Thank you for the reviews on the Intermission!
You know, I think I rather like writing Harry when he's pissed-off.
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Razor Claws of Consequence
Harry woke to a light touch on his shoulder. He opened his eyes, and met Snape's gaze, harsh and unyielding.
Of course it is, Harry thought, and braced himself. He knew at least part of the confrontation that was coming. Snape, from the way he spoke in a quiet, assured voice with anger beneath the surface, didn't.
"Harry. It's Friday afternoon now, and Madam Pomfrey reassures me you have slept enough to be on the road to health. We have much to discuss about your behavior in the battle," said Snape, and sounded as if he believed it—and, more to the point, believed that all the discussion would be on his side. Harry felt his own anger stretch steely wings and uncoil within him. He sat up so that he leaned against the pillows, and squarely met Snape's gaze. He was a Legilimens. He would be able to see Harry's emotions, and read the truth of them.
Snape sat back slightly, staring at him. Harry heard a movement off to the side, and turned to see Regulus in the chair on the other side of the bed. He was just shutting his mouth with a faint click, as if he'd had it open to comment on the interplay between Harry and Snape.
"I know what you saw my gesture to defend Connor as," said Harry. They could start out with rationality and reason, he supposed, though they wouldn't stay there. "I realized it the moment the curse took me. I can tell you it wasn't what it might have looked like. I reasoned out the best course. I took the curse because the loss of my brother would have killed me. And he would have been lost, wouldn't he? No Death Eater cares enough about him to go into his mind and pull him out of a dream-world." He'd awoken again before dawn, before Snape and Regulus came, and pulled the rest of the information on the Mark Mirror Curse from Draco.
"It was still a sacrificial gesture," said Snape. "You could have cast a shield that would have deflected the curse, Harry—"
"When I was so exhausted? Without knowing what the curse was, and how strong I would have to make the shield?"
"You are making excuses," Snape hissed. "You prefer to use your body as a shield. You think of your own flesh, your own will, your own life, as sacrifices to protect your brother."
"You're wrong," said Harry, a little startled at how cool his own voice was. But then, he had known what would happen. "I did work out what might have happened, and decided to take the risk. There were other elements to the decision. I'm magically stronger than Connor. I thought I could likely survive it. He couldn't."
"I cannot believe that, Harry," Regulus said softly. "I spent time in your head, remember? I know how strong your impulses towards sacrifice are—probably stronger than you know yourself. Even when you do have time to work out what you're going to do, you choose that course rather than any other."
"Snape can tell if I'm lying," said Harry, with a jerk of his head at his guardian. "Have him look."
"I would see that you are telling the truth if you believe it to be so, Harry." Snape's voice was infuriatingly calm. Bastard probably had a chance to recover while I was talking to Regulus, Harry thought, and turned around again, determined not to give Snape any more chances like that. "For what it's worth, I agree with Regulus. You made the best decision you thought you could, but it is still not a decision that you should have made. It was a sacrifice."
Harry ground his teeth, and used the noise to calm himself. If I'm violent on my teeth, I don't need to be violent on Regulus and Snape. "It was not. I calculated the risks, I told you. And if I had conjured a shield and the curse struck Connor anyway, then what would you say? That I'd done the right thing? That wouldn't have compensated for the loss of my brother."
"We are not talking about hypothetical situations here, Harry." Snape's voice sounded like grinding ice again, much to Harry's pleasure. "We are talking about what actually happened."
"Except that you want to replace what actually happened with one of your hypothetical situations," Harry shot back. "Either I should have done something different, or I actually did something different than what I'm saying. You distrust my motives constantly, you know—you think every step I take and every breath I draw comes from some warping my mind took from my abuse. It's about time that that stopped. I am capable of trust. Ask Draco. And I'm getting sick and tired of not receiving any of it in return."
"Harry, what are you talking about?" Regulus's voice was soft and bewildered. Harry didn't look at him, though, not wanting to back down from his silent staring contest with Snape. "Of course we trust you. But it is true that you refused to acknowledge your abuse for a long, long time. Can you blame us for thinking it does drive more of your behavior?"
"So, fine. Think it." Harry heard how clipped his own voice was becoming, and didn't care. He'd started out with the rational explanation, and made no headway. He would have to try the harsher road. "But then I'll tell you otherwise. And you'll go right on thinking it does, won't you? That's what I mean by distrust. It's like being thought mad no matter what sense I speak. I am not an invalid. If I say that I'm thinking clearly, then be so good as to accept that."
"Do you think you would still have done as you did if not for your training?" Snape asked, obviously trying to keep back a snap.
"Yes," said Harry. "I love my brother. And he's not the only one I'd risk my life for, not any more. If that curse was heading for you, then I would have done the same thing."
"That is not what I want to hear." Snape leaned towards him and spoke softly and intensely. "I want to hear that you value your own life enough to think of another course."
"My life is mine," said Harry. "Yes, I'm trying to think of other things that I might accomplish with it. No, I don't want to mindlessly give it up to save an ant colony. Yes, I know that it might leave other people around me floundering if I died. But I will not, I cannot, consider that my life is more important than someone else's in the way you mean. I was fairly certain I'd survive that curse. And if I ever have to make a similar decision, and it's between damage to me and near-certain death for someone else, then I'd do the same thing."
Snape shook his head. "You cannot even conceive how much more important you are than your brother, can you?" he whispered.
Harry felt as though someone had slapped him across the face with a fistful of ice shards. He drew back from Snape and turned away, facing Regulus again. He didn't really see him, though. His mind was speaking the words over and over in his head, in numb shock.
I know that he cares more for me than Connor. I know that he doesn't really like my brother. But to say that I'm more important than he is, that my life will always matter more than his does…
And this is the thinking he wants me to share.
"Harry?" Regulus said softly.
Harry shook himself and drew his walls up again with a snap. He had survived Snape's being a git before. He could do the same thing now. And it only gave a stronger push to the half-formed suspicion he'd carried before, that, no matter what his objective need for a guardian was, Snape was not the best choice for the role. He'd sacrificed much to protect Harry, yes, but he could not rule Harry's affections, or his mind, or his thoughts.
"Now I know where you stand," he told Snape, keeping his voice flat and smooth. "Thank you for confirming that."
Snape looked at him oddly. Harry supposed he had no idea what the hell he'd just done. To him, the statement of Harry and Connor's respective values would be a normal part of his thinking, a small statement no more worthy of notice than many other truths that circulated in his mind every day.
To Harry, it symbolized everything that was wrong between them. He breathed through a tight throat, and supposed he should make an attempt to tell Snape that. Keeping silent out of pride or shame was a bad thing. He had seen that enough in his life. Sirius had died because of it. His parents and Dumbledore had sent Peter to Azkaban because they could not admit to something they had done—something they had even thought was right, but did not believe they could chance anyone else discovering. And Harry wouldn't allow Snape to go away under a misapprehension.
"I'll never think the way you do," he told Snape. "My brother is as important to me as my own safety and well-being are. You and Draco and Regulus are all important." Yes, damn it, even you, he thought, as he watched a brief spasm of emotion cross Snape's face. "But I'm not more important. And now you're going to try to punish me, aren't you, for what you think of as sacrificing my life." He didn't make it a question, because he didn't need to.
Snape's face tightened. "Yes," he said. "But not just for that, Harry. This is a sign of deeper problems that need to be corrected."
Harry felt his fury sink cold claws into his brain. I knew it. The way I think is wrong. The way I am is wrong. Snape wants to change my mind about things. Well, he can't. My actions are one thing. When I endanger other people the way I endangered Draco when I dragged him along in my attack on Voldemort's mind, then I'm wrong. That was stupid. But the way I think is mine. And I know that I made the decision to protect Connor based on the right principles. I know it, even if the two of them won't believe it.
He did shoot a glance at Regulus, to see if he believed differently from Snape. But the half-wry, half-sad smile on his lips as he gazed at Harry told the truth. He believed the same things. He thought that because he'd spent time in Harry's mind, he understood what was "wrong," what needed to be "corrected."
Harry shook his head.
"What?" Snape asked, with a frown at him.
"You don't have the right to punish me," said Harry softly. "I know exactly why I did what I did, whether you believe me or not. I know that I've changed and healed—not all the way, but enough that I'm on the right road, and I can continue pulling myself forward. I don't need detention or whatever it is that you've got planned for me."
"Detention for a start," said Snape. "But it is time when you can speak to me, Harry. You're right. I don't understand what possible motives you could have had for this action beyond self-sacrifice. But if you speak to me, convince me, then you might yet settle my mind and make me admit that you're right." His face was calm again, damn him, while Harry's fury made it feel as though Voldemort's magic were passing through him once more.
"Why should I have to convince you?" Harry glanced over his shoulder at Regulus. "Why should I have to convince either one of you? I've told you the truth. I know my own mind, I think. I was the only one in my head when I made that decision. I've told you my reasoning, and you haven't accepted it. I don't see why I should spend more time telling you things you refuse to accept." He turned away from Snape and pulled back the blankets on his bed. He still felt tired, but no more than he would after a hard day of Quidditch practice. He was going back to the Slytherin common room.
Regulus caught his arm. "Harry, we want to understand," he said.
"I've told you the truth. Understand that." Harry pulled his arm free.
"We wish to heal you because we care about you." Snape's voice was frustrated. "I've seen the memories that Dumbledore had of your training, Harry. I know what he did to you. I know—"
"Did it ever occur to you," said Harry, turning around and throwing the words like knives so that Snape would leave him alone, damn it, "that I'm more than those memories, that I'm more than just an abused child? I could never have recovered as far as I have if that's all there was to my mind. I have my own will, and my own ability to change. I am going to be a leader in this war, and a vates, and many, many other things than a victim. And yet, a victim is all you see, every time you look at me. I'm sick of it."
"You acknowledge the other things," said Snape, his voice turning harsh. "You do not accept that you were ever a victim, Harry. Have you even spoken to anyone about the abuse you endured, except for your interviews with Madam Shiverwood?"
"You see what happens when I try?" Harry gestured at him. "You assume that's all there is to me. I try to distinguish between the motives my mother gave me and the ones I chose, and you discount my choice entirely."
"Harry—"
He wasn't in the mood to listen to Snape any more. Harry slipped out of the bed and left the hospital wing. His emotions were still cold, very far from the boiling point. It felt rather as though a chill, white mist had filled him, one through which he could see clearly and feel glittering, icicle-edged emotions.
"Mr. Potter."
Harry turned quickly. Charles Rosier-Henlin, who'd been leaning against the wall, straightened from his slouch and nodded to him, then drew a knife. Harry brought up defensive magic before he realized that the knife was his familiar one, with the dark hilt and the blade made of Light, and that Charles was holding it towards him with the hilt first.
"Henrietta Bulstrode found this on the beach after the battle," said Charles, his voice entirely neutral. "She wanted it returned to you."
Harry smiled and accepted the knife, sliding it into his belt. "And she didn't have help in the returning?"
Charles had either a very faint smile or the trick of smiling with his eyes and not his lips, Harry thought. "I wouldn't know, I'm sure." Then he cocked his head. "I was thinking that one of our major problems in this battle is communication. I dislike only former Death Eaters being able to find the man I've sworn myself to follow. I did create a spell some time ago which might solve the problem. I've never spread it around, because I didn't want anyone taking advantage of it. I use it to communicate with my sons at Durmstrang. Would it benefit you to know this spell?"
"Enormously," said Harry. "What can I do in return—"
"Remain as you are," said Charles fiercely, even as he drew his wand. "Care for your brother. I know why you did that, and it is a motive I can only approve of. Family is important. Be savage, and be fierce, and be free-willed. Do not become a Lord."
Harry let his lips quirk. "I think I can manage that. What is the spell?"
Charles nodded. "It needs to be cast on both of us at first," he said. "After that, you need only to speak the spell with my name in it and it will work." He reached out and tapped Harry's left wrist carefully with his wand. Harry watched his face closely, but he showed no revulsion at the sight of the stump. "Adoro bracchio de Harry Potter!"
Harry blinked as an odd tingling ran up his arm. It didn't feel quite like anything he'd sensed before, unless it was a slow lightning bolt. He watched as Charles stepped back and touched his own wrist, this time murmuring the spell with both of their names in it. Then Charles walked around the corner of the hall, leaving Harry feeling a bit silly, just standing outside the hospital wing. He could hear Snape and Regulus arguing quietly inside, and guessed it was the reason that one of them hadn't yet come after him.
A sound of phoenix song came from just above his left wrist. Harry jumped, and realized Charles hadn't told him what to do when this happened. He cleared his throat tentatively, and asked, "Mr. Rosier-Henlin?"
"I hear you, Mr. Potter." Charles's voice was deep and self-assured, and seemed to emerge from just above his left wrist. Harry stared at his stump in fascination. "The bond between us works now. When you cast the spell with my name, I will be able to hear you, at a distance of up to several hundred miles."
Harry nodded, then realized Charles couldn't see him, and said, "I understand. This is fascinating. Where did you come up with it?"
"I studied Muggles for a while," said Charles, even as another slow lightning bolt traveled up Harry's arm and his voice only emerged from around the corner. He stepped back into sight again, looking quite pleased with himself. "I knew that anything a Muggle could do, a wizard could do better, and Muggles have a way of communicating with each other across distances, called telephones. I created a spell that could do the same thing."
Harry hesitated.
"You may share the spell with others now," said Charles, correctly interpreting his hesitation, "as long as you believe that they won't use it against our alliance. I am quite anxious to win this war, Mr. Potter." This time, the smile that showed up only in his eyes was colder. "I lost a nephew to the Dark Lord. My sons are not going to serve him, or to grow up in a world he rules."
Harry nodded. "If you don't mind my asking—well, I thought only powerful wizards could create spells of their own, Mr. Rosier-Henlin, and I didn't feel your strength plunging that deep."
"Concealment spells," said Charles comfortably. "No one alive but my wife and sons knows how strong I am. And it will remain that way for a time, Mr. Potter. I trust you with very many things, but family secrets are private and should remain that way." He paused, his eyes never looking away from Harry's. "I am sorry that yours have been spread all over the papers."
Harry grimaced. "Not as sorry as I have been. It should have been handled privately."
"I have no doubt of that," said Charles, and then bowed. "I will see you again, Mr. Potter. Speak to me every time you have need of something I can do." He strode up the hallway before Harry could think to ask him another question.
Perhaps it was just as well, because Regulus chose that moment to emerge from the hospital wing, and lean against the wall near the doors. He waited for Harry to acknowledge him. Harry didn't. He started on his way towards the Slytherin common room again, wondering absently where Argutus was. Probably out exploring, he thought. He would have lain still long enough to be boring to the Omen snake, and he was sure Draco would have told him if Argutus had died in the battle.
"Harry."
Reluctantly, Harry pulled up and let Regulus walk beside him. It was late Friday afternoon, from the angle of the light, and he thought most of the students would be in their common rooms or on the way to dinner, but that didn't mean that he wanted everyone to see Regulus chasing after him. He cast a measured glance up at him. "Well?"
"You realize that both Severus and I care deeply for you?" Regulus scanned his face.
"Yes." That only made this all the harder, in Harry's opinion. It would have been easy to ignore Regulus and Snape if they were condescending people only doing this for the good of some abstract abused child, or if Snape were acting out of his grudge against James, as Harry was convinced had been the case when he was first Sorted into Slytherin. As it was, he had to listen to them even when he was coldly furious with them, and give them a fair hearing. That didn't mean that he was going to change his mind, or admit that he had been wrong to do what he had done for Connor.
"And I think that you do need to heal more than you've allowed yourself," Regulus continued softly. "You said that you'd do the same thing again, if it was a choice between damage for yourself and near-certain death for someone else. But what about situations that aren't as desperate? Do you think that you could change your mind about them, and act in different ways?"
"I would try," said Harry. "But you and Snape would still think that I'm acting from stupid motives."
"Harry, no." Regulus gripped his shoulders and sank down in front of him. His eyes were gentle, but not mocking. "It's true that I don't believe you. I've seen how deep the wounds go, remember, even in your rebuilt mind. But I could come to believe you. And you are certainly allowed to go on reaching for love, for comfort, for the people who love you, outside of battle. That's the reason I wanted to make you my heir—to give you a place, places, to belong, and show you how much I care for you."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "And I don't need houses or money as a proof of that emotion, Regulus. That's why I'm asking you to find another heir. I don't want them."
"Why not?" Regulus persisted.
"I just don't."
"Tell me why."
Harry shook his head, thinking that if he spoke what he honestly felt, he would hurt Regulus—and then he remembered that he was supposed to trust them and speak what he felt, wasn't he? He let out a windy sigh between clenched teeth. "I feel like they're an encumbrance," he said. "I think most possessions are, unless they can actually help me in battle or they mean something to both me and the person who gave them."
"This fits that last category, Harry."
"But it's too heavy." Harry didn't know a better word than that, though it was obvious from Regulus's expression that he didn't understand. "I get uneasy with a few birthday gifts, Regulus. I never cared that much about becoming heir of Lux Aeterna, even. I always assumed James would make Connor his heir. I just don't care. They're not things I value."
"And you think that—"
"I wouldn't make a good heir if I don't value the houses and money and possessions." Harry made an attempt to soften his voice as he saw Regulus's stricken expression. "I value the offer more than I can express, Regulus. But that's not what's needed to take care of a house like Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. And you do have other people who could accept it, or you might meet someone who could. What you want to give me deserves better care than I would give it."
"You value them, and yet you don't value them." Regulus shook his head. "There's a contradiction in your thinking there, Harry."
"I value them for other people. Not for me."
"You think you don't deserve them?" Regulus cocked his head. "Yes, I understand what you mean about heaviness now. I felt some of that on your birthday. You kept wanting to push the gifts back. You were embarrassed about receiving them at all. You don't think you deserve them, do you?"
Harry hissed between his teeth. "This is silly."
"I don't think so. Not when I still want to make you my heir, Harry."
"I won't accept it."
"I'll make the will." Regulus looked absurdly calm as he rose to his feet. "What you do with them when they pass to you is your affair."
"And if I chose to let Bellatrix have them?"
Regulus gave him a patient look.
"All right, so I wouldn't really do that," Harry admitted, flushing. "And it wasn't even a good lie. But I don't want them."
"Someday, I'll help you figure out why," said Regulus. "I'm not like Severus, Harry, and that's the reason that he sent me out after you. I can be more patient with you, and perhaps I can even convince him that we do need to listen to you instead of just demanding explanations we'll dismiss. Not to mention that I have a better sense of humor, and am far more devilishly handsome." He struck a pose that made Harry's breath unexpectedly catch; for a moment, Sirius was alive all over again.
"I meant what I said," said Harry, when he could speak. "All of it. About not wanting the houses and the money, and about not wanting to explain to either of you about my motives, when all you do is misinterpret them."
Regulus nodded, with another patient look. "And we're both going to be here, Harry, to argue and yell and give you houses, until you realize that we meant it when we said we loved you."
"I know that—"
But Regulus had ruffled his hair and was setting off up the hall again. Harry scowled at his back, and walked towards the Slytherin common room nursing his wounded dignity.
They still think that I'm suffering consequences of the abuse. Regulus is nicer about it, that's all. And any promise I make to think things over isn't going to be good enough, because they'll still believe that my real motives come from abuse. Harry ground his teeth, and his magic rose and sparked about him until he forced it back under his skin. I'll just have to show them that they don't, by showing them how well I'm healing, and that it isn't due to stupid little talks with Madam Shiverwood.
He reached the door, entered the common room, and almost immediately drew any number of curious glances as he moved across it towards his bedroom. Harry ignored the glances. Yes, so he had gone off and battled the Dark Lord. Big fucking deal. Right now, he had something more important in mind.
He entered the bedroom, and glanced around to find Blaise gone. Good. Now, is Draco here, or—
A rustle in the curtains of Draco's bed answered that question, and he poked his head out. At once, a smile grew on his face. "Harry! I didn't know you were awake, or I would have come to the hospital wing myself."
"That's all right," said Harry. "You had to go to classes, didn't you?"
Draco immediately flopped back on the bed and folded his arms behind his head, snorting. "Yeah. Can you believe it? I want to know why Transfiguration is more important than sitting with you."
"Snape and Regulus were there," Harry said.
Draco turned his head at once, but said nothing. His eyes were intense, though, inviting Harry to talk more.
"It went badly," Harry added, drawing towards the bed. He felt a faint stir of nervousness, given what he was about to ask, but pushed it away. "They simply refused to accept that I really did make a conscious decision, rather than saying, 'Oh, goody, a curse!' and jumping in front of it."
Draco snickered in spite of himself. Harry smiled, and knew it was a fierce smile. "They still think I'm a victim," he said. "And that's all they seem to see. At least, it's the source they trace all my actions back to right now." He cocked his head at Draco. "And I know that's not true, because I'm making efforts to overcome my training. And right now I'm irritated, and I'd like to show them up, and I'd like you to touch me, please."
Draco's mouth fell open. Harry sat down on the bed beside him and took his glasses off, leaning over to drop them on Draco's trunk. "I know it's not necessarily the best motivation," he added. "But I'd like it. Please."
"No need to ask three times," said Draco, his voice gone a little hoarse, and then moved behind him. Harry closed his eyes and waited, trying to relax his shoulders from the tense hunch they'd automatically adopted.
Draco's hands came down on his back. Harry sighed. This didn't feel much different than Madam Pomfrey applying salves to soothe bruises from a Quidditch injury. He thought he could—
And then Draco slipped his hands beneath Harry's shirt, touching bare skin, and began to run them up and down.
Harry shivered.
"I know my hands aren't that cold," Draco murmured.
"Not cold," said Harry, and closed his eyes, trying to hold on to the burst of courage that had driven him here in the first place. He moved a bit, unsure if he wanted to get away or get closer. Draco settled the matter by slipping one hand free, putting his left arm around Harry's chest, and drawing him backwards.
Harry gave a gasp as he abruptly rested against Draco, and tilted his head back. Draco leaned over him, eyes a clear gray, bright with unmistakable pleasure. He really seems to like touching me, Harry thought, and didn't know which emotion was making his head so clouded. But I know something he would like more.
He raised his hand and ran it over Draco's face, then into his hair, stroking awkwardly; this wasn't a good position for him to reach much more than the back of Draco's neck. Draco gave a great huffing breath and went still for just a moment. Harry supposed it did feel good.
He himself wasn't sure what he felt as Draco's fingers worked over his back. It was all right, not cold, warm, and it made his head cloudy. He wasn't sure if it actually felt good—
And then it did, it felt too good, and ingrained instincts made Harry gasp and roll away, pulling free of Draco's arms entirely. "Sorry," he murmured into Draco's sheets, wondering if he should be more apprehensive. He closed his eyes and panted for a moment, willing the pleasure and the misty feeling to go away.
Draco hooked his arms around Harry's waist, in a gesture too old and familiar to be panicking. "That was all right," he said calmly. "Not nearly as much as I wanted, but an excellent start."
Harry swallowed. It was all right. He's not angry. He said he'd push, but he's not going to push me off a cliff.
He was able to sit up and rest his head on Draco's shoulder, before he drew away and said, "What was it like today? Did the others cheer you as a hero of the battle?"
"Half of them don't think that we battled Voldemort," said Draco at once, face flooding with disgust. "Oh, most of the Slytherins know, but there are a bunch of Ravenclaws, with that Parsons bint in the middle of them, declaring that we couldn't have, or we wouldn't have come back alive. I told you to let me hex her, Harry. We—"
Harry relaxed by degrees. It was all right. Draco didn't scorn Harry for being afraid of pleasure the way his mother had trained him to be. It was silly to think he would have. Snape and Regulus might be impossible at the moment, but Draco wasn't, and Harry was a little giddy with the emotions that flooded him at that realization.
And, oddly, that made him all the more determined to shatter this stupid training.
I'm not going to let my mother win. She did this to me, but it serves no purpose anymore, and I don't want it, and Draco doesn't want it. So I'm going to overcome it, and show Draco that I enjoy touching him as much as I enjoy talking to him or fighting beside him. Then I'll have won. We'll have won. So there.