This is the second-to-last chapter of the story. It will end on Chapter 100, and then the next story, A Song In Time of Revolution, should begin to be posted a few days after that.
Chapter Ninety-Nine: SanctuaryHarry woke slowly. He opened his eyes and saw cloth, then realized the pain in his neck had accelerated to the point of waking him up. He must have spent hours with his head buried in Draco's shoulder.
He sat back, rubbing at his neck, and Draco stirred and murmured, then shifted sideways and leaned against the carriage door. Harry glanced over his head. He could barely see anything, a combination of smudged glasses and the night that seemed to have fallen outside.
"We are in the shadows."
Harry jumped. Vera, who sat across from him, watched his every motion like a cat watching a mousehole—no, not quite that blatantly, Harry thought. But it was unnerving. He turned back to the shadows, squinting. He couldn't see a sign of light, not even the stars or the nearly full moon. "I didn't realize they looked like this," he said softly.
"Yes," Vera said. "We made a bargain with one of the dead magical species long ago, cousins of the Dementors. We could not use illusions, even to shield the Sanctuary and help us preserve our sanity, but they could. In return for their shielding us, we Saw a way for them to die at last."
Harry looked at her in wonder. "How long ago was that? Do you know what they were?"
Vera shook her head. 'The records call them shadow-weavers, or shadowborn, and why not? But we have never been able to make that match with any history of magical creatures and wizards. Perhaps they were not even cousins of the Dementors, as the legend claims. We See the present most clearly, Harry, and recording the past is of assistance to us only in understanding our patients. I suspect those ancient Seers, once the shadow-weavers had done what they promised and left the world, did not care enough to retain the name."
Harry turned back to the windows one more time without answering. Her gaze had been piercing when she said that they understood and kept their patients' pasts recorded, and he couldn't blame her for that. But he didn't have to stare into her face in some sort of silent communication.
He flinched when he realized that he could see something in the shadows this time. It was the bird with claws on its wings, teeth in its beak, and the lizard tail. It kept pace with the carriage, though Harry knew, if the vehicle had maintained its smooth, easy speed, that could not be easy. It turned its head towards the window and shrieked. Harry heard the shriek as mocking laughter. He wondered what would happen if it tried to enter and wound him, and if even a Seer could notice it. But the bird swerved off a moment later, and buried itself in the shadows with a flit of its tail.
"Harry?"
Harry realized he was shaking, his right hand clamped over the stump of his left wrist. He began counting to Mermish in his mind to make himself relax. When he thought he wouldn't shriek or plead for help, he gave Vera a fragile nod. "I'm well. I just saw something out the window that startled me."
Vera gazed at him in silence for a moment. "No one can see anything in the shadows," she said softly. "Nothing that is really there, at least. Hallucinations are, of course, excepted, and so are illusions."
Harry bowed his head and shrugged. "I suppose I'm just lucky, then," he said lightly.
He wasn't sure how much of his thoughts Vera could read. Sometimes she seemed able to discern the exact shape of what he was thinking; sometimes she seemed to refrain from that by courtesy; and sometimes she seemed to know his thoughts only as they related to his soul-wounds. She knew what he felt about his parents, but not the exact words in which he expressed those feelings.
"The strongest sensation about you right now is your terror," said Vera, her voice like running water. "I cannot determine exactly what causes this particular terror unless you tell me. Will you tell me, please, Harry?"
Harry shook his head and glanced over at Snape and Draco, unable to believe they hadn't commented so far. But Draco was asleep, and Snape had his eyes closed, an expression of intense concentration on his face that Harry recognized. He was reinforcing his Occlumency barriers, no doubt hoping that if he built them thick and high enough, the Seers couldn't read him. He wouldn't notice anything about the outside world until he was done, which might not be for hours.
"You cannot hide behind them." Vera's voice was gentle and pitiless. "There will be Seers at the Sanctuary who help all three of you separately, Harry. And though your Malfoy and the Bitter One do indeed carry scars of their own that will need time and healing, that does not mean you will spend every hour tending to them."
"Draco needs me," said Harry stiffly. "And Snape will be horribly uncomfortable if I'm not there. He only agreed to come because of me."
"That is true," said Vera. "I did not say that every hour would be spent not tending to them, either. But you must learn to relax and give yourself over to healing, to take time for yourself and not only for others."
Harry shut his eyes and did his best to ignore her. He wished he could vanish as deeply into his own mind as Snape could, but here his training hindered him. Lily had shown him how to be so alert to the world that he couldn't forsake it unless danger to Connor was involved. Harry had expanded that to include "danger to someone else," but it did mean that he heard every small shift from Vera, every nuance of Draco's breathing, every time Snape let out a subconscious murmur as he worked on the barriers.
"I thought you knew this." Vera's voice was flavored with disappointment now. "Why agree to come to the Sanctuary at all, Harry, if you did not want healing for your soul?"
"I don't know how to do what you want me to do," Harry whispered.
"And what is that, Harry?"
"How to just—" Harry shook his head. "I thought this would be wonderful because I could leave thoughts of the outside world behind. But thoughts of the outside world are coming with me." His mind traced the arc of the bird's dive past the carriage windows. Even the parts of the outside world that I don't understand. They're here. "I'll scramble to keep from focusing on myself. That's what I always do. If you insist that I can't talk to Draco and Snape all the time, I'll still worry about the werewolves, and the Ministry, and my reputation, and the war with Voldemort, and all the other problems I thought I came here to escape. I wanted this to be a holiday, but I don't think it can be. I'll make it not be so. I'm sorry."
Vera didn't reply for a long moment. Then she said, "Harry, you do not understand the nature of the Sanctuary. There is a reason that we can do things for the soul-stricken there that we can do nowhere else. It uses place magic, much like the Room of Requirement or the Ancient Vale."
"Ancient Vale?" Harry echoed blankly, finally opening his eyes.
"The place you call Woodhouse." Vera leaned over to him and patted his hand. "You think you will sabotage your own healing because you don't know what the Sanctuary is like yet. In a short time, you will."
Harry grunted noncommittally and looked out the windows again. The shadows still rushed past, featureless, and only the slight swing and creak of the carriage around them said they were moving at all. He could understand why owls took so long to reach the Sanctuary unless the Seers specifically opened the paths for them. It would be easy to get lost here.
The Sanctuary did seem to not be of a piece with the world around it. Harry didn't think that was going to matter, though. He could feel worries building to a head in him already.
Will Loki really keep his bargain? Wilmot said he must if he swore his word in front of his pack, but do we know his pack was there? Perhaps he was bluffing.
What am I going to do if it turns out that more people blame me for the murder of those children than will work to exonerate me? I would have to stand trial, according to my own principles, but that will put my fight for everything and everyone else behind. Can I stand a sacrifice to Willoughby's grief and hatred, or the grief and hatred of other parents?
And I am swearing myself often to oaths lately. Is that compatible with being a vates? It reassures others, but should that be my primary concern?
The worries rushed and washed over him, and Harry sighed. He really had wanted this to be different, but he didn't see how it could. At least he was with Draco and Snape, and he knew Voldemort was extremely unlikely to attack while he was gone.
He might, though. What if he heals the wound in his magical core right away?
Harry shifted unhappily. Vera's gaze felt like a pin, holding him to the soft dragon-hide of the seat while he struggled to get away.
They broke abruptly into light, and Harry blinked. It looked to be no later than mid-afternoon by the angle of the sun, though he was sure he had slept hours, and they had been in the shadows for longer than that. He glanced at Vera, who said simply, "The shadow-weavers included wards that prevent even carriages from reaching the Sanctuary unless they are absolutely certain of their path, and that path is winding."
Harry looked out the windows again, and caught a glimpse of white as the carriage turned. Now he could feel the turns. He wondered how many circles the carriage had been forced to take in the shadows in the process of proving itself.
Now a glimpse of gold, and the carriage came down like a homing pigeon seeing its roost. Harry saw a large flat area ahead of them, and assumed it was where the carriage would land. After a short, fast hurtle between gleaming walls, that was exactly what happened.
The jolt woke Draco, and Snape, if he had not come out of his trance before and avoided showing it so that he wouldn't have to deal with Vera, returned from his meditation. He scowled instinctively. Harry found himself hoping that would stay the same. Snape needed help from the Sanctuary, of course, but if they changed him out of all recognition and against his will, could this be said to be a good place?
"Welcome."
Harry looked in surprise at Vera. Lines of tension that had carved her face had relaxed, and as she stood and opened the door, Harry felt that he had never seen her smile before.
"This is the Seers' Sanctuary," she said in a solemn voice as she ushered Snape out the door first, then Harry, and waved her wand to help float Draco. "More than that, it is a place of honor and homage, and a shrine to the present."
Harry thought it had the sound of a ritual welcome, and then he stepped out of the carriage and into such a strength of magic that he gasped. Suddenly, the need to speak ritual words on arriving at a place like this seemed much less strange.
He stared around. The walls on either side of them appeared to be made of golden brick, or white stone; they shimmered so much it was hard to be sure of both color and material. Tilting his head back, Harry could see a golden spiral hanging in midair, which straightened when it approached the walls. That was the path their carriage had taken, he thought. It faded as it climbed higher, until it became the transparent wire he had found so hard to see when the carriage came to rest on the North Tower.
"Do those paths run all over Britain?" he asked Vera.
Vera gave him a considering glance. "All over the world," she said, and then gently grasped Harry's shoulder and turned him around.
Harry saw the Sanctuary then, a dense mass of pillars and roofs and windows and balconies and gardens, flowing into and overlapping each other. He blinked. Some of them looked ash-blackened, some red, some white, some gold, some the pallid blue of shadows on winter snow. They appeared to fall away from them, down a slope, but Harry didn't know if that was reality or an illusion created by the immense number of roofs that ended one above another. He shook his head. "I thought it would be all white and gold," he said.
Vera laughed softly, and the air picked up the sound and made it echo more than it should have. Harry shivered. Most wizards had given up on place magic long ago; wands were portable, and that was important for a society that had to travel often from one place to another to work, visit relatives, conduct politics, and entertain itself. But the great advantage of place magic was its echo effect. A community of wizards located long enough in one place, all of them doing magic, would build up that magic, and the weight of the past would seep into the present and the future, cradling them and making new spells more powerful than they might otherwise have been—which in turn amplified and rebounded into and resonated with the place magic already there. Harry could feel the heaviness of the air, a heaviness that made it seem as if it were always summer in the Sanctuary, and knew that things would indeed be as different here as Vera had promised him. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his body.
"We are a shrine to the present," said Vera firmly. She pointed over Harry's shoulder to one of the red roofs, which seemed, as far as Harry could tell, to belong to a temple-like house whose doors were all open. "That room, for example, enshrines a magic that none of us have ever seen before, and which we don't know how to practice. We have dared to speculate that it comes from Albania, but we don't know that. When it dies out, that room will vanish. There are rooms here for every kind of magic practiced in the world, Light and Dark."
"Why?" Harry whispered.
"At first, it came from Seers bringing dangerous artifacts here to keep them from the hands of those who would misuse them," said Vera, guiding him down a series of steps from their landing. Snape followed, floating Draco; Harry could hear them conversing in low voices, but when he tried to listen, it was Vera's that claimed his attention. "So many accumulated, and so much wizard magic went on in the meantime, that rooms of their own started forming spontaneously. And, of course, Seers went out into the world and brought back memories of what they had seen, and some were actual practitioners of arts other than Seeing, or possessed other gifts. More and more rooms came into being. But they always vanish when the last remnant of that art or that species dies out. We do not linger in the past. We see souls as they are, and work towards what they will be."
"It's not only that, though, is it?" Harry lunged for the same sense of alarm he'd felt on seeing the bird outside the carriage windows. The fear felt distant, though, like a dream. And it wasn't compulsion, or a muffling of his thoughts, the way that Connor had described the Potter sword as doing to him so that he could kill. It was, instead, as if someone had spoken sternly to him and reminded him that the bird was not here right now and he should concentrate on what actually lay in front of him. "There's something more here than just gathering magic. That's not the Sanctuary's purpose."
Vera nodded with a faint smile. "Looking into souls teaches us all compassion sooner or later, Harry." She guided him gently around a broken place in one of the steps, where fallen leaves from—somewhere—danced in an eddy, caught by a whirl of wind. "The Seers who start out unimpressed or hateful do not retain that edge, even if it takes them years to lose it. We notice too much, and while there are some people in the world, like Albus Dumbledore, who may be twisted beyond all redemption or repair, there are many more who only appear that way." She cast a speaking glance over her shoulder at Snape. "So our purpose becomes healing, challenging of wounds, going forward. And that purpose interacts with the valley. Violence is not permissible here. None of the truly dangerous and Dark artifacts can function. They are still enshrined, still honored, because they exist, and their existence deserves notice. But they are neglected if their only purpose is to hurt."
"What happened to Remus?' Harry asked. "Did he still transform?"
"Yes," said Vera softly. "The werewolf curse is a curse, Harry, rather than a soul-wound. But he did not need Wolfsbane when he did so. When he transformed, the Sanctuary simply forbade him to hurt anyone. He learned how to run and enjoy his strength, instead."
Harry blinked. "Do you eat meat at all?"
Vera laughed. "No, unless it dies naturally. Or, if we have a guest who requires it, it must be brought in from outside the Sanctuary. Understand, Harry, we do not insist that everyone who comes here change at once to suit us. It is simply easier not to have violent thoughts, or to kill. One's thoughts settle into the groove already traced here."
"It sounds to me as if the past does influence you," Harry muttered, as they reached the bottom of the stairs. The view of the Sanctuary had changed, now, but it was still so varied and so distinct that Harry found it hard to locate one point that he wanted to stare at more than others. He did study the house they seemed to be approaching, which was a five-pointed purple roof set upon pillars open to the world. Wind whisked in and out between them with a sweeping sound. Harry could see more of the small eddies at play in between the pillars. He recognized, after a moment, that they weren't normal winds at all, but magic—magic doing just what it wanted, playing because that was what it wanted to do.
Vera laughed again. "Oh, it does, if you consider having the same purpose for centuries to be focusing on the past. But, once again, Harry, we do not retain the past and brood on it." She smiled at him. "The Sanctuary does not like that, either, and though it will not force our guests out of those thoughts as readily as it will out of thoughts of violence, it will continually remind you of what is around you, so that it is extremely hard to get lost in your own mind." Another glance towards Snape, whom Harry was beginning to feel sorry for. "That is why you should not worry that you will be unable to forget the outside world. The valley will help, patiently wearing away at you until you think about what is in front of you, not behind."
Harry swallowed. "I've tried that," he said, as they reached the side of the pillared house. He could see several people waiting for them, one tall one clad in white robes and several shorter ones in dark. The tall one appeared to be a man; he wasn't sure about the gender of the others. "I tried to forgive my parents last year and move forward, and it didn't work."
"That's because you did not truly forgive them," said Vera, "only said that matters would be different when you had not faced every nuance of the abuse. The Sanctuary will put the past in front of you, Harry, because that is the way the magic deals with it, and blend the past with the present so that you can reach your future."
Harry closed his eyes. He truly understood for the first time what he was getting into, and his resignation, the idea that he would have to think about his other problems because he had no choice, was gone. Instead, he broke into another fit of shivering as the terror returned full force.
Vera's hand brushed his shoulder. "I will be the one working with you," she murmured. "Do not fear, Harry. Yes, it is hard, but the Sanctuary does not propose to shut you up in a room with the nightmares of your past and let you scream alone. It looks to what is and what will be, and it takes the road through fear towards the morning." Harry could hear her smile.
The other Seers came forward to greet them, then, with no more than a few sharp glances. Harry thought he might know part of the purpose for their long, slow approach; the Seers would need time to absorb their glimpses of new souls without getting overwhelmed. Vera had hidden when she and Peter first met with him at Hogwarts, to think about what she Saw.
Harry became aware, as the tall man approached, that the Many snake had not uncoiled from his throat to hiss since they entered the Sanctuary. Argutus, who had dropped off his body sometime on the stairs to slither off into the undergrowth, had expressed no fear, either. The message of the very air was peace, Harry thought, as he stretched out his hand to grip the man's.
The Seer nodded to him. His hair was very dark, his eyes a pallid yellow that spoke of a Light pureblood background. "My name is Joseph," he said. He studied Snape and Draco for a moment, and then smiled. Harry thought the smile reminded him of some of Connor's, when he had planned a strategy that would be sure to catch the Snitch this time. "You are Harry, and Draco Malfoy, and Severus Snape. Yes, Vera has told us something about you. And I look forward to working with you, sir." He inclined his head to Snape.
Harry glanced back in time to see Snape narrow his eyes. "I did not come here to be healed," he said, voice missing a small bit of its normal snap. "I came here because my son needs to heal."
Harry swallowed the lump in his throat that those words produced, and turned back to Joseph. This really might be as good as watching a Quidditch game, he saw, when Joseph refused to back off, or even look intimidated. "You did not come here to heal," said Joseph, "but that is what will happen."
Snape made a snarling sound.
Joseph smiled at him.
"My name is Nina," said another Seer, one of the ones in the darker robes. She stepped forward around Joseph and gave Harry one look from brown eyes filled with compassion, then turned to Draco. "I would like to work with you, Mr. Malfoy, unless you have any objections."
Draco looked a bit better than he had before they entered the carriage, and even on his dignity, though Harry didn't know how he managed that while reclining on a bed of air. He nodded. "That will be acceptable," he said.
"You were on the move for hours, Vera," said Joseph. "Would you like to come inside and eat?"
"Yes, please, Joseph," said Vera, and Harry heard weariness in her voice for the first time. "It's been months and months in a mirror-world."
Harry glanced at her a few times as they walked between the pillars into a cool, dark room filled with tables. One of them was set with goblets of water, and plates of bread and cheese and fruit that made Harry's mouth water. "Why did you stay so long at Hogwarts, if it hurt so much?" he asked, as he bit into a pear and had to close his eyes at the juice. "I thought you would go back to the Sanctuary in just a few months, especially since I didn't talk to you that often."
Vera took a long drink of water before she replied. Light danced on the silver of her cup—more magic playing, Harry thought, and varying the gleams like an artist. "I was determined not to return until you were ready to come with me," she said softly. "Your soul's been ripped open and apart too many times, Harry. This time, I mean the healing to be final."
Harry bowed his head so that she wouldn't see the tears that were suddenly, and ferociously, and inexplicably, prickling at his eyes. Damned Sanctuary getting to me, he thought, and swiped at his face.
Draco frowned at Harry's back. What's the matter with him? He hasn't talked to me since we arrived. Is he hurt? Is he ignoring me? Does he think that just because we'll be speaking to separate Seers it's appropriate that we not talk any more?
Fuck that. Draco was going to talk to Harry all he wanted, and he hoped that by the time the next ritual of their joining arrived, just a bit more than a month away, Harry would have overcome enough of his training to want more than a kiss.
He started to reach into his robe pocket for his wand and direct himself to float over to Harry, but Nina interrupted him. She was a short woman who appeared to drift about rather than walk, and who had nevertheless managed to fetch Draco the cup of water and the plate of bread and cheese he asked for before he realized she had moved. "Do you prefer Mr. Malfoy or Draco?" she asked him.
Draco snorted. "It would be stupid to stand on ceremony when you can see my soul," he said in a drawl. "Draco will do." He glanced again over at Harry, who was still talking to Vera, and stifled a surge of irritation. Perhaps she can tell me what the matter with him is. "Is it a rule that guests must talk only to the Seers and not to each other?"
Nina blinked, then smiled. "Of course not, or you and Mr. Snape would have been stopped on the way down the stairs."
"I'd call him Professor Snape," Draco warned her. "He's very prickly about his titles."
"I can See that," said Nina. "And I am glad not to be working with him. Now, what prompted you to ask that question?"
"Harry isn't talking to me." Draco fought down the urge to whine. He already might look pathetic, floating around like an invalid and bearing gaping wounds in his soul that would be as visible to these people as if they were wounds on his body. "I want to know why."
"The Sanctuary blends the present with the past," said Nina. "It does that so that most of our guests cannot hide from themselves. I only had time to truly understand about half of what I saw in Harry's soul, but I would imagine that he is caught up in such a whirlwind, such a change, that it is all he can think about at the moment. I'm sure he doesn't mean to ignore you."
Her last words rang with confidence, not a soothing tone, and Draco was satisfied. Of course, they could tell if he does mean to ignore me. "I'm not thinking about the past yet, though," he pointed out.
"Give it a bit more time," said Nina. "For everyone, it is different. I have seen traumatic memories overwhelm our guests, and people who simply stared off into space and smiled at the images there. For you, it seems to be appearing in the form of old uncertainties. Or are Malfoys usually so insistent that their boyfriends talk to them, their first time in a strange place?" Her smile was sly.
"He's not my boyfriend," said Draco, striving to sound like his father. "We are dancing out a ritual that will take three years, and will make us joined partners by the time it's done."
Nina's smile widened, and Draco realized that of course she must have been able to See that, and had enjoyed teasing him. "You're going to be like this, aren't you?" he accused her.
"Probably," Nina agreed. "When I first looked into my own soul, I saw my sense of humor wound through everything. It seemed wiser to use it than to ignore it." She cocked her head at Draco. "And wiser, I think, to leave Harry alone for the first few hours he's here. He'll talk to you tomorrow, I'm sure, and every day thereafter. But you both need some time apart."
It suddenly hit Draco that, along with making sure Voldemort's taint didn't infect him, or as part of that, he would have Nina practically hanging on his every word.
That could be flattering, he thought, and smiled at her. "Will you listen to anything I want to talk about?"
Nina smiled. "Of course."
"Even if it involves Harry and bedding him?" That was the one thing Draco wished he did have someone to talk to about. But of course Snape and his parents were not candidates, and Harry wasn't at the point yet where he did much more than blush and look uncomfortable.
"Of course," Nina repeated. "But expect me to want to talk about you, as well." She examined him as though he had food on his robes. "Your soul's interesting."
Draco smiled. There's a compliment I'm never going to get from anyone else—except perhaps Harry, when he feels ready to give compliments. I think I can be happy here.
Snape knew now that Occlumency barriers were not sufficient to prevent one of these Seers from Seeing whatever he liked.
He was not dealing well with the discovery.
Joseph had not yet attempted to speak to him beyond his first greeting. He stood near the table, sipping water from a goblet of his own, and eyed Snape with an expression that reminded Snape far, far too much of Sirius Black just before he played a prank. Snape held himself straight, and refused every offer of food or drink with a glare of such rage that the Seers had given up even looking at him. Vera was talking to Harry, and the woman she had introduced as Nina to Draco. Snape supposed he should be grateful that the man supposed to "speak" with him had not approached him so far.
Inevitably, of course, Joseph did. Snape readied himself, touching one vial of a potion in his pocket that could be absorbed through the skin and would render the person it touched instantly immobile. The man's sleeves were wide and open, at least, unless that was a glamour—but Snape thought he would have sensed it if it were. His wand was securely fastened to his belt, inside a holster, and it would take him a moment to pull it out. He walked as though he had nothing ready for a joke strapped to his legs, and he held his hands where Snape could see them.
Of course, he can read my mind, or at least my soul, if what Harry says is true. Snape stared at him. So he would know that I am expecting a prank, and he would not play one now.
Joseph's smile slipped off his face. Snape felt a brief pang of bitter pleasure at that minor victory. He halted a few feet away and studied Snape seriously, then shook his head.
"Sometimes, guests coming to the Sanctuary do prefer to go through healing on their own," Joseph said. Now he looked like Scrimgeour. Snape would not let that fool him. Once a prank-player, always a prank-player. He had always been the victim of bullies like this one, children of a charmed life, who thought that not only was Snape their rightful prey but nothing they did to him really mattered. "But I do not think you are right for that," the insufferable man went on, as if Snape did not know exactly what he was. "You will fight every revelation that comes to you. You came out of love, but you can barely acknowledge that love right now. You're trying to build walls around you that won't let any emotion through as long as you're here.
"The Sanctuary was created to wear down such walls." Joseph paused for a moment, eyes very quiet, and then said in an equally soft voice, "You're hostile even to me, and while I can understand that, seeing the knots the world has put in your soul, it will get you nowhere. I am not someone you've met before, with a stake in torturing you. I am not someone who finds your soul as ugly as you think it is. I am someone who wants to help heal you."
Snape hissed softly, and had the satisfaction of seeing Joseph take a step back. "I know what I am," Snape said, keeping his voice low so that no one else could intrude on the conversation. "I saw my own soul at seventeen, thanks to a potion. Then I sat in a room with my mother for three days, while she died, and I learned truths that no Seer could ever show me. I will thank you not to think that healing is what I desire or can accomplish."
"It's going to happen nevertheless," said Joseph. "And you should know that I'm impervious to insult. When Vera told us about you, we all agreed that I was the best choice to work with you."
"I do not plan to talk with you," said Snape flatly. "I do not plan to let you heal me, as you keep claiming. I cannot prevent you from seeing my soul, but I am here to see to the healing of my son, and that is all."
Joseph didn't even react to the statement that Harry was Snape's son. He simply nodded. "I would not expect you to change overnight, poisonous and deep as your hatreds are," he said. "I will sound the wells of them, and do what I can to purge you of them."
"Why?" Snape snarled, some of his frustration with the place breaking loose at last. "Why would you want to do this?"
Joseph smiled, and the look that made him resemble Sirius Black was there again. This time, Snape could give it more nuances—not the look that Black had just before playing a prank, but the gleam of challenge, the glint that said he would be a part of Snape's life whether Snape wanted him to be or not. "You can call it aesthetics," Joseph said. "I prefer looking at souls at peace with themselves to souls at war. Or you could call it compassion, though I understand that counts for little in your world. Or you could call it the thrill of the hunt, which you almost certainly will."
He leaned forward until he was a few inches from Snape, and whispered, "The important thing you should know about me is that I will not go away. I'll do whatever I can to make this healing comfortable for you instead of challenging, but I do not give up."
Snape sneered and turned his back, striding towards Harry. It was high time that he rested. Snape knew he had slept in the carriage, but it hadn't been for long.
He ignored Joseph's eyes on his back. He had other defenses beyond the Occlumency barriers, which, he could see now, had been feeble. He had been a Death Eater, and a spy, and a teacher of some of the worst menaces to wizarding kind in Potions. Anyone who tried to heal him would lose the battle to the reserves of pure spite he could summon.
And I will never mention my mother again. It is the air of this place. I was not prepared. But I will raise walls that cannot be eaten by its acid.
Harry woke slowly the next morning, and lay there, staring up at the ceiling. He had slept without dreams, and certainly without visions, unless you counted a vague dream of Draco a few minutes before he woke.
He knew his first session with Vera was today. He knew that he would go downstairs and have nothing to do but eat, talk with Draco and Snape, and concentrate on healing himself.
He closed his eyes and sat up.
"Harry?"
Harry opened his eyes and smiled as he watched Argutus come in through the window of the room the Seers had given him. It was fairly high above ground, or perhaps only fairly high up in the tumble of buildings that made up the Sanctuary. The walls were white stone, and it was filled with windows that had no shutters or glass, and were simply open to the wind. Harry could ward them with magic if he chose, of course. The bed was a vivid splash of blue in the middle of all that, and the mirror on the wall and the pool of water, actually set into the floor, in a corner were equally intense splashes of silver. Harry's trunk sat at the bottom of the bed, since he hadn't unpacked yet.
He was glad, at the moment, that the room was rough stone on the outside, too, so that Argutus could climb up and twine around him. He didn't immediately put his head on Harry's left wrist, this time, but wrapped around his shoulders.
"I have your surprise ready for you now," he said.
Harry chuckled. "So soon?"
Argutus wriggled his tail in impatience. "Look."
For a moment, Harry didn't know where he was supposed to be looking. Then he realized that Argutus had turned so that his neck, and not just his head, rested near Harry's left wrist. He looked, and saw his stump reflected in Argutus's shimmering scales.
Above the stump danced a wisp of darkness. Harry whispered, "What is that?"
"The magic the child-eating woman used to prevent you from regrowing your hand," said Argutus at once. "I could reflect runes, and it came to me that I should learn to reflect the Dark magic, so that you could see it and identify the curses. Then you can undo them, and you can have a hand again." He turned his head and lashed his tongue gently against Harry's cheek. "Surprise."
Harry swallowed. He had put off researching the Dark curses Bellatrix had used because it would take too long, and anyway, he still didn't want to admit he was weak and sometimes wanted a second hand back. But now, if he could see the curses themselves, it would be much easier to work out a way to undo them.
And he had no real excuse to avoid getting a second hand back if he could undo them.
"What's the matter?" Argutus flicked his tongue again, this time uncertainly. "You're crying."
Harry swallowed again and wiped at the tears with his hand. "I—it's a wonderful gift, Argutus, thank you," he said.
"That doesn't explain the crying."
Harry tried to, but managed to say only, weakly, "I think—I think I'm going to change, now, really change, and I'm not sure if I like it." Not even the air of the Sanctuary could soothe the tight bubble of pain and panic that soared up in his chest, or not immediately. What am I going to become? What if I do lose some of the morals I still have, like not using force? The hand was not really the sign of that possible loss of his moral compass, but a catalyst for it.
Harry felt as if the world were falling away from him. He buried his face in his arms, and felt Argutus coil around him, though just tight enough to comfort, not constrict his breathing. He swallowed again and again and again, and told himself that he wouldn't sob, wouldn't cry any further.
He had thought he would still recognize himself when this summer was done. Now, he wasn't sure.
"Harry? Should I find the nice lady and fetch her? She does not understand me, but she could follow me."
Harry shuddered.
Then he sat on the terror, and said, "No, Argutus. I'll—get her. I'm supposed to go down and talk to her anyway, soon."
"You are brave."
"I leave that up to my brother," Harry muttered, and sat for another moment shaking and wishing he did not have this terror, that he could either accept what was to come or cling to what he had been, and just do it strongly either way, damn it, not showing any weakness. One crack in himself could lead to a shattering he knew that neither he nor the wizarding world could sustain.
Then he picked himself up, winding Argutus gently around his waist so he wouldn't dangle, and went to talk to Vera and tell her about the possibility for getting his hand back—and, doubtless, why he wasn't sure he wanted it back.
He didn't know if it was the bravest thing he had ever done, but it felt like it at the time.