Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!
Well, isn't this chapter a weird mix of emotional tones.
Chapter Nine: Three Arguments, Two Discussions, and One Early Morning
"Good—" Draco paused when he stepped around the corner into Regulus's study and saw Harry sitting at a desk covered with paper. Harry glanced at him from the corner of his eye and saw him standing there, staring rather obviously. Harry wondered why for a moment, but Draco said nothing, and he could be overcome by the oddest things at the oddest times.
At the moment, he was more interested in looking through the Blacks' collection of law books. Though they'd been assembled for a horrible purpose—some of Regulus's ancestors had wanted to bring back Muggle-hunting, and had looked into Ministry laws to find a loophole that would let them justify it—they were impressively comprehensive. If Harry could find legal means to fight the Ministry's anti-werewolf laws, he would find them here.
"What are you doing?"
And Draco's voice had that odd edge again. Harry sat back and smiled at him. Draco didn't seem inclined to leave him alone until he did. "Looking for loopholes that will prove the Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts is illegal," he explained.
"Really."
Harry frowned and cocked his head. Draco's voice had gone cool, and lost all traces of curiosity. But if he doesn't want to know what I'm doing, why did he ask?
"Yes," Harry said. "It turned out that Fudge did stupid things out of fear. He passed laws right under Dumbledore's nose, for instance. Other than his kidnapping of me, that's the kind of thing that got him subjected to a vote of no confidence. I think it's at least possible that Amelia Bones made the same kind of mistakes when she organized this Department. I want to expose them." He shut the book in front of him and dragged the next one towards him. Ministry Edicts Relating to Other Species, 1600-1785: A—Ad. It at least looked promising, Harry thought.
"Hmmm." Draco continued to stand there, even though Harry had thought he would leave when he realized Harry's subject matter was so boring. "And what were you going to do if you found this information?"
"Start compiling it, of course," said Harry, digging through the tome. Hermione had had a nice little spell last year that would mark every occurrence of a certain word in a book; she'd used it when revising for OWL's. Harry regretted now that he'd never asked her to teach it to him, and that he didn't know whether she'd found it in the library or modified an existing spell. He resolved to write her and ask her to teach it to him. "And then start contacting people in the Ministry who could help me—lean on a few people, and ask the proper questions. I don't want a legal battle if I can avoid one. Making the Wizengamot reconsider their actions will serve just fine."
"When were you planning to go to bed?"
"Hmmm," it was Harry's turn to say, as he halted on a page covered with a description of a law relating to vampire restrictions. It had something to do with collars. It would take him a while to untangle the complicated legal language, but perhaps he could use it as a precedent when talking about werewolves and these collars the Department evidently wanted them to wear. "Soon."
Draco drew his wand and whispered a spell under his breath. Harry ignored him, knowing Draco wouldn't do anything to hurt him.
He had to pay attention when all the books on the desk, including the one he was reading, lifted in the air and then came back down on the surface with a colossal thump, though. Harry turned around, his mouth already open to utter an angry shout.
"I am sick and tired of this, Harry," said Draco, in a voice that could cut glass, stepping forward. "You are slipping again. You are ignoring your promises again. You made a stupid decision by not going to bed last night, and you're about to make it again. I won't let you."
"My magic can keep me alert," Harry argued, pushing his fringe out of his eyes. He knew what weariness felt like. This wasn't weariness. His magic, now that it was free, obeyed him much more thoroughly than it ever had before, and that included eating the poisons that Harry knew could build up in his body after skipping too much sleep. "I'm fine. I don't need to—"
"If you say you don't need to sleep I am going to smack you," said Draco, in such a conversational tone that Harry only realized what he'd said a moment later. He blinked and opened his mouth to retort, and once again Draco got there first. "Your magic can't keep you alert enough. Shall I tell you what failures of alertness I've observed in you today?"
"You might as well," Harry said, leaning back with a scowl and folding his arms over his chest. "Since you're about to do it anyway."
Draco's lip curled and his eyes glittered, but his tone was once more cuttingly polite. "You didn't notice the attackers edging around to the side during your meeting with Skeeter. You especially didn't notice the second one. I saw the look of surprise on your face when I told you about him."
"I was focusing on Willoughby," Harry said.
"You don't normally focus on anyone that much," Draco said. "You've saved your own life before because you saw something out of the corner of your eye. And not noticing the second coin, once the attack had already begun and you should have been paying attention to everything around you? That was pure carelessness, Harry."
Harry lowered his eyes, feeling an unhappy squirming sensation in his stomach. "I was lucky you were there," he said quietly. "I already admitted that you were right, Draco. What more do you want from me?"
"Not this," Draco said, and he sounded angry now. "Nothing like this. I don't like being your keeper, Harry. I'm supposed to be your partner, your equal. And when I see you not even noticing that Camellia tried to talk to you earlier, and nearly dropping the sugar bowl because you forgot about it before it reached the table, and snapping at Rose for an innocent joke—"
"It was at your expense, Draco!" Harry exclaimed. Rose had made a remark about how one could solve all the wizarding world's problems by making it legal to hunt snotty little purebloods, since they were the one prey everyone else could agree on.
"I could have handled it myself, you twit," Draco said. "You're losing control of your emotions, which always happens when you haven't had enough sleep. And what happens if you do that with your magic free of all its restraints now? What kind of accidents is it going to cause?"
Harry felt as if someone had jammed a shard of glass into his stomach. He tried to speak, swallowed, and then shook his head.
Draco folded his arms and tapped the fingers of his left hand against his elbow. Harry blinked as he seemed to see a faint aura of white light surrounding the fingers. He touched his forehead.
Am I coming down with something? Seeing some magic that Draco's about to perform? He had seen that happen in the Sanctuary, shadows of wizards anticipating what spell their enemy was going to cast next by a glimpse of light around their hands.
Then he sighed as he realized what it probably was. Lack of sleep. Draco's right. The magic can only do so much to help me stay awake. I'm going to start seeing little things like that.
"Do you understand me now?" Draco asked, his voice softer than before. "I don't like fighting with you, Harry. But I hate scolding you even more. You're supposed to be better than this. You're not allowed to neglect your health and yourself for anyone else any more. You promised me that. We agreed."
I've got to live simultaneously. Harry cost a longing glance at the Black legal books, but, in the end, he had to nod.
"Good," said Draco, relief entering his voice. "Because I really do hate this, you know. Yelling at you isn't pleasant, and knowing that if I don't do it, no one else will, is even less pleasant. I can't wait until you and Snape reconcile again, so that someone else can handle that part of it. He likes shouting at you." He unfolded his arms and held out his hand to Harry. "So. Ready to go to bed?"
"I suppose so," Harry said. "But it's only nine." He knew he was whining, but he couldn't help it.
Draco stared at him, then waved his wand and whispered, "Tempus." The time that appeared was clearly past midnight. He looked at Harry with one eyebrow raised.
Harry frowned and performed his own Tempus. The time that appeared was five minutes after nine. Then it wavered and showed the same as Draco's numbers. Then it wavered back and settled on ten something. The second pair of numbers was too blurred for Harry to make out.
"Your magic's gone wonky, you arse," said Draco, voice deep with affection. "Not a surprise, when you've been awake for almost forty hours. Come on." He tugged, and Harry let him lead him to his bedroom, or the room he'd planned on using for a bedroom. The sheets on the bed hadn't been disturbed, so far, though Draco cleaned them with a dusting charm now.
"I can get into my pyjamas on my own," Harry said with great dignity, while he struggled to open his trunk. His magic seemed to be leaving him now, as if it could sense that he was about to sleep and didn't need it to support him any longer. He yawned, hard enough to hurt his jaw, and his hand fumbled at the trunk's lid and missed.
"Alohomora," Draco intoned, and the trunk lid flipped up. "That would be because I slept last night," he added.
"Shutup," Harry muttered, and tugged out his pyjamas. "But I can get into them on my own, so you can go to bed now," he added.
"Nonsense," said Draco amicably. "We don't want you falling and cracking your head open on the floor, do we?"
There was some more arguing, all of which completely failed to make any impact on Draco, and somehow Harry found himself helped out of his robes, his shirt, and his trousers, and into his pyjamas. He couldn't be sure that Draco didn't stare at him fixedly, at some point or another, but he was too tired to notice if it really happened. He crawled into bed, and the sheets falling on top of him were among the best things he'd ever felt.
Draco tugged his glasses off, and Harry shut his eyes. He had an unexpected moment of clarity in the midst of all the drowsiness.
He's right. What happened today should never have happened. And especially not if it affects my magic. I'm depending on that to protect my allies and make the difference in my alliance's success. What happened today can't be repeated.
And if that means waiting a few nights to do legal research, or not getting everything I want to done immediately, then I suppose that's what has to be done. I'm good at accepting the limitations of other people's wills. I can accept the limitations of my own body, surely.
He sighed, and then he was asleep.
He woke surrounded in warmth. Harry opened his eyes and scowled at the ceiling. He was lying on his back, and he knew from the heat against his side that Draco lay next to him, arms tangled with his, uttering the short little snores that he would deny he gave.
He didn't go back to his own bed. He stayed with me. Prat.
He stirred, and that was enough to wake Draco up. Draco opened one eye and regarded him from beneath a strand of blond hair that sweat had plastered to his nose. "Going somewhere?" he asked.
"To the loo," Harry pointed out. "I didn't even brush my teeth last night." His mouth felt all fuzzy, in confirmation of that.
Draco cocked his head, and the strand slid away from his nose, falling back to join the rest of his hair. "You're irritated at me again," he said. "For making you go to bed? Because I'm not going to apologize for that, Harry. If anything, you should be apologizing for making it necessary." He looked haughty.
"Not that," said Harry. "It's just—you didn't have to stay here and sleep with me, you know."
Draco chuckled.
Harry frowned. That wasn't the reaction he would have expected. "What?" he asked.
Draco sat up and stretched. Harry's eyes widened. He could see part of the reason he had been so warm now, sheets and his pyjamas and Draco's closeness aside. Draco was naked from the waist up.
And it was—it was distracting. Harry could feel his cheeks growing even warmer from the rush of blood. He looked away. Draco laughed again, and then he moved around in front of Harry, kneeling on the blankets and deliberately showing himself off. He was pale, but not as pale as Harry would have expected. He'd stayed long enough in the sun at the Sanctuary to tan a little, it seemed. And not all of his hair was glued to his skin by sweat, some of it stood out and away from his skin, and his chest rose and fell lightly with his breathing—
Stop it. Harry shook his head. He had very important things to do and think about, things that—
Draco reached out and put his hands on Harry's shoulders. Harry could feel the touch even through the layer of cloth that separated them. Of course, the layer of cloth wasn't all that thick.
"I believed you when you told me that you intended to keep living in the midst of all this war and revolution," Draco murmured into his ear. "I still believe you. That means I think you've healed enough to push, Harry. And when I push, I do ask for things that I want. No, I know I didn't need to stay here. I wanted to. And I'll be asking for a little more from now on. Your allies are important, the werewolves are important, Snape's important, all the people you want to save are important. But so am I." He dipped his head and caught Harry's lips in a kiss.
That in itself wasn't unusual. The speed with which he managed to deepen the kiss was, and so was the way he pushed Harry back to lie against the pillows. Harry could hear his own breathing for a moment, erratic and loud, and then the thudding of blood in his ears entirely took over from that.
He wasn't panicking, not exactly, perhaps because Draco had taken him so entirely by surprise. He was feeling as if he wanted to touch Draco, and feeling, now, the lack of a left hand so that he could do so easily on that side, and feeling the sharp spike of pleasure that he'd learned to associate with kissing Draco when he wasn't relaxed, and feeling embarrassment that he'd succumbed to this so easily, and feeling—
"You always think too much," Draco pointed out, drawing back from the kiss, and ghosted his fingers over the side of Harry's neck.
Harry scowled at him again, as best as he could when he kept squirming. "Don't you dare," he said.
Draco smiled innocently at him, and then his fingers gave a hard stroke, not exactly a pinch, at that spot Harry often cursed him for finding. Bloody hell, did it have to feel so good?
And once again, what hit him wasn't exactly panic. Every time he started to panic, another emotion surged up and drowned that one. Right now, embarrassment was strongest. He was moaning, and wasn't that undignified, and shouldn't he be going out and saving the world instead of lying here tangled with Draco?
"Still thinking too much," Draco told him, and leaned over as if he would go after that spot with his tongue and teeth.
Indignant, Harry took revenge. Draco's ears were sensitive, he knew that, and one of them was passing right near his mouth now. He blew into it, and Draco started, pausing long enough for Harry to pull himself up on the pillows and latch his mouth onto the lobe.
Ha! he thought triumphantly as Draco began to squirm and moan in turn. Let's see who's turning who on now!
He pushed, aided by his Levitation Charm, and Draco draped half-on, half-off his chest, allowing him to sit up. Harry managed to keep licking and biting at Draco's ear, and now Draco was squealing, which Harry was sure he'd never done.
And now it was recklessness drowning him, the same kind of recklessness he felt when he was chasing the Snitch in and out between the stands, seeing it flickering and diving just ahead of him, knowing it would smack home into his palm in the next moment, knowing that the way he knew that sliding his hand down Draco's chest and pressing firmly on his groin was the right thing to do.
Draco made a sound that had no name and thrust wildly against his palm. Harry laughed, letting go of his ear to do it.
Then he made himself leap from the bed, say brightly, "That was a wonderful beginning to the morning, thank you," and walk to the loo. It was an uncomfortable walk, but not long, and he made do. Then he shut the door behind him, put up a ward that Draco couldn't undo, and turned on the shower. There was still no panic, because this time determination was gripping him.
If he gets to push, so do I.
"Well," said Camellia, flinging her hair over her shoulder and frowning at Harry, "it seems to me that what you really need is most of your allies in one place."
"That would make sense, yes," said Harry, cradling his cup of tea against his cheek. He heard Draco enter the kitchen with a few sharp steps. Merrily, he ignored him, smiling at Camellia. "But I could just call another alliance meeting if that was really all I wanted. And there are people I left out last time, because they're not a formal part of the alliance, whom I'd like to see now. My brother, for example. And I'd like to contact other werewolf packs in London. Would they come, do you think?"
"Not to a formal alliance meeting," said Camellia. "Loki's—solitary path was a shock for all of us, and so was his decision to make you our alpha. They're not quite ready to accept you as a leader, I think. And the alphas might be wary that you're trying to take their places."
Harry nodded. Draco sat down with a thump. "Good morning," Harry told him, without turning to look at him.
Draco muttered something about it being a good morning if Harry thought it was, of course, and something else that seemed to include the word "wanker." Harry pretended not to hear. "So we need a less formal atmosphere," he told Camellia. "Something that will encourage people to come and relax—and perhaps see that we're slowly getting used to each other, after Loki's unexpected little gesture."
Camellia nodded. "That would be a good idea, yes. Unfortunately, I don't know how—"
"A festival."
Harry glanced at Draco. "Pardon?"
"A festival," Draco said, slathering marmalade over his toast as if the toast were about to run away. "A festival to celebrate your turning sixteen. A lot of the purebloods have them, you know, even when they're not magical heirs." Harry snorted at the thought of putting together a party that included Voldemort, and Draco gave him a faint half-smile that eased the lines of frustration lingering around his mouth. "It would give us an excuse to have a party, and to invite anyone you like. The festivals are traditionally supposed to be as big as possible, you know, to accommodate everyone seeing the almost-adult heir in all his glory."
"I'm not a pureblood," Harry muttered, scowling as he remembered Draco's own confirmation festival and how out of place he'd felt there.
"That's our excuse for inviting anyone you like," Draco told him, sucking marmalade off the heel of his hand in a manner that made Harry have to look away, "instead of having to send the invitations to a select number of pureblood families."
Harry hesitated. He had to admit the idea had merit. The formal alliance meetings always lent themselves to an air of solemnity, whether it was on the vernal equinox or at night in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, and he hadn't had the chance to say everything he wanted the other night, caught off-balance as he was by Loki's sudden gesture. This would be more of a boundary-crossing.
"Plus," Draco said, again seeming to read his mind, as he had about Voldemort, "it gives you a chance to show off."
Harry scowled at him. "The way that you wanted me to show off yesterday?"
"Yes," said Draco, unabashed. "The way that might have intimidated your enemies out of trying to hurt you."
Harry sighed and stood up. Draco stood to follow him, but Harry shook his head. "Give me a moment to think in private, please."
"Of course," Draco said, voice softer than Harry had heard it in some time, and sat down. Camellia gave him a keen glance, as much to say that werewolves would probably be following along whether Harry wanted them to or not, and then settled back in her own chair and turned to talk to Draco. Draco answered her with an edge to his tone. Harry knew he still wasn't entirely comfortable around werewolves. And why should he be? He'd been raised to consider them despicable halfbreeds at best, and dangerous beasts most of the time.
Harry paced into the middle of Regulus's study. The pile of legal books he'd left there last night caught his eye, but he shook his head and turned his back on them, shutting and warding the door so that no one could come in and ask him what was wrong. He bowed his head and let his chin rest on his chest.
Here was one of those decisions he had known he would have to make eventually, but which he had dreaded making. There were arguments waiting on both sides of the path. If he passed this point, he was passing a crossroads, and he wouldn't find it easy to reverse himself and make a different decision the next time it came up.
He didn't want to intimidate people. He had never wanted to. And if he went around using his magic and his political power and his money to get his own way, then he was acting against one of the principles he'd sworn to in the Alliance of Sun and Shadow. He was making people fear instead of think. He thought of the way Amelia Bones had cowered in her office, and winced. He didn't want people to be afraid of him. He actually preferred Willoughby's attitude to that, or the way that the Department for the Control and Suppression of Deadly Beasts had reacted at first. They might dismiss him or sneer at him, but at least they weren't shaking in their boots at the mere thought of him.
But he knew Draco was right. If he showed exactly what he was capable of, then it might keep assassins from tackling him; they'd be too wary. And that would, in turn, spare the lives of those around him, who were not about to back away now. And he could guard the werewolves better if he showed that he was not to be fucked with. Obstacles would melt away in front of him easily.
Too easily.
A few years ago, the decision would have been easy—lives were more important than his own personal preferences—but he'd sacrificed lives for lives since then, and known what it was like for the wild Dark to make him try to abandon his principles for the sake of sparing lives, and now it wasn't easy.
I suppose I should thank my mother again, for training me to make everything so difficult, he thought wryly, and wiped his hand across his eyes.
In the end, he made his decision, because he had to. In at least one important way, this festival was like the alliance meeting. No one could be forced to attend. Motives as diverse as curiosity and greed would guide them in. Harry would make it clear who and what he was at that festival. That was not the same thing as pouring his power over the rooftops and demanding that everyone bow to him.
And, sooner or later, didn't he have to start respecting the decisions of other people in the alliance to agree to its principles? He could not smother his magic and avoid their fear forever. Some people would always fear him no matter how gently he held himself, and others would be fearless in the face of any provocation. He had to assume that his allies had some courage.
As usual, the moment he chose a course, ideas for making the best of that course flooded in. Harry stood up and strode with a determined step to the door. He'd hold the festival five days from today, or a bit longer if it took him longer to send out invitations, gather food, and arrange other matters.
And he wouldn't be idle in the remaining time, either. There were three things in particular he would like to do today.
"Professor Snape, sir."
Snape turned with a snap. He had lost himself in a haze of brewing, the last day. Dragonfire burns needed constant care, which was a good thing. It kept him from thinking.
Harry's life had been threatened, and he was not there.
Harry had confronted werewolves, and he was not there.
Harry had werewolves living with him, and he was not there. He was put down like a useless trunk, once used to carry its master's most prized possessions, now tucked away in a closet until the next time it was needed.
He was aware that the comparison was unfair even as he made it. That only made him hate matters more.
And now Harry stood in the door of his lab, his head cocked to one side as though he were trying to decide whether the best course was to come inside or invite Snape out.
"Say what you came to say and be done with it," Snape told him. He was proud to hear his voice sound almost like its normal self. It helped that last night's dream had only contained a mild torture scenario, nothing too overwhelming.
Harry nodded. "Very well, sir. I'd like you to stay in Cobley-by-the-Sea with me for the rest of the summer. I don't know if you can control yourself, though. There are werewolves there, half of Loki's pack. And in five days, I'm having a festival that will include more of them, perhaps as many as a hundred. So I'll understand if you don't want to come because of that."
Snape stared at him. Harry went on standing there, quietly, his eyes expectant, as if he hadn't asked the impossible.
"You want me there," Snape said at last.
Harry nodded again.
"Why?"
Harry blinked. "Because, sir," he said, as if it were self-evident, "I missed you."
Snape had to turn away and put down the vial he was holding. It clinked too hard, and a fine crack appeared in the glass. Snape busied himself repairing it, all the while feeling his skin crawl on the back of his neck.
Vulnerable, vulnerable, too fucking vulnerable, and the only thing he could find to be grateful for was that it was Harry standing there, not Harry and someone else.
"And Draco told me a bit about the festival," Harry went on. "I'll be adapting the tradition, not following it precisely, but it's still usual to have a parent there. You're my father in all but blood, sir."
Snape's free hand closed into a fist. That only filled him all the more with a sense of stinging shame, that he'd said to Joseph the other day that Harry was not his son, and how could he think so? He had been thinking of family by birth and blood. Since he'd dreamed so much of his mother and the days when his mother's word ruled his life, that was understandable. But now Harry was here, and Snape had to remember, as if he were capable of forgetting for long, that Harry did not care all that much about birth and blood.
The shame only coiled and turned into anger, though, the self-satisfied, self-sustaining bitterness that had fed him for so long. He offered a hard shoulder to the world, and it stung him, and so he stung it in turn, and that resulted in more stinging. It was the way he lived.
"And if I do not want to come?" he asked at last, the rasp in his voice audible.
Harry paused. When his next words came staggering out, Snape knew the pause had been one of shock, not of planning. "Then I'll—accept that, sir."
He's hurt. Snape gained the courage to look up and see the way that Harry's eyes had widened. He stood perfectly motionless, in the manner of someone trying to hide a wound before an enemy.
Oddly—or perhaps not so oddly, given that he was, now, not the only vulnerable one in the room—that struck through to Snape as nothing had in weeks. He could see the future as it would be if this continued, and it was not a pleasant vision.
Harry would continue trying. He did not know what giving up meant, and Snape meant too much to him now for Harry to yield him easily. But if Snape gave no quarter, went on sneering and acting as though Harry meant nothing to him, then Harry would eventually draw away. He would become more distant, and that would involve less direct pain and more indirect, the same kind Snape had suffered when Harry was angry at him over bringing his parents and Dumbledore to trial. And the more time passed, the more Snape himself would consider the chasm unbridgeable, and so he would not try, and so Harry would have less reason to try, and so Snape would feel further pushed away.
Did he want to live through something like that again, and this time with the knowledge that he had not done this for Harry's protection, but to protect himself?
At the same time, he did not know how he could go among werewolves, even for Harry. And he did not know when the next good chance might come for trying to rid himself of this fear.
It went against everything he was to attend this festival. It was a test of courage, and he was no Gryffindor. It was a means of getting close to Harry again, and he was rapidly proving that he was no parent. It was opening himself up to further pain, and he was not a weakling.
But—
Things had already changed. What Snape had engaged in was a desperate attempt to put things back the way they were, and he knew that was not going to work. He had sneered at those in the past who had attempted it, including James Potter, when he heard that the man had retreated from Auror work rather than face the fact that he'd used the Unforgivables.
He could stand to live with hatred and contempt from the outside world. He did not think he could stand to live with how much he would despise himself if he acted so irrationally.
He looked up to see that Harry was backing out of the room, his gaze on the floor. And, for the first time in what felt like similar weeks, a surge of emotion that wasn't for himself ran through him.
He has endured too much pain already, too much surrender of every important adult in his life. I do not want him to endure this.
"Harry," he said softly.
Harry paused, but didn't look up at him. His head was turned to the side, listening, but ready to accept a refusal.
"I will attend."
Harry lifted his head and looked up at him.
What he saw in Harry's face gave Snape the first joy he had felt since he arrived at the Sanctuary.
Connor turned away from the duel when he felt someone press against Lux Aeterna's wards, which meant Peter got in a spell that knocked him from his feet. Connor groaned as he stood up slowly, rubbing the side of his head. He'd hit the wall hard. "Not funny," he complained.
"It would certainly not be funny if someone did that to you in the middle of a real duel," Peter snapped. Connor eyed him warily. Sometimes he got more like Snape than Connor was comfortable with. "You must always keep your eyes on the eyes and wand of your opponent, Connor. It is the only thing that will save your life most of the time. Is that understood?"
"Yes," said Connor quickly. "It's just—someone is pressing against the wards." He concentrated a little harder, letting the wards talk to him in their very odd mixture of images and impressions of a magical signature. He blinked. "It's Harry."
Peter had opened his mouth again, probably to give him a lecture about how fighting in the midst of wards was no excuse to let himself be distracted, but now he blinked and said, "Harry?"
Connor nodded and ran along the corridor to the entrance hall, dropping the wards as he did so. Despite the fact that he knew something bad must have happened for Harry to return so early—it couldn't be that he'd heard what was happening to Connor, because Connor hadn't sent him any of his letters—he found his eagerness soaring at the thought of seeing his brother.
I can't wait to see what he's like now, he thought, as he jumped over the last five steps in the main staircase and heard Peter shout sternly at him for catching the banister and using it to swing himself around. Is he all healed? Will he have a different personality? Will he be more like Ron? Or will he be like Hermione because he studied all summer?
The doors of the entrance hall opened just as he reached them. Harry stood there, wearing casual robes and blazing with power.
"Connor?" he asked, moments before his brother caught him up in an embrace so tight he lost all his air. The hug sent them staggering several steps, until they sat down in the mud. Connor did not care.
"Harry," he muttered, clinging tight. The satisfaction had given place to more complex emotions, including a rush of relaxation that seemed to loosen all the permanently stiff muscles in his back and neck. His older brother was back. Harry would protect him and make him feel better. He always did.
Harry looped his arm around his brother's shoulders and hugged back, then looked up with a smile. "Hello, Peter," he said.
"Harry."
Connor slipped out of the way, and Harry stepped forward and hugged Peter. Connor told himself firmly that honorable Gryffindors did not feel envious of others. He didn't feel jealous of the way that Peter watched Harry, with soft eyes he'd never shown Connor. He didn't.
I could always go to the Burrow if I wanted someone to look at me like that, he reminded himself.
"What brings you back from the Sanctuary before the end of August?" Peter asked.
Harry grinned wryly. "Organizing alliances. You haven't read the Prophet the last few days?"
Peter shook his head. "We found the articles too upsetting," he said, and reached out and put a casual hand on Connor's shoulder. Connor felt his envy die. "The articles about the werewolves, especially."
Harry nodded, eyes rapidly scanning Peter's face. "Yes, I can imagine," he muttered. "Well. I came to invite you to a festival that I'm going to hold at Cobley-by-the-Sea in five days, to celebrate the fact that I'm sixteen and Black heir, basically." He looked at Connor. "It should be your festival, too."
Connor shook his head, feeling very adult. "No, go on," he said generously. "I've had loads of birthdays I could feel proud of. You were made to feel—differently. Besides, I'm not Black heir."
Harry flashed him a smile and started to say something, but Peter interrupted then. "Harry," he said softly. "I do have a favor to ask you."
Harry faced him and raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"
Peter nodded. "I'd like to take Connor and stay with you for the rest of the summer. Someone sent a Portkey by owl that would have taken Connor and tried to transport him—elsewhere. And there has been someone testing the wards." His voice lowered. "I thought it might have been Remus. He did write Connor, once."
Harry's face changed at once. Connor supposed it might have scared someone else, but it only fascinated him. He watched as Harry lifted his head and narrowed his eyes, hunting. A wind of pink and green specks lashed around him and traveled away, circling Lux Aeterna's wards. Connor felt Harry's magic on them as a faint, tickling pressure, a sniffing hound.
The wind came back to Harry just after it had reached the place where the stranger had pressed. Harry closed his eyes, then snapped them open and nodded at Peter. "Yes," he said tightly. "Come with me at once."
"I need to pack!" Connor protested. There was no way that he was leaving Lux Aeterna without his Nimbus, protective older brother or not.
"I'll stay here while you do it." Harry folded his arms in his "I'm your older brother, don't argue with me" pose. Connor was tempted to remind him that he was only older by fifteen minutes, but Peter got there first.
"Who was it?" he demanded.
"Evan Rosier," Harry said.
Connor felt his enthusiasm for staying at Lux Aeterna diminish. The prospect of being in the same tightly-warded house as Harry suddenly looked brilliant.
Remus felt badly out of sorts, and out of place. Oh, he'd been in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place before; that was the whole reason Harry had asked him to remain here with this half of the pack, while he took the rest of Remus's packmates to Cobley-by-the-Sea.
No. Not the whole of the reason.
And that was precisely it. Harry had avoided looking at Remus on the night of the alliance meeting, and hadn't firecalled or owled him at all yesterday. Remus had been looking forward to it. He wanted to see Harry again, so that he could explain some things that Harry might have misunderstood.
Remus had known of Loki's plans to give the pack into Harry's protection since a few days before he did it. He approved. Harry could and would protect them, and when he was surrounded by accepted werewolves, unavoidably exposed to their culture, then they could tell him the truth without betraying mysteries that no outsiders should know. That he was just a wizard and not a werewolf didn't matter any longer, not with him acting as alpha. Remus had assumed he would help to ease the transition, since he'd been part of both Harry's life and the pack's.
Instead, there was silence for a day.
But now Remus smelled powerful magic. He put down the book he'd been reading and stepped out of the library, turning his head back and forth. He knew Harry had arrived, but he was surprised no one else had come and told him. The others were mostly still cautious around Harry, and not sure whether he deserved to be their alpha, even though they trusted Loki's judgment and knew he could not stay. Vengeance for a mate was more important than anything else. But Harry was—well, a wizard, and they had all seen him threaten Loki in the Ministry a few days before he left.
Remus understood in a moment, though. Harry stood at the end of the hallway, regarding Remus without any expression at all. His magic billowed around him, and Remus could hear the portrait of Sirius's mother in the hallway below starting a crooning song in praise of his strength.
"The wards on this house are keyed to me," Harry said, answering Remus's silent question. "They won't alert anyone I'm coming if I don't want them to."
Remus nodded, and stepped out of the way, letting Harry walk into the library. It was more like stalk, actually. Remus sniffed cautiously. Harry didn't smell angry, though he walked that way. He was—determined. Like an alpha having to discipline a subordinate who had been causing rows.
Harry turned around in the middle of the library, and faced Remus again. His stare was disquieting. Remus turned his head gently to the side, to avoid meeting the aggressive gaze of his alpha.
"I came to invite you and the rest of the pack to a festival I'm holding in five days, to celebrate my being Black heir and the pack coming together," Harry said.
"Oh." Remus shifted his weight. "And that is the only reason?"
"No." Harry's voice went blunt as a hammer. "It's also to inform you that I love you, but I don't trust you. I will never trust you again, unless you prove that you can be trusted."
Remus blinked and glanced up, shaken at a level he hadn't known existed in himself. Of course, Loki had never expressed distrust of him. He didn't have to, when he'd done the work of convincing Remus of the rightness of his goals himself. "I won't betray the pack, Harry. You know that."
"Someone betrayed my location to two would-be assassins yesterday," said Harry. And waited.
Remus stared at him.
"Camellia and the rest of them all knew," Harry said. "I know that they could have firecalled Grimmauld Place; I gave them permission to, after all. And if someone here knew, and someone here wrote a letter…" He let his voice trail off. Then he shrugged.
Remus snarled. "I would never do such a thing. Never!"
Harry tilted his head, his eyes locked on Remus's. Remus didn't look away this time, and didn't care if it was a challenge. He felt more like a wizard than a werewolf right now. Harry was accusing him of betrayal, and it wasn't true.
"A Legilimens can tell when someone is lying," said Harry. "So, now I know you didn't. This time."
"And it would never happen," Remus insisted, feeling his outrage grow. The Sanctuary had helped him accept some of his emotions. The pack had helped him accept many more. He no longer felt apologetic for any anger he discovered inside himself, as he would have two years ago, fearing the explosion of beast-like rage that haunted most werewolves bitten as children. "What makes you think it would?"
Harry's eyes hardened again. "Because of the way that you changed your mind about your principles, in such a fundamental way, and never had the courtesy to tell me?" he said softly. "Because of the fact that you suspected, beforehand, things like Loki's pack biting a Wizengamot member and Loki coming to Hogwarts to threaten Snape and Draco—"
"I did not have prior knowledge of that," said Remus. "Loki wouldn't have asked me to choose between loyalties like that. He kept it from me."
"You were willing to attack innocent people, bend their free wills, and you didn't tell me," said Harry. Remus fought the urge to back up a step. While the Sanctuary had helped him become more self-confident, it seemed to have made Harry colder. His magic smelled like winter now, and Remus could almost feel an icy, intelligent mind watching him eagerly, waiting for its master's signal to spring. "You sent post to Connor trying to change his mind. You gave Loki knowledge about me without my consent. Did you know that he considered biting me, Remus? Would you have bitten me, if he asked you to?"
Remus shook his head, but not in denial. He didn't know. He'd trusted Loki not to put him in that position. No one could have anticipated Gudrun's murder, and the way that Harry had turned out not to care as much about the rights of werewolves as Remus had thought he did.
"We've been ignored for so long," he told Harry. The feeling of winter in the air increased. "Wizards didn't pay attention to us. You were a wizard—sworn to help us, but still. You have all sorts of unconscious prejudices in favor of your own kind, Harry. We couldn't trust we'd break through to you if we just talked and waited. We've been doing that for decades, and the anti-werewolf laws just got worse instead of better. And it's a betrayal of our culture to talk to outsiders about it, unless they've accepted the gift themselves. Do you see? It was an unfortunate combination of circumstances, but there you are."
"You started feeling that anything was justified, because you'd been pushed aside and ignored for so long." Harry's voice was flat.
Remus glanced up, relieved. "Yes! Exactly. You can only do that to people for so long before you have a revolution, you know."
Harry's eyes changed again, growing weary. Remus felt the icy claws of his magic retract, and relaxed a little.
"What I can't forget, Remus," said Harry quietly, "is that other people don't stop suffering just because you are. Pain doesn't take turns, doesn't play favorites. By the very nature of my commitment to the vates path, I can't enable a werewolf revolution that increases the total amount of pain in the world just to lessen or make up for werewolf pain—and especially not one that rides on vengeance."
Remus drew in a sharp breath. "But so much of our culture rides on that, Harry—"
"And I'm not going to make you change it," Harry said. "I will tell you that, since you're sworn to be part of my alliance now, you'll have to step out of it before you can take mindless vengeance. And that will deprive you of my protection. Think before acting, Remus."
Remus felt lost again. Why couldn't Harry understand? The suffering of the werewolves had gone ignored the longest. Muggleborns at least had a champion in Dumbledore. Harry himself had aided other magical creatures. But werewolves would have no one unless they forced the matter—and then when they did, Harry refused to offer whole-hearted support.
Remus had assumed that, since he was both wizard and werewolf, with a good experience of both cultures in his robe pockets, but with ultimate loyalties to the pack, he would be able to make Harry see sense. It seemed that attempt was doomed to falter.
"If you would just trust me—" he tried.
"Not until you prove you can be trusted," said Harry.
"What would do that for you?" Remus asked desperately. This wasn't only a champion for his pack; this was the boy he had helped raise and still loved, James's son, Sirius's godson. It was so hard to see him standing here, cold, unforgiving, ruthless.
"I can't give you a single test," said Harry. "If you want to reconcile with me, Remus, you'll meet me halfway, and believe me, I'll notice when that starts happening. So far, you just want concessions. It's not acceptable. If you don't want to attend the festival, don't." He turned and walked out of the library, Apparating between one step and the next.
Remus sat down and put his head in his hands.
