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Chapter Eleven—Into Gold

"Are you excited for Christmas, Harry?"

Harry glanced up and gave a soft, hesitant smile. Felix smiled back. Harry had seemed to get quieter in the last few days, as if he was concentrating intently on something. Maybe Professor McGonagall had given him extra work, or Snape. Snape sometimes seemed to hate Harry more than he did Felix, which was a puzzle Felix couldn't work out.

"Yeah. Are we riding the Hogwarts Express back to London?"

Felix nodded and leaned back against his chair. He had already finished his essays for their Monday morning classes tomorrow. Being able to remember everything he had ever read came in handy that way. "And Mum and Dad will meet us there, and we'll have Sirius and a bunch of our friends over for the holidays, but Christmas Day is just us. We'll have piles of presents…"

"Really?"

Harry's voice was quiet, his eyes seeming to stare far away. Felix paused. "The Muggles didn't?"

"Not for me."

Felix grimaced and nodded. He could absolutely see why Harry would resent the Muggles who had raised him. It just wasn't acceptable for that to spill over into prejudice against Muggles in general or for Harry to go along with Slytherins who wanted to use him because of that.

"Well, we'll have piles of presents," Felix said fiercely. "And Ron will come over, and the twins, and Neville, and—we could have Hermione?" That was said a little doubtfully, but he had noticed that Harry and Hermione spent a lot of time together while Hermione tried to tutor Harry in Transfiguration, so they might be friends.

Harry jumped a little as Felix's words pulled him from whatever he was thinking. "Oh. I think she was talking about going on holiday with her parents somewhere over Christmas."

Felix nodded. "Are you going to write to her?"

"Maybe? I don't know what we'd have to discuss except my tutoring."

"That could be enough. I don't—I don't think it's fair, Harry, but I know Professor McGonagall is getting more and more frustrated. I don't want you to have take first-year Transfiguration again with next year's firsties."

Harry's face became more grimly determined. "I think I have a solution to that."

"You do?" Felix sat up.

Harry nodded and slouched back on the sofa he was using so that his face was mostly out of line with the firelight. "Yeah. You know how simple Transfigurations were mostly beyond me? Well, I don't think the more complicated ones are."

"That doesn't make much sense, though, Harry. Why would they teach us the simplest ones first if it did?"

"When has anything about my magic made sense, Felix?"

Felix had to laugh at the sound of that, as little as he wanted to. "Well, that's true. And you think that you'll be able to take second-year Transfiguration with the rest of us? I mean, and catch up on first-year Transfiguration, too?" That had to come first, Felix knew, no matter how remarkable Harry might be in certain respects.

"Yes. I have to."

Felix reached out and put his hand on his brother's arm. "You don't have to, you know? Mum and Dad are going to love you no matter what, even if you have some difficulties with your magic."

"Really? Are they?"

Felix looked down at the floor of the common room and slowly withdrew his hand. "Yeah," he said softly. "I need to think about that. And—if you do well at Transfiguration, it should be for you, not them."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, and touched Felix back for a second on the shoulder before he pulled away. "Hey, want to play some Exploding Snap?"

It still wasn't a game that Harry was all that comfortable with, Felix knew, growing up Muggle as he had. He was grateful that Harry would volunteer to play it with him. He grinned. "Yeah, let me get my cards."

Minerva swallowed as she turned to face Mr. Potter, whom she'd asked to stay after class. Things like this were the most difficult part of her job. She never minded disciplining those who broke the rules and deserved it—she'd had plenty of practice with the Weasley twins—but to see how someone might try as hard as they could and still fail, and she had to tell them what the consequences would be while the light went out of their eyes…

She hated it.

She managed to force herself to smile as she sat down behind her desk. "You said something about how you can demonstrate the Transfiguration, Mr. Potter? Did you work on it during the class period?" It hadn't seemed as if he had, more as if he was glaring at the small wooden box Minerva had given each student and was daring it to respond, but she knew that his wand was reluctant to answer to him. There were bound to be some differences, given that.

"I think so, professor."

His voice was soft, and he stared at the floor. If one couldn't see their eyes, Minerva had thought the day of the Sorting, the Potter twins would look exactly alike. She knew better now. Harry Potter was in all things meeker and more biddable than his twin. At least he wasn't afraid of hard work.

"All right, Mr. Potter." Minerva gestured at the box. "If you could make that into metal, please."

"And it doesn't matter what kind of metal, right, Professor?"

Minerva blinked. That, she hadn't expected. "No, Mr. Potter," she said softly. "Although most students choose steel or iron."

Or don't choose at all. But Minerva wasn't about to say that. The subtleties of Transfiguration theory were for higher-level classes. Some of them, the students wouldn't explore at all until their NEWT years.

Mr. Potter nodded and stared down at the box. Minerva looked with him. She had chosen simple boxes of balsa wood for this exercise, mostly because it was easy to acquire and wouldn't hurt too badly if the students exploded their boxes and pieces hit someone else. She looked down at the grain of the pale wood and waited for it to change as Mr. Potter reached out and tapped it slowly with his wand, muttering the incantation. He had a look of such fierce intensity on his face that Minerva forbore to say anything, even the encouraging words she normally would have.

The wood sparkled. Minerva blinked, wondering if Mr. Potter would set it on fire.

The wood twisted, still sparkling. Minerva stared as the pale color and gasped aloud as she watched it become paler still, and then the box, which had been partially balanced against the back of the desk, twisted and fell over.

Because it was so heavy. Minerva reached out and picked it up with a hand that shook slightly.

"Is that all right, Professor?"

Minerva stared at Harry Potter for a moment, and then at the box in her hand, which, by the weight and the look of it, was solid gold.

"Is that all right, Professor?"

Minerva bit her lip, hard. Her mind was a mess of jumbled thoughts and emotions. She didn't know how Potter had achieved this. Some of her upper-years could have done it, but by the time they got into their fifth or sixth year, they were beyond working with the plain little wooden boxes like this one or trying childish tricks. And if Potter had had the skill all along, why had it taken him so long to display it?

"Why did you choose gold, Mr. Potter?" was the question she asked, the only one she would permit to leave her lips.

"It's been on my mind, Professor McGonagall."

Minerva looked again at the box, turning it around in her hand. The metal felt like gold, bent a little when she put pressure on the sides of the box like the softest of pure gold would. Minerva half-shook her head. She was stunned, but she supposed she would have to get used to it.

And when she thought about it, wasn't there an answer? Felix Potter was a prodigy in Transfiguration, like his father had been. Perhaps Harry Potter's talent had been slow to catch up because he'd lived with Muggles who had probably never encouraged him to exercise it, but once he was put in a supportive classroom environment and had the chance…

Minerva began to smile, and she knew she probably looked a little silly, but that wouldn't stop her.

"Twenty points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for studying so hard and showing that you have the determination and discipline to do well in a class I know you struggled with."

Mr. Potter bowed his head, the faintest of blushes touching his cheeks. "Thanks, Professor." He waited until she dismissed him, and Minerva was left there to sit and stare at the golden box and wonder at his fierce discipline.

It sounded more than silly to admit it to herself now, but there were times that she had doubted that one's Sorting. So long under the Hat, and then so quiet, so skittish, so prone to hang back…and Albus had said something about him spending most of his time with Slytherins, more than he spent in the Gryffindor common room…

Well. Minerva shook her head briskly. Albus was right most of the time, but that only made his infrequent blunders all the more spectacular. Minerva had to admit she would enjoy rubbing this one in his face.

The boy was James's son at Transfiguration, and he had studied hard to impress his Head of House. That was Gryffindor enough for her.

"I heard highly impressed stories from Professor McGonagall this afternoon," Quirrell said casually as Harry walked into his office. "Well done."

Harry nodded, watching Quirrell carefully. So far, he didn't seem upset about the unexpected Imperius Harry had thrown at him last time, or eager to count it as an attack. "I'll never be great at Transfiguration, but I can do it now. So thank you for your advice, I suppose."

"How did you manage it? Minerva showed me the golden box, and I studied it, but I couldn't pick apart the exact mechanism you used to make it."

Quirrell was probably just using flattery, Harry thought, or wanted him to explain it in his own words for some reason. But Harry would take it, as long as their truce—of sorts—continued. "I watched other people casting the spell all class while I was pretending to cast it myself. Near the end, I thought I could see the pattern it would make in my mind, the way the Imperius Curse makes a snake pattern. So I arranged the pattern in my mind and threw it at the box, and at the same time, I tugged on a vein of gold I could sense buried somewhere under Hogwarts. I brought it up and used the pattern to wrap the gold around the wood and then took the wood out from underneath the gold and shoved it back down where the gold was. So now there's a vein of wood underneath Hogwarts. Somewhere."

Quirrell stared at him with his mouth slightly open. Harry eyed him. He didn't know what this meant. Quirrell had to be pretending to be impressed, right? Because Harry knew his method was way too complicated and took way too long compared to the simple Transfigurations other people could do.

"That is—insanely complicated," Quirrell said at last.

Harry nodded. "Not much good in battle." He thought he would probably never like Transfiguration, although he would pretend to when he was dealing with Professor McGonagall.

Quirrell stared at him some more. Harry waited. He didn't know if maybe their truce had come to an end after all and that was why Quirrell was so off-balance. Or maybe he just hadn't anticipated that Harry would be able to meet his challenge and impress McGonagall?

"You have not yet brought your wandless magic under control, then," Quirrell said, and shook his head like a dog surfacing from deep water. "You are still using your elemental magic."

"It takes a long, long time for me to imitate regular wanded magic," Harry said as carefully as he could. He had to tell the truth, because Quirrell always seemed to sense a lie, but he didn't want to appear weak in a way that would make Quirrell stop their lessons. "But I did combine the elemental earth magic with the pattern of the spell that I sensed my classmates casting."

Quirrell gave a soft, huffing laugh, but at least he didn't seem to think Harry was lying. "Potter, what you're doing falls into a realm of magical theory that has more to do with Runes than it does Charms or Transfiguration."

"Oh?" Harry asked warily. He had seen a few minutes of Runes in some of the books he'd found in the library, but he'd been much more occupied in reading about Transfiguration theory and ways to free Theo from the Figgs than learning about something that wouldn't help him.

"Yes. Runes are shapes that are carved in wood or rock, or drawn in blood or ash, or created with other materials, that hold and channel magic. They can make a spell more permanent than is possible when cast with a wand." Quirrell was lecturing, the way he seemed to like doing, and Harry stood and listened. "They can also be created with mere ink, of course, which is the way that they tend to train students in the Ancient Runes course in Hogwarts. But the more uncommon the material, the more powerful the rune."

"How does that relate to spell-patterns, though, sir?" Harry thought it better to add the word in case Quirrell thought he was too disrespectful.

"Some people have experimented with the possibility of creating spells by drawing runes inside their minds." Quirrell shook his head. "The theory has never been worked out in practice. For one thing, thoughts are simply too insubstantial a material, and not uncommon. For another, no scholar could guarantee that they would envision the exact same rune another time, and even a small change in the shape would change the meaning, and thus the spell."

"But you think—"

"You can feel the shape in your mind, not merely see it. A snake. Or—what did the shape that you picked up from your classmates feel like?"

Harry closed his eyes and thought about it. "A snowflake," he said at last. "A simple one."

Quirrell was nodding excitedly when Harry opened his eyes again. "You see? You potentially are opening whole new frontiers of magical theory. That is far more interesting than if you were simply good with wanded magic."

Harry was quiet.

"You do not agree?" Quirrell's voice had that odd sibilance it seemed to pick up at times. Harry hadn't been able to see a pattern to it.

Harry took a deep breath. "It's interesting," he agreed. "But it doesn't help me with convincing the Potters that I fit into their family or Dumbledore that I'm going along with his plans. I could use—something that did. There's too much about me that's unusual. It took me two days of intense study to do what I did today, and I'll have to spend more time on it as Transfiguration class gets more complicated. If this was simple, it would be better."

Quirrell's eyes were wide. He stared at Harry, and stared at him some more. Harry looked back as neutrally as he could and wondered if it was wise to have told Quirrell as much as he had. Probably not.

Quirrell clasped his hands together and made a noise like a chortling seal.

Harry blinked at him.

"Two days of intense study, it took you?" Quirrell laughed again, and this wasn't the cold, high-pitched laugh that he used more often, but something deep and hard. "The poor little lion, to worry about that when you have cracked the spine of a magical theory that has persisted for centuries."

"You're an adult," Harry said as calmly as he could. "You don't have to worry about fitting into a family." Well, probably, anyway. He barely listened to any gossip about the professors, but no one had ever said anything about Quirrell's family that he was aware of. "I do. Maybe if I was already seventeen, all of this would be fine, but it's not."

"Why do you want to fit into their family?" Quirrell asked, his voice now soft and curious. He had so many alternating moods that Harry was beginning to think his impression of a second mind in Quirrell's skull was just all Quirrell. "Rather than standing proud and independent on your own?"

"Well, for one thing, they have all the money."

Quirrell paused. "A fine reason, but not enough of one."

Harry rolled his eyes, and Quirrell didn't take offense, probably because he was still waiting for that other reason. "They also have legal guardianship of me. Who would take it if I alienated them? My godfather is their best friend. I don't know anyone else here who would do it. It's not like McGonagall would, she's also Dumbledore's friend and she works for him."

"I notice you have not asked me."

"You wanted to kill my brother."

"I think I have proven that I want to guard and guide you."

"No, you want to use me," Harry said. He didn't resent that. Quirrell was at least bloody honest about it. "And use me to relieve your boredom. Sir. That's not the same thing as wanting to guide and guard me. And there's the whispering I've heard about the curse on the Defense position. I don't want a guardian who would only be here for a few more months, anyway."

Quirrell stared at him again. "You impress me with your insight, Mr. Potter."

"You swore an oath willingly to have a sort of peace between us until the end of the term. You would probably have pushed for something else if you thought that you would be around for more than a year."

Quirrell paused again. Then he began to do that creepy thing he did, where he prowled in a circle around Harry and examined him from all sides, like Harry was a Muggle car that someone was selling.

Harry turned around and kept facing him this time. His magic snarled on his shoulder in warning.

Quirrell smiled with half his mouth. "You are an interesting young man," he said softly. "Yes, I do have plans beyond the end of term, but you are right that those plans don't involve the Defense position and Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, and made a mental note to hurry up and learn the Imperius by the end of term. It would mean even more if he could learn it before they all went home for the holidays, so he could curse the Figgs to be half-decent to Theo over Christmas, but he didn't think he could learn it that fast.

"However." Quirrell stopped pacing and adjusted the hang of his robes around himself, his voice growing lighter again. "There is no reason that the most clever and interesting child of my acquaintance could not come with me, that we could not swear more permanent oaths not to hurt each other, that we could not continue the exploration of your incredible magic together."

Harry didn't have to think about it. "No."

"No?" Quirrell asked, staring at him.

"No."

Quirrell considered him some more. Harry watched him. His magic was coiled around his back and down his arms, and he felt that interesting tug of distant water that he always did when he was here. Well, he felt it other places, too, but he reckoned that was probably the water in the jugs on the tables of the Great Hall and in the pipes. Only here did he get the impression that it was out of sight but also a limited amount, and if he just reached out—

"Why not?" Quirrell asked.

"Theo is here. My brother is here. I need to make sure that I don't leave them without a defense."

Quirrell sneered, a jagged expression that sat oddly on his face. "Friends and family are a weakness. And I had thought you were including your brother as one of the Potters who needed to be deceived."

Harry sighed. He didn't really know what to do about Felix. On the one hand, Felix tried as hard as he could to make things easier for Harry, welcoming him into conversations and games in the Gryffindor common room and sitting with him at meals and dedicating some time to teaching him. On the other hand, Harry had to lie to him the way he did to almost everybody.

"I don't know for sure what to do about Felix yet," Harry said. "But I know that we couldn't take him with us." He looked at Quirrell pointedly. "Not when you tried to kill him, you tosser."

Quirrell's mouth opened very slightly, and he looked like he didn't know what to do. Harry waited. He had done that deliberately, to see how Quirrell would react in a situation where Uncle Vernon would have begun roaring and tossed Harry in the cupboard.

Quirrell turned away and stared at the wall, and then said in a small voice, "A moment ago, I was offering to let you come with me, to join me in plans that are as grand as any you could ever imagine—"

"And a month ago, you tried to kill my brother."

"You are oddly focused on that."

Harry grimaced as a headache spread along his temples. It seemed localized above his eyes, in the center of his forehead. Harry didn't rub at his face, because he wasn't stupid enough to admit more weakness right now, but he shrugged. "He's my only brother. Maybe the only family I'll ever have if the Potters catch on to what I'm doing. He's important."

Quirrell turned around again, and the headache vanished. He shook his head, but it now looked brisk, instead of bewildered. "Very well. You have told me your reasons for wanting to remain here and lie to your family. Let us get on with the day's lesson."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." From the way Quirrell was smiling, Harry was half-sure he had done it deliberately, to set Harry off-balance and get some of his own back. "And this time, it will be half me teaching you, and half you teaching me."

"What do you mean?"

"You said that you can feel the shape in your mind. It may be that the trick is impossible for others to learn, but that may not be true, as well." Quirrell flicked his wand into his hand. "We are going to see."

"I'm staying here for the holidays."

Theo avoided Harry's eyes as he spoke. Harry was quiet. They were in the kitchens, and Jilly, who had been speaking with Harry when Theo came in but had stopped the instant she saw him, put a plate of cakes between them. Theo picked one up and nibbled it without looking at Harry.

"All right," Harry said. His voice was heavy. Theo blinked and looked up at him.

Harry was grim-faced, rubbing his forehead with one hand. He looked at Theo with a guilty expression, which rocked Theo, who had been anticipating and dreading that it would be pity. "I'm sorry I couldn't learn the curse fast enough to use on the Figgs already and bind them so you could leave Hogwarts."

Theo opened his mouth. Nothing came out until he saw the way that Harry leaned back in his seat and his face started shutting down, and then the words boiled out.

"It's not—you can't—Harry, you can't blame yourself for that. No one else could even learn the Imperius Curse when they're a first-year! And there's no guarantee that I'd get to spend time with my father anyway, and that's what I really want." Theo could feel his smile almost cracking his face. "Believe me, compared to last Christmas, spending time at Hogwarts is more than fine."

Harry waited a long moment, as if listening to the echoes of Theo's words, before he looked at him and nodded. And then he reached out a hand, and Theo clasped it, ignoring the thought that the house-elves behind them might notice. It wasn't one he'd ever had before.

"I wish I could get the Potters to invite you over," Harry whispered.

Theo kept to himself his belief that, given the way Harry talked about his family, they wouldn't be in control of Harry by the time he was fifteen, if that long. And then Theo and Harry could spend as much time together as they wanted at the holidays, in Hogwarts or with Theo's father or elsewhere.

"It's all right," Theo said. "We'll write letters to each other." He noticed the way Harry grimaced, and shook his head. "I know you hate owls. That's all right. I'll give mine instructions to only find you when you're alone, and to obey you. Okay?"

Harry gave him a narrow look. "If that would work, why do other owls attack me?"

"I actually have no idea," Theo said. That was one of the minor mysteries about Harry he hoped to understand better someday. The papers had said something during the summer about Harry being under a curse, but Theo would have learned about it by now if it were true.

Harry trusted him that much. He thought. He was mostly sure.

Harry paused as if he was going to say something, but then shrugged and nodded, accepting that compromise. "Tell your owl that I won't hurt it, unless it tries to hurt me, and then I will."

"She's my owl."

"Tell her not to bite me."

Theo sighed. But honestly, he had to accept that. Harry lived by the credo of striking second and striking hard enough that whoever he hit probably wouldn't get up again, and Theo didn't want to lose Nightshade. "I will."

Harry leaned back in his seat and nodded, and then stared at Theo for a second.

Theo stared back, and finally figured out what Harry was probably pondering a second before Harry got up and came around the table. So he managed to lean into the hug and not be too stiff.

It helped that Harry held him like he didn't know what to do, and dropped his arms abruptly and a moment too late or early, Theo wasn't sure which. Theo reached out, gripped his hand, and squeezed.

"So," Harry said, and then cleared his throat. "The Figgs won't make you go stay with them?"

"They sent me a letter the other day ordering me to stay here. They don't want their polite and sweet Christmas burdened with the child they were forced to take care of."

"So you have that in writing? Could we use it?"

Theo shook his head. "If something like that would work, I would have been free a long time ago. Dumbledore wouldn't listen to that. Nothing short of the Figgs saying themselves that they think I should be back with Father would make him listen."

"So that's what I have to make them say with the Imperius Curse."

"It would help," Theo said, and tried not to swallow too loudly. He was still dazed just with the idea that he might be free of the Figgs inside a year. He hated to look at it too closely, in case it turned out to be nothing more than moonflowers in the sun.

"Okay," Harry said, and nodded, and stared at the wall with a cold look Theo had seen before. Harry was probably picturing the Dursleys under the Imperius Curse. But this time, maybe the Figgs.

Honestly, nothing Theo had ever received from someone had flattered him more.

"Happy Christmas, boys!"

Felix laughed and rushed across the platform to them. Lily bent down and wrapped her arms around him, while James pounded his back and ruffled his hair and laughed hard enough to make Lily remember all the reasons she had fallen in love with him.

Harry walked up to them slowly, his trunk dragging behind them and his head bowed. He was sneaking little glances at them out of the corners of his eyes. Lily smiled even while her stomach did cold flips inside her.

It was true that Harry's magic was wild and probably dangerous. It was true that he had made astounding advances in the past few months with mastering his wand, but also true that that might not be enough to keep his magic quiet.

But seeing her baby boy like this, so shy and uncertain…

It made Lily's heart melt.

"Come here, Harry," she said softly, and extended her arms to him, aware of Felix and James both turning to watch. "Come here, sweetheart."

Harry seemed to take a moment as if pondering how sincere her offer was—and really, Lily had words she wanted to say to Petunia—before he took a deep breath, and came forwards, and put his arms awkwardly around her.

He hasn't had many hugs, either, Lily thought, and drew him gently closer to her, trying to make sure that he didn't feel trapped in her embrace. Harry went stiff for a second, and then relaxed, leaning against her.

It reminded Lily so much of how he had leaned trustingly against her when he was an infant, newly home from hospital, that Lily's eyes filled with tears. All that was missing was the soft smell of clean infant skin and warm milk.

Harry leaned harder against her for a second, and then took a step back, his eyes as wild as a deer's. Lily let him go no matter how much she wanted to hold on to him, and subtly shook her head at James, who had stepped forwards for his own hug. James wisely restricted himself to ruffling Harry's hair.

"Come on, kids," James said, and looked proudly around, probably seeing what Lily saw: that they had two sons, two boys following them and coming home to tell them tales of being Gryffindors at Hogwarts. "Let's go home."

It sort of hurt Harry, how easy the Potters were to fool.

He had thought about not fooling Felix, but he spent almost all his time at home around at least two of the Potters, and the times he could speak to his brother alone were pretty rare. And it was imperative that James and Lily not suspect what he was doing. So he played the docile and smiling and uncertain and shy child, and all of them lapped it up.

Felix woke Harry up early on the day after they got to the Potters' house and dragged him out into the enormous drawing room where a tree that took up half of one wall stood. He pointed out the history of all the stars and ornaments and fairy lights that decorated the tree, while Harry stood there and listened and nodded.

It was kind of Felix, in a way. But it was still a history that Harry hadn't been there for.

Lily dragged Harry into the kitchen and covered him in flour as they made Christmas biscuits. (Harry supposed that settled the question about whether the Potters had house-elves: no). Harry smiled at her and absorbed the little stories she dropped and asked questions about things she wanted him to ask questions about and kept his magic tensed and growling at his side, stopping it when it wanted to reach out to the fire in the hearth and the water in the sink.

James took him flying, and only dived at Harry once. Harry promptly fled towards the ground, and James pulled up and looked stricken. He wasn't good at stricken and would probably resent it, so Harry flew up and looked shy and mumbled about how he hoped he could play Quidditch at some point and would James show him how good a Chaser he'd been?

That was a good question. It kept James distracted for hours, telling stories of old days and tossing a Quaffle around. Harry marveled and cheered and thought that Uncle Vernon would have been so much easier to distract if he'd liked football or something like that.

Well, probably not. Not like he would have played it with Harry.

Sirius came over on Christmas Day, when the gifts piled beneath the tree were making it wobble, and gave Harry a hard, hopeful smile as he handed over a distinctly book-shaped package in red-and-gold paper. Harry tore it open, the way he'd be expected to, and blinked when he found himself holding what looked like a red leather ledger.

"It's a photo album," Sirius explained, shifting back and forth and scratching the back of his neck as if he had fleas. "I thought it would be—you could put your own pictures in there, and we could add some of the ones you weren't here for…"

Because you threw me away.

But by now, lying was second nature to Harry. He faked a soft smile without thinking about, ducked his head—that was a good tactic for concealing the real expression on his face—and murmured, "Thank you."

Sirius was beaming by then, obviously glad that his present had gone over well. He whipped a camera from behind his back and waved it around. "I thought we could take some pictures today?"

And he snapped photo after photo of Harry and Felix opening gifts, Harry holding each one of his up, the four Potters next to the tree with their arms around each other, Harry and Felix eating biscuits, the enormous meal that was heaped on the table and the bones and crumbs of it that were left later. It was sweet.

On the surface. But Harry had come to accept that that was the only place the Potters were likely to look.

Theo smiled a little as he accepted the letter from Nightshade. She hooted sulkily at him and stood on the table next to him, pecking at the remains of the Christmas dinner on his plate. She was a snowy owl, technically, but a rare one who had completely black feathers except around her face and legs. She was beautiful and deadly, and Theo was glad she had come back unscathed from her first delivery to Harry.

Although not all that happy, Theo thought.

Disregarding that given that Nightshade had returned alive, Theo tore the letter open and sprawled on his bed to read it. He was the only one of the first-year Slytherins who had stayed, and the boys' bedroom was blissfully quiet.

Dear Theo,

I miss you. There's no one I can be honest with here. They all want to play happy families and I have to lie all the time. They want to bake biscuits and give me presents and pretend that they never left me with the Dursleys.

The Dursleys locked me in a cupboard. I think I told you that. I never had a bedroom. I never had a bed. I think the Potters think I'll be grateful to them for letting me have a bedroom or a bed. Or maybe just James and Lily think that. Not Felix. I don't know. It's not like I can talk to him honestly while we're here.

But you know what? I don't even think it's that. I mean, that James and Lily are thinking about how I'd better be grateful. They just don't think about it at all. They look at me being the quiet good little kid who's using his wand for things now, and they think it was all worth it.

I'm thinking about using that curse we've talked about on them, too.

Harry.

Theo smoothed a shaking hand over the parchment. Part of him ached fiercely, wishing he could take Harry away from the Potters, wishing that he could somehow travel back in time further than a Time-Turner would take him and keep the Muggles from hurting Harry.

But part of him was also fiercely glad. Harry saw reality for the way it was. He wouldn't give up his powerful magic and his friendship with Theo and Blaise and his studies on the Imperius Curse to try and fit back in with the Potters, the way Theo had been afraid of. It had been silly, maybe, but the thought of Harry surrounded by Christmas cheer and tempted to give in to it…

Yes, he'd worried.

I needn't have.

Theo gently touched the wrapped package on his bedside table that was waiting for Harry. They'd agreed that it would be better to exchange gifts when they were both back in school, in case someone saw either of them with the one they'd bought or the one they'd received and made a fuss about it. At Hogwarts, it would be a lot easier to keep them concealed and a lot easier to pretend they had come from someone else.

Theo couldn't wait to see what Harry had got him. He couldn't wait to see Harry's face when he opened Theo's present.

He couldn't wait to see Harry, in general.

"He's doing a lot better, isn't he?" Sirius murmured to James.

James nodded back. His eyes were on his older son, where Harry was slumped over in a chair clutching his photo album. His heart was full of pride and strangeness, and memories that were finally, finally, beginning to replace the awful ones of that night.

"Yeah. He's stopped jumping and flinching so much. He helped Lily bake biscuits the other day and he really looked like a normal kid, you know? Not just—not someone who's been abused by those awful Muggles." James took a sip of his Firewhisky and sighed. "I'm so glad that he's starting to get past that."

"You don't get past it that quickly," Sirius said in a hollow voice.

James clapped his shoulder. "I know. But you did the right thing. You ran away when you got a chance, and did you ever regret living with me and my parents?"

Sirius smiled then, and James was glad to see his shadows flying away. "No."

"Well, Harry can be healed by the magic of family. Sustained by it, like you were." James looked back at the sleeping Harry again and got up to smooth his hair back and kiss his forehead. For a moment, the rough lightning bolt scar seemed to burn beneath his lips.

But it didn't burn the way it had that night, when he and Lily had rushed home and seen the most awful and unexpected sight they could ever have imagined—no, one that was beyond imagining.

James shook the thought away. The scar didn't burn now. Lots of things didn't.

They're idiots, Harry thought as he feigned sleep and listened to their conversation, and hoped neither of them would notice the shimmer of fire that for a moment ran around the middle of his back.

If not for Theo, if not for Felix…

I might have accepted Quirrell's offer.