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Chapter Fifteen—Rites of Water

Lord Voldemort stood beside the Mirror of Erised, Theo Nott on the floor at his feet, covered in ropes.

Yes, he could have made another plan, he mused as he stared at the silent hatred in the Nott boy's eyes. So like his father. But then, he could not have shown the Potter boy the need to cut away weaknesses, to shed them when one attached itself to him.

And Lord Voldemort did intend to spare the Potter boy, and make him his servant. Their association would not end when the boy retrieved the Stone from the Mirror for him—

Something trembled on the floors above.

Lord Voldemort lifted Quirrell's head, frowning. He had not expected to feel it when the Potter boy left Gryffindor Tower. Why would he? Yes, his magic was powerful, but nothing compared to the Dark Arts wielded by a full-grown wizard like Lord Voldemort, or the coils of shining power wound in Albus's chest.

The thought of his most hated enemy distracted him from Potter's progress for a moment, and when he paid attention again, he found that the boy was closer than he had thought. Using secret passages, perhaps.

At least the boy would not need to get past the ridiculous traps Albus had thought to guard the Stone with. Lord Voldemort had disabled them as he passed along. No need to make someone who couldn't use a conventional wand spend time figuring them out—

Fire filled the room where the Mirror stood.

Lord Voldemort lifted Quirrell's eyebrows and stared as the flames curled in the air, lashed around each other, and formed a glowing, spinning knot in the center of the room. That was more impressive than he had predicted, yes.

But didn't matter. When Potter got here, then Lord Voldemort would show him the consequences of standing up to a Dark Lord. And then he would give Potter a choice.

Lord Voldemort was certain that the boy would make the right one.

Quirrell wasn't actually waiting by the door after all. Instead, the door was open, and inside was an enormous dog snoring all three of its heads off and a small, enchanted harp playing off to the side.

Harry stalked past it, so furious that he didn't much care why the dog was present or whether the harp would quit any second. He could feel the fire playing around him, and the water pressing against his skin. He could have filled the corridor with them both, and burned or drowned anyone who stood to oppose him.

But no one did, and Harry had to leap down the empty hole under the flung-back trapdoor and trust in his winds to catch him.

There were smears of ash on the floor underneath where Harry landed, with a jolt but recovering. Harry didn't care. There was nothing that could hurt him now, or his snarling magic would have sensed it and warned him. He kept moving forwards, through a room with a swarm of flying keys in the air and an open door on the other side, past a chessboard covered with stone dust and the motionless body of a mountain troll.

Then there was a room with a long table in it, covered with potions, but Harry ignored them. There was a doorway in front of him, and beyond that doorway waited a quiet light and a feeling of water pressing on his nerves that he associated with Quirrell.

Harry strode through the doorway.

The first thing he looked at was Theo, lying on the floor bound in ropes, his eyes wide. Harry asked him, "Are you hurt?"

Theo started to open his mouth, but Quirrell aimed his wand at him. Quirrell looked calmer than Harry had ever seen him, strangely, his eyes bright and wide with amusement. "Not a word, Mr. Nott, or you'll suffer what I did to you earlier."

"What did you do to him?"

Quirrell shook his head and clucked his tongue. "It doesn't matter, Mr. Potter. You have two lessons to learn tonight. Unless, of course, you want Mr. Nott to learn them instead." And he aimed his wand at Theo again.

Harry reeled his magic back in. It was going to sweep forwards and burn Quirrell if he let it, and he didn't know if the man would manage to get off a curse before then. Or if he had enchanted the ropes around Theo to strangle him unless he was the one who released them. Harry knew the man was clever enough to think of that.

"What do you want?" Harry's voice sounded like a crow's in his own ears. Theo tried to catch his eye from the floor, but Harry forced himself to ignore it. He would lose control if he looked too closely, and then Theo might not survive.

"The Philosopher's Stone has been hidden inside this mirror," Quirrell said, and tilted his head towards a large mirror behind him. "I must say, Albus did it rather cleverly. Only someone who does not want the Stone to acquire it. Since I do desire it, I cannot qualify. You will get the Stone for me."

Harry stared at him blankly. He wanted to ask all sorts of questions, such as why it had to be him and why Quirrell hadn't used Theo for it. But those answers probably weren't important. He started to move closer.

"Careful, Mr. Potter." Quirrell turned a little to the side, standing so that he was separating Harry and Theo, his wand aimed at the ropes now. "Any attempt to move closer, and Mr. Nott will die as the ropes strangle him."

Harry half-nodded. He hadn't been consciously angling closer to Theo, but Quirrell wasn't wrong about what Harry would have liked to do. Just like Harry hadn't been wrong about the enchantment on the ropes.

"So much for your oath," he did say lightly, because he had to have some outlet for his magic or it was simply going to explode out of him.

Quirrell laughed softly. "I baited Mr. Nott into attacking me first. It was incredibly easy. All it took was an insulting comment about you. I am surprised that your family isn't more concerned about your codependent relationship."

Harry said nothing. He halted in front of the mirror, but he watched Quirrell, not it. His magic snapped around him, and fire coruscated in a shifting mass that filled the room with more light than the simple Lumos Charm on Quirrell's wand. "How does the mirror work? Do I look into it and will it to show me the Stone?"

"Of course not, you foolish boy. I told you that only someone who didn't want it could acquire it. Look into the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry turned to face the glass. His mind felt crystalline. There was a place outside of rage, and his rage had carried him there.

He saw a wavering reflection of Quirrell for a long moment. Then he realized that the man standing there had dark hair, not a turban, and wore simple black robes edged with silver. Green edging around them marked him as a Slytherin. But the eyes staring back at him were Harry's own.

Harry blinked. He watched as the man lifted a hand, and a long, scaled face materialized in it. The face was on a serpentine neck coming from behind him. It was Norberta, grown as large as an elephant, but somehow still able to fit her face into his palm.

Shadows stirred next to his future self, or his adult self, whichever this was, and Harry saw Theo standing there. It couldn't be anyone but an older Theo. His eyes were full of joy so radiant that it blazed out of the darkness that seemed to envelop him, and he rested an elbow on Harry's shoulder and leaned close to whisper into his ear.

The shadows pulled back beyond Theo, and Harry saw that his adult self was standing in the middle of a wide-open tract of green land with mountains in the background. Dragons circled overhead, and a serpent crawled at his feet, one that flickered with red-orange color and almost made Harry think it was a stream of fire at first, and off in a corner were blackened ruins that he somehow knew were the Dursleys' house. Standing not far from them was Felix, smiling and waving with no blame in his eyes.

"Tell me what you see," Quirrell demanded.

Harry jumped. For long moments, he'd just forgotten Quirrell, and Theo on the floor at his feet. Rage rushed through him again, and then sudden calm.

"Myself in the future strong and grown-up," he replied. It was as much as he was willing to share, and Quirrell probably would have been able to guess it anyway. "And I have—I'm putting my hand into my robe pocket…"

His future self beamed at him, with a smile that Harry had never thought would cross his face, and took his hand out of his pocket to show that he held a glinting red stone, which he tossed into the air and then caught lightly.

At the same moment, Harry felt a round shape settle into his real robe pocket.

He stepped back from the mirror, tearing his gaze away. It was hard, but now that he'd remembered the real Theo, there was nothing else he could do. He turned and slowly stuck his hand into his robe pocket. Quirrell watched every move, while keeping his wand pointed at Theo.

That was the only smart thing he'd done, Harry thought. His bones were singing and burning with rage. He watched Quirrell only enough to make sure that he caught the Stone Harry tossed to him. Quirrell examined it and laughed long and low.

Harry relaxed and started towards Theo. In an instant, Quirrell's wand was aimed at him. Harry paused.

"Do you understand why I thought you should be the one to fetch this for me?"

"No." Harry didn't want to listen. He wanted Theo out of those strangling ropes, and as soon as possible. But he had to stand there and plaster an interested expression on his face, even if he couldn't help glancing towards Theo.

Theo's eyes were wide and furious. Harry let a flicker of fire curl in his left palm, which was down at his side and should be out of Quirrell's vision.

"I see potential in you that I have never seen in any other child except myself at your age," Quirrell said softly. "I would take you with me, Harry Potter, as I offered once before. I would teach you the ways of power, and how to walk the paths that are not open to anyone except the immortals."

"It's generous of you to offer to share the Stone with me, sir."

Quirrell laughed, and it was the high-pitched cold laugh Harry had heard more than once before. It triggered some memory in him, something beyond that. A soft vine seemed to curl around his throat.

"I am immortal without that," Quirrell said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. "I needed this lovely thing—" and this time he wagged the Stone "—only to get myself a better body than the one I currently have."

Harry stared at him in silence. When it became obvious that Quirrell was waiting for him to say something, he asked, "Why do you need one? I didn't know the Stone could make someone look better."

"Not that," Quirrell said, and smiled, and slipped the Stone into his robe pocket, and turned his back on Harry. Harry tensed to move.

But a headache like the one he'd received before when Quirrell turned his back on him abruptly rebounded through his skull, and before he could try to ignore it, Quirrell had finished unwrapping his turban.

Harry stared at the red-eyed face on the back of Quirrell's head, the slash of a mouth, the scrubby bump of a nose, and could say nothing at all. Theo made a sound in his cocoon of ropes. Harry clenched his left hand again.

"What your…brother reduced me to," the voice whispered. "I am Lord Voldemort, and I will be again." His voice was already growing stronger, leaving out the pauses. "I offer you a place at my side, Harry Potter, where the man who trained you will continue training you, and you need fear nothing and no one."

Harry blinked slowly. He hadn't expected this, and he was so shocked that he could think of nothing to say.

Lord Voldemort sighed. "You have never desired power, have you?"

"Just to protect myself," Harry whispered. It felt wrong to say, but he didn't think lying to Voldemort was the best way to do things.

Voldemort nodded, or Quirrell's head moved up and down. "Well. It need not matter. I will train you. I have offered you a chance that anyone else would jump at," he added, when Harry stood there. "Will you come with me?"

Harry frowned. "I have—people will search for me."

"Not if we pretend that you died here," Voldemort murmured. "And not if we cut away the chain that holds you back. That was the reason I brought Mr. Nott here, Mr. Potter. Your dependence on him is unacceptable. To be powerful, you must remove the weaknesses. Cut away the fat, as it were." And Quirrell turned and aimed his wand at Theo.

Something in the back of Harry's head broke.

He reached out, towards the song of water that had pressed on his nerves all this time, every time he was alone with Quirrell—Voldemort, and had been singing to him since he came down the stairs. He reached out, and it seemed as though Voldemort's body, Quirrell's, shimmered and turned transparent.

Harry could see through the surface of the skin. He could see the water underneath that skin, and feel it, and he knew it was what he had been feeling all along. There was water in every single cell in Quirrell's body.

And Harry said to it, Freeze.

The water listened to him. Spikes of ice appeared in every cell as the water there froze and turned to shapes like stars, and the cells ruptured and broken. Harry watched as the wave swept up through Quirrell's body and made him drop his wand, and he laughed as he snapped back into his own body.

Fire hovered around him, but it was water that was doing the killing work.

Quirrell was on his knees, screaming. He was dying. Harry knew it. With his cells broken, how could he live? Harry curled his lip and watched as Quirrell's mouth opened and the back of his head seemed to bulge.

No, did more than seem to bulge, because a black ghost-like shape was flying straight at him.

Harry promptly ducked, and watched as the black smoke of Voldemort streamed overhead. It spun around and came back towards Harry, howling in a voice that sounded entirely different from Quirrell's, but similar to the cold laughter that Harry had sometimes heard from Quirrell's mouth.

Harry reached out to the air and whipped the ghost away from him. It crashed into the wall and snarled for a long moment.

Then it said, in a voice so thick with hatred that Harry wouldn't have understood it without the physical alertness humming through him, "We are enemies, Harry Potter, from now until the ending," and turned and soared away through the wall.

Harry stood where he was for a long moment, panting, his magic dazzling around him and crisscrossing the air with fire. He glanced at Quirrell, and then away. He was dead, and he'd died in agony.

He walked towards Theo, and hoped that he wouldn't see fear on his best friend's face when he pulled the ropes away.

Theo didn't know what had happened, but he knew that Harry had killed Professor Quirrell and somehow got the Dark Lord to leave.

His father had always said that elemental wizards were dangerous. He had said, "Imagine facing someone who can control every breath in your lungs." And Theo had agreed, but not paid much attention, because he had other things to learn from his father, and it had seemed unlikely that he would ever meet a wizard or witch who had control of the elements like that.

He didn't know for sure if that was what Harry had done to Quirrell or not. But he knew Quirrell was dead.

And Harry had saved his life, again.

Now, Harry kneeled down next to him and whispered, "Are you all right?"

Theo stared at him. Harry kept his eyes averted from Theo's face, and his right hand, resting on his knee, was clenched so tightly that Theo thought Harry might have broken a finger. It looked like that, anyway.

Why is he—

He thinks that I'm going to reject him because he killed someone.

Theo didn't know where the insight had come from, but he knew that telling Harry he was ridiculous probably wouldn't help. He just nodded a little and said, "He only hit me with the Disarming Charm, a simple pain hex, and the Incarcerous. The pain hex has already faded."

"All right," Harry said quietly. He turned and stared down at the ropes for a second. Then he said, "I don't know how to get these off. I'm afraid that I'll hurt you if I burn them off. Can you—where did he put your wand? If I get it for you, can you get them off?"

Theo shook his head, as much as he could in the tight cocoon of the ropes. "I don't think I could counter it. I—" He glanced at Quirrell's body. They would need someone to take the fall for this, so that Harry didn't get blamed for Quirrell's death, as well as someone to remove the ropes.

Inspiration struck, and Theo smiled. Harry blinked at him. "Call Flint."

"What?"

"Flint. You should still have a connection with his mind, since you cast the Imperius Curse on him. Can't you reach him? Call him down here and order him to release me and take the blame for the corpse?"

Harry blinked, and blinked again. Theo wondered if he was in shock from Quirrell's death. Theo would have been if he hadn't already seen Harry kill the troll to save him, he thought. Or if he had done the killing himself.

But he hadn't, and that meant he could plan to protect both of them. "Flint," he repeated quietly. "You can still give him commands, right?"

Harry slowly sat back on his heels. Then he nodded.

"All right. Can you reach his mind, and call him down here, and get him to untie me first?" Theo would mention Flint taking the blame for Quirrell's death again in a minute, when Harry might be in a better position to listen to him.

"I'll try."

Harry closed his eyes, and Theo craned his neck back to see Quirell's corpse, as much as he could from this position. His skin looked as though a thin film of ice covered it—which probably meant Harry had used water to kill him, not air—and his mouth was open in a soundless scream.

Theo made himself look, made himself memorize it, and felt a cool satisfaction pour through him. Harry had saved him.

The way he had saved Theo from the Figgs. The way he had saved him from the curse the Figgs had sent with their letter.

I think he'll always save me. Part of him is mine.

It took some time to guide Flint down the third-floor corridor and past the remains of the traps that Voldemort had disarmed. Harry kept his eyes closed and his hand clenched in Theo's, his mental connection with Flint flickering and dancing like a flame.

Voldemort. It was still nearly impossible to think about that. Felix and his friends had been right after all. Voldemort had been after the Stone.

But none of them had managed to stop him from taking it.

Flint's heavy footsteps finally came tromping into the room, and Harry looked up at him. The boy had glazed eyes, and halted near Theo, staring past him at the mirror and not saying anything.

Harry took a slow, deep breath. He didn't know if they would be able to figure out what had happened by reading Flint's mind or memories, the way Theo had told him some people could do, so he had to make this as convincing as he could.

"Draw your wand and release Theo," he commanded.

Flint waved his wand and muttered something, and the ropes around Theo vanished. Theo promptly rolled over. Harry gripped his hand and pulled him closer. Theo was rubbing circulation back into his legs and didn't appear ready to stand up yet.

"What do you think of the Philosopher's Stone, Flint?" Harry asked.

Theo shot him a baffled glance. Harry just shrugged back at him. This was his idea to try and make sure that Flint would take all the blame. He didn't know if it would work. He just had to try.

"I'd want it," Flint said hoarsely. "Something that makes you rich and lets you live forever? Of course I'd want it."

Harry nodded. "What if I told you that you could have the Philosopher's Stone if you just did a few things?"

Greed filled Flint's eyes. "What do I have to do?"

"Draw your wand and fling your strongest curses at that mirror."

Flint's wand snapped up, and Harry didn't think it was his imagination that it was moving quicker than the wand of someone simply told to move under the Imperius. He took another long, slow breath as he watched. This was his plan, to mingle Flint's real memories with the desire for the Stone and his actions until they would be hard to tell apart.

It took a lot more than one curse from Flint's wand to shatter the mirror, which was what Harry had expected. Theo shook out his limbs and stood at Harry's side quietly, watching. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder after a few minutes.

Harry leaned his cheek on Theo's hand, briefly. Then he straightened. That was all he could allow himself.

He had killed someone.

And he would do it again if Theo was in danger, but he had still killed someone.

"All right, stop," Harry said at last, when Flint's final Blasting Curse cracked the frame and the glass and made the mirror list to the side on one leg. "Now, turn around and cast a freezing curse on Professor Quirrell."

Flint whipped around and did that with a speed and pleasure that Harry didn't think he was pretending to have. He couldn't be sure, though. The sense of the Imperius Curse in Flint's mind was dim and tangled, now, ever since Harry had asked the question about the Stone. He hoped that didn't mean Flint was escaping from his control.

When Quirrell's body was practically made of ice, Harry told Flint to stop. He did, but his eyes were darting around greedily.

"Where's the Stone?" he asked.

Theo hissed at Harry's side. Harry knew why. Someone under the Imperius Curse wasn't supposed to be capable of this much independent thought.

On the other hand, Flint had still stopped casting curses when Harry told him to, and hadn't tried to turn his wand on them. "Quirrell has it," he said hoarsely. "You can have it if you get out anything in his robe pockets, too."

Flint knelt down and rummaged hastily through the robe pockets. When he stood up, he had Theo's wand in one hand and the Stone in the other, plus what seemed to be a flask of potion and a handful of dried and rotten ingredients that Harry didn't want to know the reason for.

"Give us Theo's wand."

Flint tossed the wand to Theo, who grasped it and closed his eyes with a relieved breath. Harry rested his hand on Theo's shoulder.

"This is what you'll remember," Harry said, his voice echoing in his own ears. "You'll remember that you wanted the Stone, but you didn't know how to get past the protections the professors had on it. You made Quirrell help you. You suspected he wanted the Stone, too, so he was willing to come with you. Then you fought when you got to the mirror and realized that only one of you could have it and neither one of you would share. You were the one who broke the mirror, and you managed to fight him to a standstill and kill him. You have the Stone, and you don't want to give it up. Can you remember that?"

"Yes."

"It's your reality now," Harry said, and saw Flint nod eagerly and stare down at the Stone shining in his hand.

"Yes."

Harry swallowed and turned away. There were brooms in the room with the flying keys, he remembered dimly. He and Theo would have to get out that way, since they certainly weren't capable of flying or Levitating by themselves. "Come on, Theo."

Theo nodded, and walked quietly beside him. They went in silence through the other rooms, grabbed the brooms leaning against the way in the key room, and flew the rest of the way. As Harry had suspected, the harp was still playing in the room with the three-headed dog and keeping it asleep, or Flint would haven't been able to come down in the first place.

They landed outside the door. Harry shoved it shut, shaking. Then he turned around and raised his hand. Brooms here would incriminate them, even if Flint decided to use the same method to escape; they couldn't leave two of them lying around.

Fire flickered from his palm and burned bristle and twig and broom shaft. Harry kicked the ashes to scatter them around.

Then he turned to Theo.

Theo's eyes were wide and his face pale in the moonlight. He reached out and placed his hands on Harry's shoulders.

"I killed him," Harry whispered. "I—are you afraid of me, Theo?"

"Never," Theo said at once.

"But I—I killed him."

"He would have killed me," Theo said. "He would probably have killed you, for all his words about taking you with him." He shifted his hands and grabbed Harry's arms, his hands tightening to the point of pain. "You saved my life from the Dark Lord, Harry. You saved my life from someone who hurt me and would have hurt me further. Just because you're powerful enough to do that doesn't mean I'm afraid of you."

Harry nodded. He treasured Theo's words, memorizing them as carefully as he could, tucking them away. "Thank you," he whispered.

Theo hesitated, then stepped forwards and abruptly hugged him, squeezing him so tightly that Harry coughed and gasped for a second.

For the first time in his life, Harry really let himself be held.

Harry knocked on the door of Dumbledore's office. It felt as if the last few weeks before the end of term had raced by, even consumed by the studying for exams that Granger had insisted all the Gryffindors go through. At least most of the speculation and gossip about Marcus Flint being discovered aiding Professor Quirrell to steal the Philosopher's Stone—and the hysterical way he had fought back when it was discovered in his possession—had died down.

Harry didn't know why Dumbledore wanted to see him now, but he didn't think it was to question him about the mirror or the Stone. He would have done that sooner, right after Professor Quirrell's body was discovered, if he was going to, Harry thought. And he'd been pretty busy covering the Defense classes in rotation with the other professors for the last few weeks, but not so busy that he couldn't have talked to Harry.

"Please come in, Harry."

Harry blinked as he stepped into the office. The Potters were sitting in chairs arrayed off to the side of Dumbledore's desk, with only a single chair for Harry in front of it. Harry smiled at them, murmured, "Hi, Mum, Dad," and sat down in the single chair.

"There is something very important we need to talk to you about, Harry."

Harry wished Theo was there, or even Felix. He entwined his hands in his lap and muttered, "What is it, Headmaster?"

"When you were placed with the Dursleys, we knew that the truth would eventually be revealed of your placement when you returned to our world."

Harry lifted his eyes. Did that mean they were going to have him talk about what his aunt and uncle and cousin had done to him? He wasn't sure he wanted to. Theo knew the most, Blaise knew a little. That was enough.

"For that reason, we knew the Dursleys themselves would become targets," Dumbledore continued. "We included magical protections around the house that would keep them safe from wizards and witches who might seek to harm relatives of the Boy-Who-Lived."

Not me. Never me—

Harry crushed that reaction. He couldn't afford to show it right now. The last time he'd got upset and told part of the truth to Dumbledore, he had suffered for it. So he said, "All right, sir."

"But the protections depend in part on the presence of a magical person living with them," Lily said. She was smiling, but she was also squinting. "They fade slowly over time, and would be gone entirely within a year. That means we'll need you to spend a week with them in June, Harry, to ensure it's before the end of July and your birthday, the time we took you from them last year, so the protections can be renewed."

Something Harry hadn't even been aware he carried, some hope that he might be able to be family with his parents someday, froze and then shattered.

He didn't show any sign of that to them. It was suddenly easy not to. He just stared at the woman who called herself his mother and asked, "Even with what they did to me?"

"It's only for a week," James said now, speaking quickly. "And we know they wouldn't do anything that bad to you if you just—neglected to tell them that you can't use magic during the summers." He was smiling, but Harry could practically smell his sweat.

"And, Harry," Lily said, so softly that it was hard to hear her, "we know that what happened to you was bad, and we'd never want to subject you to more of it. But it's not as bad as the torture and death they could suffer if Voldemort's old followers caught wind of where they lived."

Harry nodded. It was easy to do that, as cold and brilliant as he felt, the way ice felt as if it was spreading out to encompass him under the surface. It was easy to say, "All right. But you promise that it'll only be a week?"

Even Dumbledore looked relieved, and Lily and James smiled at him. Once, Harry would have done anything for those smiles. A couple years ago. Maybe even at the beginning of this school year.

Now, he watched from behind the cold mask no one could see under his skin, and felt nothing except a hatred so vast and bleak that it was like standing in the middle of the Arctic. He listened to them reassure him that it would be only for a week, and someone would be there to pick him up a week to the day after school ended and the Dursleys collected him from the platform.

Lily got up and moved across the room to hug him when they were done explaining. Harry stood there and returned her hug. It was easy. It was all on the surface, and the real part of him was under the surface where no one but Theo could see it. Watching.

"I know it's hard, baby boy," she breathed into his ear. "But we love you, and we're so proud of you."

Harry didn't believe her. He would never believe her again.

But it was easy to nod and smile and say, "I love you, too."

While the cold under his skin watched, and thought about how hard he would cast the Imperius Curse on the Dursleys, and thought about turning the water in the Potters' cells to ice someday.

"I'm surprised how well he took that," James murmured as they watched the door close behind Harry.

Lily shook her head a little. She hadn't wanted to do that, but it was true that Petunia and Vernon and Dudley would die without those protections, and death was worse than neglect and abuse. She had thought of asking Felix to go to the house when Albus first proposed this, or volunteering to go herself, but Albus had pointed out that Harry and the Dursleys were used to each other, and they would accept him back with the least amount of disruption. And it was only for a week.

Harry's magic was wandless, even. He could defend himself it he had to, if it got really bad. Lily would never encourage that, but she didn't want her son hurt, either.

"Thank you for the sacrifices you have made, Lily, James," Albus said, gently. "I know it's hard. But it's only for a week."

Lily swallowed air. That was true. Only for a week.

A week, and it would be over until next summer.

"I can't believe that Mum and Dad are sending you back there," Felix said for the fiftieth time.

Harry just nodded. The cold under his skin had retreated a little over the intervening days since Lily and James had told him they were discarding him again, but it was still with him. It was easy to grimace a little and shake his head. "I know, but it'll only be for a week, and then I'll be home, and we'll see each other again."

"I told them not to do it."

"You did?"

Felix nodded, slumping back into his seat in their shared compartment and scowling out the window. The train was slowing, coming in towards King's Cross. "Yeah. I volunteered to go. But they said that you and the Muggles are used to each other, and there was no way that they would accept me. I'm sorry, Harry. I really—didn't think they'd do it."

Harry smiled at him, and part of it was genuine. It was nice to know that his brother had tried to help him. He could never tell Felix so much, but he could share this. "Thank you."

Felix sighed and looked at him. "Just—use your magic if you have to, okay? Not your wand. But your wandless magic. I don't think the Ministry could track that, and it would be more terrifying to the Muggles, anyway."

Harry had to struggle not to laugh at the thought of how much he intended to use his wandless magic. "Yeah, I agree. Okay."

The train stopped altogether a few minutes later. Harry stood and reached for his trunk, preoccupied with finding Theo for a last goodbye. They'd agreed to meet on the platform. Felix had agreed, with grumbling, and the Potters had agreed eagerly, to leave as soon as they could, so as not to irritate the Dursleys more with a glimpse of them. That ought to mean they couldn't catch a glimpse of Theo, either.

Theo had been quiet when Harry had told him about the Dursleys, but then, he knew that Harry had ways of handling them that extended beyond just wandless magic.

Felix lunged forwards and hugged Harry abruptly as they were leaving the compartment. Harry tensed up for a second, then hugged Felix back.

He was just a kid, that was all. A regular kid. Not a kid like Harry or Theo, who knew other things.

"I'll be waiting for you," Felix whispered, and then he turned and hurried off the train. Harry lingered until the initial rush of eager students went by, and then strolled out until the platform, glancing around. The Potters had left, and the Dursleys weren't there, but of course, Harry was still on the magical side of the barrier.

Theo was there. And standing next to him was a tall man in dark robes with his hand resting on Theo's shoulder.

Harry found himself smiling as he walked towards them, since he knew who this was. "Hello, Mr. Nott," he said.

"Mr. Potter," Theo's dad said, and half-bowed. Belisarius Nott had grey in his hair, but Theo had told Harry that he'd been really old when he and his wife had Theo. His eyes were a bright, piercing blue that surprised Harry a little. He wondered if it was Theo's mum who had had grey eyes. "My son has told me—much about you. How many debts he owes you, in particular."

Harry felt himself flush. "He doesn't owe me anything, Mr. Nott. Theo is my friend."

"And so he also told me, but the fact that you saved his life twice, plus returned him to me and spared him pain from the awful people who had charge of him…" Mr. Nott stared hard at Harry. "My honor is at stake here, Mr. Potter."

"In what way, sir?"

"I cannot allow you to stay with your abusive relatives," Mr. Nott said quietly. "Even for a week."

Harry felt his heart beginning to pound. His eyes darted to Mr. Nott's left arm despite himself, but any sign of a Dark Mark was covered by his sleeve. "It's only for a week."

"Not even for a week," Mr. Nott repeated firmly. "You have done too much for us, and the debt is too great. You will come with us and be our guest for those seven days, and I will drop you off at your relatives' house at precisely the right time to meet your…parents."

The pause he made, the emphasis he put on the last word, made Harry wonder if Mr. Nott was thinking along the same lines he was. A bloody Death Eater cares more about me than my actual parents.

"But the magical protections on their house will fade if a magical person isn't in residence. The Potters told me that." Mr. Nott smiled as if he approved of Harry calling his parents by their last name. "They'll notice if I'm not there. Or the Dursleys might even tell them."

"Not to worry about that." Mr. Nott snapped his fingers, and a house-elf appeared beside him with a little crack. "All we need is a handful of your hair, and we can add it to a cup of Polyjuice Potion, which my Nimby here will drink. He'll become a copy of you, and take your place for that week. A house-elf's magic will be indistinguishable from yours in human form, and the protections should be renewed. I would appreciate, of course, your doing whatever you can to your relatives to ensure that they don't hurt Nimby. Theo didn't tell me what it was, but he implied there was something."

Harry's eyes darted to Theo, and he smiled despite himself. Theo hadn't even betrayed Harry's secrets to his own father.

Theo smiled back, and it was the most sincere one Harry had ever seen on his face.

"Yes, I can do that," Harry said. "Can you Disillusion me so that no one sees me when they pick up Nimby? I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to have some watchers on me so he can make sure I actually go back to the house."

"Yes, of course. Your hair, Mr. Potter?"

Harry watched the house-elf as he plucked the hairs from his head. He didn't much like it that a house-elf was going to take his place, one who presumably had no choice about it.

But he would give more than this to avoid going back to the Dursleys. And he would hit Uncle Vernon so hard with the Imperius Curse that he would not only not hurt Nimby himself, but would get in the way if Aunt Petunia or Dudley tried. Otherwise, a house-elf's magic was wandless, too, and ought to protect him.

All the time, Theo watched him, and smiled.

Everything went smoothly, Theo was glad to see. Harry stepped around Father as if heading for the barrier, at the moment that Father Disillusioned him, and Nimby popped away to a secluded place on the platform to drink the Polyjuice Potion. Then he would walk out to the platform in Harry's guise to meet the Muggle, and Harry would follow just behind to throw the Imperius Curse.

Theo hadn't told Father about that, and he didn't intend to. Father would do anything to protect Theo, and almost anything to protect someone whom he felt the debt to that he felt to Harry. But Father could also think a lot of uses for someone who could throw a wandless, permanent Imperius, things that wouldn't hurt Harry, but would subject him to the machinations of someone older and more politically powerful than he was.

Theo didn't want that to happen.

In the end, it was incredibly easy. They stepped through the barrier and watched as Nimby, in his disguise, approached the disgustingly fat Muggle who waited there and was already going purple in the face. A flicker of motion next to him showed Harry skirting around Nimby. Theo saw the moment when the Muggle man's eyes widened and the purple color in his face receded as he listened to whatever instructions Harry was pressing into his brain.

In the end, he roared, "Let's go, boy!" at Nimby, and jerked his head towards a Muggle vehicle, but without touching him. Harry turned and walked back towards Father and Theo, but Father didn't remove the Disillusionment until they had taken the Floo and were safely at home.

Harry took a long, deep breath, staring around at the chandelier that crowned the soaring front entrance hall, his eyes lingering on mahogany banisters and marble flooring and glinting mirrors and sheer silk curtains. Theo looked around and tried to see it the way Harry would, but he was too accustomed to his home to really do that.

Still, at the moment he was mainly proud that they had enough money to offer such a beautiful and relaxing space to Harry.

"Please get comfortable, Mr. Potter," said Father. "Theo, show him to his room."

"Can you call me Harry, sir?"

Father paused, and then smiled. "If you will call me Belisarius."

Harry looked a little overwhelmed at that, but Theo grabbed his shoulder and tugged him up the stairs, and showed him the room laid out next to his, and the huge bed and the bookcases that stood taller than Father and the bathroom that was all Harry's, and Harry's face brightened with laughter, and that was what Theo had been waiting to see.

Eleven months after the last time it had happened, Harry lay in a bed that was all his in a wizarding home and wept.

But this time, he knew why it was happening, and he let the tears come.