Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!
This chapter is not a nice one, but I'm satisfied with it. So far, most of Harry's complications on the vates path have come from other wizards. But magical creatures' interests don't always line up with each other.
Chapter Seventy-Seven: For Such Is the World
Snape ate his breakfast slowly. It was the first morning of Easter holidays, and most of the students had abandoned the school yesterday. Even the Potter brat—Snape continued to call him that despite his improvements in dueling, because the boy had neither changed his last name nor his impudent behavior in Potions—had gone with the Weasleys, to the same heavily warded location he'd shared with them during the summer. Harry had stayed, and Draco had stayed because Harry had stayed, and of course several of the professors were still there.
Yes. They are.
Snape laid down his fork and leaned forward to stare at Lupin, who was likewise eating slowly, and reading the Daily Prophet with a faint smile on his face. The front-page story, Snape knew, concerned the werewolf who had bitten the Wizengamot Elder. Apparently, he'd started talking last night, but it was nothing anyone wanted to hear. He was lecturing his captors about life in the werewolf packs, and asking, "with a mischievous glint in his eye," as the paper put it, whether most wizarding parents knew just where their adolescent children spent the evenings.
And Lupin was reading it, and smiling.
Snape wondered that the rest of them couldn't see it. But then, McGonagall had her mind on the school wards, and Flitwick had a relationship with Lupin that consisted mostly of Flitwick talking and Lupin nodding. And the other Professors were obsessed with their own concerns, except Hooch, who tended to stare at and then glance away from Lupin quickly when she didn't think anyone was watching. So Snape supposed that the others didn't notice how strange it was for the werewolf to be happy that another one of the monsters had been arrested.
"Something amusing, Lupin?"
Lupin looked up with that mild shine in his eyes that Snape hated. It said that he accepted all that life threw at him and understood that it wasn't other wizards' fault for being prejudiced, but the world's fault for being made that way. Snape had loathed it more since Lupin became Head of Gryffindor House, because now it was a mask, and not reality. Lupin had accepted far more of his own temper and his own strength since he'd been at the Seers' Sanctuary. He used the mask to make people think he was gentle. He wasn't.
Not anymore. And Snape wondered if that was part of the reason for the smile on his lips, which now he'd tucked neatly away.
"Not at all," said Lupin seriously. "They're thinking about confining us in Tullianum on the nights of the full moon, Snape, at least according to this article." He tapped the words on the front page. "And you know that they decided to do that yesterday, at a meeting we were actually able to see." His lips curved into a disturbing smile. "How would you feel, if they decided that everyone with the Dark Mark had to spend three nights in Tullianum a month, purely to insure good behavior?"
Snape didn't respond for a long moment, sipping his tea. Then he said, "I do not consider myself and others with the Dark Mark part of a set, Lupin. I was under the impression that you do consider yourself allies with other werewolves."
There. There was the beast, in the flash of Lupin's amber eyes as they turned on him. Snape sat and stared at him. He felt the old fear well up; he had nearly died on the claws of that beast when he was sixteen. He could have become infected. Neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall, of course, would ever believe him when he talked about werewolves being dangerous, thinking it was only prejudice that guided him. It wasn't prejudice, it was bloody good sense.
And if it hadn't been Dumbledore's precious Black involved in that prank, they probably would have been expelled. And Lupin certainly wouldn't have been allowed to attend Hogwarts.
"I do," Lupin was saying, apparently recovering from his surprise. "You heard that at Harry's alliance meeting, Severus." He picked at his food for a moment. Snape narrowed his eyes, and watched the way he snapped his jaws. That could have come from the fact that the full moon was only two nights past, of course, but Lupin didn't ordinarily eat that way even now. It seemed to come from his allying himself more firmly with werewolves. Snape gave a faint nod, feeling the realization sink home in him and link with other observations he'd made about Lupin in the past few days, and then the werewolf met his eyes and held them.
"I don't think it's right, what they're doing," Lupin breathed, gaze intent. "But there's one good thing that might come out of it. If the Ministry goes fast and far enough, there's going to be a reaction. People will only take so much, Severus. We've already lost the right to work to keep ourselves alive, to have our own families and homes, to have wands, though they often ignore that last one. They'll tighten the restrictions now. They've taken our freedom. What else is left? Not much. Life. If the Ministry declares a return to the Werewolf Hunts they used to have in the eighteenth century, then yes, I think that's cause for amusement. They have no idea what the bloody fuck they're doing, what force they're about to unleash."
Snape felt a moment of startled discomfort. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Lupin curse. But he watched Lupin's eyes go back to the paper, and saw that faint smile appear again, and his mind turned in a new direction, away from one werewolf's peculiarities and towards what those peculiarities might mean.
He felt himself freeze, not losing movement, but losing superfluous thoughts. His mind pivoted for a long moment, turning, gathering, spinning information. Snape waited. He had felt this before, usually in the moments when he crouched at the Dark Lord's feet as a spy and considered what he had to say to survive. The cold in his mind stripped away all the irrelevancies and told him what would keep him alive—or, in this case, not him but someone dear to him.
"You are forcing Harry towards this," he said lowly. "He is trying to stop something that violent from happening, and you are pressuring him deliberately towards it."
Lupin jerked his head up like a wolf scenting the hounds, but he spoke calmly enough. "I am? Don't be silly, Severus. Of course I'm not. I assure you, I don't know the werewolf who did this, and I do wish the Ministry would simply back off and talk with us like reasonable people. But that's not going to happen. You didn't feel the atmosphere in that courtroom yesterday. I did. If we simply lie back and do nothing, the Ministry will start killing us, and the fear in other wizards' hearts will prompt them to accept it. Our situation is the most desperate of all the magical creatures' right now."
"And it did not occur to you to tell Harry about that?" Snape asked, his voice soft. Lupin could think it was disbelief making it soft if he wished; that was his prerogative. "It did not occur to you that he would fight, heart and soul, for you without your having to begin a bloody revolution?"
"He has no objections to revolution," said Lupin, his voice gone colder. "We heard that at the alliance meeting."
"Not this kind of revolution." Snape felt his wandless magic peer out from behind his eyes with the force of his anger, and strove to push it back down. This was—too dangerous for him to use it. "He must respect the free wills of wizards as well as of magical creatures, Lupin. Have you forgotten that?"
"And we have a need for him that none of the others did." Lupin's voice had lowered again, and was passionate enough to sound like a growl. "You forget, Severus. The others are bound, but they are spared further harm. Their webs extend so far and no farther, because most of the wizards don't even know about the webs. We are the ones being pushed against, and we are the ones who stand to lose our rights one by one. And who knows if he will ever break our webs and free us? That would involve acting against the free will of the wolf. Harry may have sworn to our cause from his vates principles, but the need we have of him extends beyond that, to the powerful wizard and the Black heir. And that is power that Harry has been reluctant to use in the past."
Snape stared at him in silence for a long moment. Then he said, "You are acting like humans in this."
Lupin gave a sharp nod. "Humans armed with the only weapon we have. I don't like it, I don't like us having to do this—"
"What is 'this?'" It had occurred to Snape that he knew none of the details of the plan, even if he knew the motivation.
Lupin shook his head. "Pack loyalty forbids me telling you, Severus."
Snape leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes. "And so I am proved right once again," he said, deliberately making his voice as sarcastic as possible. He had to make Lupin intrigued enough to keep looking at him, so that his Legilimency probe would go home and strike at the mind behind those eyes.
"What do you mean?" Lupin leaned a little nearer.
Snape spoke smoothly, even as he sent his mind knifing forward. He could insult James Potter and his friends in his sleep. "That the Marauders are a pack of worthless cowards, braggarts, and bullies, Lupin, who would betray anyone for the sake of getting what they want. I had been willing to reconsider you in light of what you have done, and tried to do, for Harry. I see now that the only one of you worth anything is the rat."
It worked. He was back in his own mind, holding the information he desired, and Lupin was rising from the table, looking completely unaware that something was wrong, his teeth bared in a vicious snarl. McGonagall turned and looked at them sternly. Lupin ignored her, and Snape did not dare take his eyes off him. His hand was on his wand under the table, his magic trembling at the edge of his control.
"You cannot understand," Lupin whispered. "You will never understand, Snape. I tried to deny and excuse what I was for far too long. In the Sanctuary, I learned to acknowledge it. And I learned that no one is going to do anything for us unless we do it for ourselves. I love Harry, but he will hesitate on this too long. He'll give more weight to the free will of wizards than of werewolves. And while he's trying to find some way to satisfy both sides, they'll start killing us. Even if we hadn't done anything to force the issue, it would have come to this sooner or later. I love Harry, but I don't live for him, the way that you apparently do."
He turned and walked rapidly towards the doors of the Great Hall. Snape sipped his tea and watched him go, ignoring Harry's anxious glance from the Slytherin table. Harry would come to see him in a short time, no doubt, and hear all about it.
The Headmistress was a bit more insistent.
"Severus? Did you start an argument with Remus, again?"
Snape glanced at McGonagall with a faint smirk. "Always blaming the Slytherin, Minerva?"
McGonagall visibly reined herself in. She did approximate a neutral tone a few moments later. "I was merely observing the fact that you have a temper, Severus, and Remus does not."
Oh, doesn't he? Severus smiled at her, and saw her frown. "I suggest you talk to Remus about it," he said, standing. "I would be interested to see what he says." He caught Harry's eye briefly, then turned towards his own quarters. He had marking that he could do until Harry arrived.
Before he could get out of the Great Hall, the post owls came in carrying the package for Harry.
Harry noticed the post owls immediately; it was hard not to, when five of them were clutched about and laboring with an enormous package. The package came to the Slytherin table, the way he had been secretly suspecting it would since he saw it. The day a mysterious delivery entered the Great Hall and was not for him would probably be the day the war was over.
The post owls looked like ordinary birds, he noted as they set down their burden gently in front of him, not from Gringotts or any pureblood wizarding family. However, when Harry tried to fetch food from the table to feed them, they spread their wings and wheeled away at once, heading for the windows. Harry blinked and looked at the package, wrapped in red and black paper, wondering if they were upset or merely tired.
Then Argutus, coiled on his shoulder, lifted his head and flicked his tongue. "There is something organic in there," he said.
Harry warily cast one of the spells he'd seen Narcissa using on the Room of Requirement, and nodded. Yes, there was flesh and blood in the package, but he couldn't tell what it was. The spell wasn't sophisticated enough to sense the difference between, say, a venomous snake and a non-venomous one.
"Let me, Harry."
Harry moved out of the way so that Draco could cast some dispelling magic on the package. No traps were revealed. Nothing moved, either, even when Draco incanted a curse Harry didn't know, and explained that it was meant to sting a hiding person or creature intolerably. Draco tried most of the countercurses he knew, and they struck the package harmlessly.
Harry leaned closer, and let Argutus have another sniff of the package, as well as sniffing himself. No smell came to either of them except a faint, dry, dusty one. He shook his head. If there was an animal in there, Argutus should be able to tell me what kind it was. Flesh and blood, so it can't be a plant. What the hell is it?
He badly wanted to open the package and find out, but he wasn't about to without some more preparation. He Levitated it, and nodded to Snape, who had halted behind his chair. "Do you have potions that can melt the box without touching the contents, sir?"
"I may have, depending on what the contents are," said Snape, and led them out of the Great Hall. Harry could feel eyes on him from the few remaining students, mostly members of the dueling club. He met a few of them and shook his head. He didn't have any more idea what was in the package than what the cause of the argument between Snape and Remus had been.
They entered Snape's office, and Snape busied himself taking out a Dissolving Potion. He cast several spells of his own spells on the box first, but wasn't able to tell what was inside. He then instructed them to move out of the way as he poured the potion on the box. Harry had to hold an increasingly curious Argutus back, or the Omen snake would have slithered down his arm and towards the box, determined to be the first one to get a look inside.
The box began to smoke as the potion struck it, and then it billowed up into purple fumes, flowing back to the vial when Snape motioned for it to do so. That left the object inside the package untouched. Harry swallowed when he saw what it was. It was no wonder they'd not been able to smell anything more than dust; the preservation spells used on it were the same ones used on library books.
Someone had cut off Firenze's head and sent it to him. It sat, horribly real, in the middle of the floor, with gobs of black, dried blood still clinging to the neck. Firenze's eyes were open. Harry couldn't tell what expression he'd died with. It might have been shock, or only mild surprise.
"That's not—" Draco said, and stopped. Harry shot a sideways glance at him and found him looking pale. Well, while he might have heard stories about this, he wouldn't ever have seen something like it. Harry slid an arm around Draco's shoulders to give him support, and felt the other boy lean against him. "That's not real, is it?" Draco whispered. "Someone didn't really cut off a centaur's head and send it to you?"
"Centaur?" asked Snape sharply. He'd been staring at Firenze; now he looked around at them.
Harry nodded. "Firenze was one of the centaurs I freed from their web in the Forbidden Forest. He was—he was going to go negotiate with the giants for me." He swallowed. "I didn't know that giants would work preservation spells and send the head back when a negotiation failed," he said quietly.
"They would not." Snape pointed his wand at the head. "Acclaro nuntium!"
The head wavered like smoke for a moment, and Harry prepared to protect his nose, since he thought the preservation spells would dissipate and they would be assaulted by the smell of rotting flesh. Instead, Firenze's features simply rearranged themselves, and now Harry could see the message on the face in impossibly tiny and clear letters that must have been cut by magic.
Snape leaned near enough to read them, his wand still out. "Potter," he said, his voice empty of emotion. "Your centaur was too late. I thought it would be amusing to send you this, as a little memento mori. Regards, Igor Karkaroff."
Harry caught his breath, and swallowed. Emotions collided in him like charging horses, so thick that he could barely decide what to feel first. Sorrow that Firenze had died? Rage at Karkaroff for desecrating his body like this? Fear that the giants were now fighting on Voldemort's side? Disgust that the Death Eater had chosen to send such a vile message?
"Karkaroff sent many messages like that during the war, but usually to victims' families," said Snape, his face expressionless. "My pardons, Harry. I would have warned you beforehand about what to expect, but it has been years since I have seen a package like that one."
"It's—all right." Harry squeezed Draco's shoulder one more time, and stepped away from Snape, forcing his mind to function. "Voldemort has the giants now. We'll need to be more careful, plan more carefully, than ever." He studied Firenze's head for a moment. "Will the preservation spells suddenly leave off?"
"They should not." Snape's mouth twisted. "Igor always took good care of his—presents."
Harry nodded, and then gently lifted Firenze's head from its place. "I have to tell the centaurs," he explained, more to Draco's horrified gaze than to Snape's. "They deserve to know that one of their own died trying to help me." Now he could feel sorrow; tears stung his eyes as he stared down at Firenze's head and remembered how the centaur had been alive on New Year's Eve. The skin felt as warm under his fingers as if that were still the case. Karkaroff couldn't have cast his preservation spells more than a few minutes after he'd killed Firenze. "And they deserve to know who did it."
"Harry."
He looked up at Snape, who was standing with no expression at all on his face. That was all right. Harry knew that didn't always mean he felt nothing; sometimes he was simply trying to control his own struggling emotions. "Yes?" he asked.
"You should know," said Snape softly, "that Lupin is part of a plan with other werewolf packs. The arrest of the young werewolf who bit the Wizengamot Elder was calculated. He'll be staying in prison, but acquiring various objects and spreading various bits of information to show wizards that werewolves are different and more dangerous than we think they are. And more bites are planned, as well as the opening of the wizarding world to the Muggle one through the border communities. A leader named Loki, who lives in London, has arranged this. They're trying to speed along something they believe would have happened anyway—the Wizengamot turning to the open hunting and killing of werewolves—to force you to help them."
Harry felt his insides freeze in a way that hadn't happened even when he saw Firenze's head. "Remus is part of this, you said?" he whispered. "How do you know?"
"I used Legilimency on him this morning at the breakfast table," said Snape. "I know only as much as he does, which isn't much. He didn't want to know everything. Apparently he thinks his betrayal of you is lessened that way." Snape sneered, but it seemed almost reflexive; his dark eyes were watching Harry intently. "Lupin all but admitted the motivation to me at breakfast, this morning. The werewolves want to live in wizarding society, Harry, since they don't trust you to break their webs. They think you will not act against or kill the wolves inside them, when those wolves don't want to die. They're planning to use you as a driving force to secure themselves rights as soon as possible. They think no one else will fight for them."
Harry felt light-headed. He leaned on the wall for a moment, and found himself running his fingers across the letters carved on Firenze's face; the weight of the head rested in the crook of his arm. Then the weight was gone, and he was turned to the side and resting his face in Draco's shoulder.
"Gryffindors," said Draco as he held him, one poisonous word, and that was all.
But it crystallized what Harry was feeling, and set him back into the world with a thump. He pushed at Draco until his boyfriend let him go in puzzlement, and stepped back, and looked up at Snape.
"They're right," he said quietly.
Snape narrowed his eyes at him. "What do you mean?"
Harry sighed. "They're right that I have to help them. They're not exactly right that no one else will fight for them, but I'm the only one who's sworn an oath to do so. Old oath, remember? Turns my blood to molten silver if I don't help?" He smiled slightly at Snape. "So their plan worked in that respect. I have to use my political power to fight for them. And their situation is different than most other magical creatures'. Dobby wanted to be free and journey wherever he liked, and I had to give that to him. The centaurs wanted to go on living in the Forbidden Forest and help me with the war effort, even with—" His gaze went to the head Draco had set aside. "Even with things like that. The werewolves want to be part of the only society where they can really survive. If that's their will, then I need to help them achieve it."
Snape was scowling as if someone had tricked him into swallowing a cauldron full of Calming Draught. "Even though Lupin is a traitor?" he all but spat.
Harry winced. "I didn't know how much he cared about his people," he said quietly. "But he deserves the right to his own life, doesn't he, his own concerns? He's not just my ally, not just my parents' friend." He glanced sideways at Draco. "I couldn't ask Draco to give up being a Malfoy just because he loves me."
"This is a bit different, Harry," said Draco, all but radiating fury. "My being a Malfoy doesn't involve my betraying you."
"I know." Harry turned back to Snape. "Thank you for finding out about this, sir. Now that I know this Loki is trying to manipulate me, and that the werewolves are willing to bite people to achieve their goals, I know better how to act. But I can't abandon them all just because Remus betrayed me and some of them have stupid ideas. I can't tar them all with the same brush."
"You do realize," said Snape, his voice going deadly soft, "that some of your allies might think you were lying if you do not do what you promised you would, and make Remus politically powerless for acting against your principles?"
Harry closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes, I know," he said. "And that's—something I'll need to handle. First, though, I'll need to find out how deep it goes, whether any of the other werewolves in the alliance know about it, and whether Remus is willing to just give up associating with me. After all, sir," he added, opening his eyes and focusing on Snape, "if this is supposed to be completely in the daylight, I'd also have to tell him how I knew. Would I have to turn you out of the alliance for using Legilimency on him?"
"Do not be ridiculous, Harry."
"But it's something I have to think about," said Harry, as calmly as he could with the knowledge that Firenze had died for him and Remus had betrayed him weighing on his mind. "The ethics of it are delicate. I'm hoping that Remus will be happy with the political help I am willing to give, and will understand when I outline the kinds I won't. If not, then yes, I'll make sure that he can't interfere with the alliance. But I haven't even talked to him. I have no idea what he'll say."
"Isn't it enough that he tried to manipulate you?" Draco's arms draped over his shoulders again. "I would be angry just given that."
"So am I," said Harry, touching his cheek in reassurance. "But I won't shove him into the same category as Dumbledore, either, not until I have answers."
"Will you go to him now?" Snape asked. "I wish to be with you when you do."
"No." Harry gathered up Firenze's head again. "Now I have to call Millicent back to school, since she's my official representative to the centaurs, and make sure that she's free to go with me when I deliver this."
"It's wasteful," Millicent said for the fourth time since Harry had summoned her and she'd agreed to Floo to Hogwarts. Her voice was disgusted.
Harry nodded as they walked along the main path of the Forbidden Forest, towards one of the clearings where he often met the centaurs. "I have no idea what Karkaroff hoped to accomplish with it, really," he said quietly. "Now we know that the giants are fighting on Voldemort's side, when he could have kept that a horrible secret. And Karkaroff has to know that this is hardly going to make me back off from the war and sit in a corner tearing my hair."
"Most Death Eaters do extravagant wasteful things all the time," said Millicent. "So long as they're grotesque or cause mayhem, they really don't care."
"How's your father?"
Millicent gave him a grim little smile, to say that she appreciated the ironic springboard Harry had used into the subject. "Well enough," she said. "My mother's found a spell that mostly conceals the smell of the wound. I hope it continues working. Talk about another extravagant, wasteful gesture. The Fisher King Curse really does smell terrible."
Harry nodded. Then he paused, as he became aware of hoofbeats traveling parallel to him through the underbrush. He was surprised at how long it had taken the centaurs to approach, really. Maybe they had been unable to imagine why he would walk through the woods with Firenze's head in his arms.
Magorian appeared, shaking his tail and staring steadily at Harry for a moment before he turned to Millicent. "Greetings, stone-bearer," he said. "What news do you have for us?"
Millicent dipped her head. "Greetings, leader," she said. "I am sad to say that Firenze will run no more. A Death Eater named Karkaroff who was also sent to negotiate with the giants cut his head off and returned it to Harry this morning."
Magorian nodded slowly. Harry looked up at him, and watched the shadow of his dark head crowned by branches thick with budding leaves. That's what Firenze was supposed to look like, he thought, even though Magorian's coat was considerably darker than the other centaur's had been, and he was taller. If he had stayed here, he would be alive still.
Harry swallowed several times. It was hard to remind himself, even though he had determined to think of it that way, that Firenze had chosen his fate of his own free will, that he had wanted to help Harry with trying to secure allies. Neither he nor Harry could have known that Karkaroff was with the giants and would do this.
"Vates?" Magorian made it a demand and a plea at once.
Harry looked up at him again. "I am sorry," he whispered. "For your loss, and for the fact that Firenze was free for such a short time before his death." He looked down into the face cut with Karkaroff's obscene letters. "I would bring him back if I can. But I cannot. All I can do is bring his head home, and tell you that I would have given anything for this to be different." He knelt, gently lowering the head to the earth.
For a moment, it sat there like some strange plant rooting in the soil. Then Magorian stooped and picked it up, his strong arms making the burden seem a slight weight. "Thank you, vates," he said. "It has been centuries since wizards in general have wished any fate for us other than the one our web dictated. Your sorrow is sincere, and Firenze chose his path, and did not know where it would end. It is enough." He reared, and a strange cry, half-neigh and half-whistle, exploded from his mouth.
Harry started as a pair of centaurs he'd never seen before, short and wizened with white coats and hair, emerged abruptly from the trees on either side of the path. They linked their arms with Magorian's, and turned to guide him and the head away into the Forest.
"Your aid has been welcome, vates," said Magorian over his shoulder. "But we must ask that you excuse us for our funeral rites. No human has witnessed them, and no human ever will. Be assured that we still intend to aid you in this war. We have suffered a loss along with you now."
Harry nodded, and stood there watching until they plunged out of sight. It took a much shorter time than it would have in winter, since the trees and thickening flowers swallowed them quickly. One last flirt of one of the white centaurs' tails, and they were gone.
Millicent put a hand on his arm. "Are you well, Harry?"
Harry turned around and gave her a faint smile. "Fine. Just thinking about what I'll have to do next." That was confront Remus, and it gave him a sickening churning sensation in his stomach. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "Thank you for coming at such short notice."
"You may always call on the Bulstrodes," said Millicent, with unexpected conviction. "You've certainly done enough for us." She paused, and then added, "Besides, we've invested so much of ourselves in the alliance already. We deserve something out of it, I think."
Harry laughed, it was that unexpected, and felt his heart lighten a little, Remus or no Remus.
Harry took a deep breath and rapped on the door to Remus's quarters. He'd put this off as long as he could, first telling McGonagall what had been in the package he'd received, and then going over some of the plans for Midsummer with her, and then reading in one of the books he'd retrieved from the Black library about phoenix fire, and then persuading Snape and Draco that he could face Remus on his own and he didn't think Remus would attack him, or, Merlin forbid, bite him.
Remus opened the door at once. From the look on his face, he'd been expecting Harry, though not alone.
"I figured out that Severus must have read my thoughts from the sneer on his face at lunch," he said, before Harry could speak. "Come in, Harry. There are certain things that we both need to understand."
Harry couldn't help the slight bristling those words provoked along his spine, though he reminded himself that, even if Remus was arrogant and had been stupid, that was still no reason to think all werewolves were. He stepped inside, and Remus shut the door and turned to face him.
He also let the masks slip from his expression. Harry found himself looking at a man he almost didn't know, a man who had been pursuing some grand passion while Harry pursued his.
And he never told me?
Did I ever ask?
Harry felt a momentary deep sadness shift through him, a frustration that he couldn't understand everything about the people who mattered to him and couldn't help them in their every endeavor. He had already been forced to prioritize wizards, he thought. He had said that Draco and Snape were more important to him than others. Would he be forced to prioritize causes, too? Would he think that helping Remus was less important than accomplishing other goals?
It looked as if he would have to, and even as he faced the choice head-on, Harry hated it. No one had said he had to like this part.
"Sit down," said Remus courteously, and Harry took one of the three chairs in the room, watching Remus narrowly all the while. Remus practically shone with nervous energy. He sat down himself, but only for a moment. Then he sprang up and walked about, his hand skimming the walls.
"Why?" Harry asked his back.
Remus tensed, and then turned around. "Because my year in the Sanctuary taught me to trust myself," he said. "I did try to keep my anger under control, but I was no longer afraid of releasing it. And I did try to act both for werewolves and for you as long as I could, but now the point's come where we part paths, Harry, and for that I am truly sorry."
The man Harry remembered was looking out of his amber eyes, gentle and mild with remorse. Harry sat on his resentment. It appeared that Remus was going to explain logically. Harry thought he was wrong, but, no doubt, Remus thought that about him. If he did have good reasons for his actions, Harry would be happy to hear them.
"Why?" he repeated.
"Because it's never going to get better if we don't do something," Remus said, a snarl growing in the back of his voice. "I've watched the newspapers over the past several months, Harry. There have been other front page stories, but hidden in the back of the Daily Prophet is often something about werewolves: letters from wizards saying they don't trust us, speculations about whether Wolfsbane Potion actually works, interviews with people from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures saying they had to hunt down such and such a rogue werewolf in a certain part of London, when it was probably someone's dog. And I've gone back and read some of the older stories, too, the ones that first proposed anti-werewolf laws and the records of the ones passed.
"They've only been pushing against us, Harry, never allowing us breathing space. They took away our right to speak in court first, our voices. Then they removed our ability to have custody of children. Because, of course, we're an evil influence." He spat the words, and snapped his teeth after them. "Then they took away our ability to work. That old law about werewolves not having wands was brought up again, and started being enforced. And since then, they've been chipping away at all we have left, our freedom and our lives.
"Sure, the lucky ones of us can afford Wolfsbane Potion, but the price of that is rising, too."
Harry blinked. He honestly hadn't noticed. "It is?"
Remus snorted and glanced at him. "Of course. Since the suppliers of the ingredients have figured out that the demand is growing, they've raised the price. And demiguise hair is particularly expensive, because there are people agitating for us to leave the peaceful, innocent demiguises alone." Remus folded his arms around his middle and closed his eyes. "I used to laugh over the fact that so many people love animals like unicorns and demiguises, while they don't care that much about beasts they think are ugly. It doesn't seem that funny, now that they've decided werewolves are among the ugly ones."
"You could have come to me," Harry said. "I would have done something."
"What?" Remus opened his eyes and stared at him bleakly. "What could you have done? The demiguises are magical creatures too, Harry, so it's not as though we can ask you to champion our interests over theirs. And you won't use your magic to compel people into lowering the price of ingredients. And my wolf—" Remus flinched, and Harry suspected that the mere mention of the word had called the hateful, blood-filled voice to the surface of his mind. "My wolf is intelligent," Remus said softly. "You know that. All the werewolf webs are. Are you going to kill them, Harry? Are you going to bind them? You'll slice all the other webs, but they aren't living creatures in their own right. These are, and they're self-aware."
Harry clenched his hand. "None of that explains why you're spreading the web to other people," he said.
"Because it's the only weapon we have," said Remus. "They won't listen to us, they don't think we're beautiful, they don't even pity us most of the time. The only thing we can do is make them fear us. No, that might not bring the change we want, but waiting quietly won't, either. The last three decades have proven that. And I think—and most of the werewolves in southern England think—that the time is coming when we must act or die."
"It was still wrong." Harry leaned forward and stared intently into Remus's eyes. "I do consider that a betrayal, Remus."
"And you are too bound among other concerns to see things the way we do," Remus said. He never looked away from Harry. "It's admirable, Harry, the way that you try to balance all these concerns, but it won't work in this situation. Our enemies aren't going to change their minds. They fear us too much; they would even if Loki hadn't decided to move. And you won't oppose them." Bitterness flecked Remus's voice. "You won't oppose them, and you won't oppose them, until they clamp the collars around our necks. And even then you'll only wring your hands—sorry, hand—and say that you had to change their minds by persuasion, not force."
"So you decided to force me to use force?" Harry asked.
Remus inclined his head. "We can at least set the pace of our own destruction, if destruction it's going to be," he said. "And I don't think it will be, not now. If we provoke the Ministry into moving carelessly, then you'll defend us. We've watched you, Harry, closely. The only time you use your magic without remorse, without flinching, is when someone else's life, rather than will, is in danger. Protect us, get involved in the debate on our side, and then you'll go ahead with putting our interests first. It's the only way."
"Has it ever occurred to you that I'm less likely to do that now that you've chosen to go about things this way?" Harry rose to his feet, feeling his magic stir around him like wings. "That I wouldn't appreciate manipulation? That I might be so disgusted at the fact that you've chosen to bite other people, and play to the stereotypes most wizards have of you, that I would turn my back on your cause?"
"Honestly, no," said Remus. "We know you too well, Harry. When they come for us, we know that you'll be there—if only to stop the conflict from exploding into a bloody war. You'll defend the innocent. True, you might let the werewolves who bite others perish. But you'll protect those who can't protect themselves, and there are more of those than there are wizards, because we're less powerful than they are." His eyes shone.
Harry nodded at the wand that lay on the table near Remus's hand. "You're a wizard, too, Remus."
Remus slowly bared his teeth. "Am I, Harry? Am I? Tell that to the Wizengamot. Technically, you know, I'm not even supposed to have the wand, or this job, and as long as I were starving to death in peace and silence, like a good little puppy, they wouldn't care what happened to me, wand or not."
"So you'll let them define you?" Harry shook his head, and behind him, his magic made his chair vibrate in frustration. "You are, with the biting and the violence. I thought better of you than that, Remus."
"That's all philosophy, Harry." Remus waved a dismissive hand. "We've tried that, and tried that, and that doesn't work. We've made the decision, or the werewolves who follow Loki have made the decision. And his are the wolves who are going to be taking the risks, letting themselves be arrested."
"Does Mrs. Parkinson know about this?" Harry asked.
Remus shook his head. "No. Nor Delilah or Claudia, before you can ask. They're becoming part of my pack, but none of them are London werewolves, or know many of the traditions of a pack yet. I didn't tell them, because I didn't want to chance them making an uncomfortable choice."
"Or revealing the plan to me before Loki was ready to move," Harry said.
Remus nodded.
"Why are you telling me the plan now?" Harry asked. "Surely you wanted to keep it secret?"
"Because you know some of the reasons already," said Remus. "And when I realized Severus had read my thoughts, I spoke to Loki. He gave me permission to do this. He was never that happy about keeping the secret from you. He did think of approaching you, until he realized that you wouldn't kill the webs, and that you had too many conflicting interests to help us without a little push. Your oath was a blessing."
"What sort of person is Loki? It sounds like he's sacrificing his wolves," Harry said, wondering if that was the right tack to take. Perhaps the sacrificial angle was the way to wake Remus up. He had rejected Dumbledore when he had finally been able to see how much his sacrifices cost.
"Willing sacrifices, Harry," Remus said. "The same thing you did to lift the centaurs' web. A pack is—a pack. All the people helping Loki know his mind exactly, and they all agreed to do it. Those who didn't have retreated into their own packs, and have been kept ignorant of what he chose. They'll be benefited by it ultimately, though."
"Has it even occurred to him that he could end up spending hundreds of lives and changing nothing?"
Remus smiled slightly. "Of course it has. But there's a reason he chose the name Loki, Harry. He's a chaos-rider. He's like Draco, actually: an expert in shaping a wild situation to his advantage. He acts and reacts faster than most of his opponents can. He's confident that he can snatch victory out of this volcano."
Harry stared at Remus for a long moment. Remus looked back, and it became obvious to Harry that he wasn't about to change his mind, wasn't about to look back down his path and see that it was wrong, wasn't about to see the tidal wave of blood that could drown them all.
"I'm going to cut you out of the alliance," Harry said softly.
"I know," Remus said.
"I resent this," said Harry. He realized he was shaking. "I'm disappointed in you."
"I know," Remus repeated.
"You know that trying to compel me is the worst course you could have chosen?" Harry asked. "When I'm a vates, and respect free will above all?"
"But you aren't our vates, because you can't benefit us as a vates," Remus said, his voice and face both very gentle. He even looked aside from Harry a little, as if he thought the eye contact too challenging. "I said that already, Harry. You'll never break our webs. Will you?"
Harry gave an irritated shrug. "I hadn't thought about it," he whispered. Could he bring himself to kill another species, which was essentially what the werewolf webs were? The best solution would be to transfer them elsewhere, but if they didn't want to go, what would he do then?
"And you have too many other considerations waiting for you on your path," said Remus. "It's all right. We understand that, Harry. That's why we chose to step back and act outside of the vates requirements. It's no use approaching you like the centaurs or the unicorns did, anyway."
What a bloody fucking mess, Harry thought tiredly. "The betrayal does feel personal," he told Remus, and saw his eyes shut this time.
"For that, I am sorrier than you can know," Remus whispered. "But we value different things, Harry."
Harry stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him.
The next day, he scanned the Daily Prophet grimly when it came to the table, determined to see what secrets might be hiding among the stories he'd ignored. He paused on a story about the rising price of demiguise hair, and read about a group that, as Remus had said, was agitating to protect demiguises and prevent their hair from being shipped out of China and Japan at all. He also paused on one of the objects in "Cheshire's Curiosities Column," more shaken than he had expected it to be.
And for our final mysterious account today, we present the story of one Fiona Mallory, 37, a former Auror, found in a trance in her London flat. Investigating personnel from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes state that the trance is apparently the result of an illegal Dark magic object, but have been unable to locate the object, and so unable to wake her. Mallory's breathing is calm, her eyes fixed, and her body preserved as though by Still-Beetle. If anyone has any information on what object may have caused Miss Mallory's unusual state, they are encouraged to contact the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes at once.
Harry put down the paper and rubbed the gooseflesh that appeared on his arms. Had Mallory been the victim of someone wanting to punish her for her torture of Lily and James? Why not just kill her, though, if that was the case? Or perhaps she'd stolen a Dark Arts object when she was sacked from the Ministry, and been careless in how she used it?
He closed his eyes and sat back. The world seemed to be tumbling out of control around him, and he badly needed some kind of firm footing back under him. He couldn't trust Remus, Connor wasn't here right now, Draco would be glad to help but didn't know much more than Harry himself did, if as much, McGonagall was busy with the need to re-ward the school, and Snape—
I don't know if I can trust Snape yet, not fully.
Well, that was something, wasn't it? And he had some time to handle it, the two weeks of Easter holiday.
Harry's eyes snapped open. He knew Vera was still staying in the school, though he had only spoken with her three times since the New Year. Apparently, her gift hadn't yet overcome her and forced her to go back to the Sanctuary. He would ask Snape if he would be willing to speak to her. If not, then he would ask Snape to talk with him in private.
I need to be able to trust Snape. He's an adult, he has contacts and means of gathering information that I don't, and he sees angles and shadows I don't. I would never have suspected that Remus was involved in this stupid werewolf situation if he hadn't told me. But even then, I was angry at his using Legilimency on Remus, and I had to wonder if his dislike of him was part of the reason he read his mind at all.
It's time to have out the things we didn't talk about after I rescued him from the Chamber of Secrets. I want my guardian back completely. And it's the best step I can take now, for his mental health, and mine, and the war.