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Chapter Ninety-Seven: The Third Greatest Is Loyalty

Rufus drummed his fingers on the desk and stared at the two letters that had come yesterday. To one, of course, he'd sent a reply at once, naming a time for today that he hoped would work. To the other, no reply was possible.

Who is the Liberator? Rufus picked up the parchment and smoothed it down again. He had used some of the more common charms to identify handwriting, and none of the Wizengamot members, nor someone else high-ranking in the Ministry, had written this. Rufus, of course, was not prepared to simply accept that the writer was what he sounded like—a young wizard living in a family with ties to the Order of the Phoenix—but he had assigned a few Aurors to look in on Madam Malkin's when they had time, and Tonks to observe Gina de Rousseau. Tonks might struggle to keep her feet at times, but she was, for obvious reasons, the best Auror in the Department at passing unnoticed.

"Sir?"

Rufus looked up. That was Wilmot, who'd been on guard outside his door. "Yes, Edmund?" Rufus made his voice as calm and welcoming as possible. Wilmot had been jumpy lately. Of course, he did seem to have a strong reaction to the moves that Rufus had made with the Wolfsbane, and they were drawing closer to the full moon again. Whatever troubles the man had in his past involving werewolves, the mood in the Ministry would only accent, not help him overcome.

"The room you designated as the Apparition location for the vates just twinged its wards, sir."

Rufus nodded. "Thank you, Edmund."

Wilmot lingered another moment. "There are two people with him, sir."

Rufus smiled. Soothing nervous Aurors was one of his areas of expertise. "I would be surprised if he had come alone," he said. "You may go to escort them up yourself, Wilmot. The notice-me-not glamours the room placed on them should pass muster with most of the Department, though." The room he'd described in his return letter to Harry, where he'd dropped the Ministry anti-Apparition wards in order to give him a chance to enter unnoticed, was a small interrogation room in the middle of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"And you're sure that you'll be safe, sir?" Wilmot gazed at him, anxious lines curling around his blue eyes.

Rufus didn't look at the far right corner of his office, but only because of practice. Percy Weasley sat there under a powerful glamour, ready to fire some of the spells he was picking up in Training if anyone unexpected came through the door. "I will, Wilmot. There's Edges at one end of the hall and Grant at the other. I'll survive."

Wilmot jerked out a nod, and then turned and left. Rufus heard a snort from Percy's corner. The young man didn't seem to trust the older—but then, he was passing through the stage of the Training in which new Aurors were instructed not to trust anyone. Rufus had spent a month in absolute paranoia. Of course, his instruction had been Alastor. It was one of the many reasons Rufus mourned losing Moody to Harry. No one could put the alertness and constant vigilance in a young recruit's head like Mad-Eye Moody.

"That will do, Weasley," said Rufus. The glamour would fool the sight of almost anyone but Rufus himself, but it covered sounds less well. So Percy had to put up with folding his arms, leaning back, and sulking. Rufus returned his gaze to the door again.

He wondered what he would say to Harry. He wondered if the young man—he wouldn't be a boy after the Daily Prophet's reports on some of the happenings at Hogwarts—understood what he was walking into now, how the world had changed while he endured a siege and a battle and a mercy-killing.

A week ago, Rufus might have been too cautious to meet with Harry, even if he had been able to leave Hogwarts then. The world had exploded. The Daily Prophet was equally full of reports that painted the students as innocent victims of a monstrous tyrant and ones that hinted that if Harry had been properly managed and the Boy-Who-Lived moved to a safe place while there was still time, then this wouldn't have happened. The British wizarding world was a cauldron of hysteria and panic that could overflow at any moment. Rufus considered it a true miracle that no parents had gone to the battlefield and tried to break through the Dark Lord's Death Eaters to rescue their children.

And then had come the battle that destroyed, so far as the press was concerned, every single Death Eater on the field. And Voldemort had vanished entirely from sight since then. And the majority of the children had come through alive, and some of them were all too eager to talk about how the great Harry had saved them all—or might have hurt them, but had instead saved them all.

So a new current had joined the brewing cauldron, and it was all moving so fast now that Rufus didn't think his enemies knew what to do any more than he did. The main difference was that most of them weren't used to surviving chaos in Slytherin House and in the Auror Office, and he was. He would balance better than they did, and react faster.

And it meant that there was an enormous explosion of goodwill building up for Harry, right alongside the enormous explosion of ill-will. Rufus intended to make him aware of that weapon, if he didn't know it yet.

"Someone here, sir," Percy said, a moment before the wards on Rufus's door twinged to let him know that Wilmot was here with their guests.

Rufus gave Percy an approving glance, which caused Percy to blush and duck his head. Young Weasley's special talent was outguessing wards, knowing a moment before they did what they were going to sense and say. His instructors had been excited enough by it that Rufus had had three separate reports about Percy's skill on his desk before the end of the day on which he'd first displayed it.

"Come in," Rufus called, before even the first knock could sound.

Wilmot opened the door and came first, of course, because he wouldn't want one of the visitors shooting a curse at the Minister. Rufus wasn't sure his caution wasn't justified. The figure walking on one side of Harry, he saw as the wards on his office removed the notice-me-not glamour, was Severus Snape. On the other came Peter Pettigrew, the innocent man Rufus's own Department had imprisoned in Azkaban, the result of Dumbledore's concerted, and successful, attempt to fool them all.

Rufus was torn between the urge to apologize every time he saw Pettigrew and the urge to interrogate him again until he admitted the Aurors had been right all along and that they hadn't been blinded by the emotion of the night the Dark Lord fell. He stood to nod to both of them, and extend his hand to Harry.

"Harry," he murmured.

Harry nodded to him and leaned forward to clasp his wrist. He was pale, the circles under his eyes so pronounced that Rufus didn't think the glasses would distract anyone's attention from them, but he looked balanced and calm—determined to make it through, really. His magic hummed around him with a strength that made Rufus felt clear-headed and eased just being in his presence. That was a weapon, too, though Rufus was not sure if Harry would see it as such.

"Thank you for making time to see me today, Minister," Harry said formally, and sat down in one of the three chairs Rufus had had Wilmot bring in earlier. He'd guessed three visitors, though his only true basis for that had been the fact that Harry had come with Severus Snape and Remus Lupin the last time he arrived. Rufus congratulated himself on his foresight. "I wasn't sure if you would. I know that the Wizengamot has largely tied your hands on the werewolf issue."

"They've tied my hands," Rufus agreed, and then waved his wand beneath his desk. Wards closed around the room, making what was said inside inaudible even to the ears of Edges and Grant, the Aurors waiting in the hall. It was a dangerous precaution; at least once a Minister had been assassinated behind such soundproof wards. But Rufus needed to make sure that no Wizengamot spy, or ordinary citizen doing what he thought was the best thing for the Ministry he served, could hear this and pass it on. "Or they think they have. Your Midsummer battle upset the political balance of absolutely everyone, Harry."

Harry tensed, but lifted his eyebrows politely. "Oh?" Beside him, his guardian put his hand on his wand. Rufus gave him a sharp glare, and Snape lifted his hand, though he was scowling. The man needs more lessons in how to be a Slytherin, at least when his son is in the room, Rufus thought, and turned back to Harry.

"Yes," he said. "Our world is more intensely interested in you than they have ever been, Harry."

Harry frowned. "Because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived?" Rufus nodded his approval. The boy was at least testing out the limitations and basis of his new power, rather than believing the first person who told him it existed.

"Not only because of that," he said. "Because you fought your first great battle against You-Know-Who and survived, Harry. You did more than survive. You drove him from the battlefield. Is it true that all his Death Eaters are dead?"

Harry shook his head. "Indigena Yaxley managed to get away, and there are a few who were never confirmed dead. It's hard to tell though, sir, since so many of them were recruited in other countries."

Rufus smiled. Headmistress McGonagall had informed him of the way Voldemort tended to recruit Death Eaters in some of those other countries. He was looking forward to using the information she'd owled him. "And how many Death Eaters would you say were on the battlefield, Harry?"

Harry's headshake this time was slower. "Over five hundred, sir, but once again, exact numbers are hard to come by."

"Over five hundred will do," said Rufus. "It's the number the Daily Prophet's been reporting, as a matter of fact. Over five hundred Death Eaters, Harry, and only a few of them might have survived." He leaned forward. "And Voldemort?"

"Wounded," said Harry quietly. "I cut a hole in his magical core. Whenever he tries to use his power, it will slip away from him, and the same thing will happen to any magic he absorbs."

Rufus laughed. Harry frowned at him. "I don't understand, sir," he said. "You're speaking as if I have a chance at winning supporters. There must be people who hate me for what I did at the siege." He was pale, but he held Rufus's eyes. "Philip Willoughby and Aurora Whitestag have already contacted you, I suppose?"

"They have," said Rufus. "Frankly, Willoughby's case will only convince zealots. Whitestag is more of a problem, because she sounds rational, but there are ways to combat even that, Harry. Do you want me to tell you what they are?"

Harry nodded. His eyes were still wide, blinking occasionally. Rufus stifled the urge to laugh again. He really doesn't know what I'm getting at. I should explain it now, before it gets him further confused.

"You've saved lives as well as taken them," said Rufus quietly. "You made sure that Hogwarts came through the battle intact."

"There were also the wards, and Headmistress McGonagall, and Auror Moody—" Harry began, his face vaguely alarmed.

"That will matter only to the detail-obsessed," said Rufus. "You must understand, Harry, that while there will be people who look at your mistakes and hate you for them, there are others who accept you so thoroughly as the Boy-Who-Lived that you are their hero. And now they have something to venerate you for other than the destruction of Voldemort as a baby, or even turning back the storm on Midwinter, which not many of them know the details of. There's a new mythology growing around you already, Harry."

Harry sighed. "Minister, I've been through this before. When the Prophet was calling me the Young Hero last year, it didn't prevent them from printing stories that called me an abuse victim and weak for it, or Argus Veritaserum's articles that said I wasn't being true to my ideals."

"This groundswell is stronger," said Rufus. "You think, or only believe, that the other one must be the strongest, Harry. That would have something to do with the guilt you're carrying?"

Harry gave a slashing nod. Snape turned around and stared at him in concern. Work on him this summer, then, Rufus thought, hoping the other man would hear his thoughts. Remind him that just because he has done evil does not mean he has done no good—and that becomes especially true if we assume that it is good and evil in the eyes of other people.

"There are supporters who will come to your side," said Rufus, "vindicated for their faith in you, thrilled to the depths of their beings by what you have done in this battle, and rejoicing in their freedom when they hear about You-Know-Who's wound."

Harry's face grew impossibly more distressed. "And they'll be following me, sir, for all the wrong reasons," he said. "I don't want to be branded a hero because I'm also branded a killer."

Rufus shook his head. "Whatever else, whoever else, you want them to follow, Harry, your best bet of getting them to follow that ideal or that person is to use the power you have. They'll listen to you because you're the Boy-Who-Lived, first, and because you won this battle—rather resoundingly. And as for admiration of killing…" Rufus turned his hands upward. "Our society is wounded and sick at the core, perhaps. But once again, to heal that you need to approach it from the inside out, unless you want to use your magic to force others to act better."

Harry's face had actually changed on his last words, so that he looked something like thoughtful. He glanced up at Rufus and nodded when his speech was done. "I—thank you, Minister," he said. "You've given me something to think about." He leaned forward. "I'm afraid I won't be able to put your advice into motion right away, though. I'm planning to leave for the summer."

"And go where?" Rufus asked.

Harry exchanged a look with Snape and then with Pettigrew. Snape shook his head. Pettigrew nodded.

Harry moved his hand in a quick, sweeping gesture that created a box of white light around himself, Snape, Pettigrew, and the Minister. That shut Wilmot and even Percy out; Rufus was certain Harry had noticed Percy from the moment he walked in. Inside the box, Harry leaned closer.

"I have a sanctuary to retreat to for the summer, sir," he said. "I deliberately made Voldemort's defeat as crushing as possible so that I wouldn't have to rush back the moment he stirred and try to prevent a raid or confront him. Of course, I didn't anticipate how—boiling—the wizarding world would be because of things like my mercy killing." He paused a moment. "We're going to tell other people that I've been removed from Hogwarts so that I can train how to kill Voldemort, and that should satisfy Whitestag and her cronies for a time. I'll be in a place where I can't quickly receive owls, though, so I won't be able to keep up with what changes here myself."

Rufus blinked for a moment. Then he said, "And what will you do at the sanctuary, Harry?" He could not imagine that there was anything Harry would consider more important than his duty to the wizarding world, or, at least, his duty to the magical creature part of it.

Harry gave him a small, fragile smile. "Heal, sir," he murmured. "I haven't healed the wounds from my parents' abuse completely yet, though I've tried. But here—there are simply too many things happening, too many causes that need my help. I'm going away for two months of rest so that, by the time I return, I can be all the stronger for handling them."

Rufus stared at him. For a long moment, the words he wanted wouldn't emerge from his throat. Then he said, "You haven't healed?"

Harry shook his head. "I haven't had time, sir. Really, no need to look so surprised." He chuckled. "I would be surprised if you have the time to attend weekly sessions with a Mind-Healer in St. Mungo's, either."

"I have made the time when I needed it," said Rufus, "in the wake of the Capto Horrifer, for instance Many other Ministry employees did the same thing, Mr.—Harry." He studied the young man in front of him again. Yes, many things made sense now. What was absolutely astonishing was that he had managed to walk into the office under his own power, in Rufus's opinion.

Harry blinked and hitched up a shoulder. "Then I suppose it's time, Minister," he said. "I didn't know the wizarding world and the shifts in opinion were quite that violent, though. I did want to tell you I would be out of reach." He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. "Can I count on you to manage the brewing cauldron for me while I'm gone, and try to keep it from spilling over?"

"I would prefer to manage it for you," said Rufus bluntly. In the name of Merlin, I would have ordered him to take a rest, as I can do with my Aurors, if I thought it would do any good. "I know how to use the power of your name better than you do, Harry, and it seems that I am also more willing to do so."

Abruptly, Harry frowned. "But I shouldn't make you do something I would be unwilling to do myself—" he began.

"Harry," Snape hissed, leaning closer to his ward. Rufus watched in interest as Harry turned and looked up at him, his attention shifting from polite and focused to utterly intent. So this is what he looks like when he trusts someone enough to really listen to him. "You need to be protected, as much as possible, from the shrill invective the press will hurl at you. The Minister is offering to do it. When someone offers to do something like that for you, the proper course is to thank them."

Harry opened his mouth in what looked like the beginning of an argument.

"And you have promised by blood and breath and bone to go with Draco to the Sanctuary tomorrow," Snape finished.

Harry shut his mouth. For a long moment, he chewed his lower lip instead, and then he nodded firmly and turned back to the Minister.

"I thank you for the offer, sir," he said. "It has to be done, and I won't be here to do it." For a moment, he looked wistful. Rufus knew that look all too well. Some of his more work-addicted Aurors had worn it at times. Harry was trying to think of some way around the oath, or, at least, of how he wished there was a way around the oath.

"All of that is true," said Rufus, before Harry could really manage to change his mind. "We'll begin with the Boy-Who-Lived proving himself again, with the announcement of Voldemort's real condition, and with the deception that you've gone away to train. All of that will provide a good weapon, and answer to those who think that you must do more. I would like to see what 'more' they mean, after the Midsummer battle."

Harry blinked as if waking from a dream, and then nodded slowly. "I am also trying to bring the werewolf problem to a resting place, Minister," he said. "I've informed Loki that I'll side with the Ministry if he bites more people, and with him if that's the reason the Ministry is hunting his pack. And of course I can always side with werewolves who are not part of his pack. For as much chaos as they've caused, Loki's group is small, I know."

"I would not be so sure of that," said Rufus. "We've heard of Loki for years from rogue werewolves. I thought him a myth, but if you've met him in the flesh—"

"And received a letter from him." Harry nodded. "And, yes, it's always possible that he commands more people than I know about, but he does not speak for all the werewolves in Britain. Even if he did, then I would work for equal rights, and then make sure that werewolves were tried for biting the unwilling, or for murder if they killed their victims. They can't live both inside and outside our society, Minister, protected by our laws when they want to be and then doing things that are only legal by their own. Sooner or later, they'll have to make compromises."

Rufus found himself smiling. When Harry was animated, he was a sight to see. And this shine in his eyes was probably what made people ignore the dark circles under them, and so this was a double-edged weapon. Rufus reminded himself to see clearly. Husbanded, Harry's fire might burn for a long time, and accomplish the reforms that he so wanted to see accomplished. But it could burn out too easily.

"Understood, Harry," Rufus murmured. "And you will get no argument from me." He hesitated a moment, but he could not see Pettigrew and Snape spreading this any more than he could Wilmot, and Harry deserved to know. "I have arranged for confiscated Potions ingredients to be turned over to a cousin of mine," he told Harry. "He loves to brew, but is more interested in pure creation than credit or money; the moment he is done working on one potion, he moves on to the next. He has always wanted to brew Wolfsbane, and it's complex enough to keep him happy for a time. I've been distributing Wolfsbane to those registered werewolves too poor to afford it—on the quiet, of course, since the Wizengamot would have a fit if they knew."

The shine in Harry's eyes became so bright that Rufus found a trace of the impulse to follow quivering in his body. This was the leader Harry's allies had found, then, if only for a glimpse, the young man who would risk everything he had for someone else, whose greatest commitment was free will, who offered gratitude and admiration freely but couldn't see why others offered it to him. This man was looking as Rufus as if he'd just announced that the Ministry was repealing all the anti-werewolf laws, and Rufus had to fight to keep from simply grinning and basking in that gaze.

And this is why he's so dangerous, he thought, to temper himself. I can't let my own admiration for him and all he's survived blind me to the fact that he might not always want what's best for the Ministry. In the case of the werewolves, that's certainly true. I can't do things for his approval. I can't take him as my own leader.

"Thank you, Minister," said Harry quietly. "This means more to me than you can know. I know you don't—like werewolves." He picked his way among the words as if he thought he would step on a bladed one.

"I don't like 'em," Rufus said, "because almost all the ones I see are rogues who've bitten or killed someone, and only a few are horrified about it. But I think I am coming to see that not all werewolves are the same. Not even all Death Eaters are the same." He pointedly didn't look at Snape and Pettigrew, because that would have been too easy. "And I can help 'em—the ones who did register, the ones who try to obey our laws and are treated like shit because of it."

Another thoughtful look came across Harry's face. "You know," he murmured, "there might be some people I could introduce you to, Minister, when I come back."

"When you come back, Harry," said Pettigrew firmly. And either he had more of a hold over Harry or his semi-argument with Snape had taught him better, because he lowered his eyes and nodded sheepishly.

"That's true," he said, and looked up at Rufus, extending his hand again. "Thank you, for everything."

"You're more than welcome." Rufus clasped his hand again, and looked into his eyes, and made himself see the shine and the dark circles and the danger that lurked there—danger all the greater because Harry would never know for certain who was following him for his ideals and who for his person. "Good luck in your healing, Harry."

Harry nodded once, and then dismissed the ward that had protected the latter part of their conversation. Wilmot left with him and his guards to escort them back to the Apparition point.

Rufus sat back down and reflected for a moment. Then he felt a dangerous grin widening across his face.

That conversation gave me ideas. He nodded at Percy. "Fetch me the records of Amelia Bones's employment," he commanded.

Percy blinked and frowned even as he bent to fetch them. "Sir?"

"I want to find out how long it's been since she's taken a mandated rest period," said Rufus, and exchanged a shark-like smile of delight with Percy.

Harry had noticed it before, but now he was sure of it. Wilmot was nervous, enough that he could hardly bear to walk down the corridor beside them. Harry could see it in his slightly widened eyes, of course, the way any human wizard would display it, but also in the way he showed his teeth when someone called suddenly from behind an Auror desk. Remus had shown the same signals when he felt upset enough.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked at last, using another small ward so that only he and Wilmot could hear what the man would say.

Wilmot bent down and whispered, "I have some reason to suspect that Loki is visiting the Ministry today."

Harry knew his back had stiffened, but he forced himself to keep walking. "You have some reason?" he asked at last.

"I was once more in contact with the London packs than I am now," Wilmot murmured. "I gave that up a few years ago, when Loki started to have more dominance than I was comfortable with, but I still passed along word of laws that affected us, and other possible problems, the moment I learned of them. And now Loki, under the impression that that makes me loyal, told me that he might find his way into the Ministry a few days before the full moon."

"He intends to bite a target here?" Harry demanded, feeling his magic twine and tighten around him. He caught a glimpse of Snape trying to break through his ward, but he was too angry to care.

"He does," Wilmot said. "Or at least he hinted that, and I am intelligent enough to translate the hints, I think."

Harry restrained the impulse to pick up one of the Auror desks and throw it. "Who?"

"The Minister."

Harry nearly stopped walking and demanded to know why Wilmot hadn't told Scrimgeour, but he understood in another moment. A threat to the Minister's life would result in questioning under Veritaserum. Wilmot would explain, willingly or unwillingly, how he got the information. And the knowledge that he was a werewolf himself would result in his being sacked, left unable to know anything about future assassination attempts on the Minister.

"Do you know where he might have come in?" Harry breathed.

"Unfortunately, no," said Wilmot. "He can use that damn pack magic to vanish, you know. He'll be especially careful since this is just a scouting mission. And I think—"

Harry caught a blurred glimpse of pale hair as something appeared off to the side and moved at him. It was Loki, Harry knew, and he was coming with strength and speed that Harry didn't think he could match, in those few moments of numb surprise.

Wilmot moved at the exact same moment. He seized Loki's arms and whirled, slamming him into the wall and holding him there. Harry heard gasps from the Aurors around them, and dismissed the ward that had concealed his and Wilmot's conversation. He looked at Peter.

"Stall them," he insisted. "Tell them that this is just a grieving parent who wants justice for what was done to his children at Hogwarts."

"But what about—" said Peter.

"No time," said Harry, and then shifted nearer to Loki and Wilmot. Snape was coming behind him, his steps slow as death. Harry reached back and gripped his wrist once, asking, pleading, for him to hold on to his hatred and not fling a spell. It was especially important since they were in the Ministry and a Dark Arts curse would bring the Department of Magical Law Enforcement down on them like a pack of rabid wolves.

What an appropriate metaphor, Harry thought. Then Snape squeezed back, and Harry was free to move over to the little scene against the wall, while Peter explained matters to the Aurors and made excuses for the sudden presence of the Boy-Who-Lived in a calm, carrying voice.

Loki was staring at Wilmot with his teeth bared. This close to the full moon, Harry thought, he looked feral. His teeth were slightly longer, and his pale hair wild. And perhaps it was just the effect of shock at Wilmot's betrayal, or not being in control of the situation as he had been when he confronted Harry by the lake, but he looked far more vulnerable, too.

Wilmot had his teeth against Loki's throat, lightly scraping it as he spoke. Harry had to use magic to sharpen his ears so that he could hear.

"—gave my loyalty to someone else, Loki. I won't allow you to hurt him."

"How would you justify killing me?" Loki whispered. "Now, here?"

"I don't have to justify killing you," Wilmot said. "I have to justify manhandling you, and that's all. You would have to justify lunging at the Boy-Who-Lived, and I don't think you can do that right now."

Loki stared at Wilmot, the amber of his eyes growing deeper. Wilmot laughed, a sound that trailed off in a growl.

"Do not try that charisma shit on me, Loki." He snapped his teeth again, this time taking a flap of skin and worrying it between them, to make his point. Harry could feel Snape breathing hard behind him, and reached back to grip his wrist again. "I am not a member of your pack."

"I did not come alone," Loki said, already more relaxed, moving back into the calm, dominant persona Harry remembered of him. "Members of my pack are scattered throughout this room. They could bite. And the bite of a werewolf even in human form can have—unpredictable effects."

Wilmot smiled, and Loki let out a little gasp of pain. "They won't move while you're in danger, Loki," he said.

"They will go from here if you put me in Tullianum," Loki countered, his head tilting back as though he were inviting Wilmot to tear his throat open, "and bite as many others as they can on the full moon. They'll run without Wolfsbane." His eyes shifted sideways to Harry. "And he won't be here to stop it from happening."

"Will you refrain from biting those victims if we let you go?" Harry asked. Behind him, he could hear Snape sucking in a deep breath and then saying nothing. He was grateful. His mind was swarming with the consequences of this, if Wilmot did arrest Loki. Loki would not only betray Wilmot's position in the Aurors—there was nothing to stop him—but his pack would go mad, and for all Harry knew it would begin a rebellion or a full-out war, instead of a biting of chosen victims.

"You will have my word," said Loki. "We have chosen the Minister for this moon cycle." He was speaking more and more shallowly as Wilmot's teeth pressed closer into the skin of his throat. "Or we had, until I saw you. I thought you might appreciate being adopted fully into our pack, vates."

Harry ignored that, and turned to Wilmot. "Can we trust him if he gives his word?"

"We can," said Wilmot, "since his pack is here. An alpha lives or dies by his sworn word." He was trembling with frustration, staring hard at Loki. "I wish there was more we could do," he said. "There must be." Loki winced as Wilmot's teeth made a faint stream of blood trickle down his neck. Harry heard a chorus of phantom growls, and could almost feel the pack pressing closer.

And Harry knew what more could be done.

He stepped forward, and let his magic flap and flash around him, breaking free from its confines. Loki stared at him at once. There was something deep within those amber eyes that was more wizard than werewolf, Harry thought, even on the days of the full moon, and he knew the other man recognized the strength of his magic.

"This is what you are up against," said Harry softly. "This is what you have pushed me into." He stared steadily at Loki. "I will have a promise from you now. You will swear that your pack, including you, will make no attacks on chosen victims for the next two months, until September's full moon." That was for as long as he would be in the Sanctuary, and as much as Harry thought he could reasonably ask for without triggering either the pack's protective instincts or Loki's independent spirit, to the point that he would insist on dying as a sacrifice just to avoid giving that promise.

"And if not?" Loki asked.

"Then I will drain your magic now," said Harry. He felt his mind shifting again, moving into that crystal-clear place he had been when he killed Dumbledore. "I know how to behead a pack. Your power base will snap and scatter."

"It will mean open war," Loki said.

"So does this," Harry hissed at him, dropping almost into Parseltongue. "You consider me bound, Loki. And it is true that my oath to the werewolves and my vates commitments bind me from simply killing you the moment you make trouble, or trying to constrain you never to bite anyone again, even in self-defense. I have to try to leave your free will free, and your people have suffered enough that I do not want to take a strong leader who could better their lives from them. But when you push me into a corner, I will strike back." He was shaking, he could feel himself shaking, but his magic was also getting ready. A black snake appeared, winding around his neck, and hissed at Loki on its own. "I have to leave, I am bound to that, and I have to protect the free will of both the werewolves and the Ministry; I am bound to that. But if it is the only way to keep both oaths, I will accept the utter destruction of one pack. You have proven impenetrable to reason so far, Loki. Can you learn it?"

Loki kept looking at him as if seeing him for the first time. Then, finally, he said, "You—you are trying."

He can learn. Perhaps. But Harry remembered the werewolves with their teeth on Draco's and Snape's and Moody's throats, and held himself wary. "I am trying," he said. "And I must leave tomorrow, and I do not want to leave the wizarding world in chaos. Understand. I am the most powerful friend you have at the moment, since you have worked so hard to alienate the Wizengamot, and panic is brewing in the rest of the wizarding world. I will not be here. That means that, yes, you might get away with biting innocent victims. On the other hand, the Ministry might hunt your pack to death in the meantime. I won't be here to prevent that, either. I tried to explain this in the letter. I see little evidence that the words even cracked the wax in your ears."

Loki said, "I will swear, on my word as alpha, that neither I nor anyone else in my pack will bite except in self-defense until September's full moon."

Harry nodded sharply and stepped back. The arrogance was already returning to Loki's voice. He knew he could not push.

Loki could, though. He turned to Wilmot with a lazy smile as the Auror lifted his head and murmured, "The Minister might receive an anonymous owl, you know, a few days in the future, telling him about a certain werewolf in his staff."

"And then they would question me with Veritaserum, to determine how I avoided detection for so long," Wilmot said, his voice also casual. "And I would tell them everything I knew, of course, including the location of a certain London pack. And all the weaknesses I knew in that pack. Tell me, Loki, does Gudrun still have a bad left leg?"

Loki began a bubbling snarl in his throat. Harry let the black snake rear up and hiss again, while the air around him grew cold enough to make their breath steam. Loki glanced at him and cut the snarl off.

"A truce," he said. "For now." His eyes were locked on Harry, shining brilliantly. "Vates," he said.

Wilmot backed away and said, "That is enough. You have a right to your anger and your grief, and since you didn't actually succeed in assaulting Harry, then I suppose he won't want to press charges." Harry shook his head in relief; Wilmot must have heard the story Peter was telling. "But you must leave the Ministry now. I will escort you out, personally." He gripped Loki's elbow. Loki went tamely, muttering. The other Aurors sat down behind their desks, and, Harry assumed, the rest of the pack followed their leader.

Harry closed his eyes. He felt sick and shaky, even as the snake around his throat dissipated into mist and flowed back into him. He was caught between two conflicting and equally strong impulses. One was the impulse to flee to the Sanctuary right now, before anything else could happen.

The other was to stay here and make sure that nothing else like this could happen, that people kept talking instead of fighting.

Snape's hand closed on his shoulder and steered him firmly the few remaining steps towards their Apparition room, the expression on his face likely preventing the Aurors from clustering around either to insult him or thank him. Harry sighed and shook his head as he walked. He couldn't stay. The oath he'd sworn would start choking him if he tried.

He had to wonder, though, if even the Sanctuary would be able to keep him from thinking about the werewolf problem.