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Chapter Forty-Three: The Aftermath

Harry opened his eyes slowly. He knew he had fallen asleep—he could remember the feeling of Bone's tendons and muscles shifting beneath him, if he concentrated—but he didn't know what had happened after that. He tried to roll over, and heard a grunt as his elbow connected with soft flesh.

"Watch where you put that, please," Draco said, blinking open his eyes and regarding him with his head tilted to one side.

Harry opened his mouth, and then shut it again when he realized that both he and Draco were naked, his back against Draco's chest, Draco's arms locked around his waist. He had to find something adequate to the moment, but his stomach took over the chore, interrupting with a loud rumble.

"I thought you would be hungry," Draco murmured, making no effort to release the hold he had on Harry's waist. He nodded to the right, and Harry followed the motion to see a tray of food already sitting on the table next to the bed. Draco moved his hand so that he could hold his wand and gesture at the food, and the pancakes and sausage started steaming slightly from warming charms. He'd left the orange juice and slices of apple alone, Harry noted in relief. "Now you don't have to go far. Wingardium Leviosa," he added, and the tray floated towards them.

Harry managed to sit up, although Draco made it more difficult by refusing to let go of him unless Harry actually shifted and made it clear he wanted that to happen. At last they wound up with Harry propped against the pillows, the tray on his knees, and Draco sitting with his arm around Harry's back and his head leaning on his shoulder.

"Don't you want some food?" Harry remembered to ask, just before he speared one of the pancakes with his fork.

"I ate last night, and then again a few hours ago," said Draco evenly. "I wasn't quite as tired."

Harry felt his face turn crimson, but he refused to act embarrassed, even if his skin insisted on giving him away. He cut up his pancakes into chunks, and ate two of them before he asked. "So what happened after we returned?"

"Snape put you to bed," said Draco. "I ate my meal and joined you. Then I woke up a few hours ago, ate my breakfast, and fetched this meal for you." He paused. Harry waited. Draco was arranging matters in his head, he realized, rather than acting impulsively. He wondered if that had come about because of something that had happened yesterday.

"I have heard," Draco said at last, neutrally, "many people wondering what's going to happen now. The rebellion is done, but most of the packs don't have a home to return to."

Harry nodded. "I've thought of that. And I think the best solution for a home for them would be to stay in Woodhouse, at least for now. There's plenty of room for them here, and I can construct wards that will protect them." If my idea about asking the place magic to defend them doesn't work. "As for food and jobs, now that werewolves can have paying jobs and they're no longer fugitives, I was thinking that the Alliance of Sun and Shadow needs people working exclusively for it."

"Really, now." Draco shifted, and Harry winced as his chin dug into his shoulder. Draco murmured an apology and moved to a more comfortable position. Harry took another bite of pancake, wondering why in the world Draco wanted to be this close. "And you think werewolves would be the best choice?"

"They've sworn the oaths, most of them, and I'm going to ask those who didn't to swear them before I give them jobs," said Harry dryly. "And they're the ones who need it most. Others are part of the Alliance, but either have commitments outside it or don't need the jobs, like the goblins. Besides, some of the werewolves are Muggles—" he thought with a pang of Camellia, who had been able to enjoy being a witch for so short a time "—and wouldn't be able to find a job in the wizarding world that easily. I don't want them condemned to the kind of menial labor handed to Squibs so often. So I'll create a headquarters for the Alliance, and set them to work promoting it. Talking about the oaths to those who are interested, explaining those aspects of pack culture they feel comfortable sharing, giving interviews to the newspapers and writing articles for the Vox Populi, making political links with people who don't want to swear the Alliance oaths yet, that sort of thing."

Draco was silent. Harry finished his pancakes and started in on the apple slices, and still he said nothing.

"What?" Harry asked finally, when he'd swallowed the first few bites of apple. "Don't you think it's a good idea?"

"It's not that," Draco murmured. "I just think that your political enemies will make a bit of a fuss if you only have werewolves working there."

"Do you have any other suggestions?" Harry asked eagerly. "Because I think you're right, but most of the witches and wizards who aren't in the Alliance won't want to work with werewolves anyway, and they are the ones who need this most."

"Then use the witches and wizards who are in the Alliance," Draco suggested. "Some of them are purebloods and don't need to work. And some of them don't have defined tasks, or won't now that the rebellion is ended. What about Ignifer Apollonis? Do you honestly think she would object to working with werewolves?"

Harry shook his head. Ignifer had been a bit uneasy around the packs at first, but she'd relaxed, and she'd even made friends with one of the werewolves who had nearly bled himself dry of magic protecting Peregrine. "How many ordinary wizards and witches do you think should be mixed in among the werewolves?"

"A fair number, at least," said Draco. "You don't want people to avoid the Alliance altogether for fear of being bitten."

"And we also don't want to encourage fear and prejudice," Harry reminded him, and chewed the next apple slice emphatically.

Draco paused, then nodded. "That's true," he murmured. "If we use wizards and witches as the public face of the Alliance, it only looks like we're afraid to admit to the werewolves." He thought again while Harry ate. Then he suggested, "Perhaps a quarter as many wizards and witches as there are werewolves? And I don't mean that has to happen right away, either. Slowly, as more people hear about the Alliance and swear the oaths. It could be just Ignifer and anyone else who really wants to do it in the beginning. Rose Rhangnara might be another good choice."

"Really?" Harry was startled. He hadn't noticed her being friendly with any werewolves in particular.

Draco nodded again. "She's not going to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, and of course her father wouldn't send her to Durmstrang again even if it was open. She's not of age, but she does spend a lot of time among the packs. I saw her talking to the alpha who calls himself Hawk the other day. Talk to Thomas. I think he'd probably agree because she can learn so much."

He imitated Thomas's voice so well on the last words that Harry had to laugh. Then he choked, because of the bit of fruit caught in his throat, and Draco had to pound his back to get it out.

"Watch out," Draco murmured in his ear. "Of all the embarrassing ways to die, Harry, choking on a piece of apple in your boyfriend's arms! What would the monitoring board say if they heard that?"

Harry started to answer, and then paused, and not only because his throat was burning. Then he said, "What do you think about the monitoring board, Draco?"

"That it's a monstrously bad idea, of course." Draco leaned away from him for the first time, folding his arms and glaring just past Harry. "The way I always did. Whitestag acts as if it won't be that way, but it will. The definitions they imposed on themselves leave a lot of maneuvering room. And I don't like the way they persuaded you to accept Gildgrace."

Harry sighed. "I had to. He was one of only a few halfblood candidates, and he did swear the oaths, and he—well, I think he's prejudiced against goblins and centaurs, but he insists he isn't, and was I really going to say that I trusted my interpretation of his thoughts more than his statement of them? And Helcas and Bone didn't object when I asked them."

"You could have used Legilimency on him," Draco commented, still staring slightly past Harry. "Learned whether he really is prejudiced or not."

"And violated his free will," said Harry, his voice sharpening slightly. "I'm sure he would have said no."

Draco took a deep breath, then shifted forward and clasped Harry's left wrist. Since Harry was about to take his first bite of sausage, and he didn't think Draco would have interrupted his eating without good reason, he stared at him, waiting.

"Harry," Draco said, his voice so soft that Harry nearly lost it in the sound of his own breathing. "You don't need to offer your enemies chances to trample you. You acted as though you really wanted the monitoring board to control you, yesterday. Some of the things you said, some of the compromises you agreed to…" He shook his head. "I don't understand why you did it."

Harry relaxed a bit. He had been afraid Draco was about to confront him with evidence of some massive political mistake he'd made. But he wanted an explanation, and it wasn't one Harry was at all averse to giving him.

"Because I think I have been too reckless," he said. "I don't really expect the monitoring board to be able to help me all the time with situations like a British Red-Gold suddenly appearing. Some decisions I'll have to make fast and on my own. But perhaps they can give me advice in less desperate circumstances, and make me consider nuances I would toss away in my haste, otherwise. Some of them are people with perspectives I'd never hear, otherwise, and some of them are people who've suffered personal losses because of my hasty decisions. So it might help. And as a price to come back into wizarding society and stop the hunting, it was very small."

Draco reached out with his free hand and tilted his chin up, meeting him eye to eye. "May I enter your head and see that for myself, Harry?" he asked.

Harry gave a shallow nod, and held his possible panic in tight control as Draco leaped into his mind, not controlling his body but reading his thoughts. It felt like a cold wind, which blew through one ear and out the other. Harry shook his head sharply, shivering.

"You really feel that way," Draco said. "You do think you need to be more controlled than you have been." He collapsed back against the pillows as if someone had stolen all the strength from his muscles, staring at Harry.

Harry nodded. "One thing I thought of while riding the dragon was how hard it is to hold my own will in check, Draco," he said quietly. "Particularly when I think I can do something good. That has resulted in arrogant behavior on my part in the past. I know best, so I do what I think is best, but it's not always right. I'm not looking at the monitoring board to change my habits of behavior so much as my habits of thought. Maybe next time, I will set up a plan instead of leaping in, and I will learn to think more clearly instead of letting my emotions take over."

"And my own efforts and Snape's weren't good enough for you, then?"

Harry almost shoved the tray off his knees in his haste to put his arms around Draco. Luckily, he did remember to mutter a Levitation Charm so that it could hover beside the bed instead of just dropping off into oblivion. Then he could lean forward and hug him, and Draco could hug back. Harry held him tightly enough that he hoped he could squeeze out the pain he'd heard in Draco's voice.

"That isn't it," he whispered. "You and Snape love me, and in the end, if restraint would hurt me, you tend not to give it. And when I feel bad about hurting you, it's about hurting you, not because I think what I did wasn't a good idea. So I need people who don't care that much about me to teach me more impartial habits of thought. That's all, Draco. Really. I have to learn not to ride all over their wills, and I get away with it around you more often. This is about my acknowledging your emotions, not avoiding them."

Slowly, Draco relaxed, and they sat in silence for a few moments longer. Then he said, "And what if you disagree with a decision the monitoring board makes?"

"Then I'll argue with them." Harry sat back, smiling to encourage him. "I do still have a mind and a will of my own, Draco. What I'm asking for help with is restraining the excesses of that mind and that will. I'm looking for someone to argue with, not order me around."

Draco bit his lip as if he would say something about that, but then shoved Harry's shoulder and said, "Finish your breakfast. It's almost noon already. Then you should have a shower and get ready to address your adoring public."

"Almost noon?" For some reason, Harry hadn't gathered that from the angle of light coming through the window. He started to throw back the blankets, and Draco got there and pulled them back up just as efficiently.

"You're not facing them naked and hungry," he informed Harry. Then he tilted his head, and a small smile touched his lips. "Unless, of course, you're not hungry for food," he said. "Then I think they can wait a little while longer, until we're sure that your—stomach is full."

Harry damned his blush and tried his best to match Draco's tone as he replied, "If we made sure of that, it would be evening before I was ready to talk to them."

That made him even more embarrassed, in a way, but it was worth it to see Draco's mouth and eyes widen, and he had the tray that he could pull into his lap to cover his own unfortunate reaction.


Draco lay back on the pillows and listened to the sound of Harry's shower, wishing he could go in and join him. But no, he needed to think about this, and for that, he needed at least a partially clear head.

So. Harry wanted a monitoring board to teach him those things he didn't think he could learn from the people who loved him. And if those things had been only Light pureblood courtesies and the like, then Draco would have understood. It was true that the Light wizards closest to Harry were atypical in how little regard they had for those courtesies. The thought of Tybalt Starrise trying to be dignified and teach Harry the proper way to receive a guest made Draco snort in laughter.

But Harry also wanted someone to restrain him, just in case he trampled on someone else's free will.

Draco rolled his head restlessly on the pillow, then arched his back and stretched. At least it worked a little of the tension out of his muscles, and the last thing he wanted to be when he stood with Harry to address everyone in Woodhouse was tense. He already knew some of the werewolves—the ones transformed by Loki, at least—would object to Harry's plan. He wanted to appear relaxed and coolly dismissive, not as if he were going to hex them on the spot.

When will he understand that just because his will conflicts with someone else's doesn't mean it's a trampling? Or that just because someone's angry with him over something he did doesn't mean they have a good reason?

Draco frowned thoughtfully at the ceiling. What he had seen in Harry's thoughts was a good deal more reasonable than what he had seen a year ago. Harry had healed, had improved, and at least he no longer objected to people wanting to follow him.

What he objected to was commanding them. He wanted to be a leader, because that was inevitable at this point, but by equal argument and debate and discussion and agreement, negotiation and treaty, rather than by ordering people around. The rebellion had bothered him even as he organized it, Draco knew, largely because it involved breaking apart from the Ministry, which had legal authority, and ordering people to do things like protect Woodhouse. There was a reason that the Alliance oaths were so loose; they were designed to encourage the free will and ability to act of those who swore them, and if someone wanted out of the Alliance, it was a simple thing to announce that and turn away from it.

Harry no longer objected to seeing himself as equal. He still didn't want to see himself as being in control. If he had an impartial authority he could listen to, such as the monitoring board, he thought that wouldn't happen.

Except that Draco didn't believe the monitoring board was impartial, and he didn't believe they would give Harry just advice on restraining himself for the good of everyone else, and he was damn sure that they didn't see Harry as equal to themselves. There were some contexts in which Harry would be under control if he didn't claim control. This was one of them.

He doubted he could make Harry see that, though, at least until the monitoring board badly misstepped. Harry was likely to think that the more he objected to the board, the better a job it was doing; they weren't there to please him, but to advise him. At least he'd objected to Whitestag's attempt to send Draco and Snape out of the room yesterday.

I'm less reluctant to trample on people's free wills than he is. Draco gave the ghost of a smile. So I'll be readier to guard his back, and try political games to limit the monitoring board's power.

Draco already knew what his first tactic would be.


Harry stood patiently, with Draco at his right shoulder and Snape at his left, awaiting the first protest. He had explained his plan to offer shelter in Woodhouse to those werewolves who wanted it, and working for the Alliance of Sun and Shadow as a means to grant them money and independence. Someone would not like it, he thought. He had a private wager going with himself whether that would be George or someone else.

"And what are we supposed to do?"

George. Of course. "That's up to you," Harry said quietly. "I know that some of you have families back in the wizarding world, families you didn't dare go to when the hunting season was still in effect, in case you endangered them or forced them to choose between their safety and yours." A few of those bitten by Loki nodded. "I wouldn't force anyone to remain in Woodhouse, or accept employment from me. It's a choice. So if you do have a family and a home to go to, count yourselves lucky." He looked towards Peregrine and the other alphas whose pack homes had been utterly destroyed by the curses cast at them. "Others do not have as many options."

Peregrine's eyes glittered at him. "We do not, vates," she said. "And I thank you for offering this."

Harry inclined his head, and turned back to George. "I can't win a paying job for you otherwise," he told him. "I can't force someone to hire you. I can't even ask the Ministry to take you back, unless they can find a position for you in some other Department, because the Department you worked for is gone. If something happens and you think that someone refuses to hire you because you're a werewolf, then I can help. But otherwise, if you don't want to accept employment from me, I don't know what you expect me to do." He heard the sharpness of his voice on those last few words and winced, sliding the anger away. When dealing with George, anger didn't help; it just fueled his own rage, and then they would be engaged in a shouting contest, and it wouldn't end well.

"I'm not worried about someone refusing to hire me because I'm a werewolf," said George, though his expression said otherwise. "I'm worried about someone refusing to hire me because I was a fugitive. You didn't give us a choice about remaining in Tullianum or coming with you. Death or becoming an outlaw isn't a choice."

Harry heard Camellia growl, joined a moment later by Trumpetflower and Evergreen. He held up his hand and shook his head, and the growls slowly slid into silence. Harry sighed. This would be something his pack would see as an insult to their alpha.

"I gave you as much of a choice as I could at the time," he said. "Besides, the Ministry has said that all crimes done during the rebellion are excused. They couldn't refuse to punish the people who hunted you and experimented on you, and then turn around and punish you for running away from that hunting and that experimentation. So if someone does refuse to hire you because you're a fugitive, you also have grounds on which to come to me."

"And if I don't want to depend on you?" George's head rose as if someone had challenged him to see how high in the air his nose could get.

"Then don't," said Harry, his patience very nearly at an end. "I am offering you as many choices, as many paths, as I can. It's not my fault if you refuse to walk those paths."

"Really, George," said a young man who had also suffered Loki's bite, whom Harry didn't know very well. He thought he was only nineteen, though. He frowned at George as though he were a small bug the younger man wanted to crush. "What do you expect him to do? He's offering us jobs and a home if we want it, and you're going to scorn it because those aren't the jobs and the home you want?"

"That's not what I'm saying!" George snarled. "I'm saying that it's thanks to him that we're marked as werewolves and fugitives in the eyes of the wizarding world! And if he thinks anyone will be happy to hire us, he's stupid."

"I can't do anything about it until it actually happens," said Harry evenly. "Insisting that I punish potential employers for what could happen is just as idiotic. Ask me for help if you will. Blame me if you will. But if you refuse to help yourself, then it's your own call what happens to you."

He rolled his eyes and turned away, searching for Thomas. He found him not far from the wall, staring intently at it and writing down notes on a piece of parchment. Harry blinked as he realized what was happening. Thomas was nicking the wall with a knife, and watching as Woodhouse's magic caught the chips of wood before they could fall to the floor and put them back in place.

"Fascinating," he said, when he saw Harry watching him. "It really takes care of its own, doesn't it? And it knows intent. It'll punish the people who are hostile to it, but it just ignores the people who aren't, and cleans up their mess."

Harry smiled. "It is fascinating," he agreed. "And, sir? Is it all right with you if your daughter Rose works with the Alliance of Sun and Shadow to help the werewolves?" He had already asked Rose, and she had verged on ecstatic. Harry thought she was one of those people who had fretted at being unable to do something to personally distinguish herself during the rebellion.

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "In what world would that not be all right with me?"

Harry laughed in spite of himself. "Some of the parents did rather object when their children fought without permission in the Midsummer battle," he admitted. "So I thought I should ask you."

Thomas waved a hand idly and turned back to the wall. "She's perfectly capable of making those decisions on her own," he said. "Many of those laws—even the one that says wizards come of age at seventeen—come from parents not trusting their children enough, or being too afraid of accidental magic. I did some research into them when I first began looking at the Grand Unified Theory, you know. And accidental magic is much less accidental than they think it is, and much less likely to happen just because a child is angry." He abruptly looked at Harry. "That reminds me. Jing-Xi has asked to meet you, sometime in the near future."

"Who?" Harry asked, blinking. He knew the blinking didn't make him look any more intelligent, but he had no idea whom Thomas's mind had leaped to.

Thomas smiled. "One of my fellow research wizards," he said. "From China. A Light Lady. She's interested in the level of your magic, I think, and how you became so powerful so young."

Harry swallowed a bit. He had never met another wizard of Lord-level power as anything but an enemy, at least since he was twelve. "I'd—have no objections to meeting her, of course," he said, aware his voice was strained. "Did she say when she wanted to speak with me?"

Thomas waved his hand again, his attention focused on the wall. "Sometime," he said. "Not that soon. Jing-Xi knows that a rebellion is rather time-consuming. At one point, the Chinese government wanted her to do something, and she proved to them they couldn't force her. It took her about a year."

Harry nodded, rattled, and stepped away from Thomas. Draco caught his arm in turn.

"Longbottom and Weasley are asking when we're going back to Hogwarts," he said softly, and gave Harry something to think about other than a Chinese Lady who was probably going to tell him all the finer points of etiquette between Lords and Ladies that he'd violated. "I think Weasley's worrying about the reception she'll have from her family." Draco was smirking. Harry frowned at him. He knew the Howlers Ginny had received almost daily for a time had amused Draco, but there was a limit.

"Not for a few days," he said. "I think we have to talk to McGonagall about actually being readmitted as students. The more gestures of good-will we can make, the more people will see that we're serious about fitting back into the wizarding world."

"We are?" Draco murmured the words, shifting so that his nose was buried in Harry's hair. "In a way, it would be so nice if we could stay here, Harry, and act as the political leaders we already are." His voice was soft, coaxing, and his hand slid up and down Harry's back in that way Harry found hard to resist. "School will seem so boring after this."

"Boring I can take, right now," said Harry. "Normal and quiet are other words for boring." He moved away from the hand on his back, which was harder than he'd thought it would be. "But I do want to show that we're going about things legally. We'll appeal to McGonagall and the board of governors. So we'll look like good little children."

"And that's the image you want to project?" Draco demanded.

Harry snorted. "Not necessarily, but I think it's the one we'll have to project right now. The people who only rely on appearances will be contented, and the ones who know better won't start thinking less of us just because we speak a few contrite words and look appropriately resigned to finishing our education."

Draco snickered and kissed him behind the ear. "Can we wait until after Halloween?" he asked abruptly.

Harry blinked at him. "Why?"

"The third part of our joining ritual is on Halloween," said Draco. "In case you forget." His eyes said that he knew very well that Harry had forgotten.

Harry winced. This hurt more, and in a different way, than the realization that Draco hadn't known Harry loved him for his strength of will. "I did," he said. "I'm sorry, Draco. I don't—" He shook his head and squeezed Draco's hand, unable to say what he wished, or didn't wish.

"After this one, I don't think you'll forget again," Draco murmured into his ear. "After this one, I think you'll be looking forward to them, and demanding to know why they don't arrive faster."

Harry smiled, because he couldn't think of much else to do right then, and stepped gently away from Draco. "I should owl McGonagall, and make sure she knows that we're formally requesting permission to return to Hogwarts," he said. "And then I should speak with Snape, and see if he actually feels like going back to teach, or whether he'd rather remain in Woodhouse until he's healed."

"I think you'll find that he'll want to go wherever you go," Draco said.

Harry gave a rolling shrug of his shoulders. "I wish he could make decisions the way you could," he said. "Considering his own health and wants first, and what responsibilities he owes to anyone else secondarily, if at all. Given how selfish he always thought he was, you'd think it wouldn't be difficult for him."

"Not all of us can be me," said Draco, "gifted with the ability to think rationally."

"And pride nothing can make a dent in."

"You wouldn't love me if I were any different," said Draco, and kissed him again, this time with a challenge in his eyes, as much to ask if this would embarrass Harry. Harry was aware of the eyes watching them, at least some of them critical, but he kissed back, and nodded as he pulled away.

"I wouldn't."

We have just as much right to do this as anyone else, he told himself again. It's not my fault if someone underestimates Draco because of this, or thinks I never pay attention to anything but him, and tries a stupid political move. There's no reason that we should have to confine kissing to our bedroom, or why I should have to pretend that the ring on my hand means nothing.


Harry did not understand, that much was plain. He was frowning as he listened to Snape telling him that he wished to go back to Hogwarts and take up the duties of Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House that Minerva was willing to return to him, rather than stay in Woodhouse.

"But, sir—"

Snape raised his eyebrows.

"Severus," Harry corrected himself, with a sideways look to ask if Snape was sure he wanted that level of informality. "You'd be able to heal better here. More cleanly, without as many distractions. I know that you've grown better able to bear the strains of teaching now, but are you sure that you want to bear them at all? Woodhouse would make your—"

"Harry."

To his credit, Harry stopped talking and gave him his full attention the moment he heard the sternness in Snape's voice. Snape held his eyes for a long moment without blinking, just to make sure his notice didn't wander.

"Harry. I wish to continue my healing at school, in the midst of teaching and other duties. Joseph says, and I agree, that the isolation of the Sanctuary, or Woodhouse for that matter, would only weaken me. I have enough practice at being strong enough in front of only myself, or myself and a few others. The true test will be acting like a human being in front of other people, including those who have no reason to care about my fits of temper."

Harry looked a bit doubtful, but nodded.

Snape continued to push. "Besides," he said, "if I remained, we would find it hard to continue our bargain with each other, to be a better father and son. Draco would find it difficult to cope with the monitoring board alone. And you would begin living without healing at the same time, I think, since Joseph would be here with me."

Predictably, Harry bristled. "I did promise Draco that I would start looking for a way to break the fourth curse on my wrist," he said. "And using my magic for enjoyment's sake, so that it doesn't desert me."

"And healing from your emotional wounds?"

Harry looked away.

"Harry."

"I'm as healed as I'm going to get, sir," Harry muttered. "The last thing Joseph wanted to speak to me about was—it didn't matter. I've dealt with it."

"And that would be?"

"Kieran's death at Loki's teeth," Harry said, looking back at him, his chin jerking upwards in a little defiant movement, as if daring Snape to ask about this, either. "And I told him the truth—that I turned that into anger for the rebellion. I've dealt with the emotions of that by transforming them. I don't see why I need to talk about them."

"Regardless," said Snape, "you did make the bargain with me, Harry. And it will be easier for you to keep if Joseph is there."

Harry reluctantly nodded. "It's not that I don't want to keep my promises, sir—"

"I would never know it, from the way you're addressing me."

"Severus," Harry said. "But some of these things are more important than others."

"That we can agree on, at least," Snape said. But not how we rank them. You would push anything to do with yourself to the bottom of the list, if you could.

Harry smiled at him in relief, and then darted out his hand and touched him on the arm, as if a stronger touch would hurt him. "It's not that I don't want to keep my promises," he repeated, a wistful look on his face. "And it's not that I don't want you there. But I saw how you suffered last time, sir—Severus. I don't want to see you suffering like that again. It hurts me too, you know."

"I know," said Snape. "I should know, Harry, from the way it feels when I see you suffer in your turn."

Harry ducked his head. "I should go, Severus," he said. "I need to talk to Woodhouse and convince it to shelter the werewolves—and let me go, since I'm still strongly bonded to it." He paused a moment, as if waiting to see what else Snape would say, and then quietly slipped out the door.

Snape turned back to the potion he'd been brewing, an idle experiment more than anything else, an attempt to change the potion's color from deep purple to pale purple. He had a conversation with Joseph in a few minutes, and he intended to go into it with a will and as clear a mind as possible.

It will be interesting to see how truthful Harry's words really are, when we are back at Hogwarts. The rebellion is done, and there is no immediate crisis on the horizon, only those that will take some time to build. I hardly expect the monitoring board's interference to become obvious overnight.

Harry will have the time and the peace to concentrate on his own healing as well as those building problems. If he avoids that, it will be up to us to show him he is. No more forced healing, however. He is less than a year away from being an adult; it is time we pointed out the path and let him walk it on his own.

Snape blinked as an odd pang struck him in the chest. He had felt something like it before, but not for a long time. After some searching of his memory, and probing at his Occlumency pools, he discovered it again.

It was the restrained trepidation he had felt when he let Harry go to Godric's Hollow for Christmas his third year, the fear that he was making a mistake, but had to let his child make it. Sooner or later, all parents had to let their children walk into danger, and hope it did not damage them too badly.

Has it taken us this long to get back to that point?

Snape stepped back and contemplated the sickly purple color of the potion—not quite what he wanted, but it would do. No. I think not. Then, I suspected he would break, and he did, and Draco and Narcissa and I had to work to put him back together.

Now, we may actually stand a chance of stumbling, and not breaking when we land.