Chapter Forty-Eight: Tea and a Cup of Philosophy

Harry kept the set of his shoulders as relaxed as he could, considering that Snape had just herded both him and Draco into his private quarters and shut the door behind them. He hadn't had a chance to speak to Connor and ask who had won the Gryffindor-Slytherin game, though from the glimpse he'd caught of his brother's beaming face, he suspected he knew. The new Slytherin Seeker was good, and probably faster than Connor since he was smaller, but Harry had watched him, and he simply couldn't match the skill Connor showed in making swift turns, hovering, and diving in such a way that his opponent's eyes would miss him.

"Please sit down," Snape said, in a voice that Harry hadn't heard from him in a long time. In fact, as he turned to face Snape, warily, he was fairly sure that he hadn't heard it before. But he took a seat on the couch, and Draco sat down beside him, still fuming. Harry had asked him to apologize to Lisa as they left the Ministry, and had received an incredulous stare, along with a snapped comment that his one apology to her already counted.

"I'm sitting down, sir," he told Snape. "What's wrong?"

Snape ignored him for a moment, waving his wand to conjure teacups and a tray, and then nodding to cabinets in the far corner of the room. They unlocked themselves, and a crock of milk and a pot of tea surged out of them, floating over to the tray. Harry stirred uneasily. "You've become skilled in Transfiguration since I was last here, sir," he ventured.

"This is tea that I brewed, not conjured," said Snape, not looking at him.

Harry relaxed. He would gladly drink it either way, but he was happiest to hear that it hadn't come from reliance on house elf labor, which would have made it impossible for him to drink. He waited for Snape to pour cups for him and Draco, since that seemed to be what he wanted, and then sipped. The tea was hot and sweet enough just as it was. He would never understand why Draco wanted so much milk in his.

Snape turned to face him, taking a seat on the chair. Harry watched him carefully. The lines of his face were locked in a brooding mask, but that was hardy unusual. Did he have a dream last night that shook him? He should have told me. I would have been glad to leave him at Hogwarts today.

"I should not have let myself be distracted like that, into arguing with a man who has reason to hate me," said Snape, in a voice of deep calm. "However, my distraction came from a legitimate source, Harry. I was using Legilimency to read what I could of their thoughts, without alerting them to the fact. Since many of them do know I can do so, I had to catch their eyes in short glimpses and learn what I could from those."

Harry felt his hand tighten on the teacup so quickly that it was a miracle it didn't shatter. Carefully, he set it down on the broad, flat arm of the couch and sat up. Draco leaned against him, heavily, as if to prevent him from standing. Harry didn't try. He intended to stay right here and confront Snape about what he had done.

"These people are supposed to be our allies, sir." He kept his voice to one that could cut glass, away from insults. He could hardly treat Snape with less courtesy than he'd given to Aurora. "If they find out what you have done, they will have reason to demand that I not bring you to any meeting of the monitoring board, not just the next one."

"You didn't tell us about that," said Draco.

Yes, and this isn't the moment or way I would have chosen for telling you, either. But the damage was done, and Harry wouldn't take it back, or only spring the bargain with Aurora on them when they prepared to go to the next meeting of the monitoring board. "Madam Whitestag offered to dismiss Marvin Gildgrace and Shadow from the board, and let her own presence and Madam Marchbanks's make the Light rejoice," said Harry. He had to shove a load of emotions into the Occlumency pools, and shook his head as they seemed to bubble under the strain. His barriers never had been the same since the ritual on Halloween. "In return, I agreed to leave both of you behind for the next meeting."

"And isn't this the exact same tactic you told me would make you wary of her?" Draco pounced the moment Harry stopped speaking. "You said, 'If she really wanted to weaken me, she would try to separate the two of you from me.'"

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it. He clenched his hand on the couch arm for a moment, nearly upsetting his teacup, and said, picking his words carefully, "I don't think she meant it like that—"

"She did," said Snape. "That was a well-coordinated attack. Shadow came for me, Mrs. Addlington for Draco. I think she meant Gildgrace to draw Narcissa, but he did not succeed. Madam Marchbanks was too distracted and distressed by what happened around her to be aware that something was wrong, or connect the behavior of her allies into a concerted pattern aimed at us." He breathed in silence for a long moment, his eyes locked on Harry's. "And that is only as much as I managed to learn given the distracted way in which I looked," he added. "I am sure there was more, hiding beneath the surface. Do you see, Harry? They are not your allies. They want to weaken you. They want to set boundaries on you that will hold you back from acting as vates, as an effective ally to the werewolves, as an effective Dark wizard."

"I'm not a Dark wizard," Harry pointed out. He was in too much of a daze to say anything else.

"For many Light wizards, using one Dark spell makes one a Dark wizard." Snape sipped his tea, eyes never leaving Harry's face. "I have even heard some of them doubt Scrimgeour's loyalty to the Light, because he used the Ritual of Cincinnatus, when I would say that there is no wizard alive right now whom they should trust more. And your mentor is Dark, your partner is Dark, those wizards who have stood by you for years are Dark. Making an overture to the Light is not as simple as offering them political power, Harry. They will be laboring to increase it, and in this case, that means restraining you and guiding you into certain channels." His tone took on a more personal animosity. "And you will let them do it, if you allow yourself to be separated from those who love you. I have said once before that sometimes you seem to care more about your enemies than your friends."

Harry gave a shiver, and said nothing.

"I'd like an answer to that question, actually," Draco said, voice bright and brittle. "Why do you offer chances to your allies that you don't to us, Harry? Why would you not be as upset if a Light wizard who was a Legilimens read my thoughts, and Snape's? I suspect you would make excuses for him. Why?"

Harry knew the answer to that. They were not going to like it. But then, when had they ever?

"Because the more objective someone is, the more likely he is to realize my mistakes when I make them," said Harry quietly. He rushed on, though Draco was opening his mouth to speak. "Both of you want to protect me, I know that. But both of you might move too quickly when someone does have innocent intentions, or is only protecting their interests the way you would, were you in their place. Both of you may indulge me too often." He turned to face Draco. "For example, you want me to dissolve the monitoring board. And then what would happen?

"It would be dissolved," said Draco. "And you would be free again."

Harry shook his head. "The monitoring board was the compromise that ended the rebellion and brought Gloriana Griffinsnest to trial," he said. "At the very least, the Light wizards could take back their evidence that's going to convict Gloriana. At worst, they could say breaking one promise means I'll break others, and so I can't be trusted. And then everything we've fought for will have collapsed."

"Not everything," said Draco, his eyes shining fiercely. "I don't know about you, Harry, but my greatest battle has been to see you happy and free. And the monitoring board being gone would relieve you of yet another burden you should never have had to carry."

"I can't simply dissolve it," Harry told him.

"Not even if every Light wizard on it is against you?" Snape asked the question as if it were an idle one about Potions ingredients. "Not even if you have reason to believe that your life would improve in every way if it vanished?"

"You said that Madam Marchbanks isn't against me," Harry reminded him. "And she's in close friendship with the southern goblins. If they told her about this, then she would side with us, not other Light wizards."

"The fact remains that the board is filled with snakes, and that Madam Whitestag is the deadliest of them." Snape's cup rang as he put it down. "You will only increase your freedom if you rid yourself of them, and a vates must be free."

"Both of you have a different definition of my freedom than I do," said Harry, and his own voice rang with frustration. "Both of you think of it mostly in terms of what I can do. I think of it mostly in terms of what I'm able not to do."

"Why?" Draco demanded.

Harry gave him a flat stare. "Because I've had to use my magic to solve so many problems already, and I'd rather offer people a choice and the freedom to make it," he replied. "Because I don't actually enjoy intimidating others; in fact, I hate it. Because I'd like to see multiple alliances forming and flourishing in the wizarding world, not just the Alliance of Sun and Shadow. If absolutely nothing else, I'd want such alliances to exist so I could see what reasonable people they might recruit whom we'd miss, because they were growing up in the strongholds of our enemies. I wish that I had made an invitation to Indigena Yaxley to join me first, you know."

"I don't understand that." Draco, at the moment, with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed, looked determined not to understand it.

"And that's your choice." Harry shook his head, and stood up. "I have to decide what I'm going to do about this. Thank you for telling me, sir." He could not thank Snape for reading their minds, and hoped that Snape understood why. "I want to go and think. Alone," he added, when Draco stood to accompany him.

"You should not be alone," said Draco. "Just in case someone does manage to corner you in the grounds, Harry."

Harry called his magic and let it briefly cloak his shoulders in a mantle of snow. It melted almost instantly in the heat of Snape's fire, but he thought he'd made his point. Harry spoke it anyway. "If I can't be safe with my magic within Hogwarts's wards, then I'm not safe anywhere, Draco, and certainly not in bed in your arms."

He turned and walked out of the room, feeling their eyes on his back all the way.

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Rufus watched the wolf that stood in front of his desk. It watched him back.

The wolf's body was made of congealed gray mist, which made it look more like a natural wolf than Rufus would have thought it could. Now and then it licked its jaws, and though the tongue was white instead of pink, that also looked natural. When he did not say anything or do anything interesting immediately, it lay down and closed its eyes, a pale, astonishing blue.

Rufus peered into his cup of tea as if it might hold the answers. Nothing but tea looked back.

If you look into the tea, the tea looks into you, Rufus thought, and then closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and told himself to stop this. He knew what he had to do. There really was no other choice, not if he was to hold true to the principles that had guided him here in the first place.

It was only the thought of what might come after he made this decision that was frightening him. But the rebellion had ended, and he had made a truce with the Department of Mysteries, and the monitoring board had not so far exploded in a shower of flesh and blood.

Of course, perhaps he would wake up in a few days to find that the rebellion had began again, and the Stone was sending its Unspeakables on their silent missions again, and that he was needed to help sort out pieces of Aurora Whitestag from those of a dozen other witches and wizards. And two goblins and one centaur, of course.

Rufus took one more deep breath and told himself that he could not fear the future. He had done what he could, all he could, and now he had reached the limit of his rope. Whatever he did in the future, he would have to use a different tactic.

Probably a good thing. You know you would be bored if you did one thing for too long, and your enemies would have a chance to get used to you and predict your motions.

The wolf abruptly uncurled and sprang to its feet, taking a step nearer to the desk, looking up at him. Rufus nodded at it, and let the Ritual of Cincinnatus go, laying down his control of all magic in the Ministry.

He felt the wards uncoil and unbind within his head like the cracks of whips parting. He felt his familiarity with various spells drain until he was back to being what he had been, an ordinary wizard who knew the spells as they formed and sparked within his own body, and nothing more. He felt the Ministry breathe a sigh of relief that faded halfway through. That sigh was no longer his to hear.

The wolf swelled with power as it stood there, the living embodiment of the ritual, the mold the magic had chosen to pour itself into. It looked at him with blue eyes, so contained and confined that it was sentient in those moments, and if magic could bless, Rufus would have sworn it blessed him.

He had let the ritual go before he strictly needed to. He had not forced it to demand the magic from him, and he certainly had not forced it to kill him or his companions.

The wolf turned and bounded into the walls, its personality dissipating as it went, the magic racing back into freedom. Rufus sat back and sipped at his cup of tea, and wondered when others would notice.

And if he had the time to have a bit of fun before they did.

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Harry took his broom up from the Quidditch Pitch into a singing wind. The day was not that fair, with heavy hanging clouds that would probably scatter rain down later, but the sun lent a golden undertone to the air, and Harry could admire the deep, damp contrast between gray and green, still stubbornly lingering in the Forbidden Forest.

Besides, he thought better in flight than he did on the ground.

He took the Firebolt up to three hundred feet, and settled into a lazy circle, a bit wider than the Pitch. He stared down, and for a moment his imagination was filled with memories of the times he'd plucked the Snitch here, the time in his third year when Sirius had tried to kill him, the time in second year when a Bludger had broken his arm, the time in first year when the Lestranges had come onto the Pitch and Harry had had to battle them while throwing the game for Connor—

He snorted and shook his head. I didn't come here to brood about the past. That's one thing I'm free not to do anymore, think nonstop about the past.

He turned so that he was lying on his back along the broom, swinging one foot to stir it in the air. He supposed he shouldn't do that, that someone else would believe it dangerous, but for once he didn't care.

He had to think.

Harry closed his eyes and considered the ramifications of what he'd told Draco and Snape. Dissolve the monitoring board, and he might as well break all his agreements with the Light wizards. How could they trust him again? Why should they have reason to? And Madam Whitestag, who was, at the very least, a canny leader and capable of uniting people who would ordinarily have scattered in a dozen directions—who had managed to forgive Harry enough for the death of her children to try and work with him—would be offended beyond recapture.

No matter what Snape and Draco thought, simply dissolving the monitoring board was not an option.

Harry gave a short little nod of his head. So what were the choices, then? And how was he going to make them?

One came to him almost immediately. Madam Marchbanks would not act against him, and she was clearly and closely allied to the Light—Declared for it, in fact, which Aurora was not. She could lead the monitoring board in Aurora's place. Aurora could work with her in the capacity that she had already said she would, sending instructions and book on Light pureblood rituals to Harry, but Harry would ask her to step down from leading the board.

When she asked why, he would explain the truth, that he had realized she had set her running dogs on his allies, and he could not trust someone who did that.

And what will she do then?

Harry opened his eyes and stared at the lazy stripes of cloud directly above him. He wanted to dive frantically away from them towards the ground, and use up the excess energy that thrummed through him, but he forced himself to be still and consider what he knew of Aurora.

Strong-willed. A leader. Both of those things would make her unhappy when working with the monitoring board in any diminished capacity from the one she played now.

On the other hand, she was also careful, and clever, and could look past the idea of revenge for her dead children enough to approach Harry as a political opponent, not a personal enemy. And despite the outrage Snape and Draco showed over the way she'd handled him, Harry did not really believe they would have encouraged him to approach Aurora any other way, if they had been on a board in charge of supervising her.

She was far more likely to blink at him when he announced that he wanted Madam Marchbanks to take over the board, curse the luck that had caught her out, and then work with him again. Harry hardly expected her to stop trying to step around and trick him. This time, though, he would be watching for that. He would incorporate the plans of hers he could into his own plans, and stop others.

He had gone into the meeting today stupidly trusting. But it would be equally stupid to be so distrustful that he lost the chance of converting Aurora altogether. For whatever reason, the more of himself he showed to the people around him, the more he did for them, the more they tended to like him and respond in turn. Harry did not pretend to understand it, but he had seen how Snape had changed when Harry started Occlumency training with him, and when Snape had shared his mind while he rebuilt it after Sylarana's death. Hawthorn had told him the story of how Harry's simple offer to brew her Wolfsbane had changed her life after she was bitten by Greyback and given her back her strength—and something similar had happened to her recently, if the way she thanked him when he came back from riding the dragon was any indication. Adalrico had grown comfortable enough with him to tell him the tale of torturing and raping Alba Starrise. Harry might not know the exact nature of the gift he seemed to have for reaching out, but he would be stupid to discount it.

And I have enough enemies, he thought, thinking of Lucius, thinking of the Unspeakables, thinking of Philip Willoughby and those other parents of the Dozen Who Died who would not be contented with this compromise, thinking of Falco, thinking of Voldemort. Aurora may become one of them permanently, but first, I want to approach her and see if I can't convince her to support me.

Harry gave a smile he knew was faint. But, in truth, if he had to do something other than just ask Aurora to give up tactics that would threaten the alliance between them—and he doubted she would give them up, even if she said she would—he preferred this form of manipulation. Let her see him for who he was. Harry had rarely attempted to hide that, and it went badly when he did. He could hold secrets. He could lie by omission. But he could not say he was not vates, not at this point in time, and he could not pretend that he did not value the free wills and decisions of others. He did.

Now, of course, there was the problem of what to do about Draco and Snape, who would explode when they heard of this.

Harry sighed, clenched his hand around the broom handle, and swung himself off, turning around so that he gripped it with his knees and hung moodily upside-down. That sent blood rushing to his head, but it was such a perfect expression of his emotions that he didn't think he could resist.

Nothing I can do but tell them truth, and explain my reasoning, and give them a chance to respond. Explanations are fine. Protests are fine.

But sooner or later, I have to make my own mistakes. I should have been the one to sense what Aurora was doing today. I'm a Legilimens, too, and if my stupidity prevented me from using that, or ferreting out her tactics from watching her, then that's my own fault. Draco would hate it if I tried to protect him from every mistake, and sending Snape to Joseph meant nothing until Snape decided to heal on his own.

I've healed so much in concert with them, and benefited so much from their help, and it would be ingratitude personified to abandon them now. But acting on my own, trying to learn what I can when I don't have someone to watch my back, is not a bad thing, either. I've had to do that with Rosier, and in Voldemort's mind, and in the Forbidden Forest, and on Acies's back. If my healing is going to function on more than one level, if I'm going to live simultaneously, then I need to heal both with Draco and Snape and apart from them.

He disliked the conclusions that immediately jumped into his mind from that. If he were going to be honest with himself, that would mean that he had to work on healing his wrist and talking with Joseph, too, and he would have to do it not just when Draco and Snape asked but of his own free will.

Don't want to, he whined to himself. I could still do without a left hand. I could still do without talking about Kieran's death. They just aren't as important as other things. He could list at least ten things more important than either of them without trying.

But he had to. And if sometimes he resented it and whined to himself in his head, at least the resentment and the whining would stay in his head. Snape and Draco should no more have to bear everything with him than they should have to help him heal in everything, or spot and guard against his every mistake.

His head pounded rather with blood, so Harry swung himself back onto his broom and ascended at a steep angle. He flew upward until the heartbeat in his ears sounded normal again, then flipped over and dropped straight towards the ground.

His muscles stretched, and his ears went from chilled to warm in a series of uncomfortable moments, and the Pitch drew nearer until it seemed to fill the entire world. Harry pulled up a moment after that, his arms straining, and zipped in a circle backwards.

He flew that way until most of his uncertainties had changed into something else, into careful, rueful determination to walk forward. Sometimes he would have given much to be as certain as Draco and Snape were, whether that was on the right political course or on what a Lord-level wizard deserved.

But certainty isn't always for me, I suppose. And that's all right.

He arched his back until it cracked, then landed and made his way to the Quidditch shed to put the Firebolt away.

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Connor grinned when he saw his brother wandering away from the Pitch. Harry had obviously been out flying, probably thinking about Quidditch and wishing that he could have played today. Well, Connor would be more than happy to tell him how the game went—unless, of course, Harry had another place to hurry off to and be.

Connor tried to stifle a flare of resentment as he called his brother's name. Harry looked up and saw him. He grinned and waved with his hand.

He's always so busy. The moments when he has time for me are so rare.

But against that, Connor could set twelve years when Harry had had no time for almost anything or anyone but him. He told the flare of resentment to shut up and go away, and then he had reached Harry and they were turning around for a moment in an effort to adjust themselves so that they walked side by side instead of in opposite directions.

Harry laughed as they figured it out, and then said, "So, how much did Gryffindor defeat Slytherin by?"

Connor arranged his face into a careful expression of neutrality. "Oh, not that much," he said. "You still have a chance of taking the Quidditch Cup, especially if you utterly trounce Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. And there's a new Seeker on Ravenclaw that's really quite good, and by the time I play him he'll have had a chance to get better and better, so I might not defeat him at all."

"Out with it," said Harry mildly.

He had tried to respect Harry's feelings as a Slytherin, he really had, Connor thought, but he simply couldn't resist bursting into laughter. "It was six hundred and twenty points to one hundred," he admitted. "I'm sorry, Harry. I don't think you have a chance of taking the Quidditch Cup at all."

"If you beat us by more than five hundred points, we don't bloody deserve it," said Harry, his voice thrumming with indignation. "Where was Sam looking for the Snitch? Up his own arse?

"Actually, it was the Keeper's fault, mostly," Connor offered. "He just can't keep his own goal covered, Harry. Meanwhile, Ron flew like Merlin had touched him, and I don't think Slytherin knew what hit them there. They were used to thinking of Ron as the weak point of the team, because he was, the last time you played us." Connor snickered, remembering the expression on the Slytherin Beaters' faces when they started trying to direct the Bludgers to hit Ron, and he had managed to avoid them every single time. "They don't realize that's changed."

"We deserved to lose," said Harry, voice firm now. He paused a long moment, and Connor wondered what would come next. He didn't think it could diminish his joy, whatever it was. There was a raucous party going on in Gryffindor Tower. They had won for more reasons than just Harry not being on the Slytherin team, and they all knew it. They had worked well together. Connor could barely remember the game, in fact, except for scattered moments. The Gryffindor team had fallen so smoothly into a whole that it was more an impression of silent communication, wheeling flight, and always, always knowing where a teammate was and what would happen next.

"Connor," Harry said at last.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think—" Harry scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not just saying this because of your argument with Parvati, or because I think she's right about me and Draco all the time, or anything like that. But I'd like to spend more time with you. I really would. A Seeker's game. A day when we go to Hogsmeade together and talk about stupid things. Could I?"

Connor didn't know what to say for a moment. He felt joy welling to the surface of his chest, to burst out his throat. When it came, he wasn't sure if it would be a laugh or a happy shout. It turned out rather like a mixture of the two, and apparently it rather startled Harry, as did the hug Connor grabbed him in a moment later.

"Of course, you prat," he muttered into his ear. "And this doesn't have to have anything to do with Parvati, or Draco. We're brothers, Harry."

He felt Harry relax, and hug him back. "Good," said Harry. "And now I have to go tell Snape and Draco something that will make them very unhappy."

"Want support?" Connor asked.

"You'd laugh at the expressions on their faces," said Harry.

"They could use that," Connor pointed out. Sometimes he was appalled at how little humor there was in Harry's life. He couldn't count Draco's snide comments, or Snape's sarcasm either, for that matter. They didn't do that to make Harry feel good, they did that to destroy competition for Harry.

"Maybe they could," said Harry. "But not this time."

Connor stepped back and studied his brother for a moment. Harry's jaw was set, and he moved as if he were going to jump on his broom, find Voldemort, and duel it out right now.

"Give them hell," Connor said, and stepped out of the way.

Harry tossed him a fleeting smile as he made his way towards the dungeons.

"And then tell me about it, later!" Connor yelled after him. For once, he didn't worry about being left behind. Harry could obviously take care of himself.

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Snape waited. He and Draco had sat in silence when Harry was gone, and Snape had wondered at that; he would have thought Draco, at least, would have ranted and paced up and down the room. But instead he preferred to sit with his arms folded on his knees and stare at the floor. Snape supposed he could hardly blame him.

His own thoughts were tending along a track inspired by Harry's last words.

If I can't be safe with my magic within Hogwarts's wards, then I'm not safe anywhere, Draco, and certainly not in bed in your arms.

And there was always the chance that Harry would not be safe, no matter who accompanied him, no matter what happened, no matter who pointed out the threats to him. He had already had to go into danger numerous times, even when he knew it was dangerous. And then there were his opponents. If the Light wizards were stupid and stubborn enough to demand a monitoring board in the first place, then Snape could not discount Harry's fear that they would be stupid and stubborn enough to revoke their other promises if the monitoring board was dissolved.

I said that I would try to let him go, to fail and make mistakes. He will not crumble this time as he did when he battled his mother. I do not believe that Aurora Whitestag can harm him without his active cooperation. She had that today. Do I really believe that she will have it again?

No, Snape had to think. He'd watched Harry's eyes when he admitted using Legilimency, and behind the resentment that that had happened at all was a stronger resentment towards Whitestag for making such tactics necessary. Now he knew. Now he was warned.

Now Snape himself was warned, and would not have to do such piecemeal Legilimency again, so he could better respond to attempts at distraction like Shadow's.

And then there was Draco.

"Why could Mrs. Addlington bait you so easily?" he asked Draco abruptly.

Draco started. Then he looked at Snape as if he were mad and answered, "Because they so obviously wanted only to hurt Harry. Everyone but my mother and his other allies, of course," he added dismissively. "And then she was making remarks about purebloods and the Grand Unified Theory, and I knew Harry wouldn't say anything against her, since he accepts that load of rubbish. How could I let her remarks go by, and let her think that everyone in the room agreed with her?"

"It is not impossible that others did not want to hurt Harry," said Snape, watching him closely. Draco had his own frustrations, that was clear, but he had let them build up to an unacceptable level today. Snape considered his own reaction to Shadow's provocation to be unacceptable, and Draco's response to Addlington had been far worse. "Madam Marchbanks, for example."

"She's Light."

Snape snorted in spite of himself, hardly able to believe what he was saying. "That does not make her evil."

Draco sprang to his feet and began pacing, then. "The monitoring board needs to be dissolved," he said, in a low, passionate voice. "I'll say that as many times as I need to. I'll do whatever I have to to make Harry see that. It's impossible that he doesn't see it. He needs freedom to act on his own."

Snape cocked his head. "Is this more about ending a danger to Harry, Draco, or winning an argument with him?"

Oh, that earned him a glare. But Draco was not Lucius, and that glare did not bring back enough memories to disconcert Snape. Snape continued, easily able to play the role of Head of House in this environment. "I think that you may wish to step back and consider your own actions before you consider his. You would not wish to be a liability to Harry, Draco."

"I am not—"

"As you were not today?"

Draco folded his arms and turned away.

Snape rolled his eyes and wondered silently why he was always the one who needed to speak such obvious truths. "Think of yourself, Draco," he said. "Study your own emotions and reactions as you are encouraging Harry to study his." He paused, noting the tense set of Draco's shoulders, and added softly, "Harry will not hate you if you Declare for Dark."

Draco whipped around so fast that he stumbled. Snape saw his face flush in humiliation as he steadied himself. "How did you know?" he whispered.

A lucky guess, combined with Legilimency. But Draco did not need to know that. "Because you are growing more and more entrenched in your sentiments towards the Light," Snape said. "Because you are once again seeking to define yourself, and you cannot do that solely as Harry's lover and partner. Because you are a Dark wizard, Draco, with an affinity for those spells, with that deep distrust of the opposite allegiance, and with a love for tactics that Harry will avoid using if possible. Tell him that you are Declaring, and he will understand."

"I thought—I should remain undeclared…"

"That is Harry's path," said Snape. "It is not the path for many other wizards. And he will not hate you if you do this."

Draco nibbled his lip and stared at the floor. He had not expected his own defining moment to come at such a time, Snape guessed. But it was here, and he had to meet it, rather than continue denying it and driving himself into misguided attempts to live vicariously through Harry. That only made him act as he had today. Some said that Light and Dark called to the souls of those wizards suited to them. Snape doubted that, but if it could be true, then the Dark was calling Draco. And Midwinter would be here soon, the greatest time of power of the wild Dark. Its voice would resound more clearly now.

"I should," Draco whispered. "He would want me to do what most pleases me, not what most pleases or benefits him."

Snape nodded, and said nothing more. Draco had made the decision. He would urge himself along the path now.

A knock sounded on the door, and Harry stepped inside without waiting for an answer or an invitation. Snape's eyebrows rose when he saw the determination written on his face.

Well. It seems that this conversation shall be interesting, indeed.

He sat forward to meet it.