Thank you again for all the reviews! Note that there's a time skip of several years here.

Part Three

"I don't know why you got it, but I don't like it."

Harry nodded absently, staring at the letter in his hand. It had come via school owl, which was unusual; in this, his sixth year, the person who wrote to him most regularly when he and Regulus were together was Walburga Black. The Dark Lord sometimes sent him things, but they simply showed up on Harry's pillow or beneath his plate.

And now, this. An invitation to visit Dumbledore in his office.

Harry looked at Regulus and found his best friend staring with narrowed eyes at the head table. Harry looked up there, too, and met Dumbledore's eyes for a moment. The man nodded and smiled at him, eyes significantly moving back and forth between Harry's face and the letter in his hand.

"I suppose I have to go," Harry muttered, and tucked the letter down inside his robe pocket.

"Yes, you do."

Harry started and glanced over his shoulder. At least Regulus had jumped, too, which was the only reason he could somewhat excuse himself.

Severus was leaning on his elbow behind them, his eyes burning like two pools of oil. He had never been the same since his fifth year, Harry and Regulus's fourth. Something had happened between him and Sirius and James that Severus still wouldn't talk about, and then he had been tormented in public by James and lost his only friend when he'd called her a Mudblood.

Before that, he had been intense. Now he seemed to be afire with a secret purpose at all times, and Harry wouldn't admit it, but he did find it more intimidating than seeing the Dark Lord.

(Then again, he hadn't seen the Dark Lord since the summer before his second year when he'd sworn the oath, so his memories might be lacking).

"You've spent enough time with the Headmaster to know when it's best to go, Severus?" Regulus asked, leaning close enough to drape an arm around Harry's shoulders. He had warned Harry that Severus was one of the Death Eaters' most likely recruits and would probably target Harry, too.

Harry had tried to point out that he already was practically a Death Eater. Regulus had always acted like that didn't matter.

(Maybe it didn't when no one except Regulus and Walburga and the Dark Lord knew about Harry's vow of service).

"Yes," Severus said, not responding to the half-joking tone in Regulus's voice. His hands clenched for a moment on the edge of the table, and he leaned in. "You should be careful of what you say to him. And don't meet his eyes."

Harry caught his breath. "That rumor is true?"

Severus looked directly at Harry for a moment, and Harry felt the whisper of something as sharp as a thrown blade behind his eyes. Startled, he jerked back. Regulus had taught him the basics of Occlumency, but Harry had never felt anything like that.

"Yes," Severus hissed, and then turned and walked further down the table as Alaric Mulciber called for him.

Harry swallowed a little. He glanced at Regulus, who gave him a wide-eyed look back.

"No eye contact," Regulus said softly. "I don't care if you have to be obvious about it. Just—keep the secrets you need to, and come back to me." His hand caressed Harry's shoulder, something that was happening more and more often lately.

Not that Harry had any objection, either to the touch or the plan. "I'll do that," he said, and leaned against Regulus for a moment before he pulled away.

When he did, and looked at Regulus, his friend's face was practically glowing. Harry smiled at him and stood up to make his way to Dumbledore's office.

"Please come in, Mr. Potter."

Harry stepped out of the moving staircase and looked around Dumbledore's office with an amazement that he didn't have to hide. The silver instruments everywhere glittered and flashed in the firelight. The perch with the glowing phoenix on it—a real phoenix!—over to the side looked as if it was made of ancient and highly polished mahogany. The books looked temptingly old, and the desk was massive and had grooves in it. From spells? The phoenix's claws? Harry would have liked to know.

"Please have a seat, dear boy."

Harry smiled absently at Dumbledore and sat down, still looking towards the phoenix. The bird watched him with a tilted head and fluffed wings. Harry wondered if it had something to do with his wand core, which was a phoenix feather.

"Do you know why I asked you here, Mr. Potter?"

It wasn't Harry's imagination, then, Harry thought as he turned back towards Dumbledore. The Headmaster had put an emphasis on Harry's last name, as if to remind him of his relationship to James first and foremost. Harry let his eyes rest on the man's nose as he said, "No, sir. The note didn't say."

"I didn't feel it wise to put any hint of my purpose in a note that other Slytherins might read. You know that you cannot trust most of your Housemates, don't you, Harry?"

"Oh, I know that a lot of them have ambitions and are self-centered, sir. And some are attracted to the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore sighed a little. "I am disappointed to hear you call him that instead of his name, Harry. He is no kind of lord, and deserves no respect."

"Wow, sir, it's great that James is courageous enough to say his name!"

Dumbledore paused. "What do you mean, Harry?"

"Just that if you're urging me to use it, James must be using it, too. Since his House is such a safer environment for it."

Another pause. Apparently Dumbledore didn't know quite what to do with this information. Harry kept his smile inside and just nodded vaguely at Dumbledore's forehead.

"No," Dumbledore said at last. "Your brother is still calling Lord Voldemort You-Know-Who." The same weight on brother as on Potter, Harry noticed. "But I assumed that you would lead the way, Harry. Because you are surrounded by the temptation to join him, it is imperative that you use the name and show where your true allegiances lie."

"That would be pretty dangerous, wouldn't it, sir?"

"In what way, Harry?"

"Just that my Housemates would notice I wasn't calling him the Dark Lord anymore, and they might guess that I oppose him, and then they would have every opportunity to hex or curse me in my sleep. Maybe do worse."

"Harry," Dumbledore said, with a faint sigh. "I had hoped that you would be above such petty concerns. I had hoped to win from you a declaration of principle."

"Why, sir, when not even James is doing it yet?"

Another pause. Harry continued to smile vacantly at Dumbledore. He had the impression that the Headmaster had wanted him to understand the implications of using Voldemort's name without forcing Dumbledore to state them aloud. Playing dumb was useful so much of the time. Harry used it with his Housemates, too, pretending not to understand what they meant when they hinted that the Dark Lord would hate Harry for his blood or that Harry was somehow cheating and wasn't really a Parselmouth.

"It is more important for you to stick to principle," Dumbledore said at last.

"Can you explain why, sir?"

"Surely you know, Harry."

Yes, but I'm starting to think that it's funny to make you say it aloud. "Not really, sir. If James doesn't need to do it, then it can't have to do with age or my being a Potter." Harry managed not to sneer on those last words, but it was hard.

Stepmother Euphemia made it clear every holiday that she saw him as an intruder into her perfect family. Fleamont saw Harry as an embarrassing mistake. James just stared at Harry as if Harry had materialized from thin air claiming to be a Potter.

Harry didn't think his House mattered that much to any of them except James. It was just that he was illegitimate and should never have intruded on them. And, well, Harry thought sometimes that he would much rather have stayed with his mother, and never known about magic, except for Regulus and Asilos.

"This is painful for me to say, Harry," Dumbledore said, and took off his glasses to swipe his hand across his eyes. Harry continued to make firm friends with the bridge of Dumbledore's nose. "I want you to know that."

"Yes, sir." Painful to have to say aloud instead of letting him imply it, maybe.

"Because you are a Parselmouth, and so is Voldemort, you have more chance of drawing his attention. Your temptations will be unique even as your gift is unique. You will have to work harder to stick with the path of goodness and righteousness."

That you never once encouraged me to walk. The Headmaster could have taken Harry under his wing years ago or told the Potters to lay off him if he'd really been concerned about Harry. It was a bit rich to think about it now, when Harry was sixteen.

Harry knew that most people would say that he shouldn't have taken the oath with Voldemort when he was eleven. But what choice had he had? What choice had Walburga had but to tell the Dark Lord about her younger son's Parselmouth friend?

The world was made the way it was, for and by powerful wizards. Harry was stronger than some of them, but nowhere near as strong as the Dark Lord or Dumbledore, and he didn't have anywhere near the social acceptance that James did. So he would fight to survive, and to give Regulus a chance to do it, too. He would fight for Asilos. He would fight for others in his House, like Severus, who had extended a hand of friendship. He would fight for the Dark Lord because he had to.

It wasn't out of some strong belief in blood purity, which Harry didn't have. It was just survival.

"I know that perhaps you feel your parents haven't been a welcoming as they could have been," Dumbledore said abruptly, confusing Harry for a moment until he realized that Dumbledore was referring to Stepmother Euphemia as his parent. Harry would have snorted if he could have. She would be even more horrified at that than Harry was. "But that is no reason to turn against them."

"What would be, sir?"

"Pardon?"

"If their hating me because of something I couldn't help isn't reason enough to turn against them, then what would be?"

Dumbledore paused again. Harry wondered idly what he had expected to find. A child so desperate for acceptance that he would do as the Headmaster asked and fight the Dark Lord just because he was telling Harry that he was, sort of, a Potter?

Maybe I would have been that way, if not for Regulus.

"You should not turn against your parents," Dumbledore said at last. His voice was slow. Maybe he'd expected more defiance, too, and didn't know what to do with this kind of passive opposition. "It's—you should not deprive yourself of your family, Harry."

"They were never a family to me, sir."

"I am sure that James—"

"Not for six years, sir."

Dumbledore made a disgruntled sound. "Harry, if you would only accept that it must be disorienting for them to have a child they never knew existed thrust upon them—"

"Six years after the fact, sir?"

Dumbledore stared at him. Harry stared at Dumbledore's beard.

"I suppose I should have known that a Slytherin would be mercenary," Dumbledore said abruptly, shaking his head. Harry supposed it would be this tactic where Dumbledore hoped disappointment would get through to Harry, since apparently he'd exhausted his reserves of compassion. "Very well, then. Think of it this way, Harry: do you want to serve Voldemort when he tortures his own servants?"

If only you knew, Harry thought, barely managing to hold back an incredulous chuckle. "I want to keep out of his way, sir," he said, honestly enough. He wouldn't be able to, but it was what he wanted. "But I think what you're saying is that I should fight him. Did you tell Fleamont and Stepmother Euphemia that, too? Or do they get to stand aside? What about James?"

"Your brother will be fighting," Dumbledore said. "He is courageous enough, and knows enough about the potential future of our world, that he has agreed."

And he's infatuated with a Muggleborn, Harry thought. Severus's former friend, Lily Evans. Harry thought of it as infatuation, even though James had pursued her for years, because he had never acted as though he knew or understood anything about her, or even liked her for anything other than her looks.

"Your—best friend's brother will be fighting."

Harry nodded. When it came to it, he had never expected that Sirius would be smart enough not to oppose the Dark Lord. After all, he had never been smart enough to value Regulus for what he was. "That doesn't surprise me, sir."

"Why will you not, Harry?"

"Why should I, sir? So far, the only arguments you've provided is that people who don't like me are fighting. Doesn't provide much of a temptation, sir, if I can be blunt. Doesn't sound like I would find much camaraderie in the ranks."

"There is such a thing as the right choice, Harry, whether or not it is easy."

"And of course you've spoken to other Slytherins about this. Of course you'll be having Regulus up here next."

Dumbledore was silent. Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Sir, shall I tell you what I think?"

"I have been inviting you to do so, Harry."

Harry ignored the slight scolding tone in Dumbledore's voice and smiled at him. "Sir, I think that you're speaking to me because I'm a Potter, or sort of a Potter, and you think that I should be better than my Housemates. As if I don't really belong in Slytherin. As if a father who never knew I existed until I was nine years old somehow makes me better than people like Regulus.

"Houses don't matter as much as everyone thinks they should. But neither does blood. I've found more camaraderie and friendship in Slytherin than I ever did with my family or Sirius Black. You can't just assume that I'll be good, or that I should do something barely anyone is doing and enter the front lines of a war against the Dark Lord, because of my bloodline. It sounds like another kind of blood purism, really."

Dumbledore looked stricken. Harry leaned back in his chair and stared hard at the band of skin across Dumbledore's forehead.

"That is not…I assure you, Harry, I do not think that certain people are better than others because of their families…"

"It sounds like it."

"I do not."

This denial sounded sincere, at least, if a little desperate. Harry nodded. "All right, sir. But then you still can't provide a justification for me as to why I should fight the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore took a deep breath and sat up. "If you want a selfish reason, Harry, then you are the son of a Muggle." Squib. "The Dark Lord and his more fanatical followers will kill you for that if they can, and especially because you are the son of a Muggle who somehow has Parseltongue. There are those who would think that you somehow stole that magical gift, and hate you for it."

"Kill me?"

"Yes. After torture, of course."

Harry appreciated, for the first time in a while, that Walburga had told the Dark Lord about him. She'd had to, but she also might have saved his life. Maybe he would die if the Dark Lord deemed him disposable, but he wouldn't suffer the kind of death that Dumbledore was talking about. Not as long as he was useful.

"I don't see the need to make myself a target, sir, given that I'm already partially one."

"You could be a spy."

"A spy, sir?" Harry blinked.

"We know very little of the inner workings of Slytherin House right now," Dumbledore said, leaning forwards. "You're right, Harry, Houses shouldn't matter as much as they do, but right now, most of my recruits are Gryffindors. If you agreed to aid us, you could tell us what was happening there. Perhaps even take the Dark Mark and spy on Voldemort's inner circle for us."

Harry laughed harshly. "Sir, when the Dark Lord is so powerful, has reason to hate me, and can read minds, you think that I would be able to fool him?"

"You are doing a good job avoiding my eyes so far, young Harry."

Harry took a deep breath and forced away his instinctive panic at the thought that Dumbledore had noticed. "Sir, I couldn't avoid his eyes forever if I was doing things like—like going on raids, or supporting him openly, or signing up to be a Death Eater."

"I will lay it out for you with complete honesty, Harry. We are desperate. We have no eyes in Voldemort's camp, and we need them. If you would serve as those eyes, you would have the gratitude of everyone, including your family, I am certain."

"And nothing more than gratitude?"

Dumbledore's hands twitched, for a moment. "Not money, if that is what you are asking for," he said evenly.

Harry laughed, startling even himself. "No, sir."

"Then what do you mean?"

"I mean that there is no guarantee that I would earn my family's love or admiration this way. They've withheld it when I did nothing wrong. Why should they grant it for me becoming a Death Eater? And there's no way to be sure that I'd earn my life. If I took the Dark Mark, I could even be thrown in Azkaban if the Dark Lord was defeated and I did live."

Dumbledore started talking about not allowing that to happen, but Harry found himself thinking of something else. He wanted to survive. He didn't care about having influence in the Ministry or among the purebloods the way that some other Slytherins did, but what would happen if the Dark Lord lost and someone found out about the Unbreakable Vow?

Harry swallowed as his heartbeat picked up speed. He needed to live. To find some leverage, some influence, over the Dark Lord.

"Harry? Are you paying attention to me?"

Harry started and looked up. Dumbledore was leaning forwards and appeared annoyed. "No, sir. Sorry, sir."

"I asked if you would reconsider. Certainly, as a spy, you would need to be a secret, but I would know that you were loyal to us and could explain that to various people if Voldemort fell and you were put on trial."

"And what would happen if you died before you told them, sir?"

"You seem certain that this will happen, Harry."

"I think it could happen," Harry corrected him. "And no one else is going to watch out for me if you persuade me to become a spy, so I want to make sure that I have all my options covered."

"This is most disappointing, Harry."

"What? My concern for my own life?"

"Your commitment to dodging the call of principle—"

"Hey, James seems to have done pretty well so far, too."

Dumbledore just stared at him. Harry looked serenely back. He knew what kind of game Dumbledore was playing, the things he wanted to say and the things he didn't want to say, and how he disliked laying out the fundamental premises behind his argument directly. But Harry had no reason to make it easy for him.

Dumbledore finally sighed and sat back behind his desk. "If I cannot persuade you to do the right thing, then I am afraid this conversation is over with, Harry."

"Okay, sir." Harry stood up. "Have a good afternoon."

"Flint approached me."

"Byron Flint? Why him?"

Harry and Regulus were sitting together on a couch near the fire, one they had claimed as theirs last year by dint of Harry's Parseltongue and Regulus's hexes. They'd enchanted both the cushions and the back with anti-eavesdropping and privacy charms so strong that Regulus sometimes felt them buzzing in his ears. At least it made for a safer place to talk than one would ordinarily have in the Slytherin common room.

"I think because he's in my Ancient Runes class and has a valid reason to talk to me."

Harry nodded. Regulus still lamented that he hadn't managed to get Harry to take Ancient Runes, but Harry had stubbornly preferred Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures. "All right. And he said what?"

"I could be Marked next year, if I wanted."

Harry stared thoughtfully into the fire. "Is that what you want?" he asked after a long pause.

Regulus stared at the side of Harry's face, which wasn't as revealing as he could wish. "I thought you knew that I would do it in a heartbeat, to stay by your side."

Harry turned a bright smile on him. Regulus hadn't yet told Harry his private conclusions regarding that smile. He reckoned they could wait. "Thank you, Regulus. But I don't have much of a choice because of my Parseltongue." He touched Asilos, strung around his neck like a good luck charm, absently. "I still want you to have one."

"You weren't talking like this a week ago, Harry. Did Dumbledore manage to catch your eye after all during your conversation?"

Harry turned to face Regulus fully, his eyes bright and his gaze concentrated. "No. What he did make clear to me is that I want some way to survive. And even though the Dark Lord might win, what if he doesn't? I doubt anyone is going to be that compassionate to me and agree that because I had to take an Unbreakable Vow to him, I had to be a Death Eater."

"What are you thinking of?" Regulus whispered, dread prickling up his spine. "Harry, you know that you can't mess around with an Unbreakable Vow."

"No, but he said that I was supposed to serve him and not tell his secrets or about meeting him, not be a perfectly loyal Death Eater. I want some way to show that I was working against him if Dumbledore does win. And I want to have some means of protecting myself if he wins."

"You think they can be the same thing?"

Harry snorted. "Either one of those is going to be rare. Yes, I think they both need to be the same thing. I won't get another chance."

Regulus leaned back and studied Harry. "You have changed," he said slowly. "I thought you were…well, content to go along. Content to receive a bit of acknowledgment for your Parseltongue and a bit of protection from the Dark Lord and nothing else."

"So did I. But I want to live more than I want those things."

"Live freely?"

"Yeah, not be thrown in Azkaban. Or tortured to death."

Regulus nodded reluctantly. Two years ago he perhaps would have protested that the Dark Lord would never torture Harry the way he did his lesser servants, but in the last few years, the Dark Lord had gone…strange. Madder than before. Perhaps he would indeed torture Harry to death, especially if he got a notion in his head that a fellow Parselmouth could be a threat to him.

"I'll help you."

Harry smiled at Regulus. "Thanks. I never doubted you would. I just don't want you to put yourself in danger to do it."

"I always intended to become his," Regulus said. "It would be expected of my mother's son. My mother's loyal son," he added, with a grimace.

It would have been understandable for Sirius to become so enamored of the Potters if he'd known that Mother would require them to become Death Eaters. But Sirius hadn't known that was a possibility when he was Sorted, and he had decided that he had to pick on anyone who was younger than he was or less popular, even if they were Gryffindors or adamantly opposed to the Dark Lord.

Regulus started out of his thoughts as he realized that Harry's hand was on his arm. Harry smiled at him, with steel behind the expression, and said, "I told you that he was an idiot for refusing to care about you."

"I know," Regulus whispered. "You've said that before."

"But it's not the same as having your brother back."

Regulus nodded, his head bowed. He still didn't know for certain what about James Potter had convinced Sirius that he was so much better and the brother Sirius had always wanted. Because he was the same age? Because he was brash and loud and thought of everything as humorous, which was pretty much the opposite of Regulus in every way?

Or because…

"Maybe that's it," Regulus breathed.

"What is?"

Asilos had her head lifted to look at him when Regulus glanced up. He reached out and stroked her scales, giving Harry a small smile. "I was there for all Sirius's bad moments," he murmured. "The ones when he got punished, when he looked weak, when he made a mistake and I got punished instead. When he joked around about making me swear an Unbreakable Vow. He was probably ashamed of that later, when he understood how serious they are. So…"

"That's what he sees when he looks at you," Harry said, with a nod. "Someone who was there for the worst parts of his life. James was there for his best ones."

"Yeah," Regulus said with a long sigh. "It's only a theory. But it makes more sense than others I've come up with."

"I think you're probably right." Harry settled more heavily, leaning against Regulus. "But I will say that I think he should have stayed loyal to you anyway, no matter what."

"I agree," Regulus said. "Just like James should have stayed loyal to you even though you made him think worse of his father. It's not your fault that Fleamont decided to cheat on his wife."

Harry smiled at him. "So, our brothers are shitty, and we're going to serve the Dark Lord, and we're going to look for something so that we can protect ourselves from both sides."

"Sounds about right," Regulus said.

"Actually, I think there is one thing we forgot."

"What's th—" Regulus's voice dried up in his throat as Harry turned to face him, leaning forwards with his hands on Regulus's knees.

Harry's face held a light that had never been there before. He reached out and slid a hand slowly up Regulus's cheek, fingertips feathering along his skin in a way that made Regulus feel as if he was about to combust.

"Harry?" he whispered, or rather croaked.

"I want you to stand at my side in all ways," Harry breathed. "And I think you want the same thing." He leaned in, slowly enough that Regulus felt like screaming at him to hurry up.

It finally occurred to Regulus that he could do something about Harry's speed, and he surged forwards. Harry gasped as their lips connected, and his hands rose and wound behind Regulus's neck.

There was the time before this, Regulus realized abruptly, and now there would be everything after.

They kissed until Asilos hissed something, and Harry broke free to laugh. Regulus licked his lips and said, "What does she think?"

"That I should have done something about this a long time since, given how I smell when I'm around you."

Regulus wasn't sure that he wanted to think about a snake smelling Harry's lust, so he went back to kissing him instead, secure that no one would see them behind the privacy charms. Secure that this was an excellent plan.

Sure that they had made the right decision to carry forwards together, no matter what happened after this.