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Chapter Forty-One—All the Breaks
There is a small break in the patterned, shifting surface above him.
Tarquinius flows forwards. This is yet another sign that Lyassa's control over him is weakening. He has more and more breaks above him, more and more of a chance to slip through.
For a moment, the water of her control closes again, and Tarquinius drifts beneath it, snarling but not able to force himself to make a move that could reveal his developing independence. And then the break comes back, and Tarquinius plunges through it and sticks his head into the world beyond.
The sensation of freedom is sweet, blinding.
Everyone is staring at him.
Theo, as he walks towards his place at the Slytherin table, knows that is not an exaggeration. Most people know he spent a few days in the hospital wing. Only a handful in Harry's closest circle know why, but others will wonder, because Theo is good enough at Potions not to have an accident, and no one else has shown a sign of sickness. They will wonder. They will whisper. They will gossip.
Attack them before they can.
Theo hauls back the leopard developing beneath his skin and sits down at Pansy's side. She gives him a wary look and scoots a little further away, stirring his temper, which leaks like lava through the cracks in his soul.
But remembering that he has those cracks curbs the urge to snap. Theo leans forwards and takes some food, not even paying attention to what it is. He's not sure if he has likes or dislikes at this point. Everything seems to be welling up and falling through the cracks.
"Theo?"
Harry. Yes, he is loyal to Harry. He likes Harry. Theo nods to him, wishing he could remember for sure what their conversation in the hospital wing was about. "Yes? Do you need something?"
"I just want you to know that they'll suffer for what they did to you," Harry murmurs, leaning close enough that Pansy can't hear. "Even the one you might think is beyond my revenge will suffer."
Theo nods to him again. He thinks that he should be glad about that, but it's an artificial gladness, an echo among the breaks.
"Thank you," he murmurs nonetheless.
Harry hisses as cold pain floods down his arm. Lyassa rears back and bangs her tail. "You made a sound so close to unforgivable words in Parseltongue that we would have left if that had been our first interaction with you."
"But I didn't say it," Harry snaps back, and watches her settle into a waiting posture, coils flowing as if she's made of water.
"True. You did not."
Harry stares down at the pattern etched in frost and water on the floor of the classroom in the dungeons where they're working. Lyassa said from the smells that no one has come here in years, which makes it perfect, as far as Harry's concerned. The pattern is melting, or at least what's left of it is. Part of it was already incinerated in a flash of fire that manifested as Harry's cold pain.
It there is some kind of ancestral Potter Gift for necromancy, he sure as fuck doesn't have it.
Harry closes his eyes and breathes in, breathes out, breathes in, breathes out. It's a technique that Severus and Lyassa and Hermione have all recommended for stress. Harry knows that he's stressed right now, and that his own impatience isn't making it easy to learn necromancy, either.
But he can see Theo fading day by day. The other day, he forgot a Transfiguration spell that they've all done before, the basis of another one that they'll need to know on their OWL exams. Seeing Theo's broken expression as he stared at the wand made Harry want to kill something.
Or bring something back and then kill it.
"There is a reason the greatest necromancers use ice," Lyassa murmurs, her tail still stirring dust. "This is a cold art. It requires patience, and concentration, and the ability to sink into oneself and leave the present behind."
"I don't care."
"You don't care about possibly injuring your friend?"
Harry moves further away from the disrupted frost pattern on the floor, trembling with anger. Lion hisses from his shoulder, but Harry knows without listening that his snake will be agreeing with Lyassa's advice. He strokes Lion's back with one cold hand and stares at Lyassa, who stares implacably back at him.
"Let's try this again," Harry says. "Again and again, until we get it right."
"That is more like the stubborn persistence of a snake."
"Anything I can help you with, Mr. Potter, I hope that you'll let me know."
Draco has been lingering near the Defense classroom specifically to catch words like that, but they still make him wince, as does Harry's mechanical answer.
"Thank you, sir. I think I have it figured out for now, and I have to do some more studying, but I'll let you know if there's anything."
The door opens, and Harry slips out. He blinks for a moment at Draco, as if surprised to find him there, the most expression Draco has seen on his face since what happened to Theo—happened. Then he nods distantly and starts to walk down the corridor.
"Don't trust what Shacklebolt tells you too much," Draco says, pacing after him.
He winces a second after he says it. Okay, there were smooth ways to bring that up and there were terrible ways, and this is a terrible way. It sounds like he's hinting at dark secrets, and that's likely to make Harry think he was involved in what happened with Theo.
Harry just glances at him, eyes hawk-bright. "Why? Do you know something about what Shacklebolt's going to say that should make me wary?"
"Not about Shacklebolt specifically," Draco says. He relaxes a little now that it appears his own impression of how he spoke to Harry was worse than the reality. "Just that he follows Dumbledore, and he would probably do anything he could think of to make sure that you do, too."
Harry considers him for a second, eyes still distant and cool. Draco finds himself instinctively straightening under that gaze. He never thought a year ago that he would want to prove himself to Harry in any other way than would be necessary to help with learning strong magic, but he really does.
"Thanks for the warning," Harry says at last, and then parts from Draco at a corner with a distant nod. Draco knows better than to try and follow him.
But he if can play some small part in repairing the damage to Theo, who after all is his friend, too…
Draco wants to do it.
"Can you please demonstrate the Rapid Shrinking Charm for me, Mr. Potter?"
There's nothing Harry wants to do less. They're studying versions of charms now in Professor Flitwick's class that are faster or stronger or more complicated than the simple ones they've learned before, but Harry hasn't been studying them. He's been immersed in necromancy, day and night, trying to save Theo. That's much more important than some piddling spell in Charms.
But right now he's actually in Charms class and everyone is staring at him with narrowed eyes. He's not supposed to embarrass Slytherin. He's not supposed to upset or worry his friends.
"Sure, Professor," Harry says, and stands up. Lion flutters his wings once on Harry's shoulder but doesn't say anything. Harry aims his wand at the button Flitwick has placed in front of him and manages to come up with the incantation for the Rapid Shrinking Charm just a moment before he would have to admit he didn't know it. "Vento adtenuo!"
The spell bolts forth from his wand, and hits the button, and makes it tremble and rock a little in place. Maybe it gets smaller. Harry can feel his face turning red as he stares at the thing, and he hears a few giggles, but he doesn't look up. What matters to him is necromancy and Theo, not this spell.
"Are you all right, Mr. Potter?" Flitwick asks in a kind voice, probably just a moment before Blaise would have asked the same thing.
"Yes, sir, I'm all right," Harry says, and raises his wand. Because now he's thinking that he can't show weakness, any weakness will get back to Voldemort and make him feel like he's won, and the last thing Harry wants is to give that bastard the satisfaction. "Vento adtenuo!"
This time, the button explodes. Everyone stands silent in the classroom, staring at the little bits of button that are still bouncing off the walls. Flitwick is the first to clear his throat, absent-mindedly picking a piece of wood from his forehead.
"Do keep practicing, Mr. Potter. With perhaps a shade less power? And one point to Slytherin." He nods to Harry and turns to coax Justin Finch-Fletchley into practicing the same spell.
Harry sits down and shakes his head a little at the concerned glances from his friends. Well, most of his friends. Theo is staring at his wand as if he has no idea what it's for and has missed the entire interaction.
Once, that never would have happened. Once, Theo would have been the first in line to taunt Harry about putting too much power into the charm and insist that he practice more. Once, he would have been horrified at the thought that Harry didn't practice.
Once, Harry never would have overpowered the charm in the first place, because he wouldn't have been focused on Theo, because nothing would be wrong with Theo.
Harry closes his hand furiously on his own wand, until even the smooth wood cuts into his palm, and makes the furious, silent vow that Theo will be that person again.
Today, the surface of the pond is so troubled that Tarquinius is able to lift his head above the beast's watery control and know for sure that he has not alerted her.
He smiles when he feels the "water" continue to lurch around him without offering any resistance. It seems that the beast is distracted. Tarquinius hopes that it is because some misfortune has come to his son and Harry Potter, although he is not foolish enough to be confident that is the case.
Patience, patience, he counsels himself, and resists the urge to rip through her weakening snares as if they are made of mist. The last thing he wants is a rebellion that would be squashed immediately and result in close observation for perhaps another year.
He opens his eyes. He is sitting in his favorite chair in the library, close to the roaring fireplace, where the beast often likes to curl up for the warmth. The first thing he does is sweep his mind through his own preferences, listening, thinking.
Yes, it is still his favorite chair. She has not changed that.
Which might mean she has not changed other important parts of his personality or magic, either.
Tarquinius eases his hand towards the Dark Mark on his arm. He stops well short of the contact, but he can feel the magic pounding through it. His Lord is awake and alive and moving. And although Tarquinius does not regret the thirteen years when he was free of his Lord's control as well as the beast's, he will need that strong, Dark magic to fight back against Lyassa.
Better a chosen servitude, even one largely in the past, than slavery to a beast.
He feels the wards shift as the beast arrives back home. Tarquinius closes his eyes and sinks back into the depths of his mind, pleased to note that even the darkness that would have shut his mind down a few weeks ago has wavered. Now it looks like deep blue water broken by shafts of piercing sunlight.
He will play the good husband, the obedient servant, for the sake of the beast right now. In a few weeks, a few hours, a few days more, he will rise up against her and destroy her, make her pay for enslaving him.
And then he will deal with dearest Theodore.
The deaths will be your fault.
The stupid words are still echoing in his head, even though he assumed it would be Theo's voice that would do so. Harry stands up, sighs, leaves Lion sleeping on the pillow, and makes his way down to the Slytherin common room.
It's empty except for one seventh-year asleep near the fire, head tilted back and mouth opened. Harry avoids her and sits down near the flames, staring into them. Now and then his hands clench, but he tries his best not to think about it.
His studies in necromancy aren't going well.
He doesn't, according to Lyassa, have the "cold" temperament that's really necessary for the art. His impatience and his anger always get the better of him and break the concentration that he needs to reach into death and bring someone back. He can't meditate well.
It reminds Harry of his failures at Occlumency, and he wonders how much of that is because of the Horcrux planted in his head.
I wish I could get better faster at this. I wish I could do something else to help Theo.
But no one else seems to think there's anything he could do to help Theo, and even the Speakers have no record of another solution to the problem with the curse Theo suffers under. So Harry will keep going.
Something flows and changes in front of him. Harry keeps sitting there, breathing lightly, with his eyes closed now. If the seventh-year or some of the Slytherins who have bothered him before are going to attack him, they'll regret it.
But the figure, or the person, or whatever it is, remains silent and doesn't move. Harry finally admits defeat and opens his eyes to find out who they are and what they want.
The shadows on the floor in front of him form the shape of a leopard.
Harry flings himself backwards in his chair, one hand raised, the other fumbling for his wand. The shape on the floor stretches but also moves away from him, and now Harry is looking at the blank grey head of a predator that opens its jaws in a lazy yawn.
Peace, says a voice that thunders through his head. I have no reason to wish you harm—at the moment.
"You know very well that you're my enemy and the Speakers' enemy," Harry says in Parseltongue. At least no one else who stumbles down the stairs, or the seventh-year if they wake up, will know what he's talking about.
I still have no reason to wish you harm, not with the pathway that you are walking down. I think we can help each other.
"You have no reason to wish me well."
Peace. The shape elongates and stretches up the side of the fireplace, flowing around and in circles, draping over the stones and into nooks and crannies that Harry can barely see. Do not all living beings wish for peace?
Harry watches and says nothing. He might not be able to beat the leopard-creature at the moment, but neither does he intend to yield to it.
The leopard reaches the top of the mantel and stalks back and forth, looking like the shadow of a Muggle toy. If you knew what I could offer to someone who is beginning the path of necromancy…
Harry still says nothing. He doesn't like that the leopard knows what he's doing, but he's hardly tried to hide it. It could have found out in any number of ways, including peering at his dreams while he slept.
Do you not want to save your friend?
"I trust nothing that you say."
The leopard turns to face him, shadowy tail swishing. One reason you have been having such trouble with necromancy is that you are relying on nothing but your own magical strength and ritual patterns to build the call to the dead. You should use a gem that will boost your strength. There is great power to be found in gemstones, for all that modern wizards and witches have turned their backs on them.
Harry continues to say nothing. He wonders why the leopard believes such an obvious trap would work. Yes, Harry could probably find a gemstone to use, and then it would explode at the worst moment and destroy him and Lyassa and Lion.
The leopard leaps down from the mantel and stalks towards Harry, growing larger as it moves, until it looms against the wall. Harry finds himself holding his breath, for all that he doesn't believe the leopard can just kill him or it would have done it already.
Do as I say, and succeed in necromancy, the leopard murmurs. Be able to bargain for a sense of peace between us. Or do nothing as I say, and fight me along with your own magic when it comes to the worst moment.
It turns and blends with the shadows of the fire. A heavy, cold sensation Harry didn't even notice hovering in the air disappears a few seconds later.
Harry sits with his eyes closed, telling himself over and over that he can trust nothing such a powerful enemy of the Speakers says, even if he wants to. The leopard already hurt Theo during the confrontation in Umbridge's office, for Merlin's sake.
He tells himself that, and he wonders about experimenting with gemstones.