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Chapter Eight—Conversations Under Glass

"Harry?"

Harry turned around and smiled at Professor Dumbledore, who was standing behind him near the top of the staircase Harry had just come up, ignoring the way that his magic tensed and snapped invisible teeth on the air. "Hello, Professor. Did you want to speak to me?"

Professor Dumbledore sighed a little. "Yes. I wondered if you realized that you don't have to make friends with Slytherins?"

It was so unexpected that Harry blinked at him. "I didn't think I did, sir?"

"I only meant that I know you have been spending a lot of time with Mr. Nott of late. I didn't want you to think that was required as part of the political role we might ask you to fulfill. Mr. Nott has had plenty of opportunities to learn about the goodness of Muggles from his current guardians, and you do not have to speak to him about it."

A frisson of hatred crept through Harry and his magic alike. Yes, he learned so much that was good from the Figgs, like how to cast a spell that scorches a child's tongue. But he just nodded. "Okay, sir."

"Good!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "How are your lessons with Professor McGonagall going?"

Harry sighed a little. "Not well, sir. I can't seem to get the hang of Transfiguration." In truth, he hadn't thought of a good way to practice it yet that didn't rely on illusion, and elemental magic didn't hold a solution.

"Yes, Minerva has spoken to me about it. I want you to know, again, that your behavior need not be based on the hopes that we expressed having for you. If you need to take first-year Transfiguration again next year, that will work."

Harry bowed his head. He wondered if the Potters would suggest sending him back to the Dursleys if he didn't get better in Professor McGonagall's class. Or if he didn't stop spending time with Theo.

But while Harry might try his best to figure out a way to manage Transfiguration with the magic he had, he wasn't about to give up Theo. He would spin it any way he needed to, but Theo was his friend, and Harry had never had one of those before.

"All right, sir," he murmured meekly.

"Ah, Harry. My dear boy. I wish there was something I could do for you."

Don't send me back to the Dursleys.

But Harry wasn't about to suggest it, just in case that gave Dumbledore the idea, so he stood there, and then Dumbledore sighed and waved him away. Harry turned and continued trudging up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, the invisible beast on his shoulder settling into rumbling wariness again.

He wondered, as he went, why Dumbledore thought that Harry could still turn into the political player Dumbledore had wanted him to be. Or was this trying to maneuver him into a new position because his skills were limited, at least as far as Dumbledore knew?

Maybe he'll want me to reach out to the Slytherins or something later on, and telling me I don't have to do it is just a way of making sure I don't feel pressured.

Harry shrugged to himself as he reached the Fat Lady's portrait and muttered the password. He didn't think he would ever really understand Dumbledore's motivations, so the best thing was just to go on living his life.

Albus stared sadly after Harry as the child walked up the stairs on legs thinner than they should be, with magic wilder than it should be swirling around him. He had placed the tracking and monitoring charms, and the child hadn't indicated that he'd noticed a thing. Felix would have.

Harry is not his brother.

Albus sighed, shook his head, and turned back towards his office, his heart heavier than usual. Yes, of course, Harry was not his brother, and they had not planned for him to be. Ideally, Harry would have returned from the Muggle world with a good experience in it and been able to advocate for Muggles to the purebloods he seemed to insist on spending time with, while Felix would have been able to explain the good parts of magic and magical history to the Muggleborns.

But even that probably came too close to the sin that Lily had sometimes accused Albus of when they discussed Harry's future, seeing the Potter twins as nothing more than mirror reflections of each other.

Did we not have cause?

Whether they had had cause or not, they had made a mistake. They had left Harry with abusive people, and the damage could not be repaired.

Albus felt very old as he turned to make his way up the stairs.

"This is hopeless."

Harry just nodded as Granger leaned back from the table they'd been sitting at in the common room and crossed her arms. It probably was hopeless for him to try and learn Transfiguration the "normal" way. Professor McGonagall had really tried to teach him, and she was a lot more patient than Granger.

Honestly, the reason Harry had let Granger try to tutor him in the first place was in the name of building connections with his fellow Gryffindors, trying to fit in better with his House. If someone asked about him spending all his time with Theo in the library, he could say truthfully that he'd spent hours in the common room, too.

Granger squinted at him now and asked, "You don't have any questions?"

"Nothing that anyone else could do something about," Harry murmured, and shook his head. "I think maybe I should have asked more questions of Mr. Ollivander when I got my wand, but it's too late now."

"Not really! You could write to him! Maybe he could figure out what's wrong with your wand if you talked to him about it a bit!"

Harry listened tolerantly as Granger rambled on about her new idea, including lots of guesses about wandlore. Some of them were accurate, based on what Harry had been reading before Quirrell told him he was an elemental mage; others weren't. Honestly, it didn't matter that much. Harry was building connections by being here. He was encouraging Granger to fit in a bit better.

Slytherin, a voice said in the back of his mind. Harry couldn't even determine whether it sounded like Theo's or like Felix's.

Harry pushed that thought away, too. Sure, he acted like a Slytherin in some ways, but he had chosen Gryffindor, and that just meant being subtler still in covering up the ways he didn't fit in.

A glance at the watch James and Lily had sent him showed that he only had about fifteen minutes left to get down to the library and meet Theo. Harry reached to pack up his Transfiguration book, and Granger stopped rambling.

"Oh! Where are you going? Can I come?"

"Sorry, Granger, I have another tutoring session."

"Well," Granger said, and sat up a little, "will you please tell Professor McGonagall that I was being helpful? She said something the other day about how I should try to get better at that."

Harry hid his amusement and nodded. He didn't even have to lie to his Housemates half the time, it seemed. They just filled in the gaps in his stories their own way. He had never said he was bound for a tutoring session with McGonagall; Granger had just filled that in on her own.

With his materials all packed away, Harry stood up and headed for the Fat Lady's portrait. He caught Felix's eye on the way. Felix waved at him and turned back to the chessboard spread out between him and Ron.

I'm glad he has friends who occupy him and doesn't feel like he has to run after me all the time, Harry thought, and slipped out the portrait. That could be really inconvenient.

Theo supposed he should have anticipated the glassy mask that settled over Harry's face the instant he stepped around the corner of the bookshelves and registered Blaise sitting at the same table as Theo.

Blaise put down his quill and gave Theo a guarded glance. Theo just smiled back. He had wanted to introduce the only two interesting people in his year to each other. It would let him spend time with them both and might bring Harry a bit more out of his shell.

"Sorry, Nott, I must have mistaken the time," Harry was saying easily. "I didn't realize you were here to study with Zabini. Or maybe the day? Were we supposed to meet on Sunday?"

"You're good," Blaise said with respect. "Much better at lying than most Gryffindors."

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"No, you haven't mistaken the day or the time, Harry," Theo said. He was a little touched that Harry had immediately reverted to last names in front of Blaise, obviously unsure if Theo would want his Housemates to know he was on good terms with a Gryffindor. "This is Blaise. I wanted to introduce the two of you."

"Why?"

Theo frowned. Harry's face had remained glassy, and his tone was pleasant enough but completely unrevealing. Theo didn't know everything the Muggles had done to Harry—and obviously they couldn't use magic to abuse him the way the Figgs had on Theo—but he hated that it had made Harry so reluctant to trust anyone.

"He says we're the two least boring people at school," Blaise said. He was studying Harry in what might be interest or just looking for weaknesses. "We should be friends so we can all be interesting together."

"Okay." Harry sat down on the far side of the table and spread out his books. "So are you interested in Potions, Zabini?"

"Blaise."

Harry turned his head and gave Theo the flattest stare ever.

"His name is Blaise," Theo said, and tried to ignore the creeping feeling that everything was going horribly wrong and he should never have invited Blaise. "If we're going to be friends, you should use it."

"But I don't know that we're going to be friends yet," Harry said softly.

Theo found himself stumped. He had assumed that Harry would welcome more friends. Wasn't he always trying to talk to the Gryffindors, even the most unpromising of the bunch, like Longbottom? Sure, he wanted to blend in to fool his parents, but it didn't take that much work. Surely he would welcome someone who could understand his real nature and admire his gifts, the way Theo did.

But Harry's face was flat and unfriendly. He turned back to Blaise and just stared at him.

Blaise was the one who started to laugh. "I thought you were mental," he told Theo, leaning back in his chair and surveying Harry. "To try and get along with a Gryffindor, and then introduce me to him. But you were right. Not a Gryffindor at all, is he?"

Harry's chin jerked up, and Theo didn't think he was wrong about seeing a swift flash of fire along his shoulder.

"I didn't tell him anything," Theo said quickly. "It's just easy to notice when someone actually speaks with you, Harry."

"The Gryffindors do, though. And they haven't noticed anything amiss?"

It wasn't going exactly the way Theo had imagined, where he had thought Harry would make the first move, but Blaise's eyes were alight with interest. That could serve as a bond, at least, Theo thought with relief. Something to tie them together and pull them into one group.

Harry looked back and forth between Blaise and Theo, and then clearly decided he might as well answer Blaise's question. Theo wished he knew whether Harry was doing it because he trusted Theo or because Blaise had already reasoned out how devoid of Gryffindor qualities Harry was. "It's easy to listen to people without really talking to them. I make a few replies they expect me to make, and they fill in the rest themselves."

Blaise slowly nodded. "I handle my mum that way sometimes."

"Does she—do worse than not listen to you?"

Theo felt his eyebrows rise. He would have expected the abuse Harry had endured from Muggles to make him worse than bitter about children who had grown up with their parents. But instead, it had just made him focused on picking out those children who had suffered like he had.

Blaise shook his head. "No. She just thinks I'm too young to make useful suggestions, and she has ways of handling problems that I don't—well, never mind. She won't change the way she handles them. But nothing like what Theo is going through."

Harry sat back and studied them both again. Theo could see the links clinking into place in his mind, the fact that Theo trusted Blaise enough to reveal the truth. That obviously elevated Blaise in Harry's thoughts.

I'll have to teach him not to reveal what he's thinking so obviously, Theo decided. But that can come later.

"Okay," Harry said. "I suppose we can work together for a little while, Zabini, and see how well we tolerate each other. As long as you can stand to work with someone who's so far behind in the wanded classes."

Theo narrowed his eyes as he tugged out his own Transfiguration book. He had expected Harry to not want to reveal his elementalist powers right away, but he had expected some hints, with Harry eventually telling the truth once he trusted Blaise enough.

From the stubborn way Harry met Theo's eyes, that wasn't going to happen, and Theo was the only one trusted well enough to keep his secrets.

Theo hid his smile as they got to work on Transfigurations of buttons to beetles. He could be in much worse positions, and frankly, this was one he liked.

"Can you believe that Slytherin Seeker? Diving after the Snitch like that and nearly knocking McLaggen off the broom—"

Harry hummed absently in response to Felix's outraged commentary, eyes on the circling players but mind far away. He liked flying, and he understood the rules of Quidditch just from hearing the other boys argue in the common room, but he didn't think he would ever want to play such an arcane game himself. It had so little point. Go pelting after a Golden Snitch or a Quaffle, it was all the same in the end, wasn't it?

Well, no, wait, Harry had to admit to himself as he watched the Weasley twins hit a Bludger at the Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs. There was one advantage he could see to Quidditch. You were pretty popular if you played it, and that could be good. People would probably leave you alone, and you could tell them you were off to Quidditch practice when you wanted an excuse to leave the Tower.

Harry leaned back as he watched the Gryffindor Keeper, Oliver Wood, scream something and dive in a way that nearly wrenched his broom from his hands to prevent a Quaffle from getting through the hoop. Then again, if you played Quidditch, you would have to deal with fanatics like Wood.

Felix had talked about trying out for Seeker next year, since McLaggen wasn't much good. He was talking about it again now. Harry nodded without taking his eyes from the players.

Then something did catch his attention. He turned his head and saw a gleam of red from the stands where the teachers sat. He wondered for a second if it was Professor McGonagall, who had been wearing red robes that morning. But no, she was over by the commentator's stand yelling at Lee Jordan.

The flash of red showed again. And then again.

And then it resolved into a boomerang of gleaming red light heading straight for Felix.

Harry sat there with his mouth open for a long second. Then he shouted, "Felix!"

He didn't think Felix had heard him for a moment; he was on his feet, like most of Gryffindor, yelling about Higgs doing some complicated twisting maneuver that had cut McLaggen off from catching the Snitch. But then he twisted around and saw the red light, and snatched his wand with a yelp.

The red light was too close by then, tumbling end over end and looking as spiky and sharp as any of the fence posts that Dudley had tried to impale Harry on. Harry flung himself at his brother and pressed them against Felix's seat.

The spell went just overhead with a low, furious humming sound, and Harry stuck his head up cautiously. Yeah, it was already turning around to come back.

"Stay down, Felix!" Felix had poked up his head again and looked as if he was going to come to his feet.

"If there's a Death Eater out there, I need—"

"Down!" Harry pressed Felix down until he was almost lying flat and ignored the screaming from around them and from the pitch. The spell was here to kill Felix, he was absolutely certain. That meant no one else needed to worry unless they were stupid enough to stand up and challenge it. A quick glance around from the corner of his eye showed Harry that no one was.

A sharp snort ripped from him before he could stop himself. He was predicting to himself that even though all the Gryffindors around them were ducking down as well, one of them would make a snotty comment later about how the Slytherins or Hufflepuffs were cowards.

And then the red spell was right there, in front of him, and Harry had no more time for thought.

Harry spun as it came straight at him, letting it go past, but he saw that it was already turning around this time, orientating on Felix. Harry let the vigilant magic that was screaming on his shoulder leap up and towards it without knowing what exactly would happen next.

The red spell exploded into a hazy mess of light and sparks. Harry closed his eyes. He could feel the killing part of the magic trying to come back together, the power that had leaked out into the air struggling to rejoin its pieces, and Harry's own magic refusing to let it.

There was nothing sophisticated or neat about what Harry's magic was doing. Harry could feel it using claws and fangs, or things that felt like them, to rend apart the spell, and snap and gulp and swallow.

But before he could take in more than a little bit of the magic and notice that it felt familiar, the spell snapped apart and flowed away. Harry gasped and sagged back in his seat, his gaze traveling across the Quidditch pitch for a moment.

He'd already started to suspect, because the magic had felt so familiar. But he saw the last of the red sparks flowing back into Professor Quirrell.

Harry narrowed his eyes, and then Felix popped up beside him and shouted, "I saw Gryffindor get the Snitch!" and everything descended into mass confusion based more on who'd won the Quidditch game than what Harry had seen.

Harry kept his own silence until some of the adults came and got them, but he looked back towards Professor Quirrell—or rather, the place Professor Quirrell had been. He was gone by the time Dumbledore and McGonagall and Snape had surrounded Harry and Felix to escort them to the Headmaster's office.

I'll still see him, Harry thought grimly. In class, if he cancels our private lessons. And then I can find out exactly what he did.

"How did you get rid of the spell aimed at your brother?"

Felix frowned at Professor Dumbledore. He didn't understand why the Headmaster's questions were so sharp, and why he was focused on Harry like Harry was the one who had done something wrong.

He probably did save Felix's bloody life, Felix had to admit. He hadn't had any idea how bad that sharp-edged spell was until Professor McGonagall had explained it in clipped words on the way up to the school. He hadn't seen it clearly, and he'd thought it might even be a prank spell from the Weasley twins at first.

But now that he knew, and that Harry had essentially unleashed his wild magic to rip it apart…

"I tore it apart," Harry said in a small, dull voice, the same explanation he'd used so far. He stared at the floor, at his feet. They were in Professor Dumbledore's office, and for all that the walls and desk and shelves around them sparkled with bright silver instruments, Felix had the impression that his brother wasn't feeling soothed or cheerful. "I reached out with my magic and ripped it, and then I felt it trying to come back together, so I ripped it some more."

"You realize, of course," Professor Dumbledore said in a heavy voice, "that your magic is beyond dangerous, my boy?"

Felix felt something shift in the room. He blinked. He didn't know what it was. Looking around, he saw that Snape seemed alert, but was also glancing from side to side with little darts of his eyes, as if he didn't know what it was, either.

"And what about the spell that was aimed at my brother in the first place, sir?"

Felix's mouth dropped open a little. That shift had been Harry. Felix had never seen him really angry before. He was glaring at Professor Dumbledore now, and his magic was rattling behind him with a buzz like a scorpion's tail. Felix could hear it, even though he couldn't see it.

"Of course we will need to figure out where the spell came from—"

"It was Professor Quirrell. Sir."

"There is no way in the world that you can know that, Harry."

Felix thought he probably would have got angry at Professor Dumbledore's dismissive tone himself, so it was no surprise that Harry did. He leaned forwards a little and hissed, "I know the magic felt familiar. It's because I've been around him in Defense class and our private lessons. I know it was him. And then he was gone when I glanced over again. Why was he gone instead of trying to help the Boy-Who-Lived in the middle of an attack?"

"He might have gone to search for the real attacker," Snape sneered. Felix turned to glare at him, too. It figured that Snape would hate what Harry had to say and distrust it just because Harry was the one saying it.

"Your wild magic is the concern here, not Professor Quirrell."

"Why?" Harry clenched his hands in front of him. Felix heard the disturbing, rattling hiss again, and some of Professor Dumbledore's little trinkets swayed in place. "Why are you so determined to say that I'm the dangerous one?"

Professor Dumbledore sighed. Felix looked from him to Harry, and decided he was pretty interested in the answer to his brother's question, too.

"We have no evidence, aside from your word, that Professor Quirrell was the one behind the attack on Felix," Professor Dumbledore said at last. "But we know that you ripped the spell apart. And magic that can do that must be carefully studied and controlled."

"Why? Isn't mine just the result of a disease?"

"It's getting better, though," Felix said, unable to keep silent any longer. "Harry said so. He can do a lot better in Charms and Defense, now."

Harry's face pinched for a second. Felix had the strong impression that he wanted to continue yelling at Professor Dumbledore. But he nodded and sat back a second later, watching the Headmaster warily.

"We must be sure that you are not a danger to the other students," Professor Dumbledore said.

"What about the person who tried to kill Felix? Shouldn't you be hunting for them and figuring out if they're a danger to the other students?"

Professor Dumbledore stared at Harry as if he had never seen him before. "They will be found," he said at last, in a soft voice. "You can be assured, my dear boy, that we're looking for them."

"Oh, I see," Harry said, and sat back with his arms folded. "So you're picking on me because I'm the one who's here? Yeah, I saw that all the time with my cousin and his friends. They would get frustrated with someone else and pick on me because that other kid had parents who would protect them."

Felix stared at Harry. "How bad did it get?" he whispered. "Dudley's bullying?"

"Mr. Potter."

Felix wasn't sure which one of them Professor Dumbledore was talking to, and at the moment, he didn't care. He leaned towards Harry. "Did it get really bad?" he asked. "Did they hurt you a lot?"

Harry's eyes flickered towards him and lingered for a second. Harry opened his mouth—

"I can hardly believe that Mr. Potter was the victim in those circumstances, rather than the bully," Snape sneered.

Felix saw the moment the door clanged shut behind Harry's eyes. He just sneered and nodded and sat back in his chair.

"Mr. Potter," Professor Dumbledore said again, and this time, he was definitely addressing Harry. "I believe that we have talked about what things would be wise to express, and which things would not."

"Oh, absolutely," Harry said, with a sharp smile on his face that made Felix wonder how much he was hiding. "I'll be going then, Professor, I suppose? While you keep up the very important search for the person who tried to kill Felix, which you're absolutely doing at the same time as you're questioning me sternly here."

"Insolence!" snarled Snape. "Twenty points from Gryffindor! You will not speak to the Headmaster that way!"

Harry glanced at Snape, and then away. Other doors were closing, Felix thought. Harry was already locking away the part of himself that would say these things, and retreating behind the polite, bland mask that he seemed to wear most of the time with the Gryffindors. "Of course, sir."

Snape started to say something else, but Professor Dumbledore interrupted, sounding weary. "Severus, enough. Mr. Potter, of course you're free to go, but keep in mind that we might bring you up here to answer questions at any time."

"And you'll tell me and Felix when you find the person who tried to kill him?"

"You're only children. You're too young to worry about it."

Harry shook his head and walked out. Felix started to say something when they were on the moving staircase, but Harry shook his head again and gestured in a way that made no sense to Felix. Still, he obediently kept silent until they were out of the staircase and walking back towards Gryffindor Tower.

"Why didn't you want to talk there?"

"There are probably spells that will carry our voices right back to Dumbledore so he can spy on us."

Felix stared at him. Harry was—yeah, he looked different. He was walking now with a stalk that made Felix think he heard something else around Harry, a hum or a crackle. Something that was like the static electricity Mum had told him Muggles had discovered and shown him with a few experiments.

"You don't respect him at all, do you?" Felix finally whispered.

Harry turned towards him and shook his head. His eyes darted around. Felix looked with him, but couldn't see any portraits or ghosts or whatever else Harry was looking for. Nothing that would spy on them and report the conversation back to Dumbledore, Harry would probably say.

"How can I? He left me with Muggles who hurt me for ten years."

"But you know why he did that. So that people can stop hating Muggles and we can bind the Muggle world and the magical world closer together."

"And would you like it? To be left without any knowledge of magic and thinking your whole family was dead for ten years?"

Felix blinked. He had the odd impression that more than just Harry's eyes were watching him, even though he still couldn't see anything or anyone else in the corridor. He half-wondered if Dad was nearby under an Invisibility Cloak or something as he answered.

"I wouldn't. But I also didn't like being hunted by Death Eaters and put in hospital a bunch of times. It's not—fun, Harry. But that's the kind of price you have to pay for power and fame. And I'll be using them to make things better for other people in the end."

Harry closed his eyes for a second. Felix had the impression he was thinking. Then he nodded and said, "Forget I said anything."

"But the Muggles did hurt you?"

"You're not going to listen, so why does it matter?"

Felix reached out and caught hold of Harry when he would have turned to walk away. "Harry, I want to know. It's—important. That way, we can at least talk to Mum and Dad about how not all Muggles are good, right? And we can make sure that you never have to go back there."

Harry stiffened. "Do you think they would?"

"The way they are right now?" Felix sighed. Sometimes he wondered if he knew his parents all that well. It had been one thing when he was younger to know that he had an older twin brother living in the Muggle world who he'd meet someday, but it was another to be older and realize they were making excuses for putting Harry in an awful situation. "I don't know. I want to say no, but…"

"Right." Harry wrenched his shoulder loose and walked away.

Felix stared after him helplessly. He wanted to say that everything would be all right. Harry wouldn't need to save his life again because Professor Dumbledore was going to investigate and find the person who had tried to kill Felix, the way he'd promised. And adults were stronger than any one of them, anyway.

But he didn't know what to say.

And he had the odd impression that it wouldn't have made a difference if he had.

When the door opened, Harry was ready.

He sent twin jets of air flowing off to the sides. He'd been practicing as much as he could in some of the old corners of the dungeons where it seemed that no one but the Slytherins went, and not usually them. He hadn't even told Theo about this, because air was one of his weaker elements and he wanted to be sure he had it right.

One stream of air slammed into Professor Quirrell as he stood in the open doorway, pinning him to the wall for a second. The other dived past him and shoved the table that usually stood near the door away from it. Harry wasn't going to give Quirrell the chance to spring a trap on him.

Quirrell gasped, his eyes fixing on Harry for a moment. Harry was sure that he was just pretending to be upset and afraid, the way he pretended with his stutter around other people. But to Harry, it didn't matter much.

He had killed the troll. He could kill Quirrell if he wanted.

"Mr. P-potter," Quirrell whimpered. "Have m-mercy…"

"You may have fooled Dumbledore, but I know that you were the one who aimed that spell at my brother," Harry said calmly. "I don't know why. You're going to tell me if you'll do it again. If I don't like the answer, I'll just smash your head in."

"You can't do that!"

At least he wasn't pretending with the stutter anymore. Harry stared at Quirrell, and his winds snatched a heavy book off the shelves and slammed it straight past Quirrell, pinning it to the wall for a second. Quirrell flinched.

"Yes, I can," Harry said softly.

Quirrell swallowed, and then slowly stepped backwards. He must have realized that the wind Harry had had pinning him was gone. He licked his lips and stared at Harry. Harry stared straight back, his body as tense as a Muggle wire.

"Come in," Quirrell said at last, and shuffled back.

Harry followed him, on high alert. He had fire coiled, invisible except for a few sparks, around his neck, and more wind waiting to be used. He could feel the promising tug of water somewhere out of sight. He never had figured out where it came from, if Quirrell usually kept a hidden pitcher of water in his office or what. But that wouldn't really matter. If Harry had to use it, he would find it and use it.

Quirrell stared at him, rubbing his neck. Harry stared right back, and prepared to shift the stone under Quirrell's feet if he had to, too.

"Why did you not do something to me already for endangering your brother?" Quirrell asked.

"I told Dumbledore. He didn't believe me, or he did but put me off for some reason of his own." Honestly, Harry thought that Dumbledore was too preoccupied with worrying about Harry's magic at the moment. "And then you didn't make any other move, so I've just been waiting for today."

Quirrell laughed, a soft, cold sound that trailed off into a hiss at the end. "Not a wise decision, boy. I could have attacked your brother again at any time."

"But you didn't. So maybe you're waiting, maybe you're concerned with outing yourself, maybe what you want isn't his death as much as something else. I don't care that much, honestly. Don't attack him again."

"Have you considered what I could do to you?"

"Sure," Harry said, and lit the book he had tossed at the wall on fire.

Quirrell shrieked and ran forwards with his hands stretched out. Harry kept the book burning, then ended the flames a second before Quirrell's hands would have brushed against the cover. Quirrell turned around and stared at Harry as if he had never seen him before.

"I know you could do something pretty horrible to me," Harry said quietly, while his heart pounded. "But again, you didn't. So there must be something that you're waiting for, too. And I've endured enough that I could probably fight back through the pain for at least a second and kill you."

"You would be a murderer twice over, then?"

"If once, why not twice? And I wouldn't be alive anyway to see everyone's disappointed looks, probably. But you would be dead. I think that matters more to you than killing me or Felix."

Harry's stomach was churning. He didn't like thinking about killing the troll. But he had. And if Quirrell was going to throw it in his face and try to make it a weapon, then Harry had no choice but to accept it and turn the weapon on Quirrell, the same way he had accepted what people would think about his elemental magic and was using it anyway.

The room was silent, while Quirrell continued to study him. Well, it was probably silent for Quirrell, anyway. To Harry's ears, his magic snarled on his shoulder, trembling, wanting to spring on Quirrell and rend his body apart so no one would ever find more than little pieces of him.

Harry thought he probably stood a better chance of killing Quirrell with his elemental powers, though. So he held his magic in check and waited.

Quirrell laughed again, then, and drew his wand. Harry promptly dropped into a defensive crouch and focused on Quirrell's eyes. They were the part he would set on fire first.

"No," Quirrell said. "I will swear an oath on my wand not to harm you or your brother for the rest of this year. After that, we might have to…reevaluate."

"How do you expect me to swear an oath back when I don't have a wand? And what do you mean by the rest of the year? The end of this year in December, or the school year in June?"

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Quirrell murmured. "You are an interesting student. The end of this school year, in June. In truth, I don't expect to stay much longer than that, if as long. You will have heard that all Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers spend a year in the castle, at most? That will be my term, likely." He held his wand loosely by the middle of it, his attention on Harry. "And you will swear on your magic."

Harry considered that. He wondered if it was the wisest decision. Quirrell had tried to kill Felix.

But unless Harry was going to kill Quirrell right now, there wasn't much else he could see to do. He couldn't protect Felix all the time. Quirrell still might manage to kill him. And if he did murder Quirrell, there wouldn't be a collective shrug the way there had been with the dead troll. Meanwhile, this might buy more time for Dumbledore to investigate Quirrell, assuming he ever actually did that.

And if Quirrell wasn't trying to kill him or Felix…did Harry care that much about what he did with that year?

No. No. I don't.

"I'll swear on my magic not to attack you unless attacked first or you attack Felix or Theo, until the end of this school year in June. And you'll swear not to attack any of the three of us unless attacked first."

"Young Mr. Nott matters to you, too, then."

Harry didn't bother answering. Quirrell spun his wand between his fingers, then nodded. "Done." He held up his wand in front of him and murmured, "I promise not to attack, in any way, shape, or form, Felix Potter, Harry Potter, or Theodore Nott until the end of their first school year, in June of 1992, unless one of them attacks first, dependent on Mr. Harry Potter making a reciprocal oath on his magic."

Quirrell's wand glowed a weird orange color. It didn't fade, so Harry assumed it was waiting for his oath. He said, "I promise not to attack, in any way, shape, or form, Professor Quirinus Quirrell until the end of my first school year in June 1992, unless attacked first, or unless he attacks Felix Potter or Theodore Nott."

The orange glow sparked and vanished. At the same time, Harry felt a weird constraint on his magic. It felt like a chain that ran from the top of his shoulders around his collarbone and back, in a joined circle. Harry grimaced.

"You do feel it, then." Quirrell looked pleased. "Now, I think we were studying Shredding Jinxes and ways to get your magic to imitate them in various degrees of strength, were we not?"

Harry stared at him. Quirrell smiled.

"You think I'm just going to continue tutoring with you, like nothing happened?"

"I think you are the most fascinating student here, and certainly the only one out of your classmates who is interesting to teach. I think our oaths are strong enough to keep both of us safe. I think that I enjoy the process of teaching you too much to give it up."

Quirrell was strange. Harry glanced at the burned book on the floor.

Quirrell laughed again. "Our oaths do not say that we cannot take revenge in other ways, do they? I will have it for my book, Mr. Potter. But not today."

Harry considered some more. It was the strangest thing he thought he'd ever done, seriously thinking about spending more time with his brother's would-be murderer. But why not? They were bound by oaths now. There was no reason to think Felix was in danger, or Theo, or Harry himself. And Dumbledore and the other professors weren't doing anything about tracking Quirrell down or training Harry's real magic.

"All right," Harry said finally, and turned to the conjured cloth targets that Quirrell was already waving into being.

Albus settled back with a long, deep sigh. His monitoring charms had told him that Harry had gone to Quirinus's office this evening, and Albus had been prepared to go rescue his Defense professor if necessary. But despite an odd swell of magic Albus hadn't been able to identify, both of them were still alive, and the charms that told him how fast Harry's heart was beating had calmed down.

Perhaps Quirinus had managed to convince Harry his suspicions were baseless, as Albus knew them to be. He would have sensed Voldemort's wraith coming within his wards. He had not, which meant the wraith was not here. And there was no one else with a compelling reason to try and kill Felix.

Well, perhaps the Death Eaters who managed to hospitalize him, Albus acknowledged wryly to himself. But there were none of them at Hogwarts, and Albus had monitoring charms on all their children.

Fawkes gave a low croon. Albus held out his arm, and Fawkes flew over and ducked his head to have his neck scratched.

"I do despair at what I did to Harry, you know," Albus told his oldest confidante, who responded with a series of escalating chirps. "But after what happened that night…when he and Felix were close together after the attack, as they had never been before…"

Albus shook his head. There had been a swell of Dark magic so ugly that he had felt it tugging on his soul. He had yelled for Lily and James to separate the twins at once, and when they had, the swell of Dark magic had dissipated.

They had all hoped that time and distance in the Muggle world would serve their personal goals for the twins' safety as well as the political goals. When they were older, the twins would have more stable magic, more robust health. It would once again be safe to have them in the same room, the same school.

So far, Albus had seen no reason to doubt that decision.

Fawkes had stopped chirping. Albus stroked his neck once more and lofted his arm, sending his faithful companion back to his perch.

He needed to speak with Sirius. The man had maintained enough distance from Harry, and for no reason that was valid anymore. Harry would need his godfather.

We must keep him from going down the wrong path, accidental magic or not.