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Chapter Twenty-One—Of Darkness Returning

"You did a lot of damage to yourself."

Helios's voice was calm and neutral. Harry grimaced as he leaned back against the pillows behind him. At least the Healer who had taken care of him—and ranted under her breath the entire time, as if Harry were more trouble than the Galleons Helios had paid her were worth—wasn't in the room right now.

"I'm sorry. I do think that I'll be back on my feet soon, and I can start working to pay you the money back. I might have enough in my trust vault as it stands."

Helios stared at him in silence. Harry ran the words he'd spoken over in his head. Had he not been sufficiently respectful? It had sounded that way to him, but then again, he had a pounding headache, and he didn't know if his perceptions were the best at the moment.

"You need not pay me back."

"Well, I thought—" Harry stopped. He hadn't really thought that he'd have to pay Theo's father back. Theo hadn't said anything about it. But Helios had sounded so angry without anger that Harry had assumed it had to be the cost of the Healer. What else would it be? Harry hadn't actually died, so it couldn't be that he had broken Theo's heart.

"Listen to me, Harry."

Helios walked over to Harry's bed with short strides and stood there, leaning on the cane that normally seemed more like one of his legs than a tool to hold him up. But now, from the grim set to his mouth, he needed it.

"You nearly died. That is what I am upset about. I would like to ask you to avoid such risks in the future."

"We needed to escape from Azkaban. Theo, too."

"I completely agree with that. But you did not need to bring your godfather with you, or escape in such a dramatic manner, or one that hurt you so much."

"The Healer sounded upset, but she said I would make a full recovery?"

"And so you shall," Helios said, maybe because he could hear more fear in Harry's voice than Harry would admit was there. "But you will be on a Potions regimen for more than a month to heal the damage to your organs. And your magic is—have you tried to use a ward since you came home?"

Prickling unease crawled up Harry's spine. Some of it was because Helios had said this was his home, but not all of it. "No," he whispered. "Am I a Squib?"

"No, of course not." Helios sounded so dismissive that Harry relaxed even before he wondered if he should have. "But your magic has changed, the Healer said. The way you engage with wards has changed."

"What does that mean?"

"That was why I asked if you had attempted to use them. I thought that you would be the one best positioned to know."

Harry swallowed and bent down to place his hand on the twist of the bedclothes around his legs. It was uncomfortable, and he had meant to do something about it earlier, but then Helios had come in. He shaped his fingers in the sign that he would use to cast a ward to make him more comfortable. Most of the time, he had used it to cushion minor injuries when he had them.

There was a shiver, and the air around him started and came to life. Harry flinched back from the pooling silvery—liquid, was it? Or was it more like shadow?

The liquid darted down and formed for a moment into a loop around Harry's leg. Then the bedclothes went flying up, swayed in the air as if invisible people were weaving them back and forth in a dance, and floated down again. This time, they were perfectly smooth atop Harry's legs.

"I take it that is not what happened before?" Helios had a touch of sarcasm in his voice that made Harry stop gaping at the results at last.

Harry shook his head. "I would sometimes see a glint of light in the air from where a ward was forming, but—no."

"Well." Helios took a step back, his head cocked. Harry wondered if he would say something else about it, but in the end, he shrugged and turned away. "You should keep practicing with minor things. I will send Theo to you this afternoon."

Harry frowned at the air after the door had shut behind Helio, wondering if his magic was—what? More creature-shaped? More sentient?

And if it was that last, did it mean it would sometimes refuse to work for him? That he could no longer depend on it?

Harry swallowed back the feeling of panic. He would have to be able to depend on it. He would have to keep working with it, soothe it, show that he respected it or whatever would get it back under his control.

Because, even if he had a house that would shelter him and a lover who would never desert him, and maybe even a godfather to talk to, Harry had been helpless so often before. In his early years at Hogwarts, with the Dursleys. He would never be that way again.

"How is Harry?"

"Well enough. How is Black?"

Theo sighed. He had sat with Harry's godfather for about fifteen minutes that morning, when Harry wasn't awake. Black wasn't awake most of the time, either, and when he was, he seemed to mistake Theo for Harry and babbled to him about how they would have to go back to Godric's Hollow as soon as possible, since James and Lily were in danger. "Not sane at the moment. Asleep."

"I will bring in someone that I know."

Theo paused as he was about to turn down the corridor towards Harry's room. "What do you mean, Father?"

"I think it is as well if Sirius Black was healed as soon as possible. Forcibly healed, if that is necessary."

Theo swallowed. There wasn't much that frightened him, not after surviving Dementors at Harry's side—well, other than the way Harry had been bleeding when they got back. But he had learned enough about forcible healing as a child that the thought of it terrified him.

"Is that—necessary?"

"I think it may be. I think that we need to know both more details about what happened to land Black in prison, and we need someone else who can cooperate in giving Harry a sense of place here. A home."

"This is his home!"

Father glanced at Theo, and Theo held himself still and didn't recoil. There was a flatness moving in Father's eyes that Theo had seen before, after Mother died.

"Of course it is. But it seems that Harry has some difficulties accepting that. And his magic has changed. It may be minor, or it may not." Father's cane tapped for a moment on the floor. "I would that we have as much comfort and care to offer this young dragon as possible, if he is angry and afraid."

He's both, Theo thought, suddenly sure.

He nodded at Father, and hurried down the corridor. He would do his part in cradling and comforting Harry, of course. He would make him see that Nott House was his home, and if not, then anywhere they were together would be.

Anything else was unacceptable.

Harry blinked as Theo hurried into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course." Theo sat down in the chair beside Harry's bed that the Healer had used most often, and stared at him intently. "But something Father said made me think you might not be."

Harry flushed. Having Theo this close, after a few days when he'd mostly slept and listened to the Healer doing her best to avoid ranting, was overwhelming. Somehow, he had forgotten the way that Theo's dark hair slipped across his forehead when he was concentrating on Harry, the way that his eyes brightened when he leaned near.

"Yeah. Um."

"Yes?" Theo took Harry's hand and held it, delicately spreading out Harry's fingers and staring at them as if he'd never seen anything so fascinating.

"Can you not do that?"

Theo tensed, his openness fleeing as if it had never existed. Harry didn't actually know how he had managed that, when he kept his head bowed and the same expression on his face as before.

I suppose I am that good at reading him.

"Of course I won't touch you if you don't want me to," Theo said in a precise tone, putting Harry's hand back on the sheets and leaning away. "I hoped that you might accept that this is your home and I want to be your lover, but I see that—"

"Come off it."

Theo glanced at Harry, his face definitely arranged in a different expression now. He looked calm and polite. "Yes?"

"It's just that—you don't have to touch me that tenderly," Harry said desperately, flushing when Theo stared at him. "I—almost killed you. I could have got you killed by doing what I did. The Healer says that she doesn't know how we survived. And then you come in here and act like nothing happened, like—nothing's changed when it comes to how you feel about me—"

Theo's smile was like dark lightning, the way it crackled across his face. He leaned forwards and kissed Harry in a way that made Harry open his mouth with a gasp. Theo's tongue was there, his hands were there on Harry's shoulders, and there was so much warmth thudding through him that it felt like a second heartbeat.

"Nothing has changed," Theo whispered harshly as he pulled back. "If you knew what I felt for you—if you knew—you saved us, Harry, you did the impossible." His fingers traced restlessly around the edges of the blanket. "You redefine magic for me every day."

Harry felt nearly helpless with how happy he was. He swallowed and asked, "And is that still going to be true even if I—messed up somehow and destroyed my ability to use wards?"

Theo picked up his hand and kissed it. "Yes, your magic might be different. But the impact you make on me never could be."

Harry found he was well enough to sit up and continue the kiss, something that hadn't been true the last few days.

And, well, it wasn't like Theo was objecting.

Andromeda didn't really know why Nott—Nott the elder—had asked her into Sirius's room with the Healer. The Healer was a tall woman in green robes and with a fussy expression.

"I require you that you tell me again what you want done, Mr. Nott."

"Forcible healing on Mr. Black here."

Andromeda's spine snapped straight, and she took a long step forwards. "I forbid it!"

"And who are you, Madam?"

"His cousin. Andromeda Black Tonks." Andromeda rarely used her middle name nowadays, but she wanted to make it clear that she had an actual relation to Sirius. She glared at the Healer. "Forcible healing is obscene."

"I do not necessarily disagree with you, Madam Tonks. But that is what Mr. Nott has requested."

"Why have me here, if not to advocate for Sirius?" Andromeda hissed, swinging around to face Nott.

Nott met her eyes, and Andromeda felt as though someone had dragged a chilled claw down the length of her spine. Of course he didn't care that Sirius was hurt or that she might forbid the healing. He intended for it to happen anyway. He wanted her here for another reason.

"Because I want you to see what I am willing to do for Black that no one else is," Nott said, and nodded.

Andromeda turned around too late. It felt as though she were struggling against air that had turned to syrup, and she reached out a hand that didn't seem to move. Instead, she watched as the Healer touched Sirius on the forehead, and her cousin jolted up off the bed with a heartbreaking scream.

The healing magic whirled and sped through Sirius's body, consuming his bone, his magic, his blood, to power itself. Andromeda tried to fight past the magic barrier, whatever it was, but Nott held out his cane and touched her, and then she couldn't move at all.

She had to watch as Sirius screamed and writhed, and the black lightning grasped and shook him like a dog with a rat. Like Sirius himself in his cell.

Why? Why couldn't it have waited?

Nott answered as if he knew she was thinking—which wasn't impossible, but Andromeda hadn't received any indication that he was a Legilimens. "We have little time. We must know the truth of that night, and Mr. Black cannot tell us what it is if he is insane."

"He could still have—" Andromeda said, forcing her jaw to move against the barrier. It dissipated a few seconds later with a sparkling crash.

"James! Lily!"

Andromeda turned hastily back to the bed. Sirus was sitting up, his eyes wide and staring. There were still shadows in them, but he looked at her and knew her. "Andromeda? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Sirius," Andromeda said helplessly.

Sirius looked around, obviously not knowing what to make of the Healer standing with her head hanging and sweat pouring down her temples, or the luxurious bedroom he was ensconced in. But his face tightened with hatred at the sight of Nott. "You!" he barked, and tried to swing his legs out of bed.

Even though he looked so much better to Andromeda, the Healer promptly cast a spell that bound him to the bed. Sirius began to struggle, a high whine on the edge of madness making its way out of his throat.

"Loosen the bonds enough so that he can lift his arms," Nott ordered.

"Sir, I can't guarantee—"

"You'll be out of here soon, and if you have to come and heal more damage, I'll pay you triple your fee for it."

Andromeda shivered at the thought of a Healer who would risk a patient like that, but it evidently made sense to this particular Healer. She nodded and released her hold on Sirius. He shot up and strained against the invisible bonds, his teeth bared, snarling like the dog Andromeda now knew he hid inside.

"Going to torture me, Death Eater? I'll never tell you anything."

"Given that it was my son and my ward who rescued you from Azkaban, I find that ungrateful, Black."

"You saved me to torture me, and maybe to try and manipulate Harry! You—"

"Harry was there in Azkaban, Sirius,' Andromeda interjected, trying to keep her voice as gentle and understanding as possible. Her tears wouldn't help here. "Remember? He was the one who insisted that we had to rescue you and bring you back to Nott House."

Sirius stared at her, his brow wrinkled. Andromeda felt a flare of indignation. If he had gone through the forcible healing and suffered that pain for nothing because it didn't bring his memory back—

"No, I remember that," Sirius whispered. "But I thought it was a dream. Harry isn't that old."

"He's seventeen, Sirius," Andromeda said, as gently as she could. "You've been in Azkaban sixteen years."

Sirius wavered back and forth in the bed, until it looked like only the magical bonds the Healer had created were holding him up. He mouthed something, his eyes blank, and then slumped back in a dead faint.

The Healer sighed and looked at Nott. "I can wake him up again, sir."

"No, let him rest." Nott studied Sirius with the same interest he might have used for a skinned Potions ingredient. "When he wakes again, he should be calmer and more willing to absorb the information."

He turned and clumped out of the room. Andromeda hesitated, glancing back and forth between the Healer and her cousin.

"It will cause no harm if you stay," the Healer said indifferently, and left herself.

Andromeda sat down next to Sirius's bed and took his hand, squeezing tightly. Sirius moaned a little in his sleep, and Andromeda didn't know if that was happening because he was reliving the nightmare of Azkaban or just because he was in pain.

"I'm here," Andromeda whispered, and set herself to being there, when for so many years she hadn't been.

"There isn't an understandable result."

Albus started to open his mouth, to say that there must be a result, that blood-based tracking spells wouldn't have failed. Then he listened to what Kingsley was saying. "What kind is it?"

"Hard to read," said Hestia, handing him the parchment on which the results of the spell were inscribed.

Albus unrolled it and stared in silence at the odd black tracks covering the parchment. He was used to tracking spells creating spirals and paths and jumping arcs when someone Apparated, which then had to be matched up with a map of the territory covered. But he had never seen one like this, with a star-shaped flare at what he knew was Hogwarts, another odd flare a long distance away, and then nothing in between.

The flare couldn't be where Harry was now. For one thing, it was colored black like ink, not the ruby-red of the person's current location.

On the other hand, the spell wouldn't have worked at all if Harry was dead.

It's as if he simply vanished off the face of the earth, Albus thought, and glanced up at Kingsley and Hestia. They were leaning slightly forwards, as if they expected him to explain everything there and then.

"Thank you for doing the tracking," Albus said politely. "I will let you know as soon as possible when I have a result."

Kingsley sighed a little, Hestia scowled, but they departed through the Floo without protesting. A good thing, Albus thought. They needed to get back to the Ministry before anyone missed them.

He placed the parchment on his desk, meanwhile, and gazed at it.

When that didn't prove fruitful, Albus looked through some of the books on his shelves, thinking that there was bound to be a description of a similar map in one of them. But he couldn't find anything there, either. In the end, he shook his head and fetched a real map, laying out the tracking parchment on it with the star-flare of the beginning centered at Hogwarts.

The second flare of ink was centered on—

Azkaban.

Albus stood up, his heart pounding so hard that for a second, his vision blurred. He took a quick breath and shook his head. He couldn't—this couldn't possibly—

But then he took a deep breath and shook his head. No. The tracking spell had worked, so Harry was still alive. And he hadn't died in Azkaban, and he wasn't still there now, or the flare of ink would have been a brilliant red.

It didn't answer the question of where he was now, of course. No wards were so powerful that they should have been able to intervene with the tracking spell, which was one reason that blood magic was so carefully restricted.

It wouldn't be out of line, however, for Albus to check up on Azkaban. There had been no news released, but then, Cornelius was the cautious sort. He would suppress and hush up any incident there to prevent a "panic."

There are some things worth panicking about, Albus thought, as he swirled his cloak around his shoulders, and one of them is Harry becoming vulnerable to the greatest enemy our society has ever seen.