Chapter Sixty: Prometheus Unbound

Draco opened the bedroom door slowly, keeping his wand out. Harry hadn't been at dinner, and Professor Snape had come in looking more than a little shocked, as if he had seen a unicorn gallop through the dungeons. Draco couldn't discount that something had happened to Harry. It probably wasn't something bad, because otherwise Professor Snape would have looked murderous, but even merely "unexpected" was often also "inconvenient."

He'd even approached Potter and asked, but Potter, the prat, hadn't known anything. Draco had stung him with an insult and gone away. He was sure that he would have known more than Potter about Harry if Harry were his brother.

The bedroom appeared empty at first, but then Draco realized the curtains were drawn on the near side of the bed. He steeled himself to find Harry wounded or sick, and yanked them open.

Harry turned his head towards him.

Draco actually dropped his wand. He was just glad that no one else was in the room to see that wholly embarrassing and rather unnecessary episode. He didn't immediately reach down and pick it up, either. He couldn't take his gaze from his partner's face.

Some shadow that had lingered in the back of his eyes had gone away. Some tension that had always hunched his shoulders had vanished. Some darkness that had—

And then Draco decided he should stop using metaphors and actually ask Harry, because Harry had lifted himself onto his knees, reached out, caught Draco's shoulder with his hand, and leaned forward to kiss him. Or, well, all right. He'd ask him when the kiss was done.

Draco responded automatically, lifting one arm around Harry's shoulders. He realized his hand was shaking. He finally broke free, panting a little, and said, "Talk." And now his voice shook. He couldn't recall Harry ever kissing like that, like it wasn't a chore or a means to relax but something he really wanted, perhaps even needed.

Harry laughed. And even the laughter was different. Draco told himself it couldn't be and he was imagining things, but the laughter sounded in his ears as defiantly different, no matter what he thought.

And now he was repeating himself, if only in his head. He fixed his eyes sternly on Harry's face and waited.

"I was a hypocrite to Connor today," said Harry, sitting on the edge of the bed and swinging his legs. Draco's puzzlement increased. He couldn't recall Harry making many excess movements, either, or at least not out of joy. They usually expressed worry or fury or fear. "I snapped at him when I should have known how to hold my tongue, since he'd just had a traumatic experience—"

Draco snorted.

Harry eyed him. "Rosier kidnapped him and tried to kill him."

"Well, perhaps I can concede it was traumatic, then," said Draco, and inclined his head an inch. "But I'm more interested in the impact this experience had on you, Harry, thanks."

"So I snapped, and I shouldn't have," Harry continued, this time crossing his legs and bouncing the right up and down on the left. "I went to Joseph, to ask if some barrier had broken that I didn't know about. He laughed at me, then told me it was normal, and everyone is a hypocrite sometimes. And—well, it was like the tide of the lessons that everyone has been trying to teach me broke over me all at once. I realized that I can live, and that I can be normal, and that I can make mistakes and not lacerate myself over them, because everyone makes them. I realize that I wanted to live, really." Harry tapped his left wrist. "And I realized, after I went and finally forgave Snape for bringing my parents to trial, that I wanted to break the last of the curses on my wrist. So we did, Argutus and I." He gestured to the end of the bed. Following his gaze, Draco saw the Omen snake asleep on top of Harry's trunk.

"So, Draco, what do you think?"

He turned back around to see Harry sitting eagerly forward, eyes fixed on his face.

Wanting his approval. Demanding it, where before he might have hinted at best, or sat there with his eyes meekly downcast and accepted whatever criticisms Draco wanted to make.

Draco reached forward gently, and cradled Harry's cheek in his hand. Harry grinned a bit.

"You can touch me more firmly than that," he said. "I won't break."

Draco shook his head, not sure how he could convey what he wanted to say—"I know" would sound inane—and then kissed Harry thoroughly, persistently, deeply. Harry leaned back and moaned, opening himself to it, more trusting and with more barriers lowered than Draco had ever seen him give. Tears stung his eyes, but he was already putting them aside, especially when images of snakes and cats began to waltz around Harry.

They had at least an hour before anyone else required their presence. And there was only one way Draco knew to make Harry really understand what this change meant to him.

He climbed onto the bed and drew the curtains closed around them, shutting out the worry, shutting in the joy.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Connor leaned around Hermione and stared at Harry again. Harry and Draco had just come out of NEWT Potions and were debating whatever Snape had had them brew today. Draco was grinning like a fool, so much so that it interfered with his side of the debate. Harry made wider gestures with his arms than Connor had ever seen him make, and slammed his fist into Draco's shoulder when he apparently said something particularly inane. Connor shook his head in wonder. Something's different with Harry, but I don't know what it is.

"Hermione?"

She glanced up from her Potions book. Connor and Ron had waited to collect her before they went to lunch, but Hermione didn't seem as concerned about eating or walking down the hall as trying to improve a performance that was no doubt already perfect. "Hmmm?"

"What's—I mean, does Harry look different to you?"

Hermione turned around and gave a critical glance back down the hall. Then she shrugged. "Oh, that. He's happy, that's all." She added something about "powdered bicorn horn" and went back to frowning at the text. "It doesn't say to stir counterclockwise on that potion," she muttered. "How did Harry know how to do that? I hope Professor Snape hasn't been giving him extra lessons simply to make him better, when he doesn't need any help. That would be unfair."

Ron snorted and straightened up from the wall. "This is Snape, Hermione. When has he ever been anything but unfair?"

Connor couldn't stop looking at Harry. He hadn't seen much of him yesterday, but he would have thought his little adventure on Saturday would still weigh heavily on his brother's shoulders. And now—

"Did he say why he's happy, Hermione?" he asked.

"Something about learning things," said Hermione, and then stuck her nose pointedly in the book and headed down the corridor towards the Great Hall, avoiding bags and feet by means of specially-trained Hermione senses. Ron followed her, leaving Connor to hover indecisively. He wanted to ask his brother, but he wasn't sure that Harry wouldn't resent him interrupting the debate.

Harry caught sight of him just then, though, and waved him over. Connor trotted slowly nearer. Draco frowned and put a hand on his wand, but it was Harry's wide smile that made him wariest.

"Sorry I didn't tell you yesterday, Connor," Harry said, not sounding all that apologetic. "But I was busy writing letters. The situation with the monitoring board is ridiculous. We're meeting this Saturday and that's that." He shrugged. "I'm better, though. I decided to forgive Snape and break the last curse on my left wrist, and the moment I can decide on which kind of artificial hand I like best, I'll be getting one and learning how to use it. I'll want to Transfigure it into flesh eventually."

Connor just stared.

He had never known his brother this happy, this fully human. Whatever had happened had slammed down barriers Connor would have said would never fall, if someone had asked him on Saturday.

"Connor?"

Harry had waved his hand in front of Connor's face, looking concerned. Draco was leaning on his shoulder the way he had the first morning after they shagged, his eyes just daring Connor to say something stupid. Connor shook his head and snapped out of his spell. Whatever had changed, he was, of course, happy for Harry. And he wondered if Draco realized yet that more and more people would find this changed Harry attractive, and possibly make offers for him. The courting ritual wasn't irreversibly binding until Halloween of this year, if Connor understood correctly.

"Congratulations, Harry," he said, and held out his hand. Harry shook it, then pulled him into a hug. Connor was near enough to hear Draco growl softly. He rolled his eyes and deliberately held onto Harry a little longer than he normally would. After all, now he knew it wouldn't make his brother uncomfortable, and Draco could stand to learn that sometimes Harry wanted to hug other people.

"Thanks," said Harry as he let go. Then he smiled. "Oh, and Connor?"

Turning away to catch up with Ron and Hermione, Connor paused. "Yeah?"

"I found that ward you put on Draco and me to warn you whenever we're doing more than kissing," said Harry, voice still pleasant. "If you ever do something like that again, then the ward will make sure you get images of what we're doing instead. Full-color images that won't go away no matter what you do."

Connor shuddered, while Draco laughed. It was one thing to know that his brother had a sex life, Connor thought. It was another to know that he was willing to discuss it, and it was another thing altogether to see it, especially when it involved a Malfoy.

Maybe Draco isn't the only one who has to get used to a changed Harry.

"Uh, I'll remember that."

Harry nodded serenely at him and walked towards the Great Hall. Draco followed him. He must have thought they were at an angle where Connor couldn't see them, because, for a moment, he had the soppiest expression on his face. Connor would have said, if forced to describe it, that he'd fallen more deeply in love with Harry just over the course of the last few moments.

Damn Parvati for making me see things like that, Connor thought, and gave himself a clout on the ear to, hopefully, forget it, and went on to lunch.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Owen shut the door of the classroom slowly behind him. He had received a message from his brother, a brief warble of phoenix song followed by an equally brief five words, asking him to meet Michael here, in this small room they'd adopted as their private place. It was little more than a broom closet, but it worked, especially because they weren't in the same House and Owen spent so much time apart from his brother since he'd chosen to remain Harry's sworn companion.

He had expected many things when he came here, including the rage or regret Michael usually expressed, or demands for gossip about Draco. Owen always refused to provide the last, but that didn't stop his twin from asking.

He had not expected tears.

He cast Lumos, since the room had no windows. Michael sat with his head bowed in his folded arms on one of the desks, trying not to cry and miserably failing. His sobs were quiet, though. If Owen hadn't heard his brother sob before, he didn't know that he would have recognized the sounds.

He moved up behind Michael and rubbed his arm. Michael continued to cry without acknowledging him for a moment, then turned with startling violence and embraced Owen. Owen curved his own arm around his brother's shoulders, and they stood like that.

Then Michael broke away from him, stood up, and intoned a curse Owen hadn't heard him use since their fifth year at Durmstrang. The desk disintegrated, floating down into a pile of dust and sand.

Michael aimed his wand at three more desks and did the same thing. And then he stood there, flushed, and panting, and tearful, and obviously hating the fact that he couldn't hide his tears any more.

"Are you quite done?" Owen asked.

"It's hopeless, isn't it?" Michael asked dully, and slumped to the floor. "I saw them today. Draco's never going to leave him, is he? When the vates changed, for whatever reason, he bound Draco to him for good."

It disturbed Owen that Michael would only call Harry vates and not by his name, but at least he could discuss him at all; when Harry had first released Michael from his oath, he would only say him in a tone of spitting contempt. Owen sat down beside his brother. "I think it was hopeless even before that," he said, and rolled his eyes when Michael glared at him. "Well, I do. You know my opinion. If our roles were different, if you had known Draco before last year, if Harry wasn't the kind of political leader he is—if, if, if. The point is, by the time you met Draco, it was clear what their roles were, and what one you were going to choose. You really shouldn't have sworn to Harry if you knew that you couldn't control yourself around Draco."

"You're only this sensible because you've never been in love," said Michael sullenly, and buried his head in his arms.

"Maybe I am," said Owen. "It doesn't change the fact that you took on a certain set of responsibilities and then betrayed those responsibilities." His voice grew stern in spite of his resolve to remain sympathetic. "You were a sworn companion, Michael. And like I said, you shouldn't have taken up those duties in the first place if—"

"Yes, I've heard this from you, a hundred times." Michael stood up and paced restlessly around the room, pausing to kick viciously at a desk that still existed. Then he spun around and stared intently at Owen. "Tell me this. What do you think of Draco now?"

Owen sat back, half-lidded his eyes, and thought about that. He hadn't thought much of Draco at first. He was important to Harry and had an accepted role in his life, and it wasn't Owen's place to speak badly about him, or offer his opinion at all unless it was asked for. Of course, he had his opinion, and that was that Draco sometimes displayed flashes of blinding power and insight, but was far more likely to display flashes of blinding stupidity, and needed Harry much more than Harry needed him.

In the past few days, watching them wheel around each other like a pair of dragons in springtime, Owen had revised that opinion, but he hadn't put words to it until now.

"They need each other," he said quietly. "They rely on each other in ways beyond the obvious. And sometimes I can see that strength in Draco that I was missing before, when he casts a spell in NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts, or looks at Harry and thinks no one is watching. He hasn't learned that you can be quiet and still be strong, yet, I think. He's inclined to blare it, but that kind of blaring usually contains arrogance and conceals no strength at all. Now he's starting to shine in the quiet moments, too. Strong and loud at the same time. He's learning. Slowly, but learning."

"And now you think—"

"I think I can see why you claim you're in love with him, yes." Owen looked up at Michael. "I still think you were stupid to do what you did."

Surprisingly, his brother ignored the statement Owen thought he would take offense to and latched onto the other. "Claim I'm in love with him?" His face flushed, and he bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Owen let out a small breath, his eyes locked on Michael's. "It's not the kind of love Mother had for Father, or he for her," he said. "It's not the kind of love Harry and Draco have. You want someone to shelter, Michael. I can understand that. But Draco isn't someone who would be content to shelter behind you. He wants to fight beside his lover in battle. This is the first time I've thought he might actually be able to do it, mind."

"And that means that I'm in love with—what?" Michael laughed sardonically. "The reflection of the vates I see in Draco?"

"An illusion."

Michael stared at him for long moments, and then turned and slammed out of the room. Owen winced a bit as the door crashed behind his brother, but he had no intention of retracting what he'd said.

Sometimes he wished he could be kinder, softer, more prone to sympathetic words of the kind that their mother had shared with their father. But he had too much of Charles in him, and Michael had too much of Medusa. And Michael was not head of the Rosier-Henlin family, and did not have to think about the consequences of what he said and did in the same framework.

He had chosen to be a sworn companion, though, with all the glories such a thing implied.

He could not complain because the costs of the glories were more than he would wish to bear.

Owen stood, gently snuffed out the Lumos, and left.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Henrietta did not dance out of the classroom, but that was only because it would be undignified for a professor to dance.

When she got back to her private rooms, she did cast a spell that Transfigured the walls into billowing cloth, like the sides of a tent. Then she had to cast stabilizing spells to make sure Hogwarts didn't collapse around her, but that didn't matter. She had also conjured tea and biscuits, biscuits of a kind she didn't often eat any more, biscuits like her mother had made for her long ago. One crunch, and the chocolate filled her mouth and bubbled around, nearly dripping down her chin. Henrietta closed her eyes and moaned softly. It always did taste better this way, when made with a witch's magic, then when prepared by the hands of house elves. Harry was right about that.

Harry. Harry. Harry.

Henrietta gave into temptation and sang a small song. There was no one around to hear her, since she had silencing spells in place on her quarters already. That way, no students could hear her cursing them when she marked up their essays and found out that they were making the most elementary mistakes with Transfiguration. She had learned things very fast, why couldn't they learn them very fast?

The history song was an old one, about sworn companions accompanying one of the ancient Lords who had actually given a damn about them down a long, dark trail. That had been the Lord Gyrfalcon, who had wanted to destroy Death itself. He had been a corrupted necromancer, not keeping his vows, but he had kept faith with those who followed him. There had been seven of them in the end, Lord Gyrfalcon, his lover Lord Julian Parkinson, and five sworn companions who would not turn back and would never slow down.

Henrietta only got through one verse before she broke into laughter, though, and then cast soap bubbles out of her wand and twisted them into interesting shapes. She took another bite of chocolate biscuit and licked hastily to keep the chocolate where it belonged, inside her mouth, making things sweet.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if the chocolate did drip down, though, she thought, unless a student came to her door and saw her like that. She could stand to lose a bit of the taste. The whole world was sweet, right now.

Harry had changed, and had become what Henrietta had always known he could be—someone who had all the virtues of the ancient Lords without having to Declare.

She leaned back, folded her hands behind her head, and hummed another snatch of the history song. She had watched Harry all week, and there was no doubt that he paid more attention to people around him now and less to his fear of hurting them. And his magic! He had worked Transfigurations that surprised him, but not Henrietta. Lord-level magic took some strange paths to get where it needed to go, and there were a few barriers that could be broken by sheer strength. Harry couldn't break them while he held himself back and restrained his power for reasons Henrietta couldn't understand, but let his magic fly and he had a sudden violent improvement.

He hadn't yet seen his Animagus form, though, he confessed to her. Henrietta was not worried about that. It would come in time.

Harry would survive this war. That was partially because of the change. Now Henrietta had more faith that he would eliminate his enemies before they could do him harm.

But it was also because, if she had had any doubts remaining about Harry, they had just been sealed off. She was his, loyal and close and collared like a running hound. And she was happy to be so.

She wondered if anyone she passed in the halls daily knew that only her love for Harry held her back from cursing them all. She was still a Dark witch. She still had all the contempt for Light wizards that she ever had. She had learned a grudging respect for some of them, especially Headmistress McGonagall.

But if Harry ever asked her to kill McGonagall, Henrietta would not hesitate.

It was very simple, really. There was the rest of the world which was loyal to Harry, Henrietta's comrades. And there was the rest of the world which was not, and would have to go through her to get to him. And if Harry wanted that part of the world dead or maimed or tortured, he had only to ask.

Henrietta smiled at the ceiling. It was not her fault if none of them saw that. They should have paid more attention to the history songs—the ones about the only way dragons had ever agreed to serve wizards, the ones about the courtship of Lord Julian and Lord Gyrfalcon (and what a terror they had been, two Dark Lords united in power and in purpose), the ones about the sworn companions who had stayed and fought for a Lord or Lady instead of running.

Love bound her, love made her tame, and within its chain she was free.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Aurora was waiting.

She had not liked the peremptory tone of Harry's latest letter, the one demanding that they meet in the Ministry that Saturday, or he would know why. It was not like Harry to demand at all. Aurora worried about what it might have cost him, or who might have put him up to it.

But the monitoring board had come, and a few of the Dark wizards had filed in looking excited, as if they had secrets. Aurora had pegged them at once. Harry might have insured that Griselda, and not Aurora, had power over the board itself, but he could not deprive her of her eyes. They were likely candidates for the ones who had put him up to this.

Narcissa Malfoy, in particular. She moved as if treading on a burning cloud, her eyes too bright and her head so high it was a wonder she didn't bang her nose on the ceiling. And she sat down on her side of the table and looked directly at Aurora with a smile she'd never shown before. That made Aurora immediately wary.

And then the door opened, and Harry came in, walking between Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape as if he had not a care in the world.

Aurora half-stood. Now she knew something had happened. Some of the shadows had vanished from Harry's face, and he wasn't cringing in any way or form. He looked at everyone else in the room before her, in fact, nodding to his Dark allies and not bothering to do more than look courteous to the Light wizards. He looked less than that when his eyes passed over Marvin and Shadow.

Then his gaze focused on her.

And he looked at her as if she were a respected enemy.

Aurora squashed her impulse to say something. She inclined her head to Harry instead, and sat back down. Harry took his seat across from Griselda, not releasing her eyes, and used his magic to widen the two chairs next to him, so that Snape and Malfoy could sit down. Aurora had made sure the chairs were a bit narrower than usual on purpose, to see what his reaction would be.

He was responding like a Lord, that was what he was responding like.

Aurora bit her lip in vexation and sat still, her heart pounding hard. At least she knew that Lisa Addlington and Shadow would somewhat curb themselves this time, and talk more softly. That would make the points she hoped to score with Harry easier. If she could show that her influence on them could be wielded for his good as well as his detriment, Harry would be more likely to trust her.

But Harry didn't let Griselda speak, though that had been the procedure at their last meeting. He spoke instead, and his voice was firm, respectful, quiet, and utterly unlike anything he had used before.

"I've decided that the monitoring board should meet on a regular schedule," he said. "Every other Saturday is reasonable, I think. That allows me time to complete my schoolwork, and means I am not leaving Hogwarts at some unreasonable hour of the day. My education is important to me, of course, as an underage wizard." That was said so blandly that Aurora didn't note the sarcasm until a few moments later. "And I would also like other Light wizards on the board."

"We agreed to these," said Aurora, speaking before she thought.

"Oh, I know," said Harry, his eyes, which had turned to look at others, swinging back to meet hers. "But I have come to realize it's not a good idea to let my enemies have control of me, Mrs. Whitestag. And that was what I did, under some misguided idea that my enemies could hate me and yet offer me rational advice."

"None of us hate you, vates," said Lisa, earnestly.

Harry snorted. "I don't think 'dislike' and 'want to control my actions and strip me of my family' is really all that different from hatred, Mrs. Addlington," he said. "I do have Light allies who would like a place on the monitoring board, yet would hold firm to their allegiance. Laura Gloryflower, for example. A few of the Griffinsnest family. Paton Opalline. I did not ask them before because I felt that I could not have them with me." Harry laughed, a small, chilly sound. "Does that make good political sense? Of course not. They are my allies. I owe them more than that."

"And what about keeping a balance of different kinds of wizards on the board, Harry?" Aurora asked. They were losing him. The dragon had woken and snapped the reins, and he would fly if they weren't careful. "We need halfblood and Muggleborn members, and I have never heard of your having any close Muggleborn and halfblood allies."

Harry smiled charmingly. "I am halfblood myself, Mrs. Whitestag," he said. "I think that should count for something. And some of the Opallines are adopted Muggleborns, or halfbloods. They are an enormous family. I'm sure Paton would be happy to send me some of his relatives who fit those requirements if I asked."

"I don't think you know what you're doing, Harry," Aurora said gently, while behind her the others rustled and buzzed in a panic. "You need these members on the monitoring board to reassure your Light allies."

"I can offer them my word and my behavior," said Harry. "If they aren't reassured by that, they won't be my allies, anyway." He looked bored now. "I am reorganizing the board, Mrs. Whitestag. So far, it's been almost nonsensical. When we met, you imposed restrictions on me that no rational person would have agreed to, including that I come here without my guardian. Our meetings are irregular, delayed by bickering that doesn't suit the adults I thought we were. Or almost-adult, in my case." Harry smiled like a shark. "I'll be of age in less than seven months, Mrs. Whitestag. You only have until then to supervise me. To make it count, you should accept the regular meetings with half Light and half Dark wizards as the best compromise I'm willing to make."

Aurora stared around the table. The Dark wizards looked smug. It was obvious they'd all known about this. The goblins looked on the verge of laughter, as much as Aurora could read their ugly faces. The centaur, Bone, stamped his hoof slowly, his gaze fixed on Harry and filled with approval. Griselda seemed to be watching a sunrise. And none of her allies were ready to help her, because they were caught too off-balance by the winds of this hurricane.

Aurora took a deep breath, and turned slowly back to Harry. Whatever had awakened him, she would find and eliminate it if she could, but to have the chance to do that, she needed to stay close to Harry. And she was the most important Light member of the board, ultimately, since she was the leader. She was the one who could persuade the others to accept conditions they might hate. She was the organizer. She would not object too much, lest she be cast off the monitoring board.

"You are right, vates," she said, catching Harry's eye. "The monitoring board has not so far performed its designated purpose. If you think it needs reorganization in order to do so, that is what will happen."

She ignored the clucking and squawking from her allies, staring at Harry, willing him to accept this.

Harry gave her a lazy, self-satisfied smile that said he knew what she was doing, and appreciated it, damn him.

Someone put the notion of his own power into his head.

And from that, her course was clear—at least her goal, if not the way she would need to tread to get there.

Somehow, I must get it out again.