Just a warning that after this chapter, I won't be updating for at least one day, and possibly a few, due to a probable lack of Internet access; I expect to be able to write but not post. I will continue this story, though. Also, the second scene here contains heavy slash, so skip it if you are uncomfortable with that.
Chapter Forty-Nine: A Matter of Equality
Harry was gratified to see that Snape looked at him as if actually eager for the conversation to resume, though he was concerned about Draco's flushed face and loosely clasped hands. Well, whatever the matter is, he must speak to me about it. I'm unable to guess what he holds back and hides, most of the time.
"I've thought about what you said," he admitted. "I still don't think I can dissolve the monitoring board. But I will ask Mrs. Whitestag to step down and let Madam Marchbanks take her place. And I do intend to tell Mrs. Whitestag why." He held up his hand as Snape's mouth opened, in a silent plea to let him finish. Remarkably, Snape shut his mouth and did so. "I think I can understand her. What she wants is power over me. Being sent away from me won't help that. On the other hand, remaining near me means a chance to turn her towards me as I've managed to turn other people—simply by showing her what I stand for, and what I intend to do to accomplish my goals. I expect her to apologize for her wrongdoing and use more subtle versions of the tactics she already tried. Now, I'll be watching for them, and it will be no more difficult than other political waltzes I've danced in the past."
Snape raised his eyebrows, but waited for an extra moment, as if to make sure that Harry were finished. Harry nodded. Snape said, "And do you believe that you can convince Madam Marchbanks to take up the post?"
"Yes," said Harry. "She wasn't happy with what happened today. And you said she isn't against me. And she is clearly Declared for Light, so no one can say I'm dismissing Mrs. Whitestag only to put one of my Dark allies in her place."
Snape nodded slowly. Harry glanced at Draco. "What do you think?" he asked.
Draco rubbed his hands together for a moment. "I suppose you can't get rid of the monitoring board yet," he admitted. "I didn't think about the larger political picture." Harry bit his tongue to keep from saying that Draco often didn't think about the larger political picture. "But I think setting some definite limits would be helpful. Do they expect to supervise you for a few months? Until you're legally of age? Until they agree that you won't do anything else irresponsible?" Draco snorted at that, and muttered something about Harry's never convincing the monitoring board of that, if he hadn't been able to convince Draco and Snape.
"Not a bad idea," said Harry, surprised. What conclusions did he come to while I was gone? "And I can ask Madam Marchbanks about that more easily than I can Mrs. Whitestag. She would probably find some way to slip out of answering."
It was obvious that Draco was still distracted, still thinking of whatever had occupied him while Harry was gone more than he was thinking of Harry's answer. Harry waited, and waited, and waited, and still no answer was forthcoming, only the nervous washing of Draco's hands. Harry looked to Snape, only to receive a scowl and a jerk of his head at Draco, as much to say that the tale was his partner's to tell. Harry stood and waited as patiently as he could.
"Harry," Draco said at last. "Would you mind if I Declared for Dark?"
"I—" Harry had to think about that for a moment, but in the end there was only one thing he could say. "Of course not, Draco," he said. "Is Midwinter calling you?"
Draco winced. "I don't like the thought of that," he said, as if Snape were no longer in the room; the tone was one Harry had only heard from him in private before. "That I would be Declaring to the same form of the wild Dark that killed Fawkes and tried to make you into a Lord."
"The wild Dark was irritated then," said Harry, and forced himself forward through a blur and haze of phoenix fire in his memories. "And you can't help the time of year when you feel the call, Draco. It's a very rare and special thing to feel at all." He reached out and gently ran his hand up and down Draco's arm. "I will never mind that you have Declared, and especially not your allegiance."
Draco nodded, mute. Harry studied him for a moment, then made an educated guess that he would swear did not depend on Legilimency. "Is this part of the reason that you were so rude to Mrs. Addlington during the meeting? That you were occupied with thinking about the wild Dark, and what it would mean if you swore yourself to it?"
A second nod. Harry gathered Draco into his arms, feeling the same surge of intense protectiveness that he knew Draco had felt for him more than once. "You don't need to keep such concerns to yourself," he whispered into Draco's ear. "You would yell at me if I did. I'm not going to yell at you—" he smoothed his hand up and down Draco's spine, the better to calm him "—but I do want to know about them sooner than this in the future."
Draco gave a little sigh and relaxed against him. Harry went on smoothing, and glanced over at Snape. His guardian's gaze was sharp, piercing, as much to ask why Harry himself wouldn't accept that kind of comfort more often, but he nodded, as if approving of his tactics with Draco.
Harry eased Draco back onto the couch. He found that his arms didn't want to leave him, but he kept them on Draco's spine and shoulders. Moving them lower would spark unfortunate thoughts, and he already had enough trouble with those since the barriers on his hormones broke during the Halloween ritual. He had no idea how Draco, or for that matter other sixteen-year-old boys, coped with being flooded with thoughts of sex all the time.
"And are we coming with you to the next meeting of the monitoring board?" Snape asked the question as if it needed to be addressed right now.
Draco abruptly stiffened against Harry, and then pulled away and turned to look at him. Harry frowned. He knew Draco didn't have Occlumency training, and so there was no reason that he should be able to bury his emotions that well and that suddenly. That could only mean that he considered Harry's answer more important right now than his crisis about Declaring.
Harry couldn't look them both in the eye while he replied, so he settled for Draco. "No, you're not."
Draco drew his lips back, showing his teeth, and said nothing at all.
"Explain," said Snape.
Harry reminded himself not to sound defensive. He had made this choice for perfectly good reasons. Just because he hadn't known Draco was so twisted up around the notion of Declaring, and just because he still didn't know why Snape appeared to be taking this so well, didn't mean that his choice was invalid. "Because I want to go alone," he said. "Because I promised Mrs. Whitestag that you wouldn't be there, and showing up with both of you along would warn her at once that something was wrong, and give her time to prepare her defenses before I tell her the truth. Because, sometimes, I need to make my own mistakes, and that includes mistakes on the battlefield of politics. I want to see what tactics and enemies I can recognize without someone there to watch my back."
Snape studied him broodingly when Harry looked again, his eyes dark with what Harry could only imagine were memories. Then he nodded as if those memories had been the things to convince him of Harry's validity.
"I think this is a mistake," he said. "I think you will fall badly without us." That made Harry bristle in spite of his resolve to hold calm, but Snape didn't give him the chance to show off his anger. "But it is a mistake that you need to make. If we force you to rely on us, then you will grow cramped. We have made you see the need to heal, and helped you heal. Now is the time that you began to step into healing that does not include us."
"I know that, sir," said Harry, touched beyond measure. What did he think to turn him in this direction? He might have been inside my head with me while I was riding my broom. "I already know that I'll need to speak to Joseph on my own, and work on breaking the curses on my hand on my own. That is, I can have help from Argutus and others, but the will to guide me through them has to be my own."
"Where did you go to think?" Draco asked, curiosity apparently overcoming his urge to remain coldly silent.
"Up on my broom." Harry gave him a faint smile. "I think best when I'm away from the ground. And—well." He shrugged. "I do have to make mistakes on my own. I'm nearly an adult, and I can't remember a time when I lived truly free of the domination of at least one other mind. First it was my mother, and Connor when she wasn't with me. And then it was Tom Riddle. And then it was the influence of those I couldn't abandon, like my father, and those I didn't want to abandon, both you and Professor Snape—"
He stopped when he saw Snape's expression, touched with just a hint of rebuke. He took a deep breath and made himself say it. "Both you and Severus." He countered the feeling that he was being informal and deserved a punishment for violating such boundaries with the reminder that Snape had wanted Harry to call him by his first name. "And all of this has been wonderful, but it's still made my life far too simple. There's always someone to blame for a mistake, or someone to trust when I should be relying on myself, or someone who makes me see that I need to peel back another layer of my training. Always someone to be my hands, my eyes, my ears. That started to change last year, but it didn't go far enough, or something like today could never have happened. I should have been intelligent enough to see the meeting of the monitoring board for what it was, the way I should have been intelligent enough to recover from my grief over the Dozen Who Died, and the way I should have seen that the Sanctuary was my best option." He nodded to Snape and then to Draco. "So far, my mistakes have mostly been mistakes of omission. I want to change them to mistakes of commission, if only as practice for the war."
"Commendable, Harry." Snape's voice was soft, and full of a strange sound. Harry could only compare it to waves breaking on rocks, because he didn't think he'd ever heard an emotion like it before. And then he looked at Snape and saw that his eyes were shining with pride, the kind of pride that Narcissa might have in Draco when he did something particularly fine.
Harry ducked his head, feeling his cheeks burn with a wild flush. I don't deserve that. Many other children figured out how to grow up a long time ago, or they just feel it and have no need to verbalize it.
Then he took a deep breath, and told the guilt to shove off. Why shouldn't I feel that I deserve this? Professor Snape loves me and is proud of me. I can accept it and glory in it the way any child would glory in a parent's approval.
"Thank you, Severus," he said, proud of himself in turn for remembering the name. He looked at Draco. "Can you see what I mean, Draco? Why I need to attend the next meeting of the monitoring board alone?"
Draco sighed and looked down at his clasped hands. Harry didn't like the sigh. He would have preferred a yell. He put a hand under Draco's chin and lifted his head again so that they could meet eye-to-eye.
At last, Draco gave a quick little nod, though his gaze still didn't give away as much as Harry would like. Harry smiled and stood, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders. He had the urge to escort him back to their bedroom in Slytherin and simply spoil him.
"Thank you, both of you," he said, and waited only for Snape's nod before slipping away with Draco.
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Draco lay on his stomach on their bed, and felt more than heard Harry murmuring, the words falling into his hair and trickling along his ears like moisture.
"You silly prat, why couldn't you tell me?" His hand dug into Draco's shoulders, easing away the tension with a skill Draco hadn't known he had. Well, he supposed, there was nothing to keep Harry from observing other people, and learning what they knew. "You could have," Harry whispered. "You could have. The wild Dark isn't just the incarnation of it that killed Fawkes. It's also the white deer that ran away from us at Walpurgis, and it's the Dark that Voldemort tried to chain, and it's the Dark that danced around me when I went to my first Walpurgis, and took me into it, and broke me apart, and put me back together. It's too large to be just one thing. Of course I'm not going to be upset if you Declare for it, Draco, any more than I was at Connor Declaring for Light."
Draco didn't think he could relax if Harry was going to compare him to his brother. He managed to wrestle up on one elbow, only to drive Harry's fingers into an unexpectedly tender place on his shoulder with the movement. He threw back his head, gasping, and Harry leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss.
The angle was awkward, and made Draco's neck ache. He found that he didn't care. He turned over, looping his arms around Harry's shoulders and dragging him down to him. Harry hummed under his breath, but then reared up and managed to make it a sound of protest.
"Draco, don't you—"
"Not right now," Draco murmured.
Harry nodded, and then slid away from him before Draco could make him stay in one place and kiss him. Draco felt a warm hand on his hip, and then Harry muttered again, not his name this time, and his trousers and pants vanished.
And then Harry's mouth was surrounding him, and Draco gasped, because this wasn't like the wild, intense coupling they had shared on the Halloween ritual. This was fuzzier, and made his eyes blur, and mingled with the steady call he had been hearing on the edge of his perceptions for a month now, and had tried to deny was the wild Dark each time.
When he closed his eyes, the call billowed around him like a storm, sweeping him up into high, shining cold, while at the same time the sweetness and warmth of Harry's mouth kept him anchored to the earth below. Draco's back melted, and he seemed to have wings. But he also definitely had a body that was not melting, but growing harder and harder, both in terms of his erection and in terms of the movements he was making. He had no idea how Harry was handling it, because, once again, he seemed to have no idea where his hands were, where the rest of his body was—
The call sounded in his head like a thunderclap at the same moment he came. Draco sagged back against the pillows, exhausted, and knew his decision was made. Harry gently drew back. Draco heard more spells, all of them quiet enough not to disturb him; they cleaned him up, and Vanished his shirt, and settled him under the covers. Harry's hand brushed through his hair, and Draco turned his head so that he could kiss the palm.
"I'm going to Declare," he whispered.
"On Midwinter?" Harry's voice matched his for quietude, as if they would disturb something sacred by speaking of the Declaring ritual any more loudly.
"Yes," Draco said, because he wasn't sure his head would move if he tried to nod. "And Harry, I love you."
"That, I knew." Harry's lips brushed along his cheek like his hand, and then Draco found himself spilling into the first genuinely unbroken sleep he'd had in more than a week. He had nothing to feel sorry for, and Declaring would satisfy the needs of his soul without changing his relationship with Harry.
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Harry leaned on the wall of the dungeon corridor and shivered. He knew he had to do this. He couldn't have half of honesty and not the other half. He couldn't bask in the approving looks from Draco and Snape if he only had words and not actions to inspire them.
But he didn't want to do this. The reluctance was so strong that he almost turned back in the direction of the Slytherin common room. Harry was sure that Draco would still be sleeping, and he could join him. He imagined slipping under the covers and sliding his arms around his boyfriend, the warmth of his body, the softness and scent of his hair—
And then he reminded himself that he was standing in the middle of an open hallway, and let the thoughts subside, and knocked firmly on the door in front of him.
Joseph opened it a moment later. He paused when he saw Harry, and studied him carefully. Harry tossed his head like a nervous horse—he couldn't quite help the gesture—but returned the gaze, and then Joseph nodded, as if either the gesture or the gaze had helped him decide.
"You're ready to talk now, Harry," he said, and opened the door further. "Come inside."
Harry did. Joseph's quarters were not as finely decorated as Vera's had been when she stayed in Hogwarts, but of course she had not stayed in the dungeons, either. Joseph had hung his maps on the walls with charms to protect them from the damp stone. Under and beneath and over them hung banners that Harry hadn't seen before. He squinted, but couldn't make anything of the symbols on them. Now and then he thought he saw something that looked like the crest of a Hogwarts House, but he doubted it was, and the next moment the familiar figure had blended back into a sea of chaos.
"Here we are." Joseph nodded, and Harry turned away from the confusion of the walls to see that a table stood in the center of the room, with a chair on either side of it. Harry took the one nearest the door, and Joseph smiled faintly at him and took the other. He leaned forward, eyes intent. "Suppose that we start with you telling me what you would like to talk about, Harry."
"I reckon we should begin with Kieran's death," said Harry reluctantly. "If only because you seemed concerned over it, and I don't understand why you were."
Joseph leaned back in his chair. "What would you say if someone else told you he'd been suicidal, Harry, if only for a few moments?"
Harry swallowed. "I would be concerned about him."
"And?"
"I'm not like everyone else." Harry clenched his hand in front of him, feeling shards of emotion poke at him like broken bones. At that moment, he really did wish the Breaking of Boundaries ritual had repaired all the walls it ripped down. "And it really was only a few moments," he added. "I wouldn't commit suicide unless—" Damn. He hadn't meant to say that last word.
Joseph raised his eyebrows, and said absolutely nothing.
Harry looked aside. "Unless I caused the world more trouble alive than dead," he said softly. "There might come a time when it's necessary. I've always known that. If Voldemort made me into a weapon somehow, if he managed to possess me, or if I went mad and became a Dark Lord, then I would want to be dead. I wouldn't want to give my friends the burden and grief of dealing with me."
"Why would you have killed yourself when Kieran died?" Joseph asked.
That question I can answer. "I made a promise to protect him," Harry said simply. "I know now that nothing could have kept him away from Loki, not once Loki invoked that vengeance ritual, but I didn't know that then. I should have made wards or spells or preparations of some kind that would defend him. The same thing happened when the children in the Life-Web died. There should have been some way for me to save them."
"Some things are impossible," Joseph said. "Do you realize that, Harry?" He sounded slightly bemused. Harry supposed it wasn't something he had to explain to most people he talked to.
"And I'm supposed to be the answer to impossibilities," Harry snapped. "I'm supposed to be able to do things that other people can't. That's what having Lord-level power means. Instead of casting Dark spells that torture people or manipulate them into doing what I want, I happen to prefer saving and healing. And people become used to thinking of me as able to do any healing and saving that needs to be done. So when I do run up against something I can't change, I start aching."
"Suicide is still a rather extreme response to that kind of failure," Joseph noted. "Especially since it would prevent you from saving or healing anyone else in the future."
Harry hissed in spite of himself, and wished he had ears to lay back. Lingering poison from the dreams of Voldemort, my arse. My Animagus form is a lynx, and the sooner Peter accepts that, the better and faster he can train me. "I know it is," he said.
"Harry?"
He folded his arms and scowled at the floor.
"Harry?"
"I don't—I don't want to be the kind of person who doesn't keep his promises," Harry said to the floor. "I don't want to be the kind of person who hurts his friends. I don't want to be the kind of person who wounds the world the way that Voldemort does, the way that Dumbledore did."
"And?"
"To avoid becoming that kind of person—if I thought there was no way I could benefit anyone by remaining alive, but would only hurt them—then I would kill myself, yes." Harry raised his head and stared at Joseph. 'That's the way I am. And I know that you're probably going to say suicide is a selfish act, but I'm talking about extremes, rather like the situation with Kieran or the Life-Web. No, I'm speaking about something even more extreme than they are, because I could still benefit Draco and Snape, if no one else, by remaining alive then. If there ever comes a point where it would be more selfish to live than to die, then of course I'm going to die."
Joseph sat in silence for long enough that Harry began to hope he didn't know how to deal with this, and would let him go for right now. He hadn't put his conviction in quite those words before, but of course it was true. How could it not be? He might set safeguards on himself, like the monitoring board; he might have people who loved him for himself, like Draco and Snape. He was much more healed than he had been five years ago. He knew what love for people besides Connor was. He knew that what his parents had done to him was abuse.
But he still did not know how to value his life simply because it was life. Harry was hoping fervently now that it was the kind of knowledge he would never learn. What mattered was how he lived, not that he lived. In the end, when all the other guards were gone, the final judge of his impact on the world had to be himself. And if he did nothing but scar it, how could he justify staying alive?
"And for others?" Joseph asked.
"I don't know what you mean," Harry said pleasantly.
"If you thought your brother was only scarring the world by remaining alive," Joseph said, "would you tell him to kill himself?"
"Of course not," said Harry, recoiling at the thought. "I don't think he ever could arrive at that point. Besides, even if he did consider suicide, he would have to make the decision on his own. I couldn't interfere with his free will like that."
Joseph stared at him in silence a moment longer. Then he said, "You have most unusual views on life and death, Harry."
"But that's a good thing, right?" Harry persisted. "If suicide is a fundamentally selfish decision, then it's good that I'm showing some selfishness, isn't it?"
Joseph put his head in his arms and sighed. Harry watched him, a bit irritated. It seemed that when he did arrive at and believe in whatever conclusions they wanted to foist on him, there was always another set of them waiting just beyond, and then they were angry because Harry didn't believe in them yet.
At last, Joseph said, "And if your Malfoy considered suicide?"
Harry flinched.
"You don't want him to, do you?" Joseph leaned forward. "And yet you can sit here and tell me that you would judge your life as if it were a toll exacted on or paid to the world, and if you found it only exacted, you would cut it short." His voice simmered with a passion that Harry didn't understand.
Harry swallowed a few times. Then he said, "Yes, it would hurt. Merlin, it would hurt." The mere thought of Draco with his wand aimed at himself, or a knife in his hand, made Harry's skin crawl up his spine trying to get away. "But it would still be his decision. I would argue with him if I thought he was under the Imperius Curse or otherwise influenced from the outside, and I would need loads of proof that he wasn't. If it were under his own free will, then I would have to stand aside. I would have to. I would hate it, but I would have to."
Surprisingly, Joseph smiled. "At least, there, you do see yourself and others in the same light," he murmured. Then he leaned forward again. "And now I wanted to ask you about what you think might make your life worth living, beyond the pleasure that you receive from helping and healing others."
Harry sighed. "This is going to be about how things taste again, isn't it?"
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Harry waited patiently outside the castle for Connor to come back from Care of Magical Creatures. It was an unusually beautiful day for mid-November, the rush of clouds across the sky polishing it to the color of diamond, and the sun lingering as if reluctant to abandon the world, even though the clouds were racing to meet it. Harry could smell frost in the wind, and he wondered, absently, if the blessing Remus had spoken for him would soon come true after all, snow and pine needles.
He heard laughter on the edge of his perceptions, mad, exultant laughter. He ignored it. The wild Dark could call Draco all it wanted, and he was already preparing for the ritual that he would hold on Midwinter. But that didn't mean Harry had to listen to it. He told the laughter to go away.
In a few days, Harry thought, leaning back to breathe in the wind, it would be a year since his parents' trial. He shook his head. He could not even have imagined that he would feel this way a year later, after the broken mess he'd been then. But at the time, he didn't think he had really conceived of living beyond the few days in which the trial would take place. He had thought too much of rescuing James and Lily, and not enough of what would happen afterwards.
"Harry!"
There was his brother. Harry put the unhappy thoughts away, and rose to his feet with a smile. Then he raised his eyebrows, and wondered if not telling his brother that he wanted to play a Seekers' game with him was the best idea after all. Parvati trailed behind Connor, not exactly beside him, but close enough that Harry could entertain the idea of them having a conversation.
"Connor," he said, and nodded to Parvati. She looked at him with haunted eyes for a moment, then shook her head and walked past him into the castle. Harry forced himself to drop those thoughts, too, just like the broken memories of his parents' trial. In the past few days, he hoped, his Occlumency barriers had finally started to recover from Halloween. He would be grateful when they were back to full strength, and he could control his own mind in the way to which he'd become accustomed. "I thought we'd fly together, if you had no objection."
"Of course not." Connor grinned at him. "I can show you the move that won me the Snitch and the Gryffindor-Slytherin game."
"I can counter it," said Harry, feeling a rush of simple happiness that didn't have its origin, for once, in anything complicated he had done to help the world. His brother's grin brought back too many memories of flying together in Godric's Hollow. Harry had held himself back, yes, so that neither his parents nor his brother had ever guessed his true skill on a broom, but that had become second nature by the time he was eight or nine, and then he had enjoyed the games by riding on top of his instincts, and having fun. He was curious to see if he could recapture the feeling now that it wouldn't have that quiet, simmering satisfaction of knowing he was obeying Lily underneath it.
"No, you can't." Connor rolled his eyes. "It's a move that Ron and I developed, one you've never even heard of."
"And Ron isn't here right now," Harry pointed out.
Connor narrowed his eyes then. "That doesn't matter. I'm going to defeat you anyway."
Harry snorted, and they made for the Quidditch shed, arguing on the way.
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Connor was determined, this time. The game on Saturday had been wonderful, productive, brilliant. The Gryffindor team had never flown like that before, but they were already planning the next time they would fly like that.
But Connor would still have felt better about it if they had flown like that and beaten Harry at the same time. The Slytherin team without him had floundered so badly that there wasn't as much satisfaction in defeating them. As Harry had said, the Slytherins had lost so badly that they didn't really deserve the Quidditch Cup.
And now Harry had offered him the chance to show what he could really do, opposite his brother on a broom.
Connor picked up his own broom, the Nimbus, with a tingle of excitement that seemed to pass through his hands and communicate itself to the wood. He could hear Katie Bell's voice in his head if he listened, the lecture she'd given them during their last practice before the game proper.
"A lot of people will tell you that flying is like dueling, but they don't mean the same thing by it that I do. They mean it's a matter of life or death if you happen to fall off your broomstick or something else goes wrong in the air. But what it really should be like is that quickness and cleverness counts. A weaker wizard can win a duel with a stronger one because he thinks of a spell faster, or he uses a minor hex in a way that an opponent who only uses the Unforgivables would disdain. It's the same thing in Quidditch. Your opponent could have the better broom, and you could still win. In fact, I think we all know that's possible."
Her glance had stabbed Connor. He'd done his best to stand straight and tall, and nod to Katie. They'd known by then, of course, that they wouldn't be playing Harry on Saturday, but Connor had also known that Katie thought him capable of beating his brother if he were playing. Harry's Firebolt shouldn't be allowed to make that much difference, and neither should his battle training. This was Quidditch, and Connor was good at Quidditch. There was no reason for him to lose just because Harry was the Seeker on the opposite team.
Harry had his broom in hand by now, and had faced the back of the shed. "Accio Snitch," he murmured. Connor felt the twang of several unlocking spells undone, and then the Snitch came zipping through the darkness of the shed and floated around his head.
Connor snickered. "Should you have done that?" he asked.
"Oh, it'll give the monitoring board one more thing to yell at me about, and that will make them happy." Harry shrugged and slung his leg over his Firebolt. "Come on." He raced out the door of the Quidditch shed before Connor could respond, or even ask why the monitoring board should care about minor school infractions, the Snitch following him as if attached to a lead.
With a surge of determination, Connor hopped on the Nimbus and rode out the door, too, though he came perilously close to scraping a shoulder on the wood. But if Harry could do it, then he could. Will counted for a lot.
Yes, said an inconvenient voice from somewhere inside him. Will was what held Harry back when he could easily have defeated you in your games as children.
Connor told the inconvenient voice to shut up. Sometimes he thought like that, and it galled him. It reminded him too much of the way things had been. He wouldn't live like that again, mindlessly relying on Harry's fondness for him to let him win games or do anything else important. If he was going to defeat Harry, he was going to do it on his merits.
Harry was circling above the Pitch, waiting for him, when Connor made his way out of the shed. Harry nodded to him, and then released his hold on the Snitch. The tiny golden ball streaked away immediately, twinkling once before fading. Connor smiled. The cloudy nature of the day would make it harder for them to find it, since there was little sun to shine on it.
His brother lay along the Firebolt, his eyes scanning ahead. Connor started wheeling in the opposite direction, breathing deeply to send himself into the half-trance most useful for locating the Snitch. He tried to reach out, to think like it did, to put himself in its place, and know where he would go to evade the clumsy, grabbing hands of the waiting Seekers.
He lost track of what Harry was doing, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the sudden flash beneath him, and the way he began diving before the command to dive entered his head. Good, that was good. If he were going to defeat Harry on quickness alone, then he would have to think with his muscles, even before he thought with his brain.
A glimpse of movement from the side startled him and broke his trance. He jerked his head around to see Harry diving in a long, steep curve, flying with only his knees locked on the broom, his hand extended impatiently forward. The Snitch darted to the side at the last moment, and Harry cursed as it escaped.
I don't want to win just because he only has one hand, either, Connor thought, and called, even as he kept a desperate eye out for the Snitch, "Do you want me to tie a hand behind my back, Harry, to make it a bit easier for you?"
Harry rolled his eyes at him as if that weren't worthy of an answer, and Connor supposed it really wasn't. He turned his glide into another circle, watching hawk-eyed, certain that he would spot the Snitch in a moment.
But he didn't, and moments turned into minutes, and minutes turned into what felt like a quarter of an hour or a half hour. Connor shivered as the wind cut through his clothes. They wore only ordinary robes, not Quidditch gear, other than the gloves. At the moment when they reached the Quidditch shed, it hadn't seemed possible to take the time to dress properly. Now, Connor was wishing that that had happened, much as he was wishing that the Snitch would appear.
Harry swooped past him, into a long, elegant wave of a dive that pointed him abruptly straight at the ground. Connor had one moment, just one, to decide if this was a feint designed to throw him off or the real thing.
He saw Harry's head, the way it was bent, and the way his neck muscles twitched, and the way his hand had already left the broomstick again, as though he could not bear to keep it flat, and thought, Real.
He followed hard on Harry's heels, but just beneath him, so that the Nimbus wasn't so much chasing the Firebolt as shadowing it. He snapped his head up and down like a bird searching for worms, hoping to see a streak of light out of the corner of one eye.
The wind shrieked in his ears, and then he saw the Snitch, doing a lazy spiral halfway between him and the ground. Connor let out a shriek of triumph. Harry's dive had been a feint after all, but it had led him in the right direction. He plummeted, chasing it.
Then he saw a shadow drift past him, and realized Harry had gone beneath the Snitch and was now rising to catch it.
Connor's heart pounded hard as he aimed from above while Harry aimed from below. Either of them could be foiled in a moment by the Snitch darting off to the side, but it hovered there as if waiting for them. He could feel the gold in his hand, and taste eagerness in his mouth. His fingers twitched. He was going to capture it. He would make this work. It would work. He was going to make this work.
He fell, yielding control of his broomstick entirely to the wind. The Snitch glowed, and didn't seem inclined to move. Connor's hand shot out, his fingers curved like claws.
And Harry swept past in a blaze of speed and took it away.
Connor cursed, and then had something else to curse about as the wind made the Nimbus buck, very nearly sending him into the Keeper's goal. He locked his legs desperately on the broom and turned sideways, into the wind, letting it bear him up and over, and then kicked out of it. The Nimbus spun twice, then righted itself. Connor sighed and turned to look at Harry.
He felt some of his resentment and desperation melt at the sight of his brother. Harry's mouth was open with laughter, his eyes bright with it. And he was waving the Snitch around as if it weren't just a Snitch, but the answer to defeating Voldemort. Connor thought he could give up a little satisfaction, for that.
"I beat you," Harry crowed across the distance between them, and Connor reconsidered.
"Luck," he said. "Not skill. And your broom is faster."
"Speed is skill, in Quidditch." Harry patted the Firebolt without letting go of the Snitch, then grinned at him. "Want another one?"
Abruptly, his head jerked to the side, and he frowned. Connor looked warily around the Pitch. When Harry looked like that, Death Eaters tended to appear out of nowhere. "What is it?" he asked.
"Someone just came onto the school grounds," Harry said distantly, staring at nothing Connor could see. "Someone powerful. Not Voldemort, or I would have recognized him. Not Falco, either. But I don't see what other powerful wizard could—"
"Harry!"
Connor glanced down. He recognized the wizard standing at the edge of the Quidditch Pitch: Thomas Rhangnara. He waved and cupped his hands around his mouth. Connor couldn't tell if he was simply a naturally loud shouter, or if he had used some spell to enhance his voice, but Connor heard him as if he were up on a broom beside them.
"Jing-Xi is here," Rhangnara called. Connor looked at his brother, and wondered why Harry had turned pale at the name. "With the Headmistress's permission, of course. She would like to meet you."
Harry swallowed audibly, and called back, "Just a moment, Thomas!" He took his broom down in lazy loops that, while the preferred method for landing, were not what he normally used, being too slow. Connor caught up with him on the way down and snagged the Firebolt's bristles, making Harry look at him.
"Who is he talking about?" he asked.
Harry swallowed again. "Chinese Light Lady," he said. "One of the researchers who helped Thomas with the Grand Unified Theory. She said that she would be interested in meeting me. I just—I don't—I've never met someone with Lord-level power who wasn't trying to kill me or manipulate me before. I don't know if there's some special etiquette I'm supposed to use around her, or not." His hand scratched the back of his neck, and Connor had to catch the Snitch as it flew away.
"If she wants to criticize you, tell her to save the world first," said Connor firmly, and pushed his brother on the back. "Do you want me to go with you?"
"Jing-Xi wants to see you alone," Rhangnara called, answering that question.
Harry gave him a sickly smile, and then dived. Connor followed, wondering why he was so nervous. It wasn't as though Harry had known what laws and courtesies normally bound Lords and Ladies, and had mucked around actively violating them. No one had ever bothered to tell him what those laws and courtesies were.
And if she helped Rhangnara, surely she's reasonable.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Harry didn't know what to expect as he halted outside the room that had been Sirius's office during the years he helped with the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He could feel Jing-Xi's power beating beyond the door, but he wasn't close enough yet to tell just what it felt like—or even whether she might have barriers up to spare him some of the overwhelming effect or not. He didn't know what to say, what to do, what kind of etiquette might govern someone in a situation like this.
He forced himself to take a few deep breaths and push his emotions into the Occlumency pools. The barriers held. They would have to hold. He knocked on the door, and felt the power turn its attention towards him. Or, no, not the power, the mind. Harry wondered if perhaps that was normal. He felt his own magic and Voldemort's as something separate from them. Dumbledore's power, he hadn't felt often enough, and with Falco, both his magic and his mind were so inhuman that it was hard to comprehend them. But perhaps the magic was supposed to represent the Lord's or Lady's personality, rather than just a facet of that personality.
He had no idea.
"Come in," said a pleasant voice with shades of several accents. Harry cautiously pushed the door open.
Jing-Xi was sitting on a chair in front of the fireplace, which she had Flooed through when she received McGonagall's permission to come to Hogwarts. She wore a garment half-gown and half-robe, of bright, pale green mixed with gold. Her hair was long and black and straight, and drifted around her like waving tendrils in deep seawater. Her eyes were dark and bright, and fixed on him at once, expectantly.
But it was her magic that Harry was most interested in. He would have been able to tell she was Declared for Light with no previous warning, he thought. Her magic curled around him, nudging at him with lively curiosity, but showed no inclination to venture in where unwelcome. Now and then it formed into the image of a cat or a winged horse, shadows that foamed around Jing-Xi and collapsed in on themselves.
"Hello, Harry," Jing-Xi said.
Harry met her eyes uncertainly. His right shoulder sagged under a sudden weight, and he realized the bird had landed on him. He glanced at it and saw that it was swishing its lizard tail, scarlet eyes fixed on the Light Lady.
"Hello," he said, because it seemed polite, and the bird wasn't on the point of attacking her, anyway. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what kind of greetings I'm supposed to offer."
Jing-Xi rose. Harry was startled to realize how tall she was; she had seemed small in comparison to the puddle of her gown and her floating hair, but she stood nearly the height of Bill Weasley. She dipped her head to him in grave courtesy, then held out a hand. "Clasp my wrist," she instructed, when Harry continued to hover uncertainly. "Then allow your magic to flow over mine. That is the customary way of greeting among those of our power." Her eyes were still bright with something too gentle to be pity. "And it is not a surprise that no one ever taught you that, considering what I know of your history."
Harry felt his face heat up, but he could hardly deny that he had been abused, or that he had never encountered someone like Jing-Xi on equal grounds. He clasped her wrist, and tried to relax the barriers on his magic enough so that she could understand what he was like without drowning.
He realized, quickly, when the flow of her power came back to him, that she wasn't worried about drowning, and neither should he be. This sea of magic was entirely separate from his, and not just because it was Light. Jing-Xi didn't want to hurt or control him. Harry hadn't realized how much of a difference that would make. He felt as if he were gazing into a mirror of light and surging water, while a patient hand scribed words on the glass so that he could read them.
Jing-Xi didn't want to hurt him. She was interested in Harry's unique circumstances, including the age at which he'd come to his power and the fact that he was the magical heir of another Lord, which had happened before, but not very often. She wanted to know more about what he was like as vates, and she wanted to see Britain's one sane Lord, as she considered him, take a stable place in the magical community. Those last two were concerns anyone of Lord-level power might have had, but the first two were flavored with a delving, driving, focused version of Thomas's thirst for knowledge. She wanted to know because she wanted to see how those things mattered to Harry, not just because they might affect her in the future.
The communion ended, and Harry blinked and stepped back. He studied Jing-Xi's face, trying to figure out what she might have seen about him. Her eyes had gone wide; he didn't know if that should gratify him or not. She definitely didn't look bored, or as if the answers to her questions had been horrible.
"Sit down, please, Harry," she said, and resumed her own seat, settling herself with a shake of her head that sent her hair drifting in new directions. It didn't go very far, Harry noted; an invisible net seemed to scoop it up and bring it back close to her head. Jing-Xi saw him watching it, and smiled.
"You like this spell?" she asked. "I cannot claim credit for it, I fear. It was a gift from Stormgale."
"Stormgale?" Harry echoed blankly as he sat down on the other chair. She spoke as if he should know who that was, but though he now felt he knew Jing-Xi herself better, the name was still unfamiliar. And the way that Jing-Xi studied him now made him wonder if he had violated another unwritten rule. It took all his effort to sit still.
"Kanerva Stormgale," said Jing-Xi slowly. "The Dark Lady of Finland. I had assumed you knew her. It was partly her power you would have faced when you battled the wild Dark last Midwinter."
Harry shook his head, but not so much in denial of the acquaintance as in wonder. "Did she want to destroy the British Isles?"
"Yes," said Jing-Xi. "Actually." She gave a smile that looked half-sad to Harry. "It takes a special kind of Lady to give herself to the Dark and not lose her sanity completely," she murmured. "Stormgale's sanity did not survive the transition. She wishes for the wild Dark to destroy the world; she will help it along herself, but she does not actively take a part in harming others as Tom Riddle does. That might help somebody along the way, such as by gratifying the enemies of the people she killed. What she would rather do is gift the wild Dark with power and hope it can overcome the Light. Her specialty is winter, the wind and the ice and the storm, and someday she will go so deeply into them that she will never come back. She was very irritated when you defeated the wild Dark." Jing-Xi tapped a finger against her teeth, with an audible ringing sound that made Harry jump. "That could be why she's never contacted you, come to think of it. She and I have a friendship of sorts, but physical closeness to another Lord or Lady means nothing to her. What means something is finding somewhat of a kindred spirit. So far as I can tell, I am the only one she has ever sensed."
"Would I have to worry about her attacking the British Isles?" Harry asked anxiously. Just what I need, a mad Dark Lady on top of Falco and Voldemort.
"I don't believe so," said Jing-Xi calmly. "As I said, she is selfish. She has no sworn companions. She does not want to share her life with anyone except randomly and rarely. In her own way, she obeys the Pact."
"What Pact?" Harry could hear the capital letter, but he had no idea what Jing-Xi meant.
"The Pact among the Lords and Ladies in the world," said Jing-Xi. "For the most part, Harry, we do not want war. We know that we could destroy too much of the world between us. The Dark Lords and Ladies don't want that to happen because they would no longer have lands and people left to rule over, and the Light Lords and Ladies don't want that to happen for the obvious reason. Voldemort is an exception. So was Grindelwald. And then of course there are the two Lords in Australia, but they confine their struggles to one another, and keep the Muggles from noticing anything all by themselves." Jing-Xi shrugged. "So, though we kept an eye on Voldemort when he returned to Britain and announced himself twenty-six years ago, we did not do anything to interfere. His native opposition, the Light Lord Albus Dumbledore, must handle him, unless he actually extended his efforts at conquest into another international wizarding community."
"He has, though," said Harry, wondering what in the world the Pact would mean to him as vates. He was not about to refrain from trying to free a magical creature species simply because they lived in Africa or Asia instead of Britain, or, for that matter, if they lived in the rest of Europe. "He's recruited Death Eaters from other countries."
"That doesn't answer the definition of conquest under the Pact," said Jing-Xi. "He must actually have attacked wizards in those countries, provably—the Dark Lord himself, in this case, and not his Death Eaters or people who may have been acting on his orders."
Harry nodded slowly. He didn't entirely like the sound of that, but, presumably, their agreement had endured for so long because it worked. "And because I'm vates, and webs are melting now because of my presence in the world?" he asked. "How does that fit in under the Pact?"
"It doesn't," said Jing-Xi. "The Pact is only a few centuries old, and was made without a vates in mind. It has been much longer since someone came as far as you did, Harry, and then she fell to using compulsion." For a moment, Jing-Xi closed her eyes, and shook her head. "I have read her diaries," she murmured. "She did remarkable things. And then she tried too hard to demonstrate her control of magic, and grew more interested in that than in serving and freeing others, and she was using compulsion inside a month. She Declared not long after."
Harry shuddered a bit. "I will not let that happen to me," he said.
Jing-Xi regarded him thoughtfully. "I see that you don't want to let it happen to you," she answered. "But, at the same time, you must understand that many of the Lords and Ladies aren't happy with you, Harry."
Harry snorted. "Well, you told me that I don't fit under the Pact. But I had no idea what it was, either, or how to obey it."
Jing-Xi leaned forward and squeezed his hand. "That's why I'm here to help you," she said. "You are unique—the magical heir of another Lord, a vates, the youngest Lord-level wizard in history, someone who refuses to Declare. The others don't know what to make of you and would cause problems because of their uncertainty, or they would sit around dithering before they would move, or they wouldn't move at all, like Stormgale. They are willing to leave the problems of reaching out to you up to me. And I don't mind it, Harry," she added, before Harry could open his mouth. "You are young. That is the reason for your ignorance, which you cannot help. Any mistakes that you have made so far are excusable, because of that. And because you are Lord-level, not a Lord, there are some things you will never do the same as the rest of us. I want to help you come to terms with the Pact—that is necessary, since the others would be sworn to rise against you if you refused to obey it and started freeing magical species in a country other than Britain—but also retain enough of what makes you yourself that you do not surrender what you are doing. What you are doing is necessary to the world." She squeezed his hand. "I firmly believe that."
"If you don't mind me asking, my Lady—"
"Jing-Xi, please. We address each other by first names most of the time, Harry."
Harry nodded. "How old were you when your power manifested?"
Jing-Xi laughed. The illusion of a wave broke over her head and then faded. "That is a hard question to answer, Harry. My magic simply never stopped growing. I should have been able to tell how strong I was at twenty, but not even my parents could answer that. And then I was stronger still at thirty, and a Lady-level witch at forty." She gave him a wistful smile. "My nearest neighbors are the Lords in Australia, and Stormgale, of course, contacts me only when she wishes to, and I rarely see my dearest friends, the Light Ladies who live in America and Mexico, thanks to their constant work. I would appreciate teaching you, if only to have a connection to, and a friendship with, another equal of mine."
"I'm not exactly equal, my l—Jing-Xi," Harry pointed out. He could tell she was a bit stronger than he was.
"You are equal in all the ways that matter, Harry." Jing-Xi squeezed his hand again. "At this level, one must stop comparing and accept what comes, because there are precious few of us in the world."
Harry felt his shoulders slump in relaxation. "So you don't mind that I may have broken the courtesies between us, or violated the Pact without knowing what it was," he murmured.
"No." Jing-Xi stood. "I cannot stay long this time, but I need not teach you everything all at once, either. Do I have your permission to come back and approach you again, Harry vates?"
Surprised at the sudden formality, Harry blinked. "Why would you need my permission?"
"You are, essentially, Lord of the British Isles," said Jing-Xi. "Voldemort is mad, and Falco Parkinson abdicated responsibility by retreating from the world for so long a stretch of time. And I would normally never step onto another Lord's territory without his invitation."
Harry kissed the back of her hand. "You are assuredly welcome, my lady." His heart was thumping hard, in wonder and joy that he might actually understand something about what he was. The bird on his shoulder had vanished already. It approved of Jing-Xi, Harry sensed, and would not try to harm her.
"Thank you, Harry." Jing-Xi smiled at him. "Declared or not, I find a congenial spirit in you. I think we will work well together." Her smile widened. "Perhaps I might even persuade Stormgale to meet you, at one point in the future."
After the thoughts of suicide and a carefully restrained present that had haunted him this week, Harry thought, it was odd to think of a future unmarred by the presence of Voldemort, a future where he might be what he actually wanted to be.
It was even stranger to think that there was someone as powerful as he was who could help him in reaching that future.
"It would be a pleasure to meet her," he said, and gave Jing-Xi a bow, and if there was anything wrong with how deeply he bowed, she didn't correct him.
