A/N: In which Harry demands some answers and…doesn't like them.

Er, warnings for this chapter, if that floats your boat: implied violence. Harry really doesn't like those answers, you see.

10 – The Shouting Match

"Harry?"

Harry groaned. He hated the way his life currently seemed to be wedded to this bloody room in the Hospital wing, hated the sight of that stupidly small window, hated the feel of the slightly lumpy mattress underneath him.

Most of all, he really hated the way he never quite seemed to understand what was going on. Even now, as Madame Pomfrey talked at him and brusquely asked for symptoms and how he'd felt just as that bloody headache – scratch that, scarache had come on, he could sense it. The taste of something that wasn't being said hung darkly in the room, and irritated him so much just now as his scar was tender and his wings were absent and –

"Mr. Potter? I asked you a question – "

"And I won't answer until you tell me what's going on," Harry found himself saying, phoenix brain having rapidly made the decision in lieu of his slightly politer human one. Madame Pomfrey looked severely discomfited, a sign both human and phoenix sagely took for a sign that there was something he wasn't being told. "Well?"

"Mr. Potter, I need your co-operation to help you get better –

Aha, his phoenix side seemed to say, tone vicious with discontent. It's looking very important, that thing-I'm-not-being-told –

"Oh just keep lying to him, for goodness' sake," Snape's voice said from somewhere disconcertingly far above his head, provoking another inward 'aha!'. "You have something to say to me, Poppy?"

"No, I do not, Professor Snape."

"Ah," Snape said, sneering distinctly. "So it's Professor Snape now that I've been proved right, is it, Pomfrey? And here was I, thinking that – "

"Do get out of my way, Snape."

"Don't make it my fault that you two never listen to me," Snape said, voice gleeful with malice. "If I give some simple advice, and all you do to acknowledge it is to fly firmly in the other direction, I unfortunately cannot be held responsible – "

"Step away from my patient," Pomfrey said, almost – almost snarling, if Harry was hearing correctly.

"Oh, so you managed to learn medicinal Legilimency just before I got here, did you?" Harry nearly winced at the sheer amount of sarcasm that was contained in that voice, which seemed to be moving farther away. "How deliciously convenient, I have several projects demanding my attention, and I will just – "

"I'm not your patient," Harry interjected, before the bizarre little circus playing out before his eyes – ears, rather – completely got out of control.

"Mr. Potter, I asked you a question – "

"And I told you my terms. Shall I take it that you refused them?" Harry went on, feeling tiredly for his wand as Pomfrey spluttered nearby, evidently so angry she could not put her thoughts to words. Which was deliciously convenient, just like Snape had said – "Right, then, so I can ask Professor Snape instead."

"Indeed you can," Snape said, voice coming closer again, sounding just as self-satisfied as it had a minute ago. "Spit it out, Potter."

"I'm warning you, Professor – " Pomfrey started, voice choked with anger, but Harry had entirely different ideas.

"Have my vassals been dosing me with something? I felt so lethargic last night after whatever potion my friends gave me – "

"Have your what?" Snape said instead of answering, tone brimming with nearly uncharacteristic amusement and disbelief. "Oh, this is just too beautiful for words – "

"POTTER – "

"I would like an answer within an hour, of course," Harry said, ignoring the fact that his ears were ringing from that shout from Pomfrey. "If it's not too – er – inconvenient."

"They've been dosing you with a variant of Kennilworth's Docility Doxium for the last week, Potter," Snape offered rapidly, still sounding immeasurably amused. "Effectively putting your mental processes to sleep as much as is possible while keeping you awake and functioning – "

" – DEMAND THAT YOU LEAVE THIS WARD IMMEDIATELY, PROFESSOR – "

Harry did not reply to either Snape or Pomfrey then, as he was not quite sure what to do. Or, more realistically, whose heart to rip out first –

Violating his mind, his being, his sanctity of thought. His mental processes, Snape had said – the very things that drove him, that held together his feathers and wings and claws and made him great –

Oooh. Someone is going to pay for this.

"I suppose they intended it to douse your mental and physical fire temporarily," Snape continued, moving things about as Harry's Too-Useless-And-Untrustworthy-To-Be-Named Vassal sputtered and shouted somewhere in their vicinity. "However, as I managed to finish off the appropriate non-somnulent, non-inhibiting Dousing Doxium appropriate for your – ah – condition the day after your exodus from this room, that excuse is especially invalid. So, Potter, if your brain has felt more sluggish than usual recently (as hard as that might be to imagine), it can be attributed to the Kennilworth's, which Dumbledore has so far upheld as the potion to be given to you until the Doxium undergoes – or rather, underwent further testing. Now, if you'll just open your mouth, I can give you my own Doxium, and we will be able to sit down like adults and find out exactly what propitiated your little fainting fit this evening – "

"No," Harry managed to get out. "No, I will not."

"Excuse me, Potter? Without this Doxium, you are a danger to your pathetic little friends – "

"And that's why I will leave you alive, Snape," Harry said now, dredging up strength from goodness knew where to enable him to sit up and open his eyes.

"Potter, for goodness' sake – "

"Illuminarum venire," Harry began flatly, now able to see his Unnamed Vassal's blinking, scowling form at the little desk near the door preparing what could probably be more of that strange potion that she'd betrayed him with, and was about to pay for. Rapidly reeling off the incantations despite Snape's slightly alarmed commentary, he decided he'd destroy the table first thing, and began to rise to do so –

"I demand that you sit down this minute, Potter – your head is still in delicate condition, and Dumbledore – "

"Do not name him," Harry spat, taking in Pomfrey's sudden stillness with morbid satisfaction. "He does not deserve to be named – "

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT OF BED – "

Harry let the already building fire roll off his still-pale skin, deciding not to wait for the slowly, too-slowly releasing bonds of his disguise to release him, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it curled, diverting round Pomfrey to set fire to the smoking cauldron hovering over the desk. Snape gasped behind him and whipped out his wand, but Harry was already forcing the stupid git to the bed and trying to deprive him of the weapon, ignoring Pomfrey's distressed, stammered spells.

"Potter, cease this instant – "

"You'll only live if you shut up and stop fighting, Snape," Harry snarled, not quite recognising the slightly high, dangerous tones issuing from his mouth, but grimly thinking it just as well.

It was about time someone took him seriously, anyway –

"Stupefaugh!" Harry neatly singed Snape as his emerging claws raked at the man's side prohibitively, prying the wand from his nearly inflexible grip as Snape cried out under the shock of it. And then he was up and away, wings starting to curl out of his protesting back as he sort of kicked Snape onto the floor, having abruptly decided to deal with his hated bed first –

"Incendio!" Harry called, almost giddy as he felt the fire detach from him, swirling in and around the false magical flames to dance merrily on the now beautifully smoking bed as he turned round to deal with his cursed Vassal – "And now, for my worthless little vassal – "

But the door to the little room was bursting open, and Harry, still slightly lucid and thinking of how to survive in the school after doing in the shrieking woman, promptly dragged himself and her wriggling body out of the line of sight, his feet scraping horribly on the stone due to his obvious, but as yet unnoticed lack of shoes –

Oh, shit, Dumbledore –

Dumbledore looked wildly around the room for a minute, but was soon closing the door and – Harry gasped inwardly – drawing out his wand, a saddened look on his face.

"Whatever spell you're thinking of, she'll suffer it," Harry pointed out, entirely reasonably by his standards, ignoring the crying and struggling his vassal was doing under him. "You know how fast I am, I'll just be there and not, and you'll just see her bleeding on the floor – "

"Think about what you are saying, Harry," Dumbledore only said, placing a strong locking charm on the door, which Harry realised was being pounded on. Alarmed voices seemed to be arguing outside it, voices that sounded like Ron, and Hermione –

Shit, there was no way out.

Well, not without having to do in his friends, which Harry wasn't sure freedom, blessed freedom was worth –

"Please think, Harry. Choose wisely – "

"Were you thinking about me choosing when you dosed me into docility, Vassal?" Harry demanded, brain still trying to calculate how many people might just be outside that door. Dumbledore seemed to diminish a little, shrink a little before his eyes, and Harry could only think that it served the betraying little bastard right –

"We were not," the little bastard said, to Harry's surprise. "And we are deeply sorry – "

"And what proof is there that you won't try to charm my memory as soon as I let this disgusting little claw-biter go?" Harry said, mind suddenly realising there was really a way out, and one he'd not even thought of –

"I will swear," Dumbledore said, sounding distressed but not quite looking so, especially not from this angle.

"And Snape? And Pomfrey, here?" Harry snapped, rolling slightly so her sobbing form would be visible to Dumbledore. "And the Ministry? And any other unsuspecting wizard you might bring in for the job – "

"I see your point," was the faint answer. "Will you – can you – would you prefer an Unbreakable Vow, Harry? I can swear not to tell, ask or order anyone to memory charm you – "

"Headmaster," Snape suddenly croaked from where he'd been kicked to, "I am ashamed to admit that the boy has escaped. As painful as it is to say this, I also believe Pomfrey may be already dead – "

"Be quiet, Severus, you are not sensible," Dumbledore snapped, now looking oddly cornered. "Harry, please…"

Harry licked his lips, wondering what to do.

Preview of Chapter 11: Decisions, Decisions

If he gave in to Dumbledore's pleas – and they were just that, pleas, despite the admittedly attractive-sounding option of the Unbreakable Vow, which sounded, well, too unbreakable not to do some good – he would probably be perceived as weak, yielding and easily led. On the other hand, if he just slit Pomfrey's neck and legged it somehow (he wasn't quite sure he could kill Dumbledore, faced with that pathetic, desperate look), he'd be seen as a monster, and would be hunted down like one, Boy-Who-Lived or no.

A/N: You know, I was really conflicted about putting this up, thinking it was too sharp a departure from what I was writing. Perhaps I'm just in a bit of a bloodthirsty mood…? Anyway. Hope you liked it.