes hard. "What?" he demanded.
"Professor McGonagall already gave me a lecture today," said Harry, letting his voice whine again. "If you really want to lecture me, go get lessons from her. Or just bring her here." He rolled his eyes, then pinned Connor with the same intense glare he'd given Draco, trying to talk with his gaze. "I'm sure that she'll be just thrilled to hear what you have to say. And so will Draco. And all of you will be so thrilled to hear my response." He let his head fall back on the pillows and turned away as if sulking.
He could feel Connor's silent bewilderment. But he must have thought he had nothing to lose. Harry certainly wasn't going anywhere.
"All right," he said. "All right. I don't know what's going on, Harry, but something obviously is." His voice grew firm again, as though he was not about to let whatever Harry had to say change his mind. "And when I come back with them, I really do expect to hear all about it."
He stood up and left the hospital wing, less dramatically than he'd entered it. Harry rolled back over and slowly exhaled.
Is he busy, Fawkes?
The phoenix let out a reassuring croon, and Harry braced himself to wait, hoping that it wouldn't take Connor long to find Professor McGonagall and Draco and return with them.
The three of them entered sooner than Harry would have liked—sooner than he was ready for, at least. He tried a nervous smile, but it fell flat at the dangerous gleam in Draco's eyes. Connor had told him about James, then. Harry swallowed.
Draco didn't even wait. He had his wand drawn as they approached the bed, and he tried to cast a body-bind on Harry.
"Expelliarmus! Mr. Malfoy!" McGonagall did not so much bark the words as hiss them. She grabbed Draco's wand and fixed him with a steady stare. "I suppose you have a good reason for trying to hex Mr. Potter?" Harry could see dislike in the lines of her face. McGonagall never had liked Draco, and Harry wasn't sure why, other than the fact that he secretly sneered at her, and had mocked her behind her back, and made it plain that he thought he could do Transfiguration better without her instruction…
Yes, come to think of it, that might be enough reason.
"He's clearly acting irrationally, Professor," said Draco coolly. "I told him what would happen the next time he did that. And he doesn't keep his promises, either," he added, with a harsh glance at Harry that didn't hide the hurt behind the anger.
"Deputy Headmistress," said Harry, earning McGonagall's scrutiny. He knew Dumbledore wasn't paying attention right now, but he could start doing so at any moment, and that made it so hard to ask for what he wanted. "Could you—that is, you're making progress with the wards, aren't you?"
Connor stared. Draco blinked, and then nodded as if he got it.
McGonagall had seized it faster than either of them, by the slight widening of her eyes. Harry wondered if she was as completely Gryffindor as he had always thought she was.
"Yes, I am, Mr. Potter," she said. "Would you like a demonstration?"
"If you don't mind," said Harry, slumping back against the pillows in relief. He fought not to wince as that strained the bite wound. That would be healed tomorrow, Madam Pomfrey had said, or possibly tonight, and that meant that he had to just live with the pain until then.
McGonagall nodded once, and then lines of red and gold coiled around the bed. Harry studied them, but wasn't familiar with them; many complicated wards were really layered defensive spells, not single ones in and of themselves, and could only be understood by wizards who cast them or integrated their essences into them. Harry asked Fawkes in his head if the wards would prevent the Headmaster from listening in, and Fawkes warbled his approval. Harry relaxed a little further.
"The Headmaster thinks I'm his good little dupe," he said. "I'm not, not really. But I have to pretend to be for the next few days, or he'll think something's up."
"And that would have something to do with you going back to your parents?" Draco's voice was a hammer blow.
"I've decided not to do it, now," said Harry quietly. "I don't know where I'll stay for the summer yet, but that option's definitely out." He hesitated, then decided that no explanation would be good enough without the full truth. At least with McGonagall, a responsible adult, there, Draco was unlikely to go storming off to the Headmaster's office and try to hex him. "Dumbledore put a compulsion on me that took advantage of my weakened emotions, and worked with my training to make me think this was a good idea. Fawkes finally broke me free of it this afternoon."
"Was that when Lily visited?" Connor demanded. "James said she was going to."
Harry frowned. I'm disturbed that he's taken to calling them by just their names, instead of what they were to him. He was calling James Dad just a short time ago. Really, I can't blame him for not wanting to be around Lily—and I wouldn't want him around her either—but I hope his relationship with James can be salvaged.
He had another reason to wish that Connor had kept quiet a moment later, when Draco made a sound that resembled a groan and a sigh and a whimper all mixed. "Harry," he whispered. "You would have gone that far backward?"
"Only forward, now," said Harry impatiently. "It was the compulsion, I told you."
"And where are you going to stay for the summer?" McGonagall's lips were pursed, but her face wasn't pale, as Harry had half thought it would be. Instead, her eyes shone. She looked as if she were going forth to battle.
"I don't know," said Harry. "I haven't decided that, yet."
"The Manor," Draco whispered. "Harry, you have no other choice, unless you change your mind about Professor Snape."
Fawkes crooned helpfully on Harry's shoulder, and once more poured his choice—the vision of the Sanctuary—into his mind. Harry shoved the vision away, splintering it into shards of light, not hard enough to hurt the phoenix, but hard enough to make his rejection plain. "No," he said aloud. "Either the Seers or Snape would make me go backward. They're too obsessed with the past. I have to go forward. I can't go crawling back to Lily, and I can't obey Dumbledore the way he wants me to, and I can't dwell on the past. I've decided to forgive Lily and Dumbledore—"
"What."
Draco said it as if he could not believe it, as if it would not dare to be true, as if the reality of the universe would bend and change with his words, and make Harry the unforgiving kind of person who would insist on punishment. His eyes were large now, and not less bright than McGonagall's, though Harry knew the cause was different.
Harry drew in a deep breath. "Draco, listen to me."
"I don't want to," Draco whispered. "I don't want to, Harry. That—that's insane. You've left them alive behind you how many times, and they've come back up to stab you in the back how many fucking times?" By now he was shouting, and if Harry had had empathy himself, he was fairly sure he would have been overwhelmed by Draco's emotions. "No. No. I refuse to allow this, Harry."
"Draco," Harry repeated. He hated to do this, but it was the only way to arrest Draco in the middle of an action that might otherwise cause everyone more pain. "You promised to leave her alone."
"I never said anything about him," Draco snarled.
"I'm handling him." Harry almost laughed at the expression on his face, but the first ripple through his muscles made the bite ache like hell, and he muffled it. "Did you think I would make the resolve to move forward and then leave him alone? No. I'm confining his compulsion, first. I'll have to move slowly. He's so alert, and I have to access his mind through Fawkes. But I can handle him. I want to keep him from hurting others, and me, too. Then I'll do what I can to get him to listen to me, and see that what he did was wrong."
"And her?" Draco's voice was low and ugly.
"I'm not sure yet," Harry admitted. "It will probably depend on where I stay for the summer. I'll ignore her for the eight weeks if I can, so that I can get some rest and decide on a better course of action. Otherwise, I'll make sure that she can't touch my brother or anyone else she might go after, and then handle her by letter. I think, so long as she believes that she might have some chance of influencing me, I'll always be her prime target."
"You're handling this all wrong," Draco whispered.
"And how would you suggest I handle it?" said Harry, then held up his hand. "No, wait, never mind. You would suggest that I expose everything that happened to the wizarding world." He shook his head. "That wouldn't get them justice, Draco, nor healing and understanding. That would get them ripped into bloody shreds."
"That's what they deserve!" Draco didn't even seem to realize that he was breaking his promise not to speak ill of Lily. His face had gone so savage that Harry didn't recognize him. Of course, he was still Draco—just a part that Harry had never met until now. Draco was usually gentle with him, understanding so much and urging him to take steps only as he felt ready for them. Not now. Very much so, not now.
"Pardon me if I don't think seeing the Headmaster of Hogwarts ripped to bloody shreds would do the war effort much good," said Harry, freezing his own voice. "Pardon me if I don't see what good it would do Lily, who doesn't even have magic to defend herself any more, forced to act out her shame on the stage of the Daily Prophet. No. I'll handle this, Draco. I won't be kind in forcing them to face up to their delusions. And I am going to use force on them, the same way I would on Voldemort and other people who've proven they won't stop at certain limits. I'll feel guilty about it, but I'll use it. I'll handle this."
Draco just stared at him, breathing hard.
"And now I have to ask you to make another promise," said Harry.
"I don't care what you make me swear by." Draco had never resembled the dragon he was named for more than at that moment, Harry thought. He reminded Harry of the Welsh Green, as much disdainful pride as anger. "I am not going to swear a vow not to hurt Dumbledore."
"That isn't what I meant, you prat," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to ask you not to tell Snape about any of this."
Draco went quite still then, as if he had thought of something Harry didn't know. He bowed his head. Harry felt the struggle happening inside him, and knew it would be a mistake to try and influence it. He waited.
At last, Draco lifted his head, and hissed out between his teeth, "All right. All right, damn you. But only because you have a plan, and you made that promise not to go into danger any more. It's off if you ever, ever do anything like let your mother visit you without warning me again."
"I was under the compulsion then, and that's not going to happen again, so Lily visiting won't, either," said Harry, vast relief flowing through him. "Thank you, Draco."
He looked up at Connor and McGonagall. "I'm not going to them for the summer," he said. "I promise you that. Are you satisfied? Are there any other questions that you need to ask?"
Both of them shook their heads. Harry didn't know if they were truly satisfied, or if they simply needed the time to assimilate this new information. McGonagall would probably ask him more questions later, Harry thought, but she already had some hints about his past anyway. He would deal with telling her new information.
"Do you want me to leave the wards up around your bed, Harry, so that Albus cannot spy on you?" McGonagall asked.
Harry shook his head. "No. He would notice if he couldn't see me at least sometimes. Thank you, though, Professor."
McGonagall nodded, and handed Draco's wand back to him, with a warning look. The wards came down—just in time for Madam Pomfrey to bring in a tray of food, murmuring words about changeable venoms and the position of the moon, and then hurry away again. Connor squeezed Harry's hand tightly, once, and strode out of the hospital wing. McGonagall followed more slowly, turning at the doors to face Harry.
"You know that you can talk to me if there is ever anything you need, Mr. Potter," she said. "I hope you know that."
"I do, Professor," said Harry, reluctantly admitting that even the beef broth Madam Pomfrey was serving him smelled delicious. "Thank you."
She inclined her head to him, keeping it bowed longer than strictly necessary, and left.
Harry tried to share his meal with Draco, as he moved around to the chair, but Draco shook his head. "I ate earlier," he said, "because I thought that you might try that. You'll eat all of this, Harry." He paused, and then reached out and stroked Harry's hair back from his forehead. Confused, wondering if Draco wanted to see the lightning bolt scar, Harry kept still.
Draco was indeed staring at the scar, but Harry didn't think he was really seeing it. He was looking at something else. Then he closed his eyes and put his hand on Harry's shoulder.
"Merlin, Harry," he whispered. "Aren't you ever going to get any rest? Any peace?"
Harry could understand why he said that. There had been an awful lot happening in the past few days. But he knew just how to answer—with the truth, in fact. "That's the reason I've made the plans I have, Draco. In the end, I am going to have peace, because I'll help other people. And I love being vates and helping others, you know that."
Draco sat down heavily, keeping his eyes closed. "I meant just a rest, now," he whispered. "Some chance to recuperate yourself."
Harry frowned in confusion as he started eating. "I'm in the hospital wing," he said, around spoonfuls. "I am resting."
Draco gave a little half-laugh, half-sob, and opened his eyes again. His gaze startled Harry. It looked much like his own, older than the eyes of most of the teenagers around them.
"Of course you are," he said. "At least I can be here to make sure you really do rest."
He sat there, holding Harry's hand and talking softly to him. Millicent came to visit, and Blaise, and since Draco refused to leave Harry's side, they got sent to the library for books Harry wanted to read: mostly books on removing Dark incantations, as it happened. Harry didn't know if he could break the spells that Bellatrix had put on his wrist, but he was going to try.
It was only when he was falling asleep in the middle of a page that he realized he had made an important tactical error.
Neither McGonagall nor Connor had promised not to tell Snape.
"Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter, can you hear me?"
Harry stirred drowsily and opened his eyes, flexing his hand. It felt wrong, oddly cold, until he realized that Draco had been moved from the chair and levitated into a second bed, so that he couldn't be gripping it. On his shoulder, Fawkes gave a sleepy croon. Madam Pomfrey stood near Harry, holding her wand high. It was lighted with Lumos, and her face was haggard.
It took Harry a long time to focus on her. He'd been hearing a call in his dreams, a rising, rushing, and falling voice. It reminded him of the ocean, but the ocean didn't sing like that. It was enough to occupy all his attention.
"I am sorry to wake you so early," the matron whispered, "but the most powerful incantations to end a changeable venom need to be performed at sunrise."
That made sense to Harry. Sunrise to oppose sunset, the passage from darkness into light made to undo the damage that the passage from light into darkness had done. He sat up, nodded, and waited as Madam Pomfrey gently peeled his pyjama top away from the wound. It occurred to Harry that he didn't remember getting into pyjamas. He frowned a little.
"Fawkes?" Madam Pomfrey said softly. "This is very delicate work. If you would please move?"
The phoenix uttered a sad little sound, but did lift and fly away from Harry to perch on the back of the chair. Madam Pomfrey stood over Harry, still, only turning a little so that her shadow from the Lumos spell fell over the wound. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It occurred to Harry that she was struggling against some keen emotion, perhaps fear.
"Mr. Potter?" she whispered. "This will hurt. You may see uncomfortable things."
"I knew that," said Harry. "I don't think it can hurt more than getting the bite in the first place, or…seeing what I did."
Madam Pomfrey smiled a bit. "Yes," she said. "There is that."
She opened her eyes, and then lifted her wand. "Resecro!"
Harry felt a shock run through his body. He shivered, and then bowed his head. It felt as though Madam Pomfrey had reached into the bite wound and touched his heart, which beat not far from the blasted thing. And now she was pulling, or the spell was, tugging at something dark curled in the center of his chest that had wanted to stay there. The thing snarled and dug its claws in, like a disturbed beast.
"Resecro!" said Madam Pomfrey a second time, and moved. Harry opened his eyes to see that she'd taken her shadow from the bite wound.
The dark thing began unfurling along the path of the incantation, fighting all the while. Harry felt an echo which he thought was the memory of Voldemort's teeth digging into him, and shuddered. Then he cried out in spite of himself as sudden sharp, hot pain surged through the center of his chest.
An image of teeth shone before his eyes. Fangs, it had fangs, and it was fighting with all its might to hold onto him, they were ripping his flesh the way that Voldemort's barbed teeth had…
"Resecro!" Madam Pomfrey shouted, and her voice had risen to a battle-cry, a bugle, no longer entreating or pulling, but commanding.
Desperately trying to focus on something other than the image of teeth or the scream resonating in his ears—a scream that was not his own—Harry opened his eyes and focused on Madam Pomfrey. He was startled to see that she was blazing, surrounded by a shimmering white corona, cutting like glass, like adamant. The magic was unfamiliar to him, and he supposed that it must come from her training as a mediwitch.
She put out a hand, and this time, her voice was contemptuous, dismissing the enemy from the field of battle. "Resecro."
The curse screamed, and then it flew out of Harry, coiling and winding in Madam Pomfrey's hand rather like a tapeworm. Madam Pomfrey strode across the hospital wing and lifted the writhing, squirming, biting curse into the light of the sunrise coming through the window.
Harry saw the moment when the thing combusted and began to burn from the inside, because the flames were at first a dark green, the color of Avada Kedavra, turning to the living green of his own soul. Madam Pomfrey held her hand away from her as it burned, her face disgusted, and then, when it turned into green ash, continued holding her hand there as she turned her head and smiled at Harry.
"It's gone," she whispered. "I'll have to do a lot of washing, but it's gone. Rest now, Mr. Potter."
Harry nodded dazedly. He was aware of Draco beside him, asking worried questions, awakened by the screaming, but he found that he couldn't keep his eyes open. Fawkes returned to the shoulder and crooned, and just in case there had been a doubt that Harry could resist sleep, the sudden warm presence near his head banished it. He fell comfortably into deep, peaceful slumber.
And he did not dream, but the rising, rushing, falling call was in his head all the same. This time, its message was unmistakable.
Come to us.