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Chapter Eighty-Eight: From Adalrico's Hand

"Minister. May I speak to you for a moment in private?"

Rufus glanced up casually. He had been expecting Juniper to approach him almost from the moment the Wizengamot had agreed to suspend discussion of the werewolf packs' activities for the day, but he was surprised the man had done so in front of Elder Hollyshead, a well-known rival of Juniper's. He won't believe that we're in collusion, no matter how much Juniper wants him to. "Of course, Elder," he said. "Let me finish this conversation, and we can converse here quickly, so that you might get home at a reasonable hour."

Juniper gave a faint, inflexible movement of his lips that could look like a smile, if studied under the right light. "I may have exaggerated when I said that I wished to speak to you for a 'moment,' Minister," he said. "We should adjourn to your office to have our conversation, I think."

Rufus simply nodded and faced Hollyshead again, whose bright yellow eyes darted between them in a reasonable display of suspicion. "Was there anything else that you wished to ask me, Elder?"

The older man—substantially older even than Juniper, treading the edge of ninety—drew himself up with a sudden shake and a rustle of his long silver beard. "No, no, Scrimgeour," he said. "I can see that Elder Juniper has urgent business to share. And my daughter will be expecting me." He patted Rufus's arm and then strode towards one of the private Floo connections that led from Wizengamot members' houses to Courtroom Ten.

Rufus faced Juniper again. "I don't see anyone else who wishes to talk to me, Elder. Shall we go?"

They started out of the courtroom together, but were necessarily somewhat separated by the Aurors who came up to walk between them. Rufus wondered if Juniper's slightly narrowed eyes were a result of the fact that Rufus felt he needed protection to walk back to his office, or because he had underestimated the Aurors' loyalty.

That was somewhat comforting, Rufus thought, as he placed a hand on his hip in the small gesture that soothed his bad leg. The worse the news got, from the other Ministries and the Wizengamot's insistence that he "do something" about the werewolf packs, the closer the Aurors seemed to bond to him. It wasn't just those who had always been loyal, like Hope and Wilmot. Some Rufus had never known to do more than grunt and nod when he issued an order now noticed when Percy was a moment late to the office or when Rufus's leg hurt especially badly.

If it comes to a coup­, at least I know the Aurors will not join it.

Then Rufus shook his head sharply. He couldn't afford to think of such a thing, to prepare for such an eventuality, when there was no sign that anyone else was. Otherwise he would strike out with violence long before anyone else dreamed of it. There had been no violently overthrown Ministers in the last hundred years. That was a record worth preserving. They could cast him out by a vote of no confidence, or try to limit his power if the pressure from the public and the other countries grew intense, but they would not try to murder him.

Perhaps. Not if the Aurors are not with them.

Rufus put such thoughts away when he entered his office and saw Percy rising to his feet, his arms full of paperwork. "Sir," Percy began, and then paused, blinking a little at the sight of his visitor.

"Elder Juniper and I have some things to speak about in private, Percy," Rufus said smoothly, and gestured to the door. "Now, I know for a fact that Auror Arrow will give you another Stealth and Hiding task tomorrow. Why don't you go and practice for it?"

Percy was not stupid. He put down the paperwork, nodded, and made his way to the door. He did pause on the way out and stare hard at Juniper. Rufus blinked. The gaze was more like one of the adult Aurors' than he would have expected. Though Percy had not finished his training, he had their full sense of stubbornness and protectiveness towards the Minister, it seemed.

The door clicked to, and Rufus lifted his wards. Juniper twisted his lips in a small smile as he sat down in the chair in front of his desk. "You have him well-trained, don't you?"

"I'm the one who saw his potential and brought him into the Auror program," said Rufus, which neatly elided the issue of influence and how close he actually was to Percy, and leaned back in his own chair with a contented little sigh. His leg did hurt more lately. A sign of advancing age, he knew, and potions could only do so much to quell the pain. "Now, Elder. I noticed that you didn't speak up much in the Wizengamot's debate. Given your well-known feelings on werewolves, I was wondering why."

"Perhaps I felt that nothing anyone else said could fully express the magnitude of my thoughts on the matter," said Juniper. The smile had fallen away from his face, and his hands made slow movements that reminded Rufus of someone braiding a rope. "Yes, I hate werewolves, Minister. But if I thought they could contribute to the wizarding world I love and have fought so hard to preserve, then I would welcome them in regardless."

"And?" Rufus asked levelly. He made sure his hand had a clear path to his wand, and told his thoughts to be sensible and calm.

"It is my considered, carefully weighted belief that werewolves cannot contribute to that world." Juniper stared at him. "It is, in fact, my belief that the inclusion of werewolves in the wizarding world, the attempt to give them equal rights, actively harms it."

Rufus took an entertaining moment to imagine what would have happened if Juniper had said that to Harry instead of him. He wondered if Juniper would still be shaking in his chair from the cold of the ice that would have coated the walls from Harry's temper.

Unfortunately, he was not Harry, and could not rely on glares and powerful magic to make his point. He had to settle for raising his eyebrows, and sitting there with them raised, until Juniper flushed very slightly and glanced away.

"So you're against giving rights to people who are human for ninety percent of the year," said Rufus. "Fascinating, Elder. It's no wonder you haven't spoken that opinion in public yet." It would be political suicide to do so. Many people still didn't support werewolves, but carrying out certain actions in private and speaking the words aloud were two completely different things.

"If it were only those werewolves who register and accept Wolfsbane, and otherwise live like wizards?" Juniper shook his head, his jaw clenched. "Then I would not have a problem with it. But there are the packs, Minister, and the packs are the ones letting the Muggles into our world, according to that article. They define themselves as a different culture, and independent of our laws. Separating ourselves from them would be no more than doing what both sides want.

"Unfortunately, it's not that simple, not when their telling Muggles about us can expose wizards to danger as well. So I suggest, Minister, that we make telling such secrets punishable with the rescinding of their rights, including access to Wolfsbane. Werewolves who can demonstrate that they've never engaged in such behavior will of course continue to receive it."

"And so you'll turn some of our people back into ravening monsters, and encourage attacks like those happening last year, for the sake of making a point?"

"There is no other way to get through to them, Minister." Juniper leaned forward. "They're not normal wizards anymore. They've cut themselves off. I've studied the way a packmind works. It binds the members of the pack together, and makes them consider those people and only those people as mattering, as worthy of mattering, as important. That means that an alpha won't care that he's putting people outside the pack in danger. He might even let someone close to him run without Wolfsbane if she wanted to. They truly change when bitten, Minister."

"I've heard that before," said Rufus. "From Amelia Bones, in the full extremity of her cowardice. And I will not be swayed on this, Elder. The werewolves received their equal rights because they were willing to fight for them, and because Harry was willing to fight for them, but it is to the Ministry's shame that they were not granted for so long. They should have been granted at once. We should have treated house elves better than we did. Goblins, too, and centaurs. I will not allow such disgusting ideas to make a comeback, as long as I sit in the Minister's office. Get out."

Juniper rose slowly to his feet, never taking his eyes from Rufus's face. Rufus simply looked at him. He thought Juniper probably expected him to be red-faced and blustering, but instead he was pale, and had not felt so cool-tempered in a long time.

"As long as you sit in the Minister's office," Juniper repeated thoughtfully. "That may not be long, you realize."

Rufus lifted his head and let his teeth show, and even his wand, peeking up in his hand over the edge of the desk. "Has no one told you that it might not be the most intelligent thing in the world to make such threats, sir?"

The amusement vanished from Juniper's face, and he leaned forward. Rufus brought his wands up further, but Juniper showed no sign of intending to attack him. Instead, he stared, and spoke again, his words slow and careful, heavy, as if he were imploring Rufus to believe him.

"I act as honestly as I can, as often as I can," he said. "I know what I love in the wizarding world, and stand for. I know it's not popular to feel that the core of our world are those wizards who have done the most to keep our traditions alive and our people safe—the Light purebloods. Nor is it popular to dislike the vates and feel he has gone too far in trying to grant rights to magical creatures, rights that come at the expense of wizards'. But I do feel those things, and I will say them. And I will continue to fight for the center of the wizarding world, the part that must survive, no matter what others may think of me for it or what words I need to use in public.

"Neither do I make threats, Minister. I am only warning you that discontent against you runs deep. Some of that comes from the Ritual of Cincinnatus, but even more comes from the way you've dealt with the vates. Someone should have taken the boy in hand the moment the abuse by his parents was discovered—and we have learned that you had access to such information more than three years ago, when the boy's mother applied for guardianship of him after being stripped of her magic. You did not investigate. The matter was left to rest, and it should not have been. What it has led to is an image of you under Harry's thumb."

"And why is that?" Rufus asked. He was not entirely sure that he could trust what Juniper was telling him. On the other hand, the Elder's reputation for honesty was well-known.

"Because you bowed to his rebellion," said Juniper quietly, "an open use of illegal force against the Ministry. Because you have made an effort to pursue and prosecute criminals who were linked to Harry in some way; the trial of his parents should have taken longer to arrange than it did. Because your glancing the other way, and the tampering with paperwork to keep him free of his parents' custody, has been noted." He hesitated a long moment, then shook his head. "Look here, Rufus," he said, dropping all titles. "I don't want to see you gone. I find you more reasonable than most of the people who might take your place. But neither can I commit to following a Minister who follows someone else."

"I have never done so," Rufus answered, knowing his voice was thick with passion, and not caring. This conversation would damage Juniper as severely as him if Juniper put it in a Pensieve and showed it to others. "I have always done what I feel is best for the wizarding world. It's a fact that the Ministry has had to spend the last fifty years dealing with British Lord-level wizards, since Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald and showed his full power. We botched it during the First War. This time, we have to steer a course between shoals. I will give Harry an ear. That does not mean I give him my hands, my back, or my brain."

Juniper contemplated him in silence for a long time. Then he said, "But you may believe the Ministry's good coincides with Harry's."

"Because it may. It often has, given the way Harry reasons and argues."

"And sometimes we may need to disassociate ourselves from him, if only to protect our own interests." Juniper shook his head, and his eyes had gone dark again, with a warning that Rufus had to wonder about. Did it actually match what he was saying? "You may believe as you like, Minister. But, at times, you may need to act an independent course from Harry, if only to prove your independence."

"And I do not believe the werewolf issue is one where I need to do so, or could give a convincing performance if I tried." Rufus folded his hands on the desk in front of him and stared at Juniper. "You may depart now, Elder. It seems as though we have little to say to each other."

"I think you value some of the same things I do, sir." Juniper still stubbornly lingered. "You value the continuity of tradition in the Light, and the way that Light wizards have traditionally supported something far greater than themselves: the peace and safety of all wizarding Britain. We have sometimes operated on an ethics of sacrifice, yes, but we have proven as ready to sacrifice ourselves as others. I wish you could take that into account, rather than simply assuming that our voice is one among many, of no greater account than another. You are sworn to Light yourself, and are part of that proud history. You know what we have done."

"And sometimes, failed to do," said Rufus, thinking of Dumbledore, thinking of the way that Light wizards had also refused to release their house elves because doing so would lose them status or convenience. "Light does not mean good, Juniper. I would have thought you would understand that."

"In this day and age, it does," said Juniper. "We are the only defense against the coming storm."

"If a storm is rising," said Rufus, "we will need Harry to fight it."

Juniper did not speak again. He merely bowed, eyes still dark, and then turned and swished through the door.

Rufus took a deep breath and sat back. His head was pounding, and his belly shook, and in general he felt half-hollowed.

He stood, and did what he always did when he felt this way and was alone: began to make himself a cup of tea.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"I didn't say that I disagreed with you," said Draco, looking as if he were fighting hard to keep his temper. "I just said that now might not be the best time to demand equal rights for children like Jacinth, Harry."

"I don't see why not." Harry finished the letter, looked it over carefully, and then nodded. He'd explained the situation, giving enough generalities that anyone reading the letter could guess what it was about, but none of the specifics that might have led to Lazuli's arrest. He tapped the letter, and it began to replicate itself with a calm crinkling and folding of paper. One copy would go to every member of the Wizengamot. "If we wait and wait, then who says that a better time will ever come?"

"Yes, but the werewolves?" Draco leaned back against the pillow with a groan. "I just think you should wait until the Wizengamot's not so agitated, Harry. They're still debating whether they should pull the concessions that they granted the werewolves after the rebellion, you know that."

"Of course I know that." Harry left the letters to their self-copying and stood, crossing to Draco so that he could drop a kiss on his cheek. Then he nudged him over. Draco fell with a surprised grunt, and Harry started massaging his shoulders. He had found in the past few days that it tended to neutralize Draco's objections as well as relaxing him enough for him to sleep. "But they should know that if they do that, I'll just begin another rebellion."

There probably wasn't a touch in the world that could have kept Draco relaxed through that. He stiffened, then rolled out from under Harry's hands and reached up to clasp his wrist. "Harry, you wouldn't."

Harry looked at him calmly. Draco had lost all sorts of arguments to him in the last week. That was because, this time, unlike the argument they'd had over the thestrals, Draco didn't have a legitimate personal objection to Harry's behavior. He could only try to persuade him, and usually Harry had thought out his reasoning already. So Harry looked at him patiently, and looked at him calmly, and Draco had come to give up within a few moments of staring.

This time, though, his hold on Harry's wrist only tightened. "You can't," Draco whispered. "Damn it, Harry, I don't want to lose you."

Hmmm. That isn't something he's said before. "You wouldn't lose me," said Harry, gently stroking his palm with a fingertip. "Why would you think me more likely to die in this second rebellion than the first?"

"That's not what I meant." Draco heaved himself onto his knees and shifted his hand so that Harry couldn't move his finger anymore. "Harry—the political climate is different now than it was before the rebellion. People are warier of you, because now they know you might break from the Ministry openly, whereas before they could never have suspected it. I don't want to lose you to the passion of the fight."

"I still don't know what you mean." And Harry didn't. His puzzlement increased at the desperation in Draco's eyes. Draco and Snape had become more and more worried over him in the last few days, and Harry couldn't figure out what he was doing to make them so fearful. If he knew, then he would stop it.

Draco swallowed several times before he spoke. "I—Harry, you've been so intense these last few weeks. You've done what's needed when it's needed, I can't deny that. But I've never felt like you were with me the way you have been at other times. I always felt like you were either thinking about me or thinking about something else. Never just lying beside me in the bed, at home in your own body."

"Oh." Well, that made sense, Harry supposed, in its own way. He hadn't often had so many concerns continuing at one time.

Or he hadn't been so good at balancing them before. Harry thought that was more likely the cause of Draco's worry.

"You're used to seeing me more obsessive, on the edge of collapse, or throwing myself into one crisis," he said, and leaned forward to kiss Draco's nose. "So you're waiting for the collapse to come, aren't you?"

Draco's face turned red.

"I don't blame you," Harry told him cheerfully. "I have done that. This time, though, I promise, I've learned my lesson. The minute you see me doing something self-destructive, you have my permission to tie me to the bed and sit on me until I listen. All right?" A soft rustle behind him let him know the letters had finished replication, and he rolled off the bed to take them to the Owlery. A side effect of having to use Levitation Charms for so many months was that he'd grown very good at them. He could easily have the letters surround him in a floating halo now, which would take up a little more room in the corridor but be better for the ink.

"Harry…"

He glanced over his shoulder. Draco was biting his lip, staring at him in the same desperation. Harry settled the irritation that wanted to rise. He'd just figured out what was going on. That didn't mean he could expect Draco to smile at him and let him go off without a concern. "Yes?"

Draco stretched out his hand, then let it fall and shook his head. "Come to me if you want someone to talk to," he said.

Harry nodded. "Of course. You would be my first choice for most things, Draco, even before Snape or Connor." He tried a sunny smile, wondering if his expressions hadn't been bright enough to reassure Draco.

If anything, that only increased the sharpness of his stare. Harry ended up shaking his head in bewilderment and escorting the letters towards the Owlery. He would do what he could to ease Draco's preoccupations, but it seemed that no amount of reason would soothe them entirely. Probably Draco just needed time, to see that Harry had endured day after day without falling apart, and he would relax as the unusual became routine with the passage of time.

Then he switched his mind to thinking about the probable reactions to his letters. He smirked a bit. Not good, but Lazuli had told him that she'd talked to other parents she knew of, both Light and Dark, who had half-human children like Jacinth, and they were ready for him to move now, to let the wizarding world at large know about them. If someone made lucky guesses and tried to question them, few—except those like Lazuli, who had slept with species it was illegal even to speak of—would deny it. They were still gathering strength, but their storm was ready to burst on the wizarding world at any moment.

Besides, Harry thought the Wizengamot's distraction over the werewolves might actually serve him well. Split their attention onto two fronts, and they could concentrate less on either taking packs' rights away or prosecuting the parents of children who were not half-Veela.

Sometimes things changed slowly, and suddenly they came to a sudden crackling burst of growth. Harry was used to them both. He thought it was about time the wizarding world had a chance to get used to the latter.

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

Draco worried his lip between his teeth and stared at the canopy of their bed. He told himself he was worrying too much. He told himself that his political instincts were not infallible—not yet—and that even if Harry was making a mistake with these letters, it would not cost him every ally he had. Too many of his allies had blemishes themselves, in the eyes of wizarding society. Why would a werewolf or a former Death Eater assume she couldn't fight next to Harry because he was supporting a parent who'd slept with someone nonhuman to sire or bear a child?

It isn't that. I know it's more than that. I know that Harry, for one thing, still hasn't talked to anyone about what he feels for my father, or what he did to heal his mother—and now that Joseph has gone back to the Sanctuary, he may never talk to anyone.

Except that that wasn't true, either. Harry had talked to Hawthorn Parkinson about her grief; Draco knew that. He had talked to Snape when nightmares plagued him. He had certainly heard Draco's side of the story about Lucius often enough in the last few weeks.

And as for what Draco most wanted to know, it showed no sign of tearing Harry apart, and he seemed honestly puzzled when asked questions about his mental health. Draco thought he knew Harry well enough to tell when he was hiding something. He was not hiding anything about Lucius or his mother, not this time.

I really don't understand. Maybe I am just overprotective of him.

And then Draco paused, having a sudden idea about what he might be able to ask for, what might help him find out if Harry's reactions were honestly changed or if he was ignoring his feelings again, perhaps with the same use of Occlumency he'd tried in Woodhouse. The best part was, he didn't need to ask for this gift for another ten days or so, which meant that he had time to observe Harry's reactions and decide for himself whether Harry was faking it or not.

Satisfied, Draco closed his eyes and lay as if asleep, though he listened for a sound of Harry's return.

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry stood waiting quietly in Blackstone's entrance hall. The house was dim, as though too much light would be an insult to the Dark family who lived there. Or maybe that was just to emphasize the paintings on the walls. Harry could make out figures, twisted limbs and beckoning hands and smiles, but not whole bodies. The effect was rather striking. He walked towards a painting that claimed it was called "The Procession of Death" on the plaque beneath.

"Harry. Thank you for coming."

He turned. Adalrico stood behind him, in the entrance to what Harry assumed was a study. He was trying to smile. It didn't work very well.

"You asked me to, sir." Harry moved a few steps forward, never looking away from Adalrico's face. He wasn't using Legilimency, but perhaps the piercing quality of his gaze was still too much for Adalrico, who abruptly turned away from him and retreated into the room.

"Won't you come in?"

And he did, though he still tried to tell from Adalrico's shoulders and spine what the matter was. Why would Adalrico have invited Harry to his family's home and then be upset when he arrived?

The study—for so it was—was also dim, the walls decorated in gray and black, the carpet a dark red that almost swallowed the firelight. Adalrico settled heavily into a chair in front of the hearth. Harry stood across from him until Adalrico gestured him to be seated, and sat only on the edge of the cushion. He had the persistent feeling that he would have to move sharply in a moment.

"I mean you no harm," said Adalrico tightly, eyes focused on the flames. "It is rather an insult to act as if I do, Harry."

"You are not acting normally, either, sir," Harry said, deciding that now wasn't the time for the name "Adalrico," no matter how he thought of the man. "Forgive me for expressing honestly how I feel."

Adalrico took a deep breath, and leaned over to pick up a glass jar from next to the chair. Harry kept a close eye on the contents as Adalrico turned it idly back and forth. It looked like a collection of black flakes. Ashes? Perhaps, but Harry would not wager on that, especially once he saw that Adalrico, for all his toying with the jar's lid, didn't remove it.

"These are the last Black Plague spores that I created for Voldemort," said Adalrico abruptly, looking at him.

Harry hissed before he could stop himself. The disease had claimed an enormous toll in lives during the First War. If anyone had actually been able to prove that Adalrico had created them of his own free will and not because he was under Imperius, then he would still have been in Azkaban when Voldemort rose again.

"I haven't used them," said Adalrico, staring at the jar. "But I have wanted to use them, several times, in the years since his fall."

"Especially on the Starrise estate, sir?" Harry asked sharply.

Adalrico looked up, caught his eye, and reacted badly to whatever he saw there, shoulders stiffening. "You know my grievance against the family," he said. "What Pharos Starrise did was outside the bounds of all proper decorum. I had a right to be offended and angry."

"You did," Harry agreed. "You also had a right to think about what it would mean to act against Starrise, the family of which Tybalt is a part. Tybalt is also a part of the Alliance, and acting against an Alliance comrade is punished by a draining of magic." He heard his voice grow sharper and sharper, but he did not care. "I have had one weakness, one betrayal, among those Dark wizards closest to me, sir. I will not tolerate another."

"I said only that I have wanted to use them. Not that I had."

"And you will give them to me so that you are not tempted to use them again?" Harry held out his hand.

Adalrico looked away from him.

"Why show them to me, unless you intended to hand them over?" Harry pressed, suddenly understanding Adalrico's nervousness in a new light. He had called Harry here to present the spores to him, Harry was almost sure, and then changed his mind. But by then, it would have looked extremely suspicious to tell Harry not to come, not when he hadn't given a reason in the first place. "Sir. I know that you have changed. I know that you resent the Starrises, with good reason. But if you allow those feelings to influence you into acting against people who have never done you harm, then you cannot be part of this Alliance."

"And if I had used those spores only against Pharos?" Adalrico asked. "If I had never told you about them?"

Harry felt the atmosphere in the room shimmer and grow darker. Almost certainly, Blackstone's wards were responding to their master's mood. He called his own power, and the air draped around his shoulders grew into a serpent, which lifted its head, hissing lazily. The Many snake around his throat also stirred and inflated her hood.

"I would have recognized the signs," said Harry, unmoving, deepening and tightening the ice he'd locked around his more volatile emotions. "I studied the First War, sir. I know that this kind of weapon is too dangerous to be unleashed again. Someone in the Ministry could have studied it if you used it against Pharos, and sooner or later it might have emerged on a battlefield. If you use it, I will stop at nothing to drain your magic."

Adalrico stared at him, eyes reflecting a depth of hatred Harry had never seen him show before. He knew none of it was directed at him, but that didn't diminish his own stare. If Adalrico couldn't obey the rules, he could damn well leave the Alliance. Harry wasn't going to entertain another serpent in the breast.

And then the moment passed, and Adalrico lowered his eyes and looked away from him. Harry breathed carefully, not moving any other part of his body, and both his black snake and the Many cobra held still, waiting for his command.

"I—I'll give them to you," Adalrico whispered, and waved his wand to Levitate the jar of spores over to Harry. "But that doesn't mean I have stopped hating Pharos Starrise. It should be my right to put an end to him."

"You can't," Harry said, catching the jar and nodding his thanks. The lid was sealed with a powerful locking charm that, so far as he could tell with a short inspection, hadn't been tampered with. "Perhaps if he had attacked you in a place other than the Ministry, yes. But he's in Ministry custody now. Try to murder him, and you'll be arrested."

"You could change things so that that was not true," Adalrico suggested, voice barely above a murmur.

The black serpent reared, hissing. Harry said quietly, "Never ask me something like that again."

Adalrico looked away from him.

Harry waited to see if he would say anything else, but minutes passed, and nothing happened. At last, Harry stood, and dismissed the black snake. It did not go easily. He must have been angrier than he knew.

"I still care for you, sir," he said. "Even if you had never been my ally, I would value you as Millicent's father. And you have helped me in the past. But I will not tolerate this stupid striving after vengeance that damages all of us. Pharos Starrise didn't learn that lesson in time. Don't let him drag you down with him."

He walked out of Blackstone, and Apparated back to Hogwarts, where he stood some time on the path back from Hogsmeade, breathing the spring air and staring off into the Forbidden Forest.

Then he crouched down and carefully called intense heat to destroy the glass jar and the Black Plague spores inside it. He burned them so hot that neither spores nor fumes could escape into the open air. The glass turned to slag, the spores to less than dust, less than ashes.

And then he had to pause to renew, once again, the deep ice at the back of his mind, which had filled his mind with clarity for the past few weeks and helped him get what he needed to get done.

I will not use such foul weapons. I will not permit Adalrico to kill Pharos merely to satisfy his lust for vengeance. There are some things I will not do.

And then those concerns retreated like the scrim of oil they were. It had nearly happened, but in the end it had not. And if Adalrico had not given him all the Black Plague spores…well, Harry would trust him until he had proven he could not be trusted. But he would watch him a little more closely from now on.

He walked calmly towards the castle, already reviewing what he needed to do next in his head.