Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!
WARNING: More disturbing scenes and emotional turmoil here. This may be the nastiest of the trial chapters.
The title of the chapter comes from Swinburne's poem "Dolores": Ah, forgive us our virtues, forgive us/ Our Lady of Pain.
Chapter Forty-Two: Forgive Us Our VirtuesLily had been gazing out the windows of her cell—which she knew were fake, since the Ministry was underground—for long hours when the Aurors came to fetch her. Currently, the windows showed a lake scene not dissimilar to the one at Hogwarts, lashed with rain. The sky was only cloudy in one place, though. In others, pale autumn or wintry sunlight shone through, licking at the bellies of the clouds with golden tongues and touching Lily's heart like hope.
She had cried herself to sleep last night, and then she had sat up this morning with a gasp, as she remembered that today was the trial which might end her life. Then she sank back, trembling, against the pillow, and closed her eyes weakly. Her hands clenched and closed convulsively around each other.
But that was this morning. Now was the time just before the Aurors had warned her she was going to be fetched to the courtroom, and Lily had cried herself out, and put herself into a rudimentary state of hope, like the sun shining through the clouds.
A perfunctory knock sounded at the door, accompanying the falling of the wards. "Potter? Come on."
Lily kept her face as blank as possible as the Aurors came in. Of course they had sent the two who were nastiest to her outside of Mallory herself: Dawlish and Proudfoot. Dawlish had survived Scrimgeour's purge of the Aurors in spite of his loyalty to Fudge. He apparently loved the Ministry more, and had accustomed himself to the new Minister. And Proudfoot was simply impossible to get along with, as Lily had found. He foamed and snapped even when she was polite to him. He had been a Hufflepuff, and seemed to disdain sacrificing any family member, even if she'd done it for the good of the world.
"On your feet, Potter," Dawlish said when she didn't stand up right away, and then nudged her in the back with his wand. He was so efficient, which was the most intolerable thing about him. He acted as if he didn't care that she might die today. "The Wizengamot's waiting for you."
Proudfoot didn't speak, but gave her the glare he'd perfected over the last few days. Lily tried not to let it get to her as she moved to the door. She did look back one more time, to catch a glimpse of the sunlight out the enchanted windows, and to remember her plan.
Training Harry to value forgiveness as much as they had had been part of Albus's suggestion to make him the perfect diplomat for Connor. He had to be able to forgive Death Eaters and others whose pasts had been questionable if he wanted to lure Dark families to the side of the Light. And, as Albus had explained to her only once, because of course what they had done was not wrong, the training would also make it easier for Harry to forgive them if someone ever found out about his childhood and tried to convince him that they'd done something terrible.
"He will be incapable of condemning you, Lily, no matter what happens." Albus's voice throbbed in her ears, soft and reassuring, as she trod the path to the courtrooms. Dawlish paused along the way to spell fetters onto her wrists, when Proudfoot reminded him to do it. "We need no magical coercion to insure that. Spells can be broken. Psychological patterns take a good deal more effort. He will love you, and forgive you, if you come to the point where everyone else condemns you. You never should—it is my hope that one day everyone will know how we have trained Harry, and honor his contribution to the good of our world—but someone might yet break through the secrecy and think they should interfere with what they don't understand. No one outside Godric's Hollow save me can ever truly comprehend what you have gone through, Lily. Should they bring the force of that incomprehension down upon you, do not despair, so long as Harry is still alive. He should come for you. He should free you."
Lily let those words repeat in her mind over and over, and by the time they reached the courtroom, she had heard them three times, and she believed them as much as she ever had. She waited patiently while the doors swung open, and Dawlish and Proudfoot guided her to the prisoner's chair. Of course, chains came up at once to circle her arms and legs, and it seemed that Madam Amelia Bones, who'd stared at her coldly the whole time during her initial interrogation, was going to be leading the questioning.
It is all right. Their harsh treatment does not matter. Is Harry here?
Her eyes caught a movement near the door in the visitors' gallery above, and she smiled slightly as she saw Harry coming in. She would have known her son's stride anywhere.
As Madam Bones told people to take their places, thanked Dawlish and Proudfoot roughly, and then moved to begin the questioning, Lily settled back. Harry has magic powerful enough to destroy the courtroom if he wants—certainly powerful enough to break my chains and free me, and keep me safe from anyone who might try to come after me. I need only remind him of that.
Harry could see his mother intensely well. He'd created a small window in his palm, as he had before, so that he could view what happened on the floor of the courtroom without craning his neck. Lily was sitting almost comfortably in the chair, her head tilted back so that she could watch the galleries. Harry thought she'd seen him, though he sat far enough behind the balcony railing that that should have been impossible, and Snape's presence at his side would tend to obscure him even more.
It doesn't matter. We could always tell each other's presence in a room. Why should that have changed?
Harry could feel his breath racing in and out of his lungs, and he was almost glad not to have two hands now, or he would be continually wiping one free of sweat. As it was, he settled back in his seat, ignoring the stare Snape fixed on him, and regarded the window in his palm.
Lily looked paler than normal, and the circles under her green eyes were pronounced. Harry swallowed. I don't think this is about to get any easier for her. He wished he could go down to her, but he didn't think the Wizengamot would permit him to do so.
Besides, Snape would probably zap him into immobility and force Sleeping Draughts down his throat if he tried anything like that.
"Lily Evans Potter." Madam Bones's voice trembled with disgust as she spoke. Harry wondered why they had to have her lead the questioning. Why not someone else? The thought that Madam Bones was the least prejudiced person on the Wizengamot where this case was concerned hurt, and made his hopes for his parents' future sink lower. "You are on trial for the abuse of your son Harry Potter, mentally and emotionally, and, indirectly, through magic. Do you deny the charges?"
"I do," Harry heard his mother's voice say, strong and lovely and prouder than he would have thought it could be. She sounded as if she were speaking the way she had once spoken to him of war and sacrifice, but this time the whole world could hear. She might finally have an audience worthy of the grand truths she was speaking, Harry thought. Yes, what she had done about those truths was wrong, but they still deserved to be heard. "I did not abuse him. I trained him to survive the war with Lord Voldemort—" the collective flinch Harry found so silly "—and I trained him to be his own person, devoted to his brother, ignoring the lies of the outside world. My training did not work, but I do not regret what I have done."
Harry shifted around. He had wondered if his mother would repeat the regrets she'd expressed in her letters to him: that she would have trained him differently if she had known that he was the one who reflected Voldemort's Killing Curse. But she seemed to have decided, even as he had, that it would do no good for the truth of the prophecy to get back to their enemy. She would speak as if the version of the prophecy she had believed for thirteen years was the true one, then. Something in Harry unclenched and relaxed.
"There is a Pensieve memory I wish to show," said Madam Bones, and flicked her wand through the Pensieve on the stand before her. Harry watched as droplets arched over the railing, and then watched them in his window as they coalesced. He knew that the memory should probably still have been invisible to anyone but the Wizengamot and Lily, but he reached out with an effort of will, and broke the simple ward that kept him from seeing it.
It was a surprisingly ordinary memory to choose, really. Lily was testing him; he was about eight years old in the scene, Harry thought, and it was during the two months she had had him go without touching anyone, to get him used to the lonely life he would have to lead. She sat in a chair in the main room of the house at Godric's Hollow, reading, and he sat next to her on a stool, with a book on defensive magic in his hands.
They were only a few inches parted. He could reach out and touch her if he wanted to.
That had been the test, Harry remembered. Lily had seen him avoid casual brushes of the hand from Sirius and Remus and Connor with satisfaction; she had seen the way he avoided coming to her for a good-night hug. Now she wanted to see what he would do with temptation right in front of him.
Harry could make out the fine tremors in his own body. It had been surprisingly hard, harder than he thought it should be with as secretive as he had already been, to simply ignore the impulse to touch someone. It would have made him feel better, though, as Lily had pointed out many times, that was an indulgence he couldn't afford, just doing things to feel better. His life was given over to a greater purpose.
Harry remembered this memory. He knew what came next. He winced—not because of what would happen, but because of how he knew the court was going to take it.
His younger self broke and reached out to touch his mother's knee. Lily moved at once. She'd been waiting for that, Harry remembered, though her gaze had seemed to be on her book the whole time.
Younger-Harry lowered his eyes at once, the way he'd always done when he displeased his mother.
"Harry." Lily's voice was a whip. "Look at me."
He looked up at her. Lily shook her head at him.
"You need to learn more control," she said softly. "What will happen if you give in to that same carelessness around a Death Eater? You could be killed, Harry, with just a cut from a knife or a simple curse from a wand. It wouldn't have to travel very far. And then what would Connor do?"
Younger-Harry swallowed, and then said, "But you're not a Death Eater." Older-Harry thought it a feeble argument, all these years later. Of course, he'd had those impulses he still didn't understand, unable to think why someone else human under his hands would feel so good.
"No," said Lily, "but neither will the other children in Gryffindor House be, and they could still trap you and distract you. What would happen if you were being hugged, and couldn't make it to Connor's side on time? What would happen if a friend snagged your hand when you are about to charge into battle, insisting that you couldn't jump between him and a curse, and he died? What then, Harry?"
Younger-Harry shrank. Older-Harry closed his eyes. He could hear the Wizengamot making noises of outrage. Madam Bones knew what she was doing when she chose this memory, all right. Damnit. I wish they were using Draco's enhanced Pensieve spell. Then they'd know why she was doing this. They'd be able to understand it much better.
"The world would fall," Younger-Harry whispered.
"That's right." Older-Harry opened his eyes to see Memory-Lily nod at his hand. "No touching, Harry. I know this is a hard lesson, but it's just one of many you'll have to learn. And it doesn't really hurt as much as a curse, does it?" She flashed him a smile, and Younger-Harry smiled back. It had been one of the rare evenings when Sirius, Remus, James, and Connor were all out playing on the lawn, and so Harry and Lily could speak freely of the secret they shared.
"That's right," he said.
"Good boy," said Lily, and climbed back onto her chair. Younger-Harry directed his attention to the book, determined not to break faith again. And he hadn't, Harry remembered, with a feeling like a band of fire circling his chest. Seven weeks more that test had lasted, and he hadn't broken once.
The memory faded. Madam Bones began digging around in her papers. Harry started as someone brushed his arm, and so strong were the impressions the image had left on him that he flinched away before he thought, not wanting to be touched.
He turned to see Snape staring hard at him. Harry dropped his eyes. When Snape was concentrating hard enough, he could use Legilimency just from a gaze. Harry didn't want his emotions read right now.
"I think we should leave," said Snape.
"No," Harry whispered back, proud to hear how stern his voice was, for all its low volume. "I want to know what happens."
"You can get that from a report later," Snape said, leaning nearer as Madam Bones briefly looked up to glare at the talkers in the audience. "I meant what I said, Harry. Your mental health is not to be damaged any further. You will come with me if I think you are hurting."
"And I'm not hurting yet," Harry flared, and then looked pointedly away from Snape as Madam Bones began to ask the first of her questions.
"Reports from Madam Shiverwood of the Department of Magical Family and Child Services indicate that all children need to be touched regularly, or their growth is damaged," said Madam Bones, a stern rasp in her voice. "This is even more essential for wizard children than for Muggle children, as their magic needs to seek out the companionship of similar power, and learn to stay under a child's skin so that accidental magic stops happening. Given that, Mrs. Potter, will you really say that teaching your son to avoid touch was not abuse?"
"Harry had learned how to handle his magic from a very young age," said Lily calmly. Harry was glad that she could be calm. The most peculiar shaking had taken up residence in his shoulders. "It was a part of his training. He did not need the contact for the same reason that other wizard children do."
Snape was making a growling sound beside Harry. Harry looked at his guardian's face, and quickly away again. Seeing such blank, vicious hatred there made it easy to remember the Death Eater Snape had been.
"So you deny that it was abuse?" Madam Bones clarified.
"I do," said Lily. "I did what I had to do to save the world. I made decisions that no one else but Albus Dumbledore has ever made. You have no right to put me on trial for this," she added unexpectedly, rising as much to her feet as the chains would allow her and sweeping her gaze across the courtroom. Harry shivered as her eyes passed across him. "None of you would have done as much. All of you would have huddled in bed while Voldemort came for you, if my sons had not borne the burden."
Probably true, Harry thought.
"Sit down, Mrs. Potter." Madam Bones's voice was flat. She waited until Lily had obeyed, then said, "Another memory."
This time, the memory that was chosen made Harry sit back hard in his chair. Merlin damn it, not this one! They're all going to think they have the right to put her to death, after this one.
He was nine, practicing wandless magic. Lily stood in the background, patiently waiting for him to finish. When he turned around again, she beckoned. Harry watched his younger self's image approach her and look up into her face. He envied, bitterly, the calmness of his own green eyes. There were times I was able to do that without Occlumency. When did they end?
"Harry, we will continue your training in chocolate today," said Lily. She unwrapped a Chocolate Frog. It immediately tried to leap out of her hand, but she held it still, slightly squashing one of its legs in the process; it had been a summer day, and the sweet was already starting to melt. "Indicate when you are ready to me."
Younger-Harry closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Then he nodded and held out a hand.
Lily gave him the chocolate. Harry popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. Then he murmured the spell that Lily had taught him for the sense of taste. "Acerbitas in vicem mel."
A moment later, he winced as bitterness flooded his tongue in place of the sweetness. The spell was only physical, however, and wouldn't complete his training without an added psychological pattern to back it up. Younger-Harry knew that by then, and Older-Harry watched as he applied it. In Harry as he was now, of course, the training had made the reaction impulse, without the need for a spell.
"What are you thinking of, Harry?" whispered Lily.
"Connor in danger," said Younger-Harry, and then whispered, "Adligo memoriam."
With no more than that, the idea of his brother in danger was bound to the bitterness, the memory working with the physical sense. More training would be needed, but in the end, it would insure that Harry never became lost in a physical sensation of sweetness, never entirely forgot his awareness of the world around him. Steel cords of perception would pull him up when he did.
Harry shuddered as the memory vanished, and he found himself pulled against Snape, his hair being stroked slowly. He tugged himself free at once, feeling the need to be away, on his own, free. The air away from his guardian seemed sweeter, and he breathed it gently, again avoiding Snape's eyes.
"Do you deny that you trained your son to be afraid of good physical sensations?" Madam Bones asked then.
"I don't deny that," said Lily. "I don't deny any of the accusations that you are going to level at me today, Amelia—may I call you Amelia? What I deny is the reasoning behind them. I did not wantonly abuse my son for the sake of abusing him. I did what I did for the good of the world. Were he not sculpted into Connor's powerful guardian, Harry would have followed one of two courses: not playing his part in the prophecy, or becoming a Dark Lord."
Harry had not actually known it would be so hard to hear her speaking those words. He curled into his chair, around his hand, watching as Lily glared with steady green eyes at Madam Bones, and raised a small barrier that stopped Snape's attempt to embrace him.
"What in your son's behavior convinced you that he could become a Dark Lord?" Madam Bones asked.
Oh, no, don't ask that, please don't ask that… everyone's going to know now…
"The fact that his magic was so powerful," Lily answered without hesitation. "That would be one part of it. If he could make things Vanish without even noticing it, then why shouldn't he make someone Vanish when they annoyed him? And, too, there was the sensation of his magic. I could only compare it to dog vomit. There were times it stank like rotting flesh, however. That was the major purpose of the phoenix web, to save and cleanse his magic, and, by extension, save Harry. He was made unnatural by Voldemort's attack. After it, his magic was stronger than it had been before. We had to restrain him, and we had to make him into someone who could serve and save the world, not just take from it."
At least she stopped short of telling them that I'm Voldemort's magical heir, Harry thought. He was panting, sweating, dizzy. Snape had struck a fist on the outside of the barrier, but Harry didn't look at him. His eyes were on his mother, and she was the only important thing in the world.
"Mrs. Potter, do you know what you are saying about your own son?" Madam Bones sounded disbelieving.
That's right, said the crab-rage in Harry's head, and pinched him with sharp pincers. She has no right to say those things about you. She said them once before, and they were wrong then. They are wrong now.
"I know it perfectly well," said Lily fiercely. "I lived in the same house with him for eleven years. I knew what he was." Abruptly, her voice softened. "And I knew what he could become, what he might be with the phoenix web on his magic and the proper training. Someone wise and good, self-sacrificing, who could give up his life to save his brother and never think twice of it. Such selflessness is not innate to everyone. I knew there had to be good in Harry, or we could not have trained him the way we did.
"And I now know that he'll save me if I ask, because I was the person who trained him in the ways of goodness, and he would never give up his mother, not really." Her gaze turned in the direction of the balcony where he sat, and Harry knew she had seen him come in after all. "Harry? Will you stand and speak a word for your mother?"
"Don't you dare," said Snape, with a precision that he normally saved for describing mistakes in Potions.
Harry ignored him. His body no longer seemed entirely his to control. Images of the past were flashing near his eyes, and the conflicting impulses played round and round in his head. As he stood and went to the edge of the balcony railing, he imagined his mother proud, radiant, walking free of the courtroom without her chains. She would smile at him. She would call him a good boy. She had said that he could be good. She didn't believe he was all evil.
Chasing the beautiful imaginings were the dark ones, the rage that said she didn't deserve to live, that she had hurt him, that he had every right, according to the pureblood dances she had made him learn, to grasp and crush her life.
He did not know which impulse would overtake him when he looked over the balcony railing, but he knew he had to look.
He looked down, and met his mother's eyes. He had no need for the window. Despite the distance between them, he knew he was meeting them, and he knew every detail of the clear green so well that it was as if she had levitated up in front of him.
"This is irregular," said Madam Bones, sounding as if her outrage had half-choked her. "Mrs. Potter, sit down. Mr. Potter, sit down. I am leading the questioning, and—"
Lily ignored her, lifting one of her arms in a sweet, sweeping gesture that her manacles abruptly brought to a halt. "Harry," she said softly. "My dear boy. You know I've loved you. You know I've taught you everything that's made it possible for you to survive and prosper for so long. I've paid in return, given up my magic to your vengeance and my freedom to this world that doesn't understand. Don't you want to see me free? You could do it, you know. You're strong enough. You could break my chains, and you could reach into the Ministry and free your father, and then we could go together to the house in Godric's Hollow and have the idyll we should have had. This time, son, I promise you I'll show you my love in ways you can recognize. I didn't know you were that desperate for a family, Harry, for a life somewhat more like what other people call normal, but this time I promise you'll get it."
The world spun faster and faster, becoming a maelstrom. Harry didn't know which was stronger, the love or the hatred. He could imagine her chains shattering. He could imagine her throat crushed. He breathed, hard, and moment after moment passed without his making a decision. Madam Bones was calling for order, but her voice seemed faint and far away—and so did the sounds of another person forcing their way through the packed bodies towards him, at least until that person finally spoke.
"Harry."
He turned his head. Draco was standing there, as close as the barrier Harry had raised would permit, even closer than Snape, his hands out and braced on the empty air holding him away from Harry. His eyes were gray, and somehow that color, even more present and clear than the green of his mother's, grounded Harry, anchored him, made him listen as Draco spoke.
"I can feel your emotions," Draco whispered. "My empathy isn't that strong anymore, but it's strong enough for this. That's what you were afraid to tell me, wasn't it? What you wouldn't share in the Pensieve with me yesterday. My Harry. I'm so sorry. I might have guessed. You've always been afraid of every emotion in yourself but the ones she taught you to feel. But I can feel your hatred, like an icy wind blowing on my face, and I don't fear it, Harry. And I feel your anger, like heat across my skin, and I rejoice in it. She's not worth your destroying the courtroom or taking her life, not worth the guilt you would feel afterwards. You're worth much more than that, much more than what she's causing you to feel right now." He took a step back, but only enough so that he could hold out one hand. His eyes never wavered. "Come to me, Harry."
Harry felt the rage and the love and the hatred and the guilt yaw, and dip, and pitch, and turn. He wanted, still, to free his mother, and he wanted to slaughter her. Those two visions, warm smiling Lily and dead sprawled Lily, dueled for and claimed dominance of his sight.
Then he realized there was another impulse stronger than either of them, and that was the impulse to be just taken away somewhere, and held, so that he didn't have to think about this.
He let out a loud sob, and dropped the barrier. Draco didn't seem to move as he crossed the intervening space, looping his arms tightly around Harry's waist and holding him close.
Harry lowered his head, trying desperately to hide the tears. He didn't want to be a child, didn't want to be so young, he had faced harder trials than this and come through intact, he didn't want—
"It's all right," said Draco, and his voice still held no fear, only crooning triumph. "You can weep."
And the rage won, sort of. It turned the memories Harry had seen today sideways, so that he had to look at them and hate them instead of vibrating in sympathy with Lily's training. That made him decide to fight the sympathy, to touch people instead of hold them back, and he clasped his own arms around Draco's waist in return, squeezing so tightly that Draco took in a little gasping breath, burying his head in Draco's shoulder.
Madam Bones called for a halt in the trial. Harry felt himself half-carried, half-supported by Draco and Snape out of the courtroom. He kept his face bowed, and wondered where they were going.
But during that time, the tears forced their way past his eyelids and down his cheeks. When Draco lowered him gently into a bed in Merlin-knew-what part of the Ministry, his face was already hard and hurtful with crying. Harry tried to roll over, putting one arm up around his eyes, but Draco was there with him in an instant, forcing the arm away.
"Not this time," he said, and held Harry close, but open, so that he had to bury his face in cloth and flesh if he was going to bury it anywhere.
Harry hesitated, and then his emotions forced him past the hesitation, and he began to cry once more. Part of him despised himself for needing this, but the need was too great to be halted. Training and memories gave way to what Harry supposed he could call instincts. He didn't think that Voldemort Apparating into the room could have pried him away from Draco in that instant.
He laid his head down and wept, in grief and rage and hatred and sheer relief that someone else knew what he was actually feeling.
Snape waited until Harry's tears had finally stopped, and he'd worn himself out with crying. He had several potions to induce either sleep or calm in his pockets, but when Draco gently laid Harry down on the bed in this small antechamber for the witnesses, and then curled up with him, Snape saw they weren't necessary. Harry had simply fallen asleep from his weariness. His hand clutched Draco's robes, and his handless arm curved around him with ferocious determination. To give Draco his due, he was holding back with scarcely less determination.
"Will you be all right?" he asked Draco. "I must to back to the courtroom and begin my testimony soon. I am the first of the witnesses for the prosecution."
Draco arranged Harry so that his cheek lay on top of Harry's hair, and then closed his own eyes. "We'll be fine," he said, the fierce, possessive joy in his voice as good as a Calming Draught to Snape's ears after Harry's helpless sobs. "He's past the worst of it, I think. He's not to come into contact with that bitch again." That was said very casually, as if the insult were actually Lily Potter's name.
"He will not," said Snape softly, and wound up pulling out the potions after all and laying them on the table beside the bed. "Only use these if he needs them. The blue ones to relax him. The dark one is Dreamless Sleep, and the silver one will induce a lighter doze."
"I know that," said Draco, and rolled his eyes at him. "I am actually a good Potions student, sir."
Snape scowled at him, to keep in practice, and then left the antechamber for the courtroom again. The last thing he saw of the two boys was Draco apparently attempting to arrange Harry so that no part of Harry's body touched the bed.
Snape shut his concern up in an Occlumency pool. Harry was safely out of the courtroom, where he should have been in the first place, and beyond his mother's manipulations. That meant Snape didn't have to worry about him until such time as he came to and insisted on returning, or unless Lily managed to break free and find him.
Neither of those things will be happening.
With the concern shut up, his rage came back, a cold black boulder, and sat in him, and grew, until he was filled with frozen stone.
He had just reentered the courtroom when he heard a roar, and then several loud and frightened cries. He hastened to the balcony railing and peered over it, staring at the enormous lioness in the center of the floor. She was prowling towards the prisoner's chair, her fangs bared. Lily Potter had shrunk back in the chair, having lost her defiant manner of a few minutes before, and shook.
Snape knew who it must be: one of the puellaris witches. Since Elfrida Bulstrode had not attended the trial, fearing, rightly, that she would transform when she saw Lily, this left Laura Gloryflower.
A few Aurors had hastened up, but their spells seemed to bounce from the lioness; Snape knew the puellaris witches had nearly the magic resistance of werewolves in this form. Of course, there was also the fact that the Aurors didn't seem to be trying. Perhaps they wanted the woman to be hurt.
Snape took a deep breath, cast Sonorus on himself, and leaned over the balcony. "Gloryflower!" he cried.
The lioness turned and looked up at him, with green eyes whose fire he felt from here. It was nothing compared to being looked at by Harry, but still he winced. Harry was power in its wildest form, pure and dangerous; he might do anything. The lioness was far more straightforward. She could do less, but a single swipe of her claws or teeth and a wizard was still dead. Harry had more mercy.
"Harry is safe now," Snape made himself say, little as he liked exposing his ward's state of mind to the court. Harry would be more devastated if he found Gloryflower had killed his mother than if he found more of his emotions had been exposed in public. "He will recover. His mother will not speak to him that way again, because she will never see him again. Please, calm down. Let the Wizengamot dispense justice."
The lioness's tail twitched, twice. Then she turned and stalked towards the prisoner's chair again, ignoring the more serious spells the Aurors fired at her.
Snape held his breath, but still hoped he might succeed. And he had, he saw. The lioness leaned near enough to Lily to take her head off and roared, a blast of breath that Snape could only surmise felt hot and meaty, from the expression on Lily's face. Her jaws snapped once, a reminder, and then she turned and stalked away.
Lily fainted.
The Aurors shut their gaping mouths and hurried to remove the prisoner from the chair. The lioness waited, making it clear that she intended to escort them back to the cells. Wisely, no one made an issue of it, and Madam Bones resumed the moment the Aurors, the prisoner, and their unusual honor guard were gone.
James Potter came in next.
Snape felt his hatred spread and increase throughout his being with the force of hammer blows. He had hated this man for a very long time now, since the day he had tried to get Snape killed by a werewolf and rescued him only at the last moment, but that was nothing next to what he felt for what James had done to his son. He could have stopped Lily. He could have opened his eyes and seen what she was doing. Harry might have suffered years less of abuse than he had. But James had not done those things, and Harry was someone who still thought his emotions were evil and had to be fought with and contained alone, someone who flinched from being touched and couldn't accept himself as human.
And James was not the cause of it, no, but he was one of the reasons it was not stopped.
"James Potter," said Madam Bones, when he was seated. Snape stared steadily at him all the while, hating. James just looked as arrogant as he always did. "You are accused of the neglect of your son, Harry Potter—"
"That's not true," James quickly responded. Snape clenched his fists to keep himself from going for his wand. His wandless magic coiled around him and whispered interesting things. He kept that still and away from choking James's life out with an effort.
"I assure you, it is true that you are charged with neglect." Madam Bones sounded cranky. Snape couldn't blame her. She had hardly been neutral in the first place, and then to have the constant interruptions in the trial proceedings would have tried the patience of a Demiguise. And then to see Lily importuning Harry…
Snape calmed himself before something unfortunate could happen, and reminded himself his turn at testimony would come, and that James Potter would not really look better as six different sets of Potions ingredients, ready-harvested.
"That's not what I meant," said James. "I mean that it's not true I ever neglected Harry."
The arm of Snape's chair exploded. His magic circled him like a trailing serpent, the first time it had ever done so, and tried to slither under the balcony railing and into the main courtroom space. Snape restrained it with difficulty.
"We have memories and notes that say otherwise," said Madam Bones, but she had allowed a note of curiosity to creep into her voice. "Why do you think you never did, Mr. Potter?"
"Because I didn't know what was happening!" James threw his arms up in the air, but the chains tightened and stopped the gesture. "That's the truth. I never knew Lily had trained Harry the way she did."
"Ten years in the same house while the training happened, and you never knew?" Madam Bones questioned in disbelief. "Are you blind or stupid, Mr. Potter?"
Some of the audience members laughed at that, and Snape's magic tightened around his ankles in wicked amusement. He suspected that Lily had sealed her fate with her little plea to Harry, and tipped the sympathy of the audience, if not the Wizengamot, firmly to his ward's side. James would not find it easy to get out of this now, though Snape suspected he would avoid death.
"Neither," said James in annoyance, flushing. "And the lead questioner isn't supposed to insult the victims, Madam Bones. I read about that," he added defiantly.
Madam Bones leaned forward, and her voice got quieter. "You are a defendant, not a victim of child abuse, you stupid, stupid man," she said. "It was stupidity, and not blindness, then." She pretended to write that down, while more of the courtroom snickered. Snape was glad that Harry was gone now. He undoubtedly would have been horrified, and convinced that James wasn't getting a fair trial. He wasn't, of course, but very few trials in the Wizengamot courtroom were fair—neither of Snape's own had been—and this was far more fun. It was time that James paid in at least a little humiliation for the treatment he'd given Harry.
"I resent this," said James, trying to hold himself in and use that cultured voice Snape remembered from school, the one that got people to follow along and do whatever Perfect Potter wanted them to do. "I resent it greatly. You are making me a laughingstock, Madam Bones."
"No, you're doing that quite neatly on your own," said Madam Bones, inspiring another round of chuckles. "Now, Mr. Potter. You claim you noticed nothing during your son's childhood, which we'll define here as the time before he started Hogwarts. And afterwards? The notes we have state that you became aware of Harry's abuse during his second year at school. That would have been while he was twelve. And yet, you did nothing?"
"Lily told me the truth, then," said James. "That what she did was for the greater good of the world. She convinced me Harry was a sacrifice, and that visiting him or trying to change his situation would just increase our emotional ties to him, which wasn't good, since he was destined to die in the War."
Snape felt his amusement cool quickly and turn to disgust again. His magic whispered in his ear, mentioning that he could use chopped human liver for his Dragon-Calming Potion. Snape told it to go hang.
Madam Bones didn't sound impressed, either. "And what happened when your wife was stripped of her magic? Our records indicate that you left the house at Godric's Hollow then, and went to the Potter family home in Lux Aeterna. Why did you not divorce your wife and strive to protect your sons, when you had put distance between yourself and Mrs. Potter?"
"I—" James sighed. "This is complicated," he said, with another expression Snape remembered from Hogwarts, one that spoke of his readiness to spin a wild tale to try and protect himself from the consequences of his own actions. "You see, I still loved Lily. I love her even now. I had to learn to love Harry. And she hadn't been abusing Connor, not really. So I just needed a little time to get used to the idea."
"You had more than a year," said Madam Bones. "And still, you made no significant progress in protecting your son."
"He didn't need it then," said James crossly, flushing. "He didn't see her most of the time."
"But Albus Dumbledore played a part in his life, and he continued his abuse of your son," said Madam Bones. "And you still made no attempt to charge him or your wife with child abuse, or even go to a private Healer from St. Mungo's and insure that the damage to Harry's mind was undone. All in all, you seemed content to pretend that it had never happened, until the night you were arrested for neglect, when Minister Scrimgeour reports verbal abuse of your son, as in your blaming him for your arrest. Why, Mr. Potter?"
"All of this is more complicated than you can possibly understand!" James retorted.
"Then explain it to us, Mr. Potter." Snape could hear the steady tap of Madam Bones's fingernails as she struck her lectern. "We are gathered here to hear your side of the story. As there are no witnesses for the defense, you may have all the time you like."
James visibly swallowed once or twice. Snape felt some of his anger melt and turn into satisfaction. Do you feel the rope coiling around your neck, Potter? Not that they'd literally hang you, but you can't run anymore, can't find an excuse they'll believe. How does it feel, to know that the world that once supported you and that bitch of a wife of yours as good parents now stands on Harry's side?
"I was upset," James muttered at last. The acoustics of the chamber made sure he was heard. James looked as if he wished otherwise. "I did blame Harry. I shouldn't have. That wasn't verbal abuse, just a slip of the tongue."
"Then explain the rest, Mr. Potter," said Madam Bones at once. "Your not seeking help for Harry. Your not turning in his abusers. What of that?"
"They were my wife and my mentor, one of the greatest wizards who's ever lived," said James. "Would you have turned them in, Madam Bones?"
"Yes."
Her resolute word seemed to shrink James, who looked about as if for help. Snape didn't know if he'd actually seen him, or only surmised he must be in the courtroom, but James's eyes narrowed abruptly, and he looked up at Madam Bones with new confidence.
"Severus Snape brought these charges," he said. "The man hates me. He's animated against me by a schoolboy rivalry that he should have let drop a long time ago. Put him under Veritaserum. He'll tell you that's the truth."
Madam Bones shook her head slowly, mockingly. "Not so, Mr. Potter," she said. "Professor Snape filed the original charges, but we have received corroboration from a number of sources, too much evidence to dismiss. Now, I will ask you again. Why didn't you turn in your son's abusers?"
James shrank in on himself, and then a sullen expression settled on his face. He didn't answer.
"Mr. Potter?"
Still no answer.
Madam Bones clucked her tongue sharply. "Does the defendant wish to say anything else?" When James remained quiet, she nodded to the Aurors to remove him, and then looked up at Snape. "First victim for the prosecution's side of the case, please step forward."
Snape walked towards the stairs that would take him to the courtroom proper, just barely remembering to take the Sonorus charm off his voice so he wouldn't shout everywhere. His magic flowed with him, making him shiver. It did try to snap at James, but Snape kicked it back under control. He took the chair made for Harry, and at once it adjusted to his spine, molding itself comfortably around him. An improvement from the last time he'd been in this position, Snape had to admit as he looked up at Madam Bones.
"Professor Severus Snape," Madam Bones began. "You are Harry Potter's guardian?"
"I am," said Snape. Not that he always acknowledges it, but I am, and it would take more than a piece of paper in the Ministry to proclaim his guardian someone else.
"And you filed the charges of abuse and neglect?"
"I did." At the words "abuse and neglect," his magic strained and danced like a Crup at the end of its leash, trying to get away and go in the direction the Aurors had taken James. Snape restrained it. He was going to get out of the Ministry without being convicted of murder, or anything else. It was important that he control his behavior in all aspects of his life, which was one reason he was grateful that Minerva had worked as hard as she had to make sure the potential murder charges against him for Rovenan's death were dropped. He wanted to remain free, to insure that Harry believed him when he said that nothing mattered more than his health and safety.
"When did you first notice signs of abuse?"
"At the time, I did not know they were signs of abuse," said Snape quietly, thinking back to Harry's first year at Hogwarts. It struck him as odd now that he could have been so impatient with the boy then. Of course, he hadn't known that Harry's reluctance to do anything right, to live up to the skills that Snape could see burning brightly in him, was induced by his parents. It had seemed right and natural that someone in Slytherin House would follow his ambitions, and to think that Harry would put love for his untalented, Gryffindor brother, James Potter come again, above his own self-interest had driven Snape quiet mad. "He botched simple Potions he was capable of making. He remained behind his brother in all his classes. He hid the extent to which he could perform wandless magic and complicated spells. When he won the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin in his first year, defeating two Death Eaters at the same time, he arranged matters to make it look as if his brother had won. When I saw into his mind in second year, as I trained him in Occlumency, I realized what the problem was."
"And why did you not report it earlier?" Madam Bones sounded genuinely interested. Snape supposed she had been through the Pensieve Potion he'd turned in, and the memories collected from Lily and James during their rare cooperative periods with the Aurors, and had come to be convinced, had she doubted it at first, of the extent and malice behind Harry's abuse.
"Because the Headmaster told me to keep silent on account of the prophecy, and at that time, I still believed in him," said Snape. "I planned to treat Harry as a savior, train him to be a powerful wizard, and then reveal him as mightier than his brother at some point in the future. Then Harry himself begged me not to reveal the abuse. At the time, he seemed to have good reasons for it, and I listened to him. I did not know all the details of what his parents had done to him then."
Madam Bones nodded. "And when did you first change your mind about staying silent?"
Snape could remember the moment with acid-etched clarity. It was one of the defining points in his life so far, after all.
"When Harry's mind was shattered at the end of his second year," he said softly. "You have heard him say his mind was webs, yes?" When Madam Bones nodded, he continued, "He had a magical snake who had become entwined in his webs. The snake was killed. Harry's mind shattered. He had to rebuild himself piece by piece, and I entered his mind to help him do it. While there, I chose to do what I could to heal him, in defiance of the Headmaster."
Madam Bones frowned and flipped through her pages for a moment. "There are references to multiple changes of Mr. Potter's mind here," she said. "How many times would you say he has almost gone mad?"
"Three," said Snape without hesitation. "Once at the end of his second year, once in the middle of his third when his mother attempted to renew the phoenix web on him, and a few months ago when the Dark Lord returned and cut off his hand." He noticed Madam Bones shuddering convulsively, and hoped, with anger like the bite of a northern breeze, that the shiver would pass along the line. You owe him so much, all of you, for defeating the Dark Lord five times so far, six if we may count the time on the beach. Well may you feel sorry for what has happened to him.
"Would you say that Mr. Potter's abuse has exacerbated the effects of the damage to his mind?" Madam Bones asked.
"Yes. Indeed, in two cases it was the direct cause of it," said Snape. "The boy needs to be safely away from his abusers, and they need to be punished for what they have done to him." He remembered the emptiness in Harry's eyes when he was pleading with Snape not to hurt them, that first evening when Lily and Dumbledore had been arrested, but then he dismissed the memory. I am sorry, Harry. They do. Dumbledore will never stop trying to gain control of you. Your mother would never stop pleading with you to save her, or the world. You have been their sacrifice, their penitent little sufferer, long enough. It's time for you to start living, and for them, with all luck, to stop.
Madam Bones nodded in satisfaction. "What would you say is the worst abuse Mr. Potter has suffered, in detail?"
Snape began to describe the abuse, based mostly on details that he had taken from Dumbledore's memories, forcing his mind to be elsewhere, as it was when he used to report the consequences of Death Eater meetings to the Headmaster. He was thinking, instead, of the way that Harry had put up a barrier to keep anyone from touching him when Lily spoke.
If the Wizengamot is so misguided as to free her, I will see her dead. I cannot kill her myself, or be suspected, because I will not go to Tullianum and I will not leave Harry. But I can and will make sure that someone else does it. A hint dropped in Mrs. Bulstrode's ear might not be out of place.
Harry stirred much sooner than Draco had expected him to, murmuring and rolling over about an hour after he had fallen asleep. Draco found himself disappointed. He had enjoyed the warmth, the trusting press of Harry's body to his, and, most of all, the feeling that Harry had nothing to hide, neither emotions nor thoughts.
Harry, of course, opened his eyes, and immediately moved away from him, his cheeks flushing. "What time is it?" he asked, even as he used his wandless magic to cast a Tempus charm. He stiffened at the numbers it revealed, sucking in his breath. "Do you think my father's testimony is over?" he asked, and started to turn towards the door.
Draco decided that letting Harry get away with this hiding was stupid, and therefore it wasn't going to happen.
"Harry," Draco said, and reached up, catching his chin and turning his face back.
Harry flushed again when they were face to face, and his eyes darted in another direction. Draco shook his head. Harry was definitely listening, look away though he might, and that was what mattered.
"You shouldn't go back there," Draco told him calmly. "Yes, your father's testimony is over, and Snape and my mother and your other allies will be testifying now. It'll do nothing but weigh on your mind. Stay here and talk to me. By the way your emotions burst out of you, you're tired of cooping them up." He shuddered a bit. The sudden assault of rage and hatred on his face where there had been nothing before had stunned him for long moments before he was able to get to Harry. Otherwise, he would have been at his side no more than a few seconds after Lily began her plea.
"I was just really tired," said Harry, his words blurring. "Now we can—"
"This isn't going to work, Harry," said Draco, and heard his own voice tighten. Harry was not making him irritated so much as desperately worried and frustrated, but he did seem to be assuming that he could cry his eyes out, sleep in Draco's arms for an hour, and then go on as if nothing had happened. That wasn't the way it was going to be. Now that Draco had a better idea of what Harry was hiding, he wasn't going to let him go back to hiding it. "You've got a secret that's hurting you the same way denying yourself sleep did last year—"
"They're not the same," said Harry. "I know why I lost control then. This time, it's just weakness."
"Merlin, Harry," said Draco softly, and pulled him down again, so that Harry was resting on his chest. "You've survived abuse, and you're at the trial of your abusers. The last thing I would say that is is weakness. Normal emotions, yes, and I'm sorry you've struggled to hide them for so long. Why did you? Did you think we'd hate you for them?" He moved one hand strongly over Harry's back, his longing for Harry to speak more intense than even his longing to touch him at the moment.
"I don't want to feel them," said Harry, and then yanked at Draco's arms, though, Draco noted, he still didn't use his magic to block touch, as he had earlier at the trial. "I want to spare my parents. I hate them, and I don't want to hate them, and—oh, fuck." He broke off awkwardly, and Draco realized he was probably on the verge of tears again.
"But you do," said Draco softly. "And probably, Harry, if you really want to stop feeling those things, the only way through is to speak about them."
"What is it with you and Snape and this mania for me talking?" Harry glared at him from beneath his fringe, but Draco knew at least half the rage in those brilliant green eyes was directed against himself. The other half was aimed at Lily and James, or at least Draco hoped so. "I don't want to."
"Why?" Draco whispered.
"I don't want to tell you why, either. Besides, you know it." Harry made another, more determined effort to get away.
Draco wished Harry would take a Calming Draught, but knew he had no chance of getting him to agree to that right now, and that he'd lose Harry's trust forever if he force-fed him one. He rolled over instead, pinning Harry's lower body to the bed with his own. That brought up unfortunate ideas, but Draco found it easy to push them away. Harry's expression wasn't panicked, just miserable. He must know that being this close, or even just the sensation of arms around him and a hand stroking his back, was causing him to surrender.
"Harry," Draco said softly, "you can feel as much rage and hatred as you want. I won't despise you for it. Neither will Snape. Neither will anyone who knows the truth." His yearning to hear what Harry wanted to tell him grew sharp as a knife-blade. "Please. Tell us. I know you want to."
Harry tried to curl up on himself, not that he could do that when Draco was holding him the way he was. "I'll despise myself. I already do."
"Then what harm will telling someone do?" Draco kissed his hair, then the side of his cheek. "You know you can trust me, Harry. I want to know everything you are, everything you feel. Tell me." I want everything you are, he thought, but didn't say, in case those words might push Harry too far.
"I don't want these emotions," Harry said precisely. "If you convince me it's all right to have them, I'll just keep on feeling them. And I don't want to."
"Why not?" Draco took a slight stab in the dark. In truth, he thought he was correct, but Harry was the most complicated person he'd ever known. He could have some arcane subterranean reason for feeling the way he did. "Do you think they're that inconsistent with being vates?"
Harry jerked like a landed fish and tried to roll away again. Draco rolled with him, ending up in a messy half-embrace, half-sprawled position.
"Just—don't," said Harry, and pushed at him. "I don't want to do this, Draco. I don't want to feel these things. I don't want to confess them." He spoke so fast Draco could barely understand him, keeping his face turned away. "I don't want to talk."
"They're normal, Harry," Draco breathed. Harry was on the verge of a breakdown, he could feel it. He felt bad for pushing him, but if he managed to thoroughly shatter Harry's barriers, then at the very least, Harry wouldn't go on pretending. "And you are normal, in this respect at least."
"I don't want to be normal," said Harry, and he sounded desperate. "It hurts."
Draco clasped his arms more firmly around him. "What do you want to do?"
"Go back to the courtroom."
Draco gave a little growl. "I meant, besides that."
"And that's what I want to do." Harry rolled back over and looked at him. He had, with what superhuman effort Draco didn't like to think, put his emotions away again. His face was calm and blank. "You can't restrain me, Draco, you know that, not if I really want to go."
And Draco did know that, though Harry might have been talking about the strength of his magic, and Draco simply meant in general. He wouldn't oppose something Harry truly wanted—not least because he thought the courtroom would give another push to Harry's barriers, and change him for good. He nodded and sat up, reaching for his wand to murmur a few quick cleaning charms on his hair, Harry's hair—as much as that was possible—and the tear tracks on Harry's face.
Harry waited impatiently for them to pass, then made for the door. Draco caught up with him and supported him with his arm.
Harry gave him a sharp glance. "I'm fine."
"I like doing this," Draco said, and then of course Harry gave him a startled glance, as if he couldn't imagine that someone liked touching him for its own sake, but relented.
They walked back to the courtroom. Draco worked on burying his impatience. The more time he spent with Harry lately, the more he wanted. Not just time, of course, but everything. Touching him, hearing what he wanted to say, hearing what he didn't want to say, wanting to be wanted back—
It was that last that was most frustrating, Draco acknowledged. Harry loved him, he knew that, but his emotions were tangled and wound around each other like barbed wire, and now he was hiding from them. Draco mostly wanted them out so Harry would heal, but he was selfish enough to admit that he also wanted them out so that Harry would stop bloody hiding from everything else, and get a move on.
After the trial, Draco was going to hold Harry to his promise about sharing his mindset via the Pensieve.
They arrived in the courtroom just as his mother was finishing her testimony. Draco avoided both his father's and Snape's glare—though he flinched more at his father's than at Snape's—and settled Harry back from the balcony railing in an empty seat. Harry just conjured a damn window in his palm, of course, so it obviously didn't really matter where they sat.
"And the next witness for the prosecution," said Madam Bones, in a carrying voice, "is Connor Potter."
Only when Harry's head jerked up, his eyes flying wide, did Draco realize that Harry hadn't known his brother had worked out a deal with the Minister that would allow him to testify against his parents instead of taking a victim's role. Connor had told him of it at several points during the last week, but Harry had never really seemed to hear, and now here was proof that he hadn't.
Here comes the next storm, Draco thought, and prepared to hang on.