A/N: Chapter warnings for; explicit language, blood, violence, implied/referred torture and implied/references self harm/suicide.
Thanks a bunch to our beta! And each of you readers too. This is the last chapter in this installment (working on the sequel rn), and there's going to be an epilogue after this.
*Title drop! Also, word of caution, suicide warning for anyone who wants to listen to the title song and/or watch the music video. (Talk Me Down)
Next update on 24th September, Friday.
Chapter Forty Two
"And I wanna come home to you
But home is just a room full of my safest sounds
'Cause you know that I can't trust myself with my 3:00 a.m. shadow
I'd rather fuel a fantasy than deal with this alone."
— Troye Sivan, Talk Me Down
…
The door holds for approximately five seconds, just long enough for Draco to grab onto Harry and push him into the general vicinity of the living room as Slughorn whips out his wand and runs after them.
"I don't know how the two of you survived this long!" Slughorn shouts, making Draco wince. He lets go of Harry and starts scrambling for their bag.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Even if they were useless, they should have kept their wands with themselves. Always. How could he have made such an amateurish mistake?
Finally, his fingers close around the smooth wood of their wands, he pulls them out and thrusts Harry's to him, while gripping his own in a white-knuckled grip.
There's four of them, or four that Draco can see in all the chaos, and flashes start flying right away, green and electric, and blue. Slughorn holds his own and Draco pushes Harry down as a shot of green light wheezes past them. Harry's wand clatters away from his hand.
Their assailants have no mask, but Draco can't recognize a single one of them as they surround them in the living room.
They're clearly Death Eaters, low-rank ones, otherwise, they wouldn't have been summoned by the name. Draco's hand fumbles for Harry's wand in the mess as the other boy charges into the nearest man, bare-handed.
The stucky Death Eater rears and brings up his wand, but Harry is miraculously quicker, he knees the man in the groin, and goes down with him, punching and kicking as Draco's fingers close around Harry's wand.
The lanky asshole, not being held off, turns to Harry and the wrestling man, but just before he can cast a spell, Draco's wand is in his hand, "Confringo!"
Lanky is blasted back just as Harry gets punched in the face by stucky and one of the men Slughorn is dueling crashes sideways into the fireplace.
"Asshole!" Harry holds onto his bleeding nose and kicks the man in the shins again. Draco has to stifle the hysterical urge to laugh.
Slughorn's wand shoots off red flashes one after another, and the other death eater deflects each, causing the curses to bounce off the shield and dart at random furniture around them.
Draco hears some of the numerous picture frames on the wall shattering as the lanky dude gets to his feet.
"Petrificus Totalus!" The man cries and Draco dodges to the side, almost running into Fireplace man, thin and dressed in tattered robes, harboring a scratchy beard, who pushes Draco down, but is taken again when Slughorn blasts him with an unknown curse.
The man's entrails tear out of his stomach with a sickening squelch, and he howls as Stucky rolls Harry under him.
Draco lashes his wand at the disgusting pig, "Furnunculus!" And the man's face erupts in painful pimples and Harry gags, punching the man in his throat as he scrambles out from under him. He gets up clutching his fist, face twisted in pain.
Draco stumbles over to Harry, and calls out, "Harry! Here," he throws the boy's wand to him, and Harry barely manages to catch it. Harry trips, regaining his balance last minute. Draco looks down to see stucky's hand wrapped around Harry's ankle.
"Boys!" Slughorn cries, and Harry curses, gripping his wand as he points it down at the hands stucky has looped around his legs, now blind with the ugly, oozing pimples overtaking the features in his face.
"Slugulus Eructo!" Harry cries and lashes his wand, but of course, nothing happens. The wand movement was too jerky, blasting both him and the man to the ground. Draco quickly disarms the asshole, and runs over to Harry.
"Are you-"
"Boys, here now! There's more of these morons coming!"
And Draco sees the glint of a ring that wasn't previously with the man. Portkey, his mind supplies in less than a second as the Fireplace guy whips his wand between him and Harry, his other hand, holding onto his hanging innards. The sight is gut-wrenching, quite literally.
"Sectumsempra!" And Draco's heart stops in relief as the curse zaps by them. He throws up a shield and hauls Harry behind him as they make their way to Slughorn.
Harry yanks his arm out of his grasp and then whirls to kick at Stucky, distracting Draco as his shields fall and Slughorn comes into touching distance.
"On the count of three!" Slughorn's wand points at the ring as he mutters, turns his back, and Draco only has a moment to decide when he thrusts Harry toward the ring and sees the blue flash of light aimed right at the boy.
Not him, he thinks, not after they made it this far.
And in one swift move, he throws himself between Harry and the curse, one hand still gripping Harry's arm as the world whirls around them and the flash hits him, square in the chest.
Everything blurs past, and lurches. If Harry had anything in his stomach, he would have thrown up.
The world is still blurry when they land with a thud on a wooden floor, his ears ringing, adrenaline rushing through him. His nose throbs, and his hand aches fiercely. His wand falls from slack fingers as he dry heaves on all fours.
He looks around wildly, the blue of the curse still flashing in his eyes, heading straight towards him. And then- a shove and nothing.
"No," he whispers. Then louder, "No, no, no," he sees Draco lying, motionless, just a few feet away from him. The world stops. He lets out a loud wail and scrambles towards Draco, his nose still dripping blood everywhere.
"Mr. Potter," Slughorn says cautiously. Harry ignores him, too terrified to process words.
"Please don't be dead," Harry rasps. "No, no," he can't breathe through the tears, through the mangled nose. Through the utter despair threatening to drown him. Had he really just been spewing venom at Draco a few minutes ago? It seems like a lifetime. He doesn't even remember why he was so angry.
Slughorn makes a move towards him, "You need to let me touch him."
Harry picks up Draco, cradling him in his arms. His hand seeks Draco's wrist. "Don't die, please. Don't die," his bloody fingers slip on Draco's cold wrist as Harry tries to find that pulse point. Find a pulse.
"He's fine-" Slughorn starts, but Harry turns his teary eyes towards him, cutting him off.
"Shut up!" he shouts, then turns back towards Draco, still so very still. "No, Draco, Draco please," he finally finds that point, swipes his thumb over it, feeling the beat thrum erratically under his fingers.
"Harrmm," Draco slurrs.
"Merlin," Harry goes completely limp with relief, all tension draining out of him. He flings himself at Draco, burying his face in his neck, breathing him in, feeling his breathing, the movement of life in Draco.
"It was just a confounding curse," Slughorn says from somewhere above them. "He'll be fine if he lies down for a few minutes."
Harry ignores him, murmuring into Draco's neck, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, okay?"
Draco's arms come around Harry, gingerly and hesitant, "Mm'fine," he mumbles. He still sounds off-kilter.
"I thought you were…" Harry sobs, burrowing further into Draco, "I-I can't believe I shouted at you, I'm so sorry."
"Harry-"
"You just bloody jumped in from of me without even knowing the fucking curse and-"
"I love you," Draco says, his voice clear for the first time since they arrived here.
'I love you!' Harry's mind supplies, the same voice, a little more defensive. Drawn up from the fragments of a memory he can't quite remember.
'What?'
'I love you. I do. You're as important to me as every breath I take and I can't fathom anything ever happening to you.'
"You… do," Harry whispers. How could he have forgotten?
"So much," Draco's arms grow firmer around him, and he buries his face in Harry's hair, "I love you, I'm sorry," he whispers.
"You love me," Harry repeats dumbly. "You do, and I-I'm a moron," he wants to start weeping all over again.
"No!"
"Yes!" he says, he lifts his head up, jostling Draco a little, then stares right into his eyes intensely, he needs to get this across. He needs to let him know, "I love you too, okay? But you can't do that to me, you can't just jump in front of me when there's danger, I can't… You know I can't-"
"It's fine, mmm'fine. I love you, don't,' Draco blinks blearily at him, "Hmm, don't leave, okay? Am just a bit sleepy…'' Draco's head lolls to the side, and Harry squeezes him lightly.
"We should let him sleep it off, Mr. Potter. No worries, you will have plenty of time together. This house is safe."
Slughorn levitates Draco onto the worn blue couch in the living room while Harry watches anxiously. The room's dimly lit, with only the bare minimum furniture. A couch, a low table, and an armchair. A clean, empty fireplace sits against one wall, with an almost empty floo jar on the mantel. The walls are bare, an off-white colour.
Harry's still sort of reeling. Everything had happened so fast, too fast. One minute he had been shouting at Draco, and the next Draco was on the floor, limp and looking dead.
Then Slughorn turns to Harry, who's clutching at his still sluggishly bleeding nose. The man raises his wand slightly, "May I?" He points at Harry's face.
He's wary, but his nose hurts too much to really protest, so he nods, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Episkey," the man says, and then- "Scourgify."
Harry opens his mouth and gently prods at his healed nose. It still feels slightly tender, but he can breathe properly now, and most of the blood is gone.
He waits until Slughorn has put his wand back up his sleeve, then asks, "What happened?"
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Back there," Harry says impatiently, it's as if the man was acting dumb on purpose, "How did they find us?"
Slughorn sighs, then folds his arms across his chest, "You uttered his name, Mr. Potter. And names hold power, his, in particular, is tuned to act as a beacon to the nearest Death Eaters in the location," Horace looks at him pointedly, "There's a reason he's called He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who."
Harry flushes. No one had told him this, and Dumbledore had even encouraged that he use the name. How was he supposed to know? He clears his throat, "And where-"
"A safe house," Slughorn answers before Harry can complete his question, "One of many. Try not to let your tongue run ahead of you again, hm? I only had that one portkey charmed," he says jovially and Harry feels his stomach settle. At least he doesn't sound too angry anymore, just a little tired. He heaves in a sigh, and then turns, gesturing back at Harry to follow, "Come."
Harry hesitates, looking back at Draco, "Draco…"
"He's fine. Let's leave him on the couch. He can nap it off."
Harry follows the man into a small kitchen. It's clear this house hasn't been used in a long while. There's dust on surfaces, and the lights take a long while to flicker on. The muggle refrigerator is turned off. Slughorn waves his wand, opening a cabinet which has several utensils inside, including a kettle, which the man summons.
"You didn't hand us over. Why didn't you hand us over to him?" Surely it would have been easier than putting up with two unstable, injured teenagers, with no self-control, risking his safe houses and privacy.
"I'm not overly fond of my body parts dangling out of my stomach, Mr. Potter. May I call you Harry? I've been on the run from those maniacs for months." The kettle starts whistling and he pours the hot water in two small cups. One of them has a chipped edge.
"Why?"
"Because the Dark Lord has lost his favorite potion master, and his supplies are running out. I'm being cherry-picked." He nods towards one of the wooden hardback chairs arranged around the table, "Sit over there."
"I don't trust you. I don't trust him either-" yes he loves Draco, and doesn't doubt that Draco does him either. But trusting and loving are different things. He's not sure he could, after what he hid from him. Everything happened so fast, that Harry is not even sure what he's feeling in the first place.
Slughorn cuts him off, conjuring some tea bags, "I know me saying so will rub you the wrong way, but paranoia is a common symptom of the later stages," he says.
Harry pauses, "Of what?"
"Of Somnus Mors," Slughorn says, as if he's talking about the weather, "Been a while since I've heard of it."
Somehow, this conversation rankles more than Draco's admission. "And what does it do? Why did he hide it from me?" He swallows, "What's happening to me?"
"It's a dark curse, compels the castee to self-mutilate to the point of... well," he shrugs, "death. In their sleep. See, it's a torture technique, the victim knows that if they fall asleep, they'll die, so they hold out as long as possible, but sooner or later," he shakes his head, "the sooner they succumb to it, the more severe the… effects."
Harry clasps his hands behind his back to hide their shaking, even though Slughorn's barely looking at him, "And I did that...every night?"
"I'm sure Mr. Malfoy would know a bit more, in that regard," Slughorn pushes a cup towards him, still steeping with an unlabeled tea bag. Harry doesn't touch it.
"If he'd bothered telling me. I don't get it," he can't help sneering, he just can't, "why would he not tell me? Is that a trait you all have? Being secretive?"
Slughorn purses his lips, "If by you all, you are referring to the Slytherin house, I'm inclined to agree with you. However, in his case… I suspect fear being at play."
Harry stares, "Right."
"Alright," Slughorn stands up, coming around the table to where Harry's sitting, "Mr. Potter, this wouldn't hurt one bit, but you have to stay still," he says.
"What?"
The man points to his untouched cup of… tea? Is it tea? It's a vivid red colour, he notices just now. And smells like. Well, nothing.
"You will drink this, and I will cast a diagnostic spell, I need to see how far it's advanced." At Harry's suspicious expression, the man adds, "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't waste precious ingredients. It's gotten awfully expensive lately."
Harry hesitates one last time, before picking up the cup. The liquid inside has already started cooling, and he gulps it down in three large sips. It, like the smell, tastes like nothing. Not even water. Slughorn nods, and then very slowly raises his wand towards Harry. Harry tenses up but manages to stay still.
There's a little unintelligible muttering, and the man waves his wand in complicated patterns. His hands are steady and sure, and send a pang through Harry's heart. His wand movements will never be as precise, ever again.
After a few moments, the man stops and lowers his wand. He rubs his chin in a fashion oddly reminiscent of Snape, "Oh dear…"
Harry's heart sinks, "Bad?"
"Nothing that can't be…" The man tilts his head to the side, "fixed." He then spins on his feet, and waves his wand, moving it excitedly around the room. The stove flares on, a couple cabinet doors open, and a small silver cauldron flies out, settling itself on the flame. Another cabinet opens and four vials with different coloured liquids fly towards them, and Slughorn deftly catches them in one hand.
"They say you cannot cure a curse with potions," the mild-mannered man says, bustling around Harry with vials in his hands, his face flushed with excitement, "Volatile reactions, unseen outcome, well, cat piss I'd say!"
His demeanor has changed completely from the serious, tired man he had been minutes ago. He looks like Ron before a quidditch game. Like a cat with a canary. Harry doesn't know whether to be alarmed or not.
"There's a cure?" he asks.
Slughorn nods, "Always one, for believers." He sets down the vials on the counter, and pulls out a mortar and pestle from… somewhere. "Others in my peers will have my neck for this, you see," he grins, "A bit of a controversial topic in my line of work. Younglings, all of them!" He throws the squeezed-out juice of some sort of root Harry's never even read of into the cauldron, "They've seemed to forgotten that potion making is a branch of magic. You cannot just expect a muggle to brew you a pepper up!"
"Are they wrong?"
"Of course not," he pours the forest green coloured vial into it, making the cauldron bubble and hiss. Harry stands up to get a closer look.
"But that doesn't mean they're right either, Harry." The man moves aside a little to let Harry get a better look inside the cauldron, "May I call you that?"
"Of course," Harry says absently, staring into the bubbling, sky blue coloured potion inside. It looks like it has the consistency of water.
"Splendid, my boy. I see why Valentina might have sent you to me. Most potion masters won't risk their reputation in a situation like this. Your…" Slughorn pauses, "Lover's godfather, for one."
"Severus Snape," Harry says, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach.
Slughorn nods, and starts chopping up some sort of leaves, "I taught him in school, of course. Had a notch for advanced poisons if I'm not mistaken. Not a quality suited for a student."
"Oh."
"Of course he was too infatuated with your mother, to poison anyone," the man huffed a nervous laugh, "Every time a Gryffindor got sick, I swear to Merlin, my mind would straight go to Severus. They weren't really fond of him, but your mother kept things balanced."
Harry opens his mouth, there's too much to unpack in that, "Snape knew my mom?"
Slughorn turns to look at him, an eyebrow raised, "Hasn't he told you? Oh well, that's odd. He didn't just know her, Harry, it was...well, not quite my place to say, but they were very...close."
"Close like my… close like best friends?"
"Well," the man taps his knife against the counter rhythmically, "we never knew. Lily was a private person, and by the time they wanted to graduate… well."
"But what about my dad?" Harry asks, staring at Slughorn, "She married him." He wonders if the man is fucking with him, as revenge for destroying his other safe house and bringing the death eaters to them. It doesn't feel like it.
"Oh, she hated his guts!" he laughs, "Would have cursed his shadow to hell if she could have, and she could have, mind you, but she had a very kind soul. It took James seven years to grab her heart. Your mother was a bit contradictory at times, fierce and kind. You're very much similar."
Harry's stomach swoops, "Really?" He knows so little of his mother, everything Sirius or Remus told him largely concerned his father. To know that he might be similar to her, despite never really knowing her…
"If your thrashing of that poor boy… proved anything, it was the temper," Slughorn says, a small smile playing on his lips as he stirs the potion clockwise. Harry briefly considers offering to help, but one look at his ruined hands makes him drop that idea.
"Draco," he says.
"Yes, Draco! Pardon me, old age is just rotting my mind. Draco Malfoy, his father, was in my club once, so was his mother."
Harry's face heats up a little as he remembers blowing up at Draco, in front of Slughorn. Everything he'd said. "Did you particularly disagree with the part where I almost tore him to shreds for lying?"
"I saw the way you looked at him and he looked at you. And well, the declaration of love itself. When you spend your entire life teaching adolescents, becoming a part of their daily lives, you'll learn how to spot the real ones... " The man stares at him intensely then, and Harry fidgets uncomfortably, but doesn't look away, "That boy is in love with you, Harry. He truly is. That's the same look your father gave your mother for years."
Harry looks away then, "I'm not sure you're right, sir, no offense but I don't feel kind or fierce. She was a hero and I'm just…" She's the one who really defeated Voldemort all those years ago, not him. He was just… there.
"Her son?" Slughorn gives him a knowing look, "I feel like you haven't heard what I'm about to say before, but you dearly need to do so. What I've seen of you so far is astonishing. You have a strong soul, I can tell, Harry, pronounced, almost unique. You are Lily and James Potter's son, not their shadows."
"Draco says things like that often."
"I'm somewhat surprised by the two of you, Gryffindors and Slytherins rarely produce such a strong bond. Extreme conflict of interest, two great odds. Reminds me of Regulus Black, almost. Sirius Black's brother you see, your godfather if I'm not mistaken."
"Yeah," Harry says, not elaborating. Slughorn doesn't know that Harry's in contact with him.
"I've had them all under my wing, all but Sirius. I wanted to have the whole set but… I suppose the world functions differently."
The way Slughorn sometimes refers to people makes him uncomfortable. Harry hadn't exactly been unprepared for it, knowing about this particular trait from Dumbledore's diary, but hearing it first hand is another thing. The way he doesn't even bat an eye at calling other human beings as something to be collected.
He clears his throat, "How do we remind you of-"
"Rare branch of friendship," Slughorn says merrily. The potion is now sending off a minty scent, but its colour is a blue so deep it looks black. "Back in the day, I remember Reggie Black trailing a Gryffindor boy like a lost puppy. Didn't last, that one, but yours, I can tell, is quite strong."
"I'm not so sure anymore," Harry looks towards the door, then back.
Slughorn sighs, and stops mincing for a moment to turn towards Harry, fixing him with a serious stare, "Don't entirely blame him for this, of course, you have every right to be furious. Your will over your own body was taken away for weeks…" The man shakes his head, "But I'm almost glad he didn't tell you at once."
Harry's mouth twists in indignation, "Why?!"
The man heaves another sigh, before waving his wand to turn down the heat under the cauldron, he doesn't look at Harry as he speaks. "This curse doesn't just drive your body to literal destruction. It also messes with your head, makes you obsessed, somewhat. All you can think about every hour of every day is finding a way to tear your soul out of your body, had you been actively aware of it."
Slughorn gives an almost imperceptible shiver, "It would've driven anyone mad."
"He knew he was protecting me?" Harry doubts that is the case.
"I think he chose wisely in a truly desperate situation." At Harry's look, Slughorn's mouth twitches, "Of course, what he did was wrong but," he shrugs, "I'm not averse to seeing his point of view."
Harry folds his arms across his chest, "I didn't want him to coddle me." He sniffs, willing his voice not to shake, because he remembers some of it now, their argument last night. "I'm not... I'm not some breakable thing, I can handle myself."
But Draco doesn't think that, does he? He really believes how fragile Harry is. It was proven way before Rosier put that curse on him. It was proven when he put that tracker on him.
Harry glances down at the necklace around his wrist.
And yet. Yet he can't bring himself to take it off. Is the tracking charm still on? Will Draco come to him again, if he were to run away? Would he find him or would he see him as a lost cause? Especially after the way he'd yelled at him before the attack.
Slughorn laughs, "I've heard of the things you've done, Potter. Trust me, you're no fine china. I suppose Mr. Malfoy is also aware of that. People do crazy things for those they love."
Love. That word, again. Draco had thrown it at him so bluntly, that night. And then again, today. And how many times had Harry thought it himself? Unwilling to voice it out in fear that he'll ruin it? Like everything.
"Would you forgive him?"
"I have no need to forgive him, that is entirely your choice." The man peers into the potion, "How do you feel about rat tail?"
Harry blinks, startled, "What?"
Slughorn summons a small jar that is filled, presumably, with rat tails. "It's beneficial to chew on it before taking the potion, no sugar coating it, I'm afraid."
Harry takes the jar from him slowly, gripping it tight so it doesn't fall and shatter. "And the curse is going to diminish? No side effects? No damages?"
"The potion will take care of it all," Slughorn nods, "I would suggest someone keep an eye on you for a few nights while you sleep, but other than that, nothing particularly concerning."
Harry puts the jar on the counter, and making a face, unscrews the top. It's not like he particularly wants to chew on a rat tail, but he does want to give the potion its best shot.
He's quiet for a few moments as he stares at the tail held between his thumb and index fingers. Then he looks up at the man watching him amusedly, "Why did you tell him?" He asks abruptly, "You had the choice to refuse. The Horcruxes… He had no other way of knowing."
The amused look is wiped right off his face, and suddenly he looks weary and tired again. And Harry's reminded belatedly, just how old he must be. Probably somewhere around Dumbledore's own age.
"I didn't know," Slughorn says quietly. "I thought I knew him. I thought he was lost. Lost curious thing," he looks so forlorn.
But that wasn't all he did, was it?
"And then you lied about it?"
Slughorn flinches slightly, "I didn't need the slander after my name-"
"But it was your fault," Harry says.
Slughorn suddenly meets his eyes, his own blazing, "You think I don't know that?! Because let me assure you, Mr. Potter. I know it all. I know I'm responsible for your parents' deaths. Many other deaths. I retired, I turned into a recluse. There's not much else I can do. Whatever Albus told you regarding-"
Harry cuts him off, rather taken aback. This… this wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting "He didn't. Well… I haven't talked to him in months. I read about it."
"Well," Slughorn pointedly turns away and pours the now purple coloured liquid into a goblet. "Whatever he wrote… I assure you, he knows more. My knowledge on Horcruxes, and Tom's for that matter in that damned memory... it's all rudimentary. It barely grazes the surface-"
"You told him of a ritual."
"Ritual?" Slughorn frowns, "Well, trust me then, if he attempts wasting one of his lives on that ritual, it will be better for us all. The creator of that very same ritual, committed suicide, halfway through writing about it."
Harry takes the goblet. Unexpectedly, the liquid inside feels cold. And smells faintly of wet grass. He shoves the tail into his mouth and chews as fast as he can, grimacing.
Slughorn just stands, staring away into the distance.
Harry takes one cautious, small sip from the goblet. It tastes… cold. If winter could have a taste. That's what it feels like. Not quite pleasant, but not as horrible as some other potions he's tried either.
He downs the rest of it in three gulps.
For a second he doesn't feel any different. Then a burst of warmth travels through him. Harry lets out a quiet, blissful sigh, closing his eyes. This is the first time he's felt warm in so long. Even the flames of last night hadn't reached his bones.
Then looks up at Slughorn, who still hasn't moved. Who still looks troubled and exhausted, age lining his face. "I'm sorry."
Slughorn's attention snaps back to him, "No, Harry. I'm sorry. I deprived you, and many others of their loved ones. Your mother...she was the light of my life. Truly. When I...We were all devastated."
Harry blinks rapidly, a little horrified to realise there are tears in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, "Can you… come back with us?"
Slughorn smiles then, "I'm not sure Albus particularly needs my services…" he takes his wand out of his sleeve again, "You can… here, I'll give you the memory. Whatever helps," with that he touches the wand to his temple lightly, closing his eyes. He starts pulling the wand away slowly and a small wisp of silvery-blue light extends from it. He takes one of the empty vials from the counter and places the memory inside.
Harry watches, fascinated. Slughorn hands the vial over to him, "It's charmed unbreakable, so you don't have to worry about accidentally dropping it. Just… be careful with it."
Harry nods. He hadn't thought it would have been so easy to get the real memory from him. But guilt, he knows quite well, is a terrible, all-consuming emotion. It eats and eats and eats. No one wants to live with it.
He looks away from the memory swirling inside the glass, and asks Slughorn, "Can you contact him?"
"Yes. But while I do, let's get some food into you, and check up on your boyfriend, shall we?"
"That was it? I'm cured?"
"It's a… process actually. A ten-day regimen. I highly suggest you not cast any magic while your recovery is underway. You wouldn't feel better immediately. But the danger is gone."
"I don't think casting any magic would be a problem, sir," Harry says, wincing as his hands cramp, as if on cue. He sets down the empty goblet with a clatter on the counter.
"Look at me, Harry," Slughorn says, and Harry looks up at him. "Your hands, there are devices and potions that can help. And granted, not many people have lived with this malady, but that doesn't invalidate you overcoming it."
Well, this man is a lot more optimistic than Snape. Harry just shrugs and looks away, "Yeah, thank you, Master Slughorn."
"Oh, Horace is just fine, lad. Come along."