Thank you again for all the reviews! While this is the end of year three for this story, I will be writing sequels to this in the future.

Part Five

Madam Pomfrey lets the curtains fall shut around the bed that she's chosen to put him on and regards him solemnly.

"You have a choice to make," she says.

Harry takes a long breath. It seems that he's been doing nothing but making choices since that day in the library when various people told him he was Lord Slytherin.

But he has to keep making them. He supposes the only people who don't are dead.

"What is it?" he asks.

Madam Pomfrey puts a hand on his arm, calm and bracing. Then she says, "The damage that you suffered is from abuse, Mr. Potter, as you suspected. As I suspected." Her eyes meet his with the kind of compassion that Harry has to look away from. "But it is also consistent with damage from necromantic blood protections."

"So—what does that mean? I tell everyone it's from necromancy, right?"

"If you do, Headmaster Dumbledore is likely to face another inquiry. In essence, he's been excused from the one that happened so far only because they could not find evidence to confirm that he knew the protections were necromantic and would have an effect on you. Your mother having created them because of a sacrifice of love was enough of an exception that they could say that."

"What's the usual way to create them, then?"

"The sacrifice of another human being."

"Oh." Harry feels a sharp squirm in his belly, and wishes he hadn't asked.

"If you tell them it's from abuse, that will mean he's not subjected to another inquiry. But it will—" Madam Pomfrey closes her eyes and shakes her head. "This is why children should not become involved in politics."

"Well, I've kind of been involved in politics from the time I was a year and a half old, so I don't really have much choice," Harry snaps.

Madam Pomfrey jumps, but when she looks at him again, she is slowly nodding. "Yes, Mr. Potter, my apologies. It's easier to forget when I see you here like this than when I see you out and about in the school." She exhales slowly. "And that is part of the problem. If you admit to abuse, then it may make you look weak in the eyes of those who watch you so closely. It may make the other children look weak for following and defending you. If it is bad enough, then the Wizengamot might actually be able to declare you mentally affected and take over your custody, granting you as a ward to someone you might not want to be a ward of."

Harry stares at his hands. Yes, that might be possible. People could claim that no normal kid would jump down a pipe after a basilisk or try to protect the Philosopher's Stone.

"I will tell anyone you wish anything you want," Madam Pomfrey whispers, her hand tightening on his arm. "This should have been taken care of years ago. I—" She blinks. "I know what I would tell you to do, but I can't make the decision."

Harry's pretty sure he knows what her advice would be. Sacrifice Dumbledore's safety for his. Make sure that no one can claim he's mentally disturbed. If the nightmares and the "compulsion to seek death" that supposedly comes from necromantic protections are blamed for his behavior, then he'll be assumed to be normal, the longer he's away from them, and he can go visit someone's house for the summer. Or live with Sirius if he's approved as a guardian in time.

Harry hates the thought of it. Dumbledore didn't actually intend for Harry to be harmed like that. He was careless, not malicious. He thought Harry would be safe.

He didn't know the Dursleys would hurt him.

But Harry has something else to weigh in the balance, something that doesn't just come down to Dumbledore and himself. It's the second thing Madam Pomfrey said.

He can't let people suffer for following him. Dumbledore made his choices long before Harry knew who he was or owed him anything. But Ron and Hermione and Theo and Susan and the others are flinging themselves into political danger so that Harry can be safe, as much as so that they can have a strong protector.

If I have be a Lord, or something like it, then I have to choose them.

He looks up. "It was necromantic," he tells Madam Pomfrey, who bows her head.

The Daily Prophet is having a hilarious time, printing story after story concerning necromancy, Lily Potter's sacrifice, Dumbledore's bad judgment, Dumbledore's errors from past years, rumors, speculation, and random interviews with shocked wizards and witches in Diagon Alley who almost universally "don't know what to make of Dumbledore now."

It hurts Harry. It makes him feel sick.

But he's made his decision. And sometimes he hears Ron's voice from first year echoing in his head. "That's chess. You've got to make some sacrifices."

Harry can pretend that he was telling the absolute truth about the necromantic protections for the sake of the smiles on his friends' faces. He can sacrifice someone who was careless about him for the sake of people who aren't.

Even if it makes him lie awake at night more than the nightmares ever did.

"I don't see why you have to do something that puts you in danger."

"Because it's fun," Harry says flatly. They've been having this argument for almost thirty minutes, and he's boiling.

"We don't let you do other things that put you in danger," Theo says.

Harry turns around. He's clutching his broom and the chatter filling the Great Hall behind him isn't louder than his heartbeat. This is the game for the Quidditch Cup and everything depends on it. Oliver will be so disappointed if he has to leave the school after his final year with the Cup still in Slytherin hands.

But more than that, Harry was the Gryffindor Seeker before he was Lord Slytherin. It's part of him in a way that the Lordship title never will be. And Theo is getting on his nerves.

"Won't let?" he asks.

Theo stares at him for a long second. Harry doesn't actually know what he's thinking, but he does know that Theo isn't going to get in the way of Harry's flying in the last match of the season. He stares back, and Theo is the one who half-bows his head and looks away.

"As you will," he murmurs.

Harry can hear the words he's not saying. He rolls his eyes at Theo and the situation and says, "It's Quidditch," before he walks away.

Theo doesn't follow. Harry will feel bad if this has caused a rift between them, but he has loyalties to more people than just Theo.

He steps out onto the pitch and hears Oliver calling for him. Harry has to grin. They've trained harder in the last fortnight than anyone can remember, but of course Oliver wants one last chance to outline strategy before they begin the game.

Harry is going to let him. Oliver's hour-long speeches sound perfectly good to Harry after some of the other things he could have heard.

The game is glorious.

Harry half-wondered if the fact that Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins on the Quidditch team are, well, following him around would mean they'd go easy on him, but it turns out to be the opposite, if anything. The Slytherin Beaters hit the Bludgers at Harry harder than they ever have, with everything they've got. Harry dodges them and laughs.

At least some people don't think he's fragile.

He and Malfoy roar around the pitch, misleading each other, weaving, rising, dipping, spinning. Malfoy tries to grab hold of Harry's broom bristles at one point, but he has to sprint aside from a Bludger that George has hit his way. Harry rises and rises and rises, faster on the Firebolt than a dream.

He looks down when he's so far above the pitch that he can mainly make out little blurs of color, and sees one little blur of color that's golden.

Harry turns and dives.

The pitch comes near dizzyingly fast, and he can hear screams and applause that seem to stretch out forever in his ears. Harry flattens himself to his broom and turns sideways to avoid a hoop, sideways again to avoid a Bludger, and stretches out a hand.

The Snitch slams into his palm as if it always intended to come to him, and the cries of the audience rise to a howl in his ears.

"If you didn't have that Firebolt, you wouldn't have beaten me!"

Harry blinks and looks up from his meal. Malfoy is standing in front of the Gryffindor table, his arms folded and a pout on his face. Harry takes his time swallowing a bit of porridge before he says, "Yes, I would have."

Malfoy flushes. Harry doesn't know how much of that is because Harry calmly retorted to him instead of getting upset, and how much is because people are starting to take note of them. But he doesn't back down. He says, "What would you say to having us play a game with you on my Nimbus and me on your Firebolt?"

"If you promised that you wouldn't do anything to my Firebolt," Harry says calmly, interrupting the noises of outrage coming from Ron and Oliver. "And if you agree that it should just be a game with the Snitch, not the Bludgers."

"Why not Bludgers? Scared, Potter?"

"No. You're not used to the Firebolt's speed. I'd rather that you didn't get your skull caved in."

Malfoy blinks. He doesn't seem to know what to do with that explanation not given in a mocking tone. He falls back on, "We'll see, Potter! Meet you on the pitch in thirty minutes." And he turns and walks haughtily out of the Great Hall.

"I'm a little surprised he's challenging you like this," Hermione leans over to murmur to Harry. "Especially when he sometimes seems to consider himself a follower of yours."

"Only sometimes, though." Harry grins. Malfoy's allegiance seems to flicker and change based on circumstances. He certainly gloated about Dumbledore's fall from grace, but he also glares at Harry in the corridors on a regular basis, and doesn't like it when Hermione gets the best potion in Snape's class. "This way, maybe it'll let him work out some of his frustrations."

"You're going to beat him, mate!" Ron claps him on the back.

"Maybe," Harry says. "It's going to be a challenge, anyway."

"Harry." Oliver leans over the table, and his eyes are very big and very bright. "Do not let anything happen to the Firebolt."

"Relax, Oliver—"

"We already won the Quidditch Cup!"

Harry winks at the twins and looks back at Oliver, who looks absolutely anguished. "I promise that nothing will," he says soothingly. "Malfoy knows that he'd have to answer to you if something did, and I think he's a lot more scared of you than he is of me."

Oliver thinks about it, chews his lip, and finally nods. "Okay. But I'm going to watch and make sure nothing happens."

Harry smiles. "You do that."

Malfoy is a lot faster with the Firebolt, and he probably could have managed it even if Beaters were shooting Bludgers at them, it turns out. He rockets up down the pitch and shouts in a way that Harry can feel Oliver disapproving of without even looking in Oliver's direction.

But Harry is better.

He keeps spotting the Snitch, and Malfoy keeps chasing him towards it. Since he's on the Firebolt, he does it a lot faster than usual, and he does come closer to nearly snatching the Snitch out of the air when Harry is reaching for it. But Harry keeps ducking and rising and hanging upside-down and, one, stretching his arms out so that one blocks Malfoy's reach and the other sends the Snitch bouncing off into the air, meaning that they lose it and have to find it again.

Harry wins the several games they play, but he and Malfoy both land on the ground laughing and red-faced and so sweaty that Harry feels like he'll probably have to take twenty showers to get the feeling off.

Malfoy holds out the Firebolt to Harry reverently. Harry smiles and takes it, aware of the way that Oliver is tensed in the stands, ready to fly over (of course he brought his own broom with him) and rescue the precious Firebolt if necessary.

"Thank you," Malfoy says. "For letting me borrow it." He takes a deep breath. "And you really are a good Seeker."

"Thank you," Harry says quietly. He has some sense of what it cost Malfoy to say that. "So are you."

Malfoy turns bright pink and mumbles something, heading away. Harry shakes his head in amusement and holds out his Firebolt so that Oliver can hurry over from the stands and run gentle hands over it.

"That was kind of you."

Harry blinks and glances up. Greengrass is standing next to him. He didn't even know she was here—she doesn't like Quidditch as far as he knows—and she said a sentence without any humongous words in it. He settles for smiling a little. "Thanks."

"And politic. Now Draco is more likely to associate you with thoughts of pleasure and worthiness than with the paradigm of a hated rival."

Harry shrugs. "I wasn't thinking of it that way—"

"He will become a more faithful follower when he can weigh all of these factors in the balance." Greengrass nods, her resemblance to an owl pronounced by the way her eyes are large and fixed on Harry. "I apologize for believing that you did not have the tensile strength of thought to play the political game. You may call me Daphne." And she wanders away towards the school.

Harry watches her go, and blinks. "Okay," he says to no one in particular.

"You should choose where you're going to stay for the summer soon. It will give the others confidence."

Theo speaks quietly as he sits down on the other side of the library table from Harry. Madam Pince glances towards them once, seems to register that neither Oliver nor the twins is there, and sniffs loudly in approval.

"I think we need to talk about where you're going to stay for the summer first," Harry murmurs, and leans forwards.

Theo freezes, his eyes wide. Then he shakes his head and says, "You know a little of my family situation. I could visit you somewhere else, if I was careful enough about it, but you can't stay at my house."

"I know that. I mean, do you need help escaping? How bad are your family members on the other side? If I'm safe, you should be, too."

Theo looks down at his fingers. Harry has got to know him better now, and sees how much Theo's knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the table. "That's not the kind of thing a Lord needs to worry about," Theo whispers.

"I've told you before, I don't really know how to be a Lord. I just know how to be me."

Theo swallows.

"Do you need help to leave?" Harry asks. "I know that I might be limited in what I can do about your father, but I have other people who will want to help." He grins at the thought of Fred and George taking a flying car to rescue Theo. Well, if Mr. Weasley has another one enchanted by now, which he might, for all Harry knows. "Who will want to help you."

Theo looks so flummoxed that Harry wishes he was able to put this some other way. Some way that wouldn't make Theo feel so—confused and vulnerable, maybe. Harry tries to turn his head so he's not looking directly at Theo. Maybe that will help.

"You're so strange," Theo mutters. He swallows and finally says, "No one else has ever cared."

"Well, now I do," Harry says firmly. He wonders for a second if Theo doesn't have any other friends in Slytherin, even though he seems close with Daphne, and then thinks it's likelier that Theo didn't tell them any details. Or Slytherins politely pretend to ignore each other's weaknesses, maybe. "Do you need help?"

Theo visibly struggles for a moment. Then he says, "No. I—the relatives who were a problem are traveling overseas at the moment, and won't come back until late in the summer. And for the fortnight or so they are there, I can arrange to visit a friend. Maybe wherever you're staying. Wherever that is," he adds pointedly.

Harry smiles. "If you don't mind being woken up at five in the morning for Quidditch training, you're welcome."

Theo stares at him in utter dismay. "You're going to stay with Wood?"

"Yeah."

"Why, though? I mean, at other people's houses you could at least sleep in."

Harry thinks of sharing that he never slept in during the summers before, but decides it would only distract from the problem they're here to solve. "It'll be more relaxing than some of the other options, honestly. Oliver's limited in what he cares about, but that makes him more relaxing for me to be around, too. And I could use—someone who won't be plotting my next political move constantly."

Theo lowers his eyes. "I'm sorry about implying that you would get hurt playing Quidditch and you shouldn't do it."

Harry squeezes his hand. "It's all right. I know that you thought you could probably do it because threatening me to go to the hospital wing worked. But now we know the limitations of that strategy, and it won't work again, and I forgive you."

Theo says nothing for a long moment. Then he stands up and nods. His face has gone back to the smooth blankness that he used to wear, back before they became friends. Harry hopes that's not a bad sign.

"Have a good summer," Theo says softly, and leaves.

It turns out, when someone sees and recognizes the Wolfsbane Potion that Snape is bringing Professor Lupin, that he's a werewolf, and he gets sacked. Harry is sorry for it. He still isn't the best at the Patronus Charm, but he's getting there, and Professor Lupin was the best Defense professor they've ever had.

At least it sounds like he can live with Sirius, whenever Sirius gets released from hospital. And he and Harry promise to write.

Harry steps off the train onto Platform 9 ¾ and takes a deep breath. Oliver is still on the Express, carefully transporting the precious Firebolt as well as several trunks of gifts that arrived for Harry literally minutes before they left Hogwarts. Harry hasn't had the chance to open them all and got caught up in talking with his friends and approximately fifty-three other people who stopped by their compartment, anyway. He'll open them later, after some detection charms.

"Harry!"

Harry spins around. The first thing he sees is a couple of people in bright lime-green robes. And the second thing he sees is Sirius, standing between them, waving madly at him and hopping up and down.

Harry laughs and runs over to him. He hasn't seen Sirius more than once or twice since the scene by the Shrieking Shack, but he's got a lot more comfortable with him over the letters they've exchanged. Comfortable enough to let Sirius grab his shoulder and shake it. Harry smiles and steps back when he's done.

"Are you disappointed that you can't live with me yet?" he asks. The people who are with Sirius, his Healers, simultaneously give their heads little shakes. Harry snorts. It's like Sirius has his own private Lord retinue.

"Disappointed, sure. But I'm glad that you're going to be staying with someone you want to stay with, this time. And a Gryffindor." Sirius leans nearer and lowers his voice, as if there's anything private about a train platform. "I don't really trust all those Slytherins, Harry. They did some good things, but you know they did it for themselves, too, right?"

"I know." Harry pats Sirius's hand, and decides that he won't try to get into explaining the complexities of his friendships with Theo and Daphne and Draco (who stopped by the compartment specifically to announce that Harry could call him by his first name and that he should be bloody grateful for it, and who narrowly avoided getting hexed). "Oliver said his parents would be happy to have me, and I'll get in lots of Quidditch training. And you can visit, right?" He glances at Sirius's Healers, and this time they give little head-bobs before the tall, dark-haired witch on the right clears her throat.

"Yes, he can, Lord Slytherin. Please do your best not to exhaust him or let him play too many pranks."

Harry nearly freezes in horror at being called Lord Slytherin by an adult. Well, one who doesn't act like it's a bad idea. But the Healer is looking at him with a slightly suspicious glare now, and Harry realizes that he didn't promise to keep Sirius from playing pranks. He clears his own throat. "Yes, of course. I won't let him."

"You know that you want me to get mentally healthy, though, right, Monica?" Sirius asks, and beams at the Healer. "That means having as much fun as I can stand."

"And fun that will leave you standing, instead of collapsed with magical exhaustion," Healer Monica says sternly.

"Harry, c'mon!"

Harry turns around. Oliver is standing down the platform next to a pair of tall, ruddy-faced people who are probably his parents. Trunks of the gifts Harry got float behind him, and he's holding the Firebolt tenderly.

"Sorry, I have to go," Harry tells Sirius. Then he gasps a little as Sirius abruptly leans forwards and hugs him.

Harry slowly manages to hug him back. This still isn't something he's used to. His friends, his followers, whatever someone wants to call them, don't do this a lot. Mrs. Weasley and Hermione are really the only people who have hugged him on a regular basis, and sometimes Ron.

"I'll get better," Sirius whispers into his ear. "And then you won't have to do this silly Lordship business anymore. I'll protect you and take care of you the way I should have all along. You'll see."

Eight months ago, Harry would have been overjoyed if someone had told him he could quit being Lord Slytherin. Now, he thinks of the way Theo looked when he said no one ever cared, and how joyous Trelawney looked when she said she had a new job, and the way that people enjoyed the new brooms, and even how he isn't going back to the Dursleys anymore.

But that's also not the kind of thing he can explain in public on a train platform.

"Harry! C'mon!"

Harry hugs Sirius back one more time, and carefully steps away. "We'll have a long talk at some point, all right?" he asks, and cringes at the pointed looks from the Healers. "I mean, when you're ready for it, and you're mentally healthy, and everything."

"All right," Sirius says, and winks at him, and lets the Healers herd him away. His voice comes floating back to Harry one more time. "I hope you enjoy the package I sent you this morning! Open it before the Stasis Charms wear off!"

Harry blinks at that. Sirius's gift must have been one of the ones that got packed into the trunks and he hasn't had time to look at yet. But "Stasis Charms" mean that he should look. He walks over to Oliver and his parents a little concerned.

Luckily, Oliver's parents take care of that right away. Mr. Wood is a thinner, older version of Oliver who asks Harry to call him Paul and starts talking about Quidditch right away. Mrs. Wood asks Harry to call her Melinda, and tells him that she'll be happy to teach him magic over the summer, since their house is free of the Trace.

All in all, it's going to be the best summer Harry has had in a long time.

The room Oliver's parents give Harry is enormous, or it feels that way, with a four-poster bed like the ones at Hogwarts, a fireplace that stretches the length of the wall by the bed, a window that looks out over a pitch, and a place of honor on the wall for the Firebolt. Harry hangs it up and then digs into the trunks of gifts, shaking his head a little.

At least the one from Sirius is easy to find. It's large and covered with gamboling wolves and black dogs on the paper. It also has a couple large holes in the top with only strips of paper stretched over them.

Harry opens it curiously, and finds a small glass cage wrapped in Stasis Charms, the way Sirius promised. No, wait, not a cage, a tank.

With a small green snake inside it.

Harry stares at it. He can hardly believe that Sirius, who was criticizing Slytherins on the platform just an hour ago, got him this.

Taking a shaky breath, he lifts the lid of the tank. The Stasis Charms break, and life returns to the snake in a rush. For a long moment, it wriggles around on the bottom of the tank, which looks like natural grass.

Then it looks up and sees him.

"Hello!"

"Hello," Harry says softly back, and puts his hand in the tank so the snake can climb up his arm.

The snake does, chattering all the while. "You are a Speaker! That is excellent. I think I shall like you. I like it here! It is very bright. I like hunting when it's bright rather than when it's dark. My name is Ahalam and I hatched in the place that has many owls and other snakes and also Kneazles and Crups. The man who bought me smelled like a dog, and he was nervous, but I shall learn to get along with him if you want me to. What are these square things? Can I eat them? Will you open them? Why are you just sitting here?"

Harry has to laugh. Trust Sirius to have chosen a snake who probably has the most open and Gryffindor-like personality of any snake in the shop where he got him.

Harry lifts Ahalam up to his shoulder and says, "I was just about to open these boxes, actually. Do you want to help?"

"Yes, I do! I can tell you which ones smell dangerous and which ones do not. And which ones smell delicious and which ones do not. If there are mice, will you feed them to me? What will you do with the ones that smell like sinew and hide? What are the things that humans think are nice to eat? Do you have other humans around here I can meet? Are there Crups? Kneazles? What about owls?"

Harry laughs again, and strokes Ahalam as he begins to explain. Ahalam continually interrupts with excited chatter.

Yes, it's going to be a great summer.