This chapter was unplanned, but then, much of the werewolf subplot has been.
Chapter Eighty-Two: Of Man and WolfHarry sat down at the Slytherin table, and wondered how long it would take everyone to notice. Millicent was first, it turned out, as Harry reached for the pumpkin juice and the lights in the Great Hall made silver light dance off his finger. Her hand shot out and gripped his wrist, holding it still.
Harry grinned and let her examine his ring. It was a bit annoying, not being able to reach for something else while his hand was held like this, but he was enjoying the expression of sheer shock and disbelief on Millicent's face.
"That's a jacinth, Harry, isn't it?" she asked at last, never taking her eyes from the red-purple stone.
"It is," Harry said agreeably, and wriggled his fingers. Millicent let his hand go, and he fetched the jug of pumpkin juice and poured some into his glass, while all the while her gaze tried to drill holes in the side of his head. "Meant to symbolize heart's blood, at least in this particular shade. I know a jacinth might come in other colors, and I can't remember what those mean."
"You actually do—" Millicent stopped for a moment as though she had to reconsider what she was saying, and then murmured, "You really do mean to complete this joining ritual with Draco, then?"
Harry blinked. That wasn't the reaction he'd expected her to have. "Yes, of course I do," he said. "Unless you tell me that you and Draco have been secretly arranged to be married from birth?"
"If we had been," Draco said, dropping into place on the other side of him, "I would have killed her and hidden her body by now. Then it would be off to the Manor to Obliviate my parents. Really, Harry, don't you know any of the traditional steps to getting yourself free of an unwanted marriage?"
Millicent laughed, but it looked almost as if she were doing it in spite of herself. Her gaze was calculating as it shifted back and forth between Harry and Draco. "It's not that," she said. "Nothing like that. It's just—it has to be the three-year ritual, since you started it on Walpurgis Night."
"Very good, Bulstrode," Draco drawled, helping himself to kippers. Harry wondered if he was the only one who noticed the tension in Draco's shoulders, and underlying the light voice. "I suppose the next incredible fact you'll tell me is that this day used to be called Beltane."
"You don't understand, Draco," said Millicent, and then swept a bow to him that had no trace of mockery in it. "I'm very happy for you both. I think it's a wonderful idea. I'm going to suggest it to Pierre, in fact, though I think we'll want to wait a few years before we begin even that."
"Pierre?" Harry asked.
"Yes, Pierre Delacour." Millicent flashed him a smug smile. "He attended your little meeting on the equinox. It seems that he's impressed by strength."
"Well, congratulations then," said Harry. He wondered if he should be more put off by the idea of Millicent deciding to marry someone she'd evidently just met, but then shrugged. If Millicent was happy, why should the idea concern him? Just because it wasn't something he'd do didn't mean it was wrong. "But what is it that you're so surprised about, if you don't care who Draco joins with or who I do?"
"I didn't think you would have the strength of mind to do this, Harry, especially so soon," said Millicent quietly. "To fight a war, to make allies, and maybe even to make a political marriage or joining—I thought all of those were in your power. But not this."
"I—thank you," said Harry, wondering if he ought to be complimented or insulted. Then again, Millicent was the one who had caught him cutting his own arm to practice healing spells. Perhaps he should simply be grateful that she had kept her promise not to tell anyone about that, and not surprised that she would think his training still strong. "And, well, it is."
"Congratulations," Millicent repeated solemnly, and turned back to her breakfast.
Blaise noticed next, yawning and stretching so much that his eyes were scrunched shut when he sat down. Then he opened them, caught sight of Harry's ring, and appeared to jump a foot in the air.
"It's true, then?" he asked when he came down, as if he hadn't just shown surprise that still had Draco snickering. His large dark eyes studied Harry as if he expected his face to peel off and reveal one of the Weasley twins beneath. "You really are getting joined, and to a Malfoy?"
"The only one available, yes," said Harry, and exchanged an amused look with Draco. "I rather think Lucius and Narcissa would be angry with me if I hinted I was joining with one of them."
"Not what I meant," said Blaise, and went on studying them, eyes so narrow that Draco finally spoke.
"And what did you mean, Blaise?"
The other boy blinked, as though awakening from a dream. "Nothing in particular," he said, and began pouring pumpkin juice as if saving the world from Voldemort depended on how much juice he could get into a glass. Harry chewed around his sausages now—Argutus had liked sunbathing in the entrance hall too much to join him this morning—and watched him. He supposed Blaise was trying to decide where he stood. His mother was Harry's formal ally now, an oath sworn while they'd been at the equinox gathering. Blaise had not joined in the oath, and neither had he come onto the stage with his mother when Harry introduced her to his potential allies.
I don't really think he'd join Voldemort. But he's known me from the beginning, and he's not in love with me like Draco is, and he doesn't have the personality of a follower like Greg and Vince do. I'm not surprised that he has trouble deciding how to relate to me.
Somehow, perhaps because other people were paying closer attention to the Slytherin table than Harry had thought or because Millicent hadn't bothered to keep her voice quiet, the news spread. Harry had several people congratulate him before the end of breakfast, including Cho, Ginny—who pretended Blaise didn't exist—and Zacharias. Zacharias, of course, nodded sagely and said, "I suppose it's the next best thing."
"What is?" Harry asked, amused, sure he could enjoy what was coming, even if Draco didn't.
"That you're getting joined to a Dark wizard. We could have used you on the Light side." Zacharias cocked his head and eyed Harry. "If you were a bit more intelligent, Harry, we might have made a go of it."
"Sod off, Smith," said Draco, with unexpected viciousness. Harry rolled his eyes and nudged Draco's shoulder with his. Zacharias was being pompous because that was the way he was, and whether Draco was jealous or angry at the implied insult to Harry, he should know that Zacharias wouldn't change his mind for either circumstance.
"As you wish, Malfoy," said Zacharias. "And I wish you luck in trying to control him. You should have realized by now that Harry does whatever he wants, and he's as much Light as Dark." He nodded to Harry and then trotted off towards the other side of the Great Hall to fetch Hermione.
"What did he mean by that?" Draco demanded.
"I think he thought that you were angry at the implication that I'd join with a Light wizard," Harry murmured, and bit into his eggs. He had to admit that they tasted a little better than they used to, when his main impression of them was "slippery." Perhaps avoiding porridge and trying food that had more flavor was working to overcome his training after all. "Not at anything else that he might have said."
"I wasn't," said Draco. "Not at all. I'm angry because that isn't supposed to happen."
"What isn't?" Harry eyed Draco curiously. He didn't know much about the history of the ritual, or how other people were supposed to receive the joined couple once their joining had been announced. Perhaps Zacharias really had just delivered a stinging insult under the cover of a few innocent words.
"He's not supposed to joke about that," said Draco. "This ritual is a solemn one, and I'm doing everything right. He has no right to imply that this is just a joining like others."
Harry cleared his throat to hide his amusement. So it's his Malfoy pride that's stung. I should have known. "Draco, of course we can't expect anyone else to take it as seriously as we do. They're not the ones getting joined."
"So you do take it seriously, then?" Draco turned on him like a whirlwind.
Harry blinked, but he could see what Draco needed, even if he wasn't entirely sure why he needed it. He leaned forward and kissed him gently. Draco didn't melt against him, but he did relax enough to listen when Harry pulled away again.
"More seriously than anything else I've ever done," said Harry. And that was true. With other things he'd done, including securing allies and fighting in battles, he'd known he could do them because he'd trained for them. A certain amount of ease, even carelessness, was part of his manner around them. But outside the confines of the ritual, being Draco's known partner would be a constant challenge. He still didn't know how to act normal; he missed numerous small cues, and he tended to interpret others' emotions differently than Draco would. So he had to pay attention to this, take it seriously, in order to survive it and make it pleasant.
Draco's face flushed slightly, and he nodded. "Thank you, Harry," he said. "I really shouldn't have doubted you."
Harry patted his shoulder. "Finish your breakfast," he said. "You should eat all of it, really. After all, OWLS are coming up. Kippers improve the memory."
"They do not," said Draco, but nevertheless started eating his kippers.
Harry returned to his own breakfast, aware of the pressure of eyes from all sides. There would be people like Zacharias and Blaise thinking of their joining in a political light, Harry knew, as well as those who sincerely wished them well. There would even be those who murmured that he ought to have considered joining to someone from a dedicated Light family, just to balance the pressure of the Dark allies around him. Yes, that was an unreasonable demand to make of a normal person, but Harry wasn't a normal person, and Lords and Lord-level wizards had to watch what they did.
Harry didn't care. They were perfectly free to stare and mutter all they liked, so long as none of it entailed their trying to actually separate him from Draco. He would write to Laura Gloryflower and ask her what she thought he should do to balance the Dark around him with a bit of Light. Moody had arrived, but he had such a reputation that most of the northern Light families, and his other, more tentative allies, wouldn't be satisfied with just that.
The next day breathed tension, and Harry really couldn't blame anyone. It was the second of May, normally not in anyone's pantheon of special days. It was a day closer to Midsummer, but the number of people who knew about that was very carefully small; Harry had talked to his allies, of course, and to some of the older students in the dueling club whom he trusted to be able to help him, but he wasn't about to start spreading the plan around like rain yet.
But it was the first night of the full moon, the first full moon since Elder Gillyflower was bitten. Most people were on edge for a werewolf attack. The Daily Prophet contained another interview with the captive werewolf Evergreen. The Wizengamot was still trying to get answers out of him instead of just sending him to Tullianum, because of his age. He spoke vague prophetic hints, and smiled. It was driving everyone mad, evidently, even Rita Skeeter.
Harry almost expected to get a letter. He had just hoped it would be from Remus, and that it would contain a promise of there being no attacks tonight, no reason to make Harry fear the full moon as if he were a werewolf himself. But it wasn't from Remus. The handwriting was unfamiliar, spiky, elegant, and Harry could hear the fear that the writer was trying so desperately to hide.
May 2nd, 1996
Dear Harry:
I have left this until the last minute because I still believed I would be able to get help elsewhere. Now I learn that I cannot. I thought I had true friends, given their outrage over what had happened to me, and now I learn they are less true as the moon approaches.. I—am not pleased about that, and not pleased about writing you, either, but you are the only source of Wolfsbane I know.
I have heard that you will brew the potion for anyone who asks. I do not ask that you give it to me for free. I can pay. My friends have been unaccountably slow to strip her property from the newest registered werewolf, the only kindness they have shown me. They say that I can survive confinement in Tullianum without it, but I have been studying. I know that the first full moon is often the hardest, that ten percent of all new werewolves lose their minds then and bite themselves to death if they do not have Wolfsbane.
And, of course, neither Amelia Bones nor anyone else who is willing to pass laws to avenge me will actually be seen distributing the potion to me, in case it leads to "unfortunate images."
I am begging you, and I do not like begging. I will come to Hogwarts this afternoon—in secret, so that you do not have to fear the political repercussions from your werewolf friends for giving me the potion. If you have a vial of Wolfsbane on hand, please meet me near the lake when classes end. You may bring whatever guards you like with you, to protect you and assure you that I am trustworthy. If you do not have the potion, then I will accept Amelia's invitation to Tullianum tonight and let whatever is coming come.
Sincerely,
Emily Gillyflower,
Former Wizengamot Elder, now Werewolf.
Harry let out a harsh breath as he finished the letter, and shook his head. He did have some Wolfsbane he'd brewed and not used, because Remus now had the money to afford his own—and he had insisted on buying it elsewhere last month. He could oblige the Elder. What made him angry wasn't even her haughty tone, mixed with broken pleading, but the fact that she'd been put in this position in the first place.
How is she really different from Hawthorn, whom Greyback bit because she wouldn't oblige him in his attempts to resurrect Voldemort? How can I say that Evergreen is different from Fenrir, or Loki different from Voldemort?
Of course, his mind and his common sense wouldn't let him think like that. Loki did seem to have a cause he believed in wholeheartedly and absolutely, while Harry thought Voldemort's cause was himself, whatever nonsense he spouted about pureblood superiority. And, of course, Hawthorn's bite had been meant to remain secret, a shameful thing, while the werewolves seemed to have been prepared either to blackmail Gillyflower or to roll with things if she told the Wizengamot she was bitten. But it didn't excuse making other people victims, taking away their wills.
"Harry."
Harry blinked and slowly opened his eyes. He started to realize that he was seeing the world through a blue curtain of phoenix fire. The bench beneath him was smoldering, but slowly, as if the wood wanted to savor such a wonderful experience as burning in the sweet flames. Draco had a hand outstretched to him, his eyes calm and his breathing a bit fast.
"Well, that's one of the keys to phoenix fire, then," Harry muttered as he forced the flames back inside his skin. "Righteous anger. It's probably what Fawkes was feeling when he died."
Draco nodded, and murmured Finite Incantatem at the bench, ending its burning. Then he shook his head at Harry. "You're a mess," he said. "And you need new clothes, these are all covered with ash. Let's go back to the common room, and you can tell me all about it."
Harry cast a quick Tempus charm. They should have just enough time to do that if they hurried, he thought, and he could still get to Defense Against the Dark Arts. "All right," he said shortly, standing.
Draco turned to him the moment they were out of the room, and raised an eyebrow. Harry looked down at the parchment. The outer edges had crisped, taking a few letters off some words, but the majority was still readable. He held it out to Draco, and watched him read it, with a faint frown.
"I suppose it sounds genuine," said Draco, reluctantly. "After all, if it was a trap, she would have probably asked you to come alone. But I still think we should have Professor Snape with us, and Moody. Hopefully it'll be just an exchange, and you can give her the Wolfsbane, and she'll leave. If not, we'll be ready."
Harry nodded. "That's what I thought. I can't ignore this if it is genuine; she could use her bitterness to speak about how I'm ignoring werewolves after I promised to fight for their rights. But I'm not taking the chance that it's a trap the way that the vision of my aunt and cousin was."
Draco gave him a harsh kiss, which left Harry blinking. "Good," said Draco fiercely. "I don't want you in any avoidable danger again, Harry. I know you can take care of yourself, but I can't stand the damage to my heart. Really, do you want me to die of fear before I'm sixteen years old?"
The weight he gave the words made the retort Harry could have used slip his mind. "You're going to be sixteen on June fifth," he said slowly.
"How kind of you to remember!" Draco tilted his head as he steered Harry firmly into the Slytherin common room; Harry had a tendency to forget walking when he was caught up in a point. "Are you going to remember that my father's a truce-dance ally to you for an encore? Of course, now you can't, since I just gave the game away."
"Shut it," said Harry. "You're confirmed as the Malfoy magical heir now. Lucius would have let people know. So that means that you should be holding the actual festival to celebrate the confirmation on your birthday."
"Yes." Draco pushed Harry towards his trunk, seeming determined to watch as Harry changed his ash-smeared robes. Harry talked to keep himself from thinking about it.
"That's a Wednesday, though," he said, quickly adding days. "Would I be right in assuming that you'll hold the festival the weekend before?"
"You would." Draco's eyes, when Harry looked at him, were slit with amusement.
"And you're going to need my presence there, aren't you?" Harry finished in resignation, grimacing a bit. "The joined partner of the Malfoy magical heir can hardly be absent."
Draco grinned faintly. "I was wondering when you would get to that part," he said. "Yes, Harry, you'll have to take part, but we have a month. I can give you all the etiquette lessons you'll need, and tell you who's most likely to attend. My father has most of the invitations accepted by now. There probably won't be as many guests as there usually are, since traditionally part of the festival is to present a magical heir as a candidate for a marriage or joining, and there's no need for that now. And some of them will be people you know, like Millicent and Pansy."
Harry felt a surge of renewed confidence. If Pansy attended, then people might not spend the whole night staring at him after all. "Were you planning on telling me this at some point?" he asked.
"I wanted to see if you would figure it out on your own." Draco was unrepentant. "If you hadn't done it by Saturday, then yes, I would have told you."
"Prat," Harry said.
"That's why you love me," said Draco. "I'll talk to Professor Snape about Elder Gillyflower, Harry. He may even have a few suggestions for guards that I don't. At least we're meeting inside the wards, so we know that no one can Apparate in, grab you, and then Apparate out again."
Harry nodded absently, and made sure, again, that he had his book for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Acies wouldn't scold him for missing the class on Tuesday, he knew, but he still didn't like to disappoint her.
Snape could feel every bit of his skin bristling as he strode beside Harry on his way to the lake. Part of that was due to the presence of Moody, on Harry's other side, but Snape had worked beside the man in the Order of the Phoenix for some years and learned to tolerate him. No, most of it was due to the fact that they were going to meet a woman who was a werewolf.
Snape refused to allow his breath to come short. He had also refused Harry's offer, made in private, to stay behind so that he didn't have to confront the source of his terror. He had hidden that fear for almost twenty years; not even Dumbledore knew what it had cost him to work beside Lupin. He was not about to betray himself now, and let Harry go into danger alone.
It was dangerous even if this was not a setup, as Snape was half-convinced this was. Werewolves changed when they received the bite, even as he had told Harry. And tonight the full moon would rise. Even Lupin, supposedly "tame," had more than once gone a bit mad around that time. Emily Gillyflower might think she wanted the Wolfsbane now—and she had helpfully chosen a time that would both avoid letting Harry miss any classes and let her Apparate back home with the potion before moonrise—but she might change her mind as the afternoon traveled on.
McGonagall had checked the wards, and reassured Harry that the anti-Apparition ones were up, and that she had also received a letter from Elder Gillyflower, requesting formal permission to come onto school grounds. The new wards were working better than even the old ones had for years. Minerva had them spread through the Forbidden Forest, to warn her of anyone with hostile intentions approaching from that direction, and mantled thickly around the lake and the Quidditch Pitch—both open areas where someone might try to break through the wards and Apparate in. Snape was confident that she had done the best she could to see the school, and the children within it, safe.
Harry carried the vial of Wolfsbane Potion in his hand, and walked with his head up, his steps alert. Not alert enough for Snape, of course, but he was coming to understand that, while Harry appreciated his protectiveness, he would rarely indulge it. They had come, and Harry had three people who would defend him with their lives—Snape was sure of that with Moody, because he had seen the old Auror look at Harry as he used to look at Dumbledore. Without Harry's agreeing to stay behind walls and wards, it would have to be enough.
And there was a woman waiting for them at the lake, huddled into a cloak Actually, it was as good as early May weather could often be persuaded to get; yesterday's sunlight had been a welcome exception. The sky was gray, but it was warm and not raining. But Elder Gillyflower acted as though the world hated her.
Perhaps she thinks that way since the bite, Snape thought, and constrained himself from pity as he had blocked fear off. Yes, she was a victim, but in a few hours she would be capable of making other people victims.
The woman raised her head when she saw Harry, and Snape saw her nostrils flare as she sniffed. Even new-made werewolves started using their new senses. Snape put his distaste in an Occlumency pool and watched as Harry walked briskly up to the woman. Her eyes were brown, which meant they would only slowly become amber enough to be noticed, Snape knew.
"Elder Emily Gillyflower?" Harry asked.
The woman nodded. She was thin and frail, looking as if she'd recently lost weight when the cloak shifted a little. She had long gray hair that she might once have bound up in pride, and now coiled in a messy braid on the back of her head. "Yes," she whispered. "I—you came. I didn't think you would."
"Of course I did," said Harry. He held out the potion. Gillyflower's eyes closed as she took it.
"Thank you," she said, and then spent a moment looking at Harry. "You know that I did nothing to deserve this?" she asked suddenly. Her voice was rapid. "I never cared particularly for werewolves, and I helped pass the laws that condemned them, but I never walked around saying that I wanted them all hunted down." She slammed her mouth shut then, as if she were afraid of rattling on too much and losing her composure.
Harry's eyes were full of compassion as he bowed, Snape saw. "I know, ma'am," he answered. "And I think it's admirable that you bared what they'd done to you instead of keeping it secret and letting them make a pawn of you with it."
Gillyflower's eyes closed as if in pain. "A pawn," she whispered. "Yes."
And then the Disillusionment Charms dropped.
They were Disillusionment Charms of a kind Snape had never encountered before, and that was the only excuse he could think of for his not sensing them, let alone Moody's not seeing through them. Two women revealed themselves as crouched in the grass at Elder Gillyflower's feet. They unfolded as they came at Snape and Moody, moving with graceful, limber speed that revealed well enough what they were. The girl facing Snape had ragged black hair, and amber eyes, and her teeth bared.
Terror choked him alive, and his wand didn't move fast enough. He heard a shout and a crack from the side as Moody cast a spell and had it fail. These were werewolves a few hours from the full moon. Most magic wasn't going to work on them.
Harry cried out, and Snape felt the first lash of his wandless magic. The werewolf who'd grabbed him spun around, presenting her shoulder broadside to the power. She wore wildness like an aura, and the magic struck and rolled off her. From that alone, Snape knew she must have been a werewolf since she was a child.
She would be in control of her body, in control of the werewolf's senses and strength and resistance to magic, in a way that no one come to lycanthropy as an adult could be. Snape tried to reason that out in his head, and use the reason to shock himself out of his fear.
He could not. There was hot breath near his neck, bared teeth, arms stronger than a human's holding him. And there was the woman saying in a low, controlled voice, "Tell the vates to stop calling his magic. Now. Or I will infect you."
Snape managed to raise his voice. "Harry," he said, and it was a horrible croak. "Harry, stop trying to rescue us, or she'll bite."
Harry didn't respond. Snape forced his eyes open, wondering if they'd taken him, too.
He saw Harry standing as still as still, staring at the werewolf who had sprung up behind him and grabbed Draco. This one was a man, a stranger, but wearing that same wildness as the other two. He was much taller than Draco, and his teeth were locked, oh so gently, in the skin of Draco's throat. He hadn't broken the skin. Not yet. His amber eyes watched Harry. On the other side of him, the second female werewolf had downed Moody, her jaws having bitten straight through his wooden leg. She crouched on his chest and showed her teeth an inch from his eye. Moody, veteran of a hundred battles, lay quietly, but Snape could read rage in that quietude.
Harry turned at a call from the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Snape faced it, and saw a group of people loping towards them. In the lead was a wizard, his face somewhere between forty and ageless, his hair shining as pale as Draco's.
"Harry vates," he said, and halted a reasonable distance away and bowed. "My name is Loki. I think you have heard of me."
Harry made a sound that was a reasonable imitation of a growl. Loki let his tongue loll out the side of his mouth in that laughing gesture werewolves had and Snape hated.
"You may well ask yourself how we got onto the grounds," he said. "And the answer is that we have no hostile intentions towards you, vates. We could pass the wards in the Forest."
"That will be changing." Harry spoke the words like rocks hurled against glass. Snape clung to the image of his face to keep from drowning in his own fear. He thought he could edge his hand towards his wand, just a bit, just a little, until the werewolf holding him snarled in warning, and all his bones seemed to dissolve.
"Undoubtedly," said Loki pleasantly. "But not for right now. We came to prove to you that we have no hostile intentions towards you, and that will remain true. We could hurt your loved ones right now. We could infect them, or kill them. You know this. Yet we haven't."
"How," Harry breathed, "does taking them hostage prove you're not hostile?"
"Well, it doesn't in and of itself, I'll admit that," said Loki. "But it does from moment to moment. We've taken them only so that you have to listen, Harry, not to make you afraid. You're not afraid, are you? You're angry?"
"You could say that."
And Harry burst into blue flames, just as he had at the breakfast table that morning. Loki cocked his head to the side and sniffed appreciatively, then panted again. "I have heard that you were part phoenix," he said. "And now I have seen it."
"What do you want?" Harry demanded. "You must realize that I'm hardly non-hostile towards you, right now." Snape could feel his wandless magic snarling and spinning around him, a fierce beast on a short leash. He tried to think about fearing that, instead of the teeth near his neck. He couldn't. It was impossible. He felt hurt and sick, and his breath came short now despite all his efforts to keep it deep. He was light-headed.
"We want to show you that we can't be ignored," said Loki. "And to prove to you that even with the opportunity for damage, we'll still hold back. And to show off some of the pack magic to you. How do you suppose we concealed three of our pack from you, Harry, and from your powerful Dark wizard mentor—" he bowed to Snape "—and from an Auror with an eye capable of seeing through Invisibility Cloaks?"
Harry was silent.
"Because I am here," said Loki. "And the magic of those werewolves who have been lycanthropes from children, as I have, when bonded into a true pack with a true pack leader, is not unlike the magic of a Lord or Lady with a group of companions focused tightly around them. Our minds feed into one another, and we strengthen the spells that we each perform. Those Disillusionment Charms were essentially ten charms piled on top of each other."
"You're saying that these are your Death Eaters, then." Harry used his voice like a whip.
"You are trying to make me angry, aren't you?" Loki asked mildly. "You won't succeed, Harry. No one has made me lose my temper in twenty years. I am not Fenrir Greyback. I serve no cause but that of werewolves."
"And I would have helped you," said Harry. "I swore an oath. But I did not say that I would help you immediately."
"Even in the face of such provocation?"
"The provocation was yours," Harry said, and Snape could be glad of the cold anger in his voice, even with two of the people he most loved held hostage behind him. "You bit an Elder of the Wizengamot."
Loki abruptly cocked his head and turned to look at Elder Gillyflower. "Oh, dear," he murmured. "Was she telling you tales, Harry? Saying that she'd never done anything to hurt us? That she's just a victim?" Snape saw that the Elder had closed her eyes again.
He had to close his own as the werewolf holding him snarled in apparently uncontrollable anger. He could survive this. He could. He would, because Harry needed him.
"That is not true," said Loki. "Yes, we did bite her, and we compelled her by certain threats to come here today and not tell you of the packmates we sent with her. But she's part of the group of witches and wizards that would most like to see us gone, Harry. She was feeling out a few other Elders of the Wizengamot, trying to gather enough support to make werewolf hunting legal again, and not just for Ministry Departments." His voice deepened, but still there seemed to be amusement in it instead of all the other emotions Snape would have expected. "She murdered a packmate of mine two years ago. Claimed that he was breaking into her home to attack her. Yes, of course he was. That's why they found him locked into a room of his own house, awaiting moonrise."
Harry was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "I—heard nothing about this."
"Of course you didn't," said Loki mildly. "Why would you have? There were sympathetic Aurors on the case, of course, but the moment they found out the victim was a werewolf, they hushed it up. This was in the days of Fudge, you understand, and Elder Gillyflower there was an important part of his support base. Of course they couldn't have such a potentially embarrassing case staining her reputation. And he grew fur and howled on the full moon. So, who cared?"
"Why did you wait until now to seek vengeance, if this is true?" Harry asked.
"We waited," said Loki, and snapped his teeth. "Scrimgeour is in power now. We thought he might be more sympathetic. My packmate's family tried to get the case reopened. We thought Scrimgeour might dismiss Elder Gillyflower, since she was one of Fudge's cronies. We thought you might do something, if you could be got to hear about this.
"And then we realized that, no, Scrimgeour didn't intend to do anything—he was much more interested in cleaning up the Aurors than the Wizengamot—and you weren't a political player. We had to retreat and wait for the right moment. The moment is here, now that you're Black heir and made an oath to help us." Loki paused and looked at Harry expectantly. "We choose our victims carefully," he added. "There will be no shortage of them, since so many people have wronged us, and it was not even seen as wrong at the time."
"How do I know this is true?" Harry asked.
Loki laughed. "My name is Fenrir—Loki," he said, the word apparently forced from him. "I've taken Veritaserum, Harry. I told you, we wanted you to understand. Everything, absolutely everything, that I have told you today is true. We simply won't be ignored any longer. Telling the truth isn't enough, but we thought it could help you listen, once we made you pay attention."
Snape studied the werewolf more closely, seizing another focus to be rid of his terror, and noticed his slightly glazed eyes and the way he stood very straight, keeping himself from listing to one side with an effort. Yes, he had taken Veritaserum.
"Who is your victim for this full moon?" Harry demanded.
"No one," said Loki. "This action was planned instead."
"And for the next?"
"A woman in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures," said Loki, his eyes never wavering from Harry's. "One of those Umbridge planted during her tenure. Her name's Melissa Rosewood. You will not believe what damage she has done to us, including having a bitten Muggle teenager die 'accidentally' in her care. But, of course, no one cares. You were outraged when harm happened to the Many snakes because of Umbridge's new edicts. You set Tybalt Starrise to digging her out. But you did not care about us."
"I never knew," said Harry.
"Ah," said Loki. "I thought so. This is merely making sure you look." He glanced at the werewolves holding Snape, Moody, and Draco. "Remember this, vates," he said. "We will give you time, now, time to do what you can. We have not even chosen a victim for July. After all, I fully expect you to protect Melissa Rosewood when June's full moon comes. But if you do nothing to help us, then we will choose new victims."
"I could detain you now," said Harry. His magic was snarling and trembling around him still, Snape saw. "Why not? It would be the most useful course, and no one would blame me, not after the tactics you've used against me."
"You don't want to do that," said Loki softly.
"And why not?"
"Because my packmates will bite those you love if you do anything to harm or capture me, or indeed do anything but wait until I am safely away into the Forest." Loki's eyes flashed. "And because none of us have taken Wolfsbane."
Snape felt his calm wrenched away from him. His muscles tensed. He was going to struggle, wise idea or not. The werewolf holding him snarled again, though, and he found his muscles cramping out of terror, holding him still perforce.
"I see," said Harry after a long moment.
Loki nodded to him, his tongue lolling again. This time, what Snape noticed was the length and sharpness of the teeth the tongue lolled past. "Yes. We have enough time to go home and drink it before the moon rises—barely. But delay us at all, and you will have a pack of maddened werewolves on school grounds. Werewolves I can make invisible, mind, until they are close to their targets."
Harry closed his eyes and stood still. "Go, then."
"I am glad that you've seen sense. I hope you continue to see it," Loki said mildly, and then turned and began to lope away across the grass to the Forest, followed by his pack. Snape watched, since Harry didn't seem inclined to. They never stopped or looked aside. They melted into the trees within a few minutes.
Harry turned and looked at the three werewolves who'd lingered.
The woman holding Snape vanished. Snape stumbled, and then sat down hard. He glanced over, and saw that Elder Gillyflower, the woman on top of Moody, and the man holding Draco had also gone, as suddenly as if they'd Apparated. Harry stood with his eyes wide, his magic visible in the air around him as a bright aura, even through the blue phoenix flame that was slowly crisping his clothes. Then he shook his head in frustration, obviously unable to sense them. The phoenix fire at last died.
That pack magic is terrifying, Snape thought, in an effort to make himself forget that what he had really feared was hot breath in his ear and the suggestion of teeth against his neck.
He looked up to see Harry talking softly with Draco, one arm around his shoulders. Then he turned and hesitated. He wants to see what happened to me, Snape thought, but he is wary of making me look weak in front of Moody.
"I am well," he said quietly.
Harry's gaze was anxious, devouring, but he forced himself to take Snape's word for it, and nodded. Then he turned to Moody, repairing his wooden leg and fixing it back into place. The old Auror was swearing foully enough to cause air pollution, Snape thought.
He looked back at the grass where the werewolves had stood. Only faint depressions in it showed they had ever been there.
Snape took a deep breath, and his fear turned a corner and became black and boiling hatred.
They shall not touch me again, he thought. Never again. And they shall not touch Harry. I will find a way to stop this.
His wandless magic, no longer confined by fear, whirled around him and tore up the grass with invisible claws. Snape still nodded curtly to Harry's concerned gaze, but he indulged his magic with a few more twists and turns and bouts of destruction.
I shall find a way to stop them.
I hate them.
Harry closed his eyes and held himself still. He would explode in rage otherwise, and he couldn't afford that.
Yes, Snape could be angry. Harry had seen how angry he was on his return to the castle. He'd been forced to face his worst fear today, and more than that, he'd seen the creatures of that fear use him to manipulate Harry. It would be strange if he were not furious.
Yes, Draco could be angry, once he got over the fear. He was writing his father right now, and Harry couldn't find a word to say against that. He had never expected to have Lucius Malfoy's support in his fight for werewolves' rights anyway, and though it would be bad to have his active opposition, his truce-dance alliance with Harry would restrict what he could do.
Yes, Moody had been angry, and had furiously put the dueling club through its paces, but that could be a good thing, with Midsummer coming. And they hadn't been too exhausted to pass on good news. Ron had told Harry tonight that he'd written home about the dueling club under Moody, and his family had been impressed enough, either by the account or by the fact that an old Order member had joined Harry, that his brothers Bill and Charlie, both fairly powerful wizards, were now considering coming to Hogwarts to fight on Midsummer.
But Harry was a Lord-level wizard, and if he let go now, with his rage whispering words of blood and hatred inside him like a werewolf's web, then he stood a good chance of destroying the Slytherin common room.
He'd been fighting the anger ever since that afternoon. Blaise had taken one look when he and Draco returned from the dueling club and fled their bedroom. Draco hadn't spoken to Harry, but he lay on his bed and stared at him.
Harry counted his breaths, and tried to think past his fog of absolute dislike for Loki.
I can't let this make me hate all werewolves, or even all werewolves in that pack. They're doing what they think best. They have a reason for choosing their victims, even if it's not a reason I agree with. Loki could have had his pack bite Snape and Draco, it would have been easy, but he didn't. I think he did want to just get my attention and talk with me, and he doesn't really care if I hate him personally, so long as I'm looking more intensely at the Ministry's interactions with werewolves.
But I hate him.
Harry forced down the phoenix fire that wanted to blaze around him. He'd already ruined a good portion of the bench at the Slytherin table and two sets of robes today. He didn't want to set fire to anything else.
But remembering the mixture of loathing and terror that had run through him like fire and acid intertwined when he faced Loki made it difficult. He kept trying to put the emotions in Occlumency pools, and they kept slipping away from him. He kept thinking that he should be able to put aside personal likes and dislikes and just concentrate on the larger political issues, and he kept failing.
"That's enough of that," he heard someone say, and then Draco's arms slipped around him and held him tightly.
"Draco," Harry whispered, feeling the Darkest parts of his magic squeal in glee at the thought of tearing apart warm skin and flesh and muscle. "Don't."
"I'm not frightened of you, Harry," Draco whispered into his ear. "And you have the right to feel what you're feeling. How many times have we told you that?" His voice was half-teasing. "Do you need to go see Vera again?"
"No, I need to see Snape," Harry said. He'd been waiting because he needed to be able to play the role of comforter and sympathetic listener when he went to Snape's offices, and that meant getting past his own emotions. He hadn't expected them to refuse to go away.
"Not yet," said Draco. "Harry, you can hate them. I wish you hadn't sworn that oath, but you did. I wish you didn't have to help them, but you do—to an extent. That doesn't mean you can't hate their leader personally, and wish to kill him. You're too honorable to start hating Mrs. Parkinson because she has the same curse as that weakling Lupin and that beast Loki. You're going to work around this, and you're going to end this mess, one way or the other."
End it…
And Harry knew what he wanted to do. His breathing eased, and his hatred eased, too, because he could well imagine that the course of action he'd just decided on would be one Loki couldn't accept and yet couldn't argue against without betraying his packmates. The Darker parts of his magic, distracted now, chuckled at the thought of causing an enemy pain.
"Thanks, Draco," he whispered, drawing back with a kiss to Draco's cheek. "You just gave me an idea that made me feel a whole lot better."
Draco sat back and stared at him. "What?"
"I'm going to find a cure for lycanthropy," Harry said. "Not Wolfsbane, but something that actually gets rid of the web. That would put an end to not only the persecution of werewolves, but their ability to say that they have no other options but horrible treatment or violent revolution."
Draco frowned. "Can you do that? You told me the werewolves thought of the webs as living things you wouldn't kill."
"That is why it needs research," said Harry fiercely. "But I am going to figure out some way around this, as you put it, even if the webs are living creatures. This is—I can't just give up helping the werewolves, and I can't tolerate the vulnerability that Loki made me feel today. And it's a much better option than just pushing for the imprisonment of some werewolves, which would make the banshees in the Ministry think I'm on their side, and the punishment of those who hurt werewolves, which would make Loki think I support him. I'm on my own side."
Draco smiled at him. "Excellent." He gave his shoulder a little push. "You're always at your best when you have a plan. Now go talk to Snape, and then come back so I can give you etiquette lessons to prepare you for the festival."
"I mean it, you know," said Harry, and lingered a moment to touch his cheek. "You were the one who gave me the idea. You have more faith in me than I do in myself. I love you."
Draco blinked a moment, then said, "I hope so, since you're wearing a Black ring. And since I love you, too. Prat. Get going."
Harry grinned at him and trotted out of the room. Draco would be all right. Moody was already all right, veteran of a hundred situations that had damaged him much worse. Snape needed him now. Harry would write a letter to Scrimgeour, telling him about Melissa Rosewood, when that was done.
And after that, he would start helping the werewolves, whether they liked the way he did it or not.