A Year Like None Other

aspeninthesunlight

Story Summary:
A letter from home? A letter from family? Well, Harry Potter knows he has neither, but all the same, it starts with a letter from Surrey. A letter that sends Harry down a path he'd never have walked on his own. It will be a year of big changes, a year of great pain, and a year of confronting worst fears. It will be a year of surprising discoveries, of finding true strength, of finding out that first impressions of a person's true colours do not always ring true. It will be a year of paradigm shifts. And from the most unexpected sources, Harry will have a chance to have that which he has never known: a home ... and a family. (A Snape adopts Harry fic.)
Read Story On:

Chapter 92 - A Portrait of Evil

Posted:
07/19/2006
Hits:
5,977
Author's Note:
Betaed by the Fabulous Mercredi.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or this fictional universe. JK Rowling, some publishers, and some film companies own everything. I'm not making anything from this except a hobby.

Summary: A letter from home sends Harry down a path he'd never have walked on his own. A sixth year fic, this story follows Order of the Phoenix and disregards any canon events that occur after Book 5. Spoilers for the first five books. Have fun!

Author's Note: Thanks as always to the lovely and talented Mercredi! She co-wrote this one with me as well. Large parts of it are her inspiration and her text.

Warning --- This chapter contains material that some readers may find disturbing.

------------------------------------------------------

A Year Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight
and Mercredi

------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Ninety-Two: A Portrait of Evil

------------------------------------------------------

The very moment Draco stopped speaking, three figures began to shimmer into existence in the room. As soon as he heard the first pop, Harry tensed and raised his wand, moving so that he could keep the sleeping snake in view.

But it was Severus, Dumbledore, and Remus, who were Apparating in. Harry slumped in relief, his glance flicking over to where Lucius Malfoy lay so still and cold. Not dead though, Harry thought. The man couldn't be dead.

It couldn't be that easy to kill someone.

Could it?

The minute Harry asked himself that question, a spectre of Cedric Diggory rose up to haunt him. How much time and effort had Wormtail put into his Avada Kedavra that night in the cemetery? Harry shuddered.

Snape emerged first from the haze of Apparition, his wand drawn, his whole stance tensed as though for battle, his head whipping from side to side to assess the room and its occupants. An instant later, Dumbledore finished Apparating, and Remus soon after him, but Snape paid no attention to either one of them. Rushing forward to where Harry and Draco were standing together, he gathered them both in his arms and hugged them tightly against him.

Harry figured his dad must already have seen the state Lucius was in. Well, of course he had. Otherwise, Snape's first order of business would have been to protect his sons, not embrace them.

Snape didn't say anything, not for several seconds, but perhaps he couldn't. His breathing was rough and laboured. He trembled slightly as he hugged Harry and Draco close, holding onto them even after he dragged in a final harsh breath and began to speak. "You're all right, aren't you? Both of you?"

Snape clearly meant the question, but he gave neither boy a chance to answer, suddenly yanking them so firmly against him that Harry couldn't breathe. That was all right though. He liked the warm feel of Snape's cloak beneath his cheek. He even liked the slight scent of potions clinging to the fabric, because . . . well, that was what his dad smelled like most of time, wasn't it?

Of course his father was aggravating all of the bruises Harry had just gotten from that dreadful chair, but he didn't mind. The slight pain just made everything more real. His dad was there. They were safe. Harry didn't know how his brother felt about being squished like this, but one thing said a lot: even though Draco must be in some amount of discomfort due to all those nasty bites, the other boy wasn't struggling, either. Not at all.

After a little while longer though, Harry pushed at his father a bit. This was all well and good, but he did need air sooner or later. He sucked in one huge breath, and then another, and then he felt able to speak.

"I'm fine, Dad. Just fine. But Draco got snake-bit-- a lot, by--"

Snape set Draco away from him and stared into his son's face, his black eyes riveted, his lips tight with distress. One long index finger reached out to trace the bite marks on Draco's face. It came away smeared with the healing balm Draco had applied. "Lucius set snakes on you?"

Since it wasn't like Snape to ask something so obvious, Harry took it as a sign of just how unnerved their father was. Rattled, even.

Draco nodded, the motion looking sort of shattered. "P- p- portkeyed me into a p- p- pit full of . . ."

"Oh, Merlin," With a sharp indrawn gasp of horror, Snape pulled Draco close again, making a patting motion all over the boy's back, as though to reassure himself that his son was still in one piece.

"The pit must have been awful, but Draco killed a snake to try to bring it to me," said Harry, so proud of his brother he felt like he'd burst with it. "And when it got taken from him, he cast Serpensortia instead to help me out."

Going still, Severus flicked a glance to the snake sleeping on the rug not far from them. "Ah." Then he looked more closely at Harry. "Your glasses. Your crest."

The words sounded like statements, but Harry thought his father was probably trying to ask questions instead. "Lucius smashed my glasses just for spite, to taunt me about my eyes and how he was going to--" Harry shuddered, unable to voice the rest. "But the crest . . . I was trying to use it and Lucius realised, and put it all together, figured out I needed a snake to incant . . ." Harry felt himself blush a bit. He knew how incompetent that must make him seem.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "I think you'd best tell me everything from the beginning."

That was probably a good idea, but Harry didn't really feel up to it. He was afraid his father would insist, though, so he raised his voice a little. "Dad, those snakes weren't just snakes, they were vipers! And Draco was bitten by dozens of them! He's still got a fever and everything. He needs to see Pomfrey straight away, don't you think?"

"Vipers! Why didn't you say so at once, you idiot child?" Snape's eyes frantically scanned Draco as he put his hand to his son's forehead.

"Oh, don't get your wand all in a twist," said Draco, pushing away. "I had a purging potion. And besides, I simply cannot go anywhere until we've got Lucius sorted out."

Snape flicked a glance toward the marble form of Lucius, lying still and cold. "I fail to understand in what sense he still needs to be 'sorted out,' as you put it."

Draco tensed from head to foot. "Just this. Harry here thinks he can reverse the spell and Lucius'll come out of it right as rain. On the other hand, I think that Lucius is dead for good now, no matter what Harry does. And I'm not going anywhere until I know for sure."

Dumbledore contemplated both boys, not looking at Lucius as he slowly nodded his head. "Quite right, Draco. We do need to know for certain. Hmmm. This really is quite an impressive Petrificus."

Harry wasn't sure what that meant. "Will it hold?" he asked, suddenly worried. "I mean, I did a regular Petrificus first and it sort of . . . glanced off him, I guess. 'Cause after a while he started to get up again. So I, uh, made it as strong as I could the second time." He shrugged helplessly. He'd used wanded magic without really thinking about it. Just like in that alley with Nott.

He felt a slight surge of guilt burning within him. It wasn't that he regretted what he'd done to Lucius, but he hadn't really thought about the end result before he'd cast. How many times out in Devon had his father lectured him about that?

"Oh, I would say without a doubt that it will hold," murmured Dumbledore.

"Harry, good to see you," said Remus warmly, his brown eyes saying how much he meant it. Harry had the feeling he'd have said something sooner, but hadn't wanted to interrupt Severus' moment.

"I am actually here too, you know," said Draco petulantly.

"Yes, of course. It's good to see you as well, Mr Snape," added Remus at once, the words that time polite but not nearly as warm. "Congratulations on your adoption."

"Severus just told you?"

"No, I've had to stay apprised of matters of concern to your . . . to Lucius Malfoy," amended Remus when Snape shot him an impatient glance. "In order to impersonate him."

Stepping away from his father, Harry flopped down into a chair. For one second he wondered if the furniture would attack him, but then he figured it wouldn't dare, not with Severus and the headmaster both there. "Well, thank God this'll put an end to that at least. Your spying, I mean. I'll unfreeze Lucius and we'll make sure he gets locked up where he can't get out, and that'll be that."

Draco sighed loudly as he walked across to the marble body on the floor. After staring down for a moment, he turned a beseeching glance toward his father. "How are we going to convince Harry that Lucius is really dead?"

Snape squeezed Harry's shoulder lightly, as if to give him courage, then joined Albus and Draco. Meanwhile, Remus pulled a chair up near Harry and sat down. Harry appreciated that, but he couldn't really even look at Remus. His worried gaze was focussed completely on the wizards standing around the marble figure on the floor. Wands out, they appeared to be casting silent spells.

After a moment, Snape frowned. "Albus?"

The headmaster's eyes blazed slightly as he stared down at the body. Legilimency? Harry wasn't sure.

"I sense nothing whatsoever," Dumbledore said at length. "But in this state, I'm not sure there would be anything to sense."

"My conclusion as well," said Snape.

From beside Harry, Remus murmured agreement.

Think, Harry told himself. Think hard. "Well . . . you know, the house-elf here did something to me to sense my magic," said Harry. "Maybe he'd know about this as well. It's worth a try."

"Oh, like I'd trust Lucius' elf," scoffed Draco. "I'd have sent him to get Severus if that were the case. But I thought the minute he was in England he might go ask Narcissa what to do."

"Well, you're still the eldest Malfoy here in this house," Harry reminded Draco, ignoring the sharp glance his father gave them both. "As long as we stay here, Gibby has to do what you say, right? So get him back here--"

"Where is this house-elf and what did he sense about your magic?" interrupted Snape as he glanced expectantly from Draco to Harry and back.

"He could tell it was odd, that's all," said Harry, just as Draco answered in airy tones, "I sent him to wait in the snake pit. All right?"

"You sent him to wait in the snake pit," repeated Snape in a low voice. Clearly, he did not regard that as all right.

"Yeah, well, I was a tad upset that he'd just cursed me over and over." Draco shifted on his feet. "Besides, I thought it would keep him busy so he couldn't meddle. I-- uh-- Look, he saw Harry turn Lucius to stone, so I figured he'd need to be Obliviated anyway."

When Snape said nothing, but just stared with implacable black eyes, Draco crossed his arms. "Don't look at me like that! The fucking elf isn't even going to remember the snake pit. Which is more than you can say of me, eh?" By the end, the boy's chin was lifted in challenge.

"We'll discuss it later," said Snape, shaking his head. "Since I wouldn't believe whatever this elf had to say to be conclusive, I see no point in asking him to examine Lucius. Draco . . . where is this snake pit?"

Draco looked slightly ill as he pointed. "About a hundred yards into the forest, something like that."

"Lupin, would you go immobilise the elf and all the snakes? We'll memory-charm him before we leave. Or should he be returned to Wiltshire, Draco?"

"No, Dribby usually kept this place ready for Lucius."

Remus stood up, giving Harry an encouraging final glance before Disapparating with a slight pop.

Albus waved his wand once more over the statue of Lucius, his old features wrinkled. "I can find nothing here of any life-force. I detect nothing but . . . stone."

"Well, sure he's dead now," Harry blurted. "But, the question is whether he would be if I reverse the spell. And there's really no way to know, is there?"

"I suspect there is, in point of fact, only one way to find out," said Severus, walking over to chair where Harry was sitting. He crouched down to meet his son's eyes. "I regret needing to ask this of you, but I think you had better reverse the curse so we can see what comes out: a living man or . . ." He left the sentence unfinished.

Harry felt sick at what hadn't been said. As much as he hated Lucius, he truly didn't want to watch a corpse come falling out of his spell. Too much like what had happened to Cedric, right before his eyes.

Besides, it would be awful for Draco to see a thing like that.

Harry rubbed his eyes, which were burning a bit. He noticed for the first time that his head was also throbbing. Probably just the strain of the moment. He'd been telling himself all along that Lucius wasn't truly dead, but now . . . "It's probably all right," he said in a shaking voice. "I mean, we don't really need to know, do we? As long as he's stuck for good as stone, what does it matter?"

"I need to know, Harry," said Draco, his eyes narrowing like he had a lot more to say. When Snape waved a hand, however, the boy fell silent.

"Harry," said Snape softly, laying his hands over his son's as he crouched before him, "I will never quarrel with what you have done here today. Ever, do you understand? You need have no regrets. But how can I allow you to believe that a wanded Petrificus is reversible if it is not?"

Harry gulped. For some reason, what his father was saying was making him feel worse, not better. "I won't do it again," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Ever. I'll never use another wanded Petrificus. That way I won't need to know what it does."

"You may need to use the spell again. Harry, look at me." He waited until the boy did. "You must comprehend the extent of your own powers. You can't go forth in ignorance, not when you have magic such as this at your command. Surely you can see this."

Harry nodded glumly, feeling sick deep inside. "All right, I'll just-- oh, yech. I'm still not sure he's dead, you know, but if he is, this is going to be gross."

"Wait," said Draco suddenly, his voice excited. "I should have thought of this sooner! There's a portrait of Lucius upstairs. It's never spoken or moved or anything, not that I've ever seen. And it shouldn't, right? Unless . . ."

"An excellent notion," said Dumbledore, beaming a smile at Draco. The old wizard flicked his wand toward the doorway to the room, and a few moments later, a large gold-coloured frame came sailing towards him. It was moving so fast that Harry couldn't properly see the painting until the headmaster deftly caught it and set it on the floor, leaning it up against one wall.

Lucius Malfoy glared out from the canvas, rapping his cane right and left and up and down in a clear effort to escape the frame. "Where is that worthless spawn of mine?" he roared, throwing his head back. His stance reminded Harry an enraged jungle cat. "Serpensortia, is it? I'll show you a Serpensortia to curl your toes!"

As soon as he caught sight of Draco, he yanked his snake-headed wand from his cane and pointed it directly at the boy.

Draco leapt back in panic, but when nothing happened, he stood up straight and shouted. "Ha! Your wand was destroyed before you died, which means you're one-hundred percent without magic!" He paused, smirking. "Oh, did I mention you were dead? Yeah, dead. And good riddance!"

"I'll make you wish you were dead, I will, you worthless good-for-nothing ingrate excuse for a son!"

Draco leaned laconically against the edge of a divan and smiled like a cat lapping cream. Or perhaps, like a young man who suddenly didn't have a care in the world. "You know, Father, I think you must have been keeping the wrong sort of company. You certainly do seem less a wizard."

"Why, you--" Panting with fury, Lucius grabbed the edges of his portrait with both hands and did his best to leverage himself out of it.

Draco walked right up to the portrait, leaning over to meet Lucius' painted glare at eye level as he spoke very softly. "I bet you wish you hadn't gone to such extreme measures to teach me to conjure snakes. Eh? What, nothing to say?"

"I'll get you for this, Draco Snape!" screamed Lucius. "Just see if I don't! You'll never get so much as a Knut from my holdings! And don't think your mother will ever help you. I knew she might want to someday, so it's all been settled elsewhere! Irrevocably! My fortune and hers both. Everything!"

"Well then it's a good show I'm not like you, thinking that money and power matter more than family," retorted Draco. Standing, he turned his back on Lucius.

"Family!" bellowed the portrait as Draco walked away. "You betrayed your family, your real . . ."

"Lucius." Severus interrupted the exchange in a voice that was calm, yet deadly. "You are nothing now. Nothing but a painted shadow of your former self. You will never again harm my sons. Or anyone else."

"You can have him!" ranted Lucius. "I'm well rid of him! I should have replaced him long ago with one more worthy, one who wouldn't let a filthy Mudblood best him time and again, one who would respect his family lines and heritage--"

Draco spun on a heel and levelled his wand at the portrait, but before he could cast Incendio or something equally destructive, Albus stepped in front of him and flipped the portrait so it would face the wall. Quickly, he cast wards around the portrait, both silencing it and preventing it from hearing as well.

Scowling, Draco lowered his wand, his entire posture deflating a little. Harry suspected that heavy emotions were the only thing keeping his brother on his feet.

"Best to keep our options open," Albus said, his tone conciliatory. "The late Lucius Malfoy knows things that may prove of use."

"Of course," said Draco, lifting his chin. "I'm not sure how you'll get him to talk, though."

Another pop announced Remus' return to the room. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid we have a problem," he announced without preamble. "I did not find a house-elf in or anywhere near the snake pit, though I searched the vicinity quite thoroughly."

"What?" Losing him composure completely, Draco actually squawked. "Dribby! Fibby, Gibby! Oh, whatever the blazes your name is, you come to me this instant!"

The wizards all waited expectantly but no house-elf appeared.

"That's weird," Harry said after a few moments. "He certainly seemed to obligated to obey you before. Do you think the snakes did him in? Maybe house-elves disappear when they die. Well, when it's not of natural causes," he added, thinking of the elf heads that used to decorate Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

"They most certainly do not," said Severus, his voice taut and grim. "Furthermore, it would take more than snake venom to kill one. It takes Dark Arts, as I do believe I once mentioned."

Dumbledore nodded agreement, even as he added, "The magical laws governing the relationships between house-elves and wizards are complex -- even nebulous at times. Perhaps, your bloodline and your name were not enough to supersede your disinheritance after all, Draco."

The blond boy flushed slightly. "You knew I'd kept Malfoy as part of my name?"

Albus smiled, very gently. "Oh, of course, my boy. You surely didn't think my teas with Severus concerned only Harry, did you?"

Draco obviously had, since he shrugged defensively. Or maybe he was defensive because of what he was about to say. "Um, this is probably going to sound fairly daft but . . . um, I might have freed him, I'm thinking."

Harry gaped. "You freed an elf? You?"

"Well, yes." Draco shifted his weight and looked around the room as if he didn't know whom to look at. Or whom to avoid. "See, back when Gibbery was putting me into Lucius' clothes, I handed him the shirt I'd just taken off and tried to free him." Draco crossed his arms. "I thought maybe the wretched little bugger wouldn't hurt us if he wasn't under Lucius' control. But he protested that I couldn't free him since I wasn't his master. But now I'm thinking that when Lucius died and I became the eldest Malfoy in the dwelling, maybe it took, right? After the fact."

"Nebulous indeed," murmured the headmaster.

Severus gently tugged on Harry's arm, urging him out of the chair. "Come along," he said. "Whether the elf was freed then and lying about it, or became free at Lucius' death, it's clear that he's gone and is most likely reporting on all that has happened. We are no longer safe in this location."

"Oh no," Harry groaned softly as he lumbered to his feet. "My magic! He'll tell what I did to Lucius! After all we've done to keep it secret." He shook his head ruefully.

In the meantime, Albus shrank the warded painting and slipped it into a pocket of his robe. "As you may have surmised, Remus, we have confirmed that Lucius Malfoy is, in fact, deceased. Draco recalled that Lucius kept a wizarding portrait upstairs and it is now quite active with the late Malfoy's essence."

"Has he any others?" Remus asked.

Draco both shook his head and shrugged in answer to the question. "Not that I know of, anyway."

"We'll thoroughly ward the painting to make him stay in this frame, all the same--"

"Harry, are you all right?" asked Severus.

"Me? Oh yeah, fine," said Harry. "It's not like I'm going to be Apparating myself out of here anyway, eh? I'm just tired. I don't even think I need to see Madam Pomfrey, to be honest--"

Severus pursed his lips and gave Harry a look that said they'd discuss the matter later. Both matters, actually. Because he hadn't been asking about Harry's physical condition, and Harry knew it.

Harry pulled his school robe around himself tighter, hoping that no one had noticed the trembling that had suddenly crept upon him. He felt as if he'd woken to some sort of nightmare. Far too many things had happened far too quickly today. And he simply couldn't have killed Lucius Malfoy. He just couldn't have!

When Harry closed his eyes and rubbed them again, it seemed like they were full of sand or something. He felt his father gently pull his clenched fists away from his face, but he didn't open his eyes. Not only did the light in the room hurt, but he didn't want to see the concerned expression in his father's face. The concern was misplaced because Harry knew he was fine. It was embarrassing really, having his father fuss over him when Draco was the one needing their support.

As if on cue, his brother spoke up. "Can we just go?"

"Fine, fine," said the headmaster in a soothing voice. "Remus, would you be so good as to take young Mr Snape to the hospital wing? I'm afraid Harry and Severus and I need to keep talking, but I think it best we not delay treatment for his injuries any longer."

"I thought we needed to get out of here since Gibby's on the loose," said Harry.

"Oh, I think that Severus and I can protect you quite adequately for a moment more, should anything unforeseen occur--"

Draco sounded exasperated when he blew out a breath. "I'd appreciate a little honesty here. You're trying to get rid of me, aren't you? You need Harry to reverse his spell so you can destroy Lucius' body, and you don't think I ought to be here to see you do it!"

Harry felt a sour taste rise up into his mouth. "But the portrait! I . . . I thought I wouldn't have to undo my Petrificus now." Feeling like he was out bobbing on the ocean or something, he looked up into his father's dark eyes, hoping they would steady him. "And . . . well, he's obviously really dead, but what if he does come back when I reverse the spell?"

Snape kneeled down in front of the chair, putting his face almost on a level with Harry's as he spoke in a quiet voice. "Given the way that portrait behaved, I'm confident that Lucius Malfoy is indeed dead. Harry ... "

"But what if my magic is different? People come back from being dead all the time." He nodded enthusiastically despite the dismayed look his father was giving him. "I'm not mental. Listen, Muggles do it with CPR and such." Harry clenched his hands together. "What was the point of that essay you set me, if not to teach me that my peculiar powers are unpredictable, eh? What if there is chance my to bring him out brings him back? I'm certainly not going to kill him again, just because I can!"

Harry found himself pulled without warning into his father's embrace again.

"No one would ask that of you," said Severus against his ear as he knelt, hugging Harry. "But we need you to reverse your spell all the same. If we've any hope of undoing whatever damage that house-elf may have done with his escape, this evidence will have to be dealt with."

Harry nodded. He could see the sense in that. "All right," he said, his voice still thick. As his father released him and rose to his feet, Harry looked over at his brother. "Um, Draco? I . . . I don't think you've ever seen the thestrals, but after this . . . I mean, the first time I saw someone dead it was really a big shock."

"Now that I'm sure he's dead, I don't need to see," said Draco flatly. "I'll just go to the hospital wing and wait for you there, Harry. Don't be long."

Draco glanced at Severus as though asking for permission, and then cast some spells, obviously re-establishing the wards. Harry figured they must not prevent anyone from Apparating out, only in.

"I can't make it all the way to England on my own," the boy suddenly admitted in a low voice as he glanced uncertainly at Remus.. "I . . . if Severus is staying here then I'll need you to . . . er, help me, Professor Lupin."

"Don't sound so appalled by the prospect," advised Snape in a dry voice. "Lupin is the reason we found you at all. We'd still be breaking the wards at Malfoy Manor if not for his timely report that the privacy spells here had been significantly strengthened."

"Timely!" Draco rolled his eyes. "We've been missing for hours!"

"Ah, but in the hope of Voldemort not learning that Lucius had snatched you, we kept all word of that from leaving Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "Professor Lupin's report was a routine matter, as far as he was concerned. He waited the standard amount of time for a reply, but when he received no acknowledgement of his information, he Apparated to Hogwarts to report in person. That was when he learned that you were missing and that Severus and I were at Malfoy Manor, unable to receive messages there due to the spells layered about the surrounding countryside."

"You'd have to be named Malfoy," said Draco with a slight glance at Harry.

Yeah, I get it, Harry almost said, but decided he didn't want to interrupt the story.

"Professor Lupin Apparated to join us," explained Severus. "And so we discovered that you had likely been taken to France."

"I guess I should thank you, then, Professor Lupin," said Draco slowly. "Though I know you wouldn't have bothered if not for Harry--"

"You're quite wrong," said Remus, shaking his head. "You're a student at Hogwarts, not to mention an Order member's son. Do you think I could ignore all that simply because you don't like werewolves?"

"I . . . er . . . Let's just go," Draco said stiffly, holding out his arm. He shuddered when Remus touched it.

"See you later," said Harry, trying to smile. It was hard, though. He didn't have much sympathy for Draco's blatant prejudices. Not to mention, he had unfreezing Lucius to look forward to.

"We will be along shortly, Draco," said Snape, walking over to him and laying his hand gently on his son's shoulder. "Lupin will see you to Hogwarts and stay with you until we arrive." The Potions Master stared rather grimly at the werewolf as he said this. Harry knew what he was thinking about : Harry's abduction the previous autumn. After that, it must be pretty hard for his father to trust Remus with one of his sons.

But maybe Severus had finally forgiven Remus.

Either that, or he just didn't have much choice but to trust him at the moment.

As Draco sighed impatiently, Remus held his former schoolmate's gaze with a look of determination before Apparating himself and Draco out.

Harry closed his eyes, wishing he was being taken home as well, but there was no hope for that. He had to face what he'd done. "All right, so I'll try to undo it--ha, not even sure I can--and then you two can do . . . ugh, whatever. Just give me a moment. I'm still pretty tired."

"Of course, my boy," the headmaster said. "But time is of the essence. Is there anything we can do to help you? A glass of water? Pepper-Up?"

Harry shrugged without bothering to open his eyes. "Nah." He concentrated on his powers, visualizing the magical core within him and willing it to gather strength. At the same time he braced himself to face the reality of what he'd done. He'd killed someone. Regardless of whether or not the condition was reversible, he had ended Lucius Malfoy's life.

He had felt responsible for deaths before--technically, he had killed Professor Quirrell, although that had been a completely passive act and Harry had never really felt guilty for it. Then there was Cedric. And worst of all, Sirius, for whom he did feel tremendous guilt. Still, even if Harry's stupidity had led to Sirius' death, he hadn't been the one to cast the spell.

This death was something altogether new for Harry. He had cast the spell and he had to admit that while he hadn't thought for a moment that he was casting something fatal, he had been aware that his wanded magic was potentially lethal. But in those fleeting moments when he'd let the magic flow through his wand, Harry hadn't cared. He'd been blind and hurting and afraid and angry and he'd just wanted the danger to stop -- he'd wanted Lucius to stop. And he had stopped -- permanently.

"Harry?"

Opening his eyes and then squinting against the light, Harry saw his father crouching beside his chair once again. Harry's mouth twitched a bit. "Are you aware you're hovering?"

His father stiffened a bit. "Well--"

The statement remained unfinished as a thudding noise echoed in the distance. Harry felt his blood run cold. "What was that?"

"Someone is at the door," the headmaster and Snape both stated at once.

"What do we do?" Harry asked, gripping his wand and stiffly raising himself from the chair.

"We remain calm," his father replied as he rose to his feet. "I hardly think that Voldemort would knock, Harry. It may be no one of consequence."

In the meantime, Dumbledore had grown silent, his eyes closing as he appeared to concentrate deeply. When his eyes opened again, they were twinkling. "I would estimate our visitor to be someone we should see. He's projecting one Hogwarts' password after another, though it seems he can't cross the wards your brother raised. Wait here . . ."

Harry did wait, but he fingered his wand nervously all the while. He strained to hear what he could. The front door swinging open? A crackling like popcorn?

Then that noise came into the room where he and his father were waiting. Dumbledore and two house-elves appeared. Harry's mouth dropped open in shock. "Dobby? What are you doing here?"

"Harry Potter sir," Dobby cried, wringing his wrinkly hands together. "Dobby is bringing Gibby here to stop him from telling on Harry Potter!"

Sure enough, it was Gibby standing behind Dobby. The house-elf couldn't seem to decide between looking contrite or sullen.

"From what I was able to gather, Gibby turned up at Hogwarts for Dobby's counsel when he found himself freed," Dumbledore supplied, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Quite fortunate for us really. Perhaps, you should tell us exactly what happened, Dobby."

As Dobby nodded vigorously, his large ears to flapped like bat wings. "Dobby was working in the kitchens with the other house-elves when Gibby come looking for Dobby. All upset and panicking, Gibby was! Gibby was saying that Master Malfoy had forced Harry Potter and Draco Snape away from Hogwarts to be hurting them bad. To be killing them! Dobby was fetching the headmaster right away, but then Gibby was saying that Harry Potter was already turning Master Malfoy to stone! Then Gibby was saying that Draco Snape is still a Malfoy and was giving him clothes! And now Gibby is a free elf but he was deciding he would be ignoring the clothes. But then he was told to be jumping in with snakes, so he was running away to Dobby because Dobby is the only free house-elf Gibby is knowing, and--."

"How many people did Gibby tell about Lucius being turned to stone?" Severus demanded.

Dobby looked at Gibby and then back to the Potions Master. "Gibby was just telling Dobby, Harry Potter's father Professor Snape sir, but many other house-elves was overhearing him. But Dobby is telling all house-elves to keep quiet. Hogwarts' elves is loyal to Harry Potter and will be cutting out their tongues before they is saying things that is sending Harry Potter to prison!"

"Prison!" Harry's voice squeaked higher than normal. The thought of going to prison for Lucius' death hadn't really occurred to Harry. He'd been too busy worrying about Voldemort and getting home. He knew that what he'd done was self-defence, but with untrustworthy idiots like Fudge running the Ministry, that might not matter at all. "Oh, God," he said thickly, his mind spinning back to that horrible inquisition he'd been put through after the Dementor attack. "I'm not going to have to go on trial for this, am I?"

Snape's voice was resolute. "No. This will never come to the attention of the Ministry, Harry. I think you know the measures I am prepared to take to protect my sons."

"Yeah, Argentina."

"Now, now," said Dumbledore gently. "That won't be necessary. Dobby, are you quite sure that Gibby spoke to no one outside of the Hogwarts kitchens?"

Dobby prodded Gibby who answered, sniffing all the while, "Gibby is cast into shame now that he is being free. Gibby can never be telling nobody but Dobby! Because Dobby is already shamed!"

Just then, Harry noticed that the headmaster and his father were looking at one another in a strange, intense way. Communicating silently, no doubt. He felt a little irritated by that, even though he knew they were probably trying to hide things more from Gibby than from him. He wished he knew some Legilimency so he could join in.

"Done?" he asked, a bit snidely, when they finally broke off eye contact.

His father twisted his upper lip, "Your rather unique situation makes you difficult to include. Why else do you think I alerted your brother to our presence and not you?"

"Oh," Harry said aloud. Of course his constant Occlumency would make it impossible for anyone to communicate with him telepathically -- not that he was aware that this was something wizards did. He felt rather sheepish that he hadn't realised that before when Draco was lowering the wards.

"Gibby, follow me," Severus ordered. The elf looked uncertain until Severus pointed his wand and ground out, "I'm not ordering tea, you realise. I'm attempting to enact an alternative to killing you. I sincerely suggest that you. Come. With. Me."

Harry couldn't help but smirk a bit at Gibby as scrambled to follow the Potions Master out of the room. "I assume he's to be Obliviated?"

Dumbledore nodded. "When the house-elf wakes he'll be lacking any memory of this day, but he'll be led to believe that his memory lapse is due to head trauma from punishment inflicted by Lucius. He'll never know that you and Draco were here at all."

Or that he was free, Harry thought, but he didn't say it.

Dobby was nodding his head up and down. "Oh, yes. Yes yes yes. Master Malfoy Senior, he was always kicking poor house-elves in the head, yes yes. Master Malfoy Junior as well, sometimes--" Without warning, Dobby suddenly began chomping on his own fingers, screeching in between bites, "Dobby was speaking ill of Harry Potter's brother! Harry Potter must hate Dobby now! Dobby is being a bad, bad, wicked elf, even if it is being true that Draco Snape is not a nice boy--" Dobby hopped up and down in agitation. "Aaaargh! Dobby was speaking ill again--"

"Dobby, you're free!" Harry shouted. He bent down when Dobby stopped chewing his fingers. "I wish you'd really believe that. You don't have to punish yourself, whatever you say. All right?"

"As Harry Potter is wishing," said Dobby frenetically. "It shall be done, yes, yes, yes--"

Harry sighed a little bit, wishing he wasn't quite so . . . adored by Dobby.

The headmaster smiled in understanding as he took a seat on a brocade divan. He gestured for Dobby to hop up and sit beside him. Dobby looked like it was a signal honour. Once the elf was settled, Dumbledore began to speak. "Dobby, you have a very important role to play now."

Smiling as the elf nodded, the old wizard continued, "You will return to Hogwarts and relay the following story to anyone who may have overheard Gibby's story. Tell them that when you returned Gibby to his employer, you found Mr Malfoy alive and well. He was clearly displeased with Gibby and you do not know whether Gibby was ever actually freed or not. However, when you told him what Gibby had said about him turning to stone, he laughed and said that Gibby had heard him complaining about Harry Potter. Just then, Mr Malfoy Flooed to Hogwarts, leaving behind a lifelike statue that Mr Malfoy had intended to send to Hogwarts to, ah, enhance the artistic holdings."

Dobby looked thoughtful. "Dobby is thinking that this house here is never connected to the Floo network, Albus Dumbledore Headmaster sir, but aha -- no elves at Hogwarts is knowing that. Dobby will be telling them just as you is saying, yes, yes." All of a sudden, though, the elf looked fearful and wrung his hands together. "But, sir, to be seeing a statue and thinking it is Mr Malfoy turned to stone? Dobby is begging your pardon, sir, but house-elves is not that stupid. The others will never be saying anything against Harry Potter, sir, but they may be guessing that Dobby is lying."

"Never fear, Dobby," the headmaster replied. "We shall provide evidence to support your story perfectly." Harry distinctly disliked the twinkle in the old man's eyes. "The other elves will readily be able to believe that Gibby has become . . . ah, rather unbalanced."

A sly look slid into Dobby's large eyes. Or maybe it was a smirk. With elves it could be hard to tell. "With Gibby saying like that, that Draco Snape had been freeing him . . . Dobby is thinking it will be easy for the other house-elves to believe that Gibby is not thinking so straight. They is hearing many times about Dobby's sufferings in that house--"

"I thought you couldn't speak ill of wizards," Harry broke in.

Dobby looked sly again, but abashed as well, this time. "Not to wizards, Harry Potter sir."

Harry laughed then, just a little.

As soon as Dobby had Disapparated back to Hogwarts to begin spreading his tale, Harry turned to the headmaster. "You can't be thinking of doing what I think you're thinking of doing."

"Merlin's ear, that house-elf's grammar must be rubbing off on you," drawled Snape as he re-entered the room.

Harry ignored his father. "Sir," he said, still addressing the headmaster, "you can't use Lucius' . . . er, body, as evidence. Nobody is going to believe he's a statue, not when that thing looks just like someone under Petrificus. There's no way Lucius Malfoy would commission a statue of himself under a curse!"

"Well reasoned, Harry," said Severus, nodding. Harry was hardly appeased, especially considering what his father said next. "You've determined to display the statue then, Albus? Regrettable, but necessary considering the other elves surely overheard Gibby's wild claims. Unless you'd permit me to Obliviate them all? No? Well, then, I suppose the only thing to do is pose it."

Harry glanced at the ramrod straight figure on the floor and grimaced at the very thought. "What's the point? Petrificus will just snap him into a line again when I recast the spell, won't it?"

"The spell doesn't have that effect on dead flesh, no."

Harry had to swallow a couple of times. "You've done this before, you mean."

"I've seen it done," said Snape in a tight voice, his features paling slightly. Harry hadn't meant to sound critical, exactly. He just didn't like to be reminded of his father's ugly past.

In fact, it was all he could do not to shudder. He didn't need to hear details to guess just why Snape had seen a thing like this done. It must be a Death Eater trick, a way to pose bodies in order to mislead Magical Law Enforcement. And now Harry was supposed to help them do the same thing to someone else.

If anyone deserved to have his own evil come back at him, though, it was Lucius Malfoy. On the other hand . . .

"I don't know," said Harry slowly. He knew he was both stalling and stating the obvious even as he said it, but he felt it needed to be said. Probably a Gryffindor trait of mine, he mused. "I mean, we can't trust the Ministry back home to treat me fairly if they found out about an attack spell like this, but maybe we could tell the Ministry here in France? Isn't this their jurisdiction? Covering it all up just seems . . . I don't know."

Snape and Albus looked at each other, clearly discomfited by Harry's observation.

"Quite right, my boy," the headmaster replied, stroking his beard with one wrinkled hand. "But these are troubled times. What you did was self-defence and entirely permissible under our laws, but even if we were willing to trust the Ministry either here or back home to proceed rationally, releasing this information to those outside the Order could result in Voldemort learning of your enhanced powers." As Harry started to speak, Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall him. "And not only that, Harry. Were Lucius were known to be dead, we would once again lose our only spy among the Death Eaters."

Harry frowned. Dumbledore meant for Remus to continue spying after this? That was a reason to not pose the statue, as far as he was concerned. "Look people may not know that Lucius is dead, but they'll sure notice when he's never at home, right? How can Remus keep spying?"

Once again, both of the adult wizards looked at each other, their expressions grim. "We'll discuss specific plans with the Order," Dumbledore answered. "Clearly, our future course of action is contingent upon his willingness to oblige."

Harry frowned, suspecting that Albus Dumbledore could talk anybody on their side into anything.

"Regardless of what Lupin decides, Harry," said Snape quietly, "we must prepare for all contingencies and then be gone from here. I want you safe with your brother post haste. Will you do as I ask?"

Put like that, it was hard to simply say no. Taking a deep breath, Harry walked toward the marble corpse on the floor. But then he hesitated. "How can I do this? If Remus gets hurt or killed impersonating Malfoy then it'll be my fault. Just like with Siri--"

"Harry, we have discussed this matter before," said Severus, sighing. "You are not responsible for the actions of grown wizards with minds of their own." As a hand settled on Harry's shoulder, he turned to face his father. "You and Draco matter to me more than anything, Harry, but the hard truth of the matter is that winning the war is the best way to keep you both safe. Hence, we need the advantage of insider information. But it is to minimise the risk to Lupin that I ask you to allow us to pose Lucius' dead body. Any house-elf gossip must be quashed. And too, we require the key ingredient for Lupin's Polyjuice Potion. Will you do as I ask?" Snape said, repeating his earlier question.

Ha, Harry thought. Dumbledore isn't the only one who can talk anyone into anything.

"Perhaps we can take the statue to a secure location and Harry can make the necessary magical adjustments later," the headmaster suggested.

"No, I'll do it now," Harry answered, albeit with no enthusiasm. It wasn't like he could protect Remus, anyway. If Dumbledore wanted the man spying, then the Order would simply find a way to make it happen. Remus might be in even more danger if Harry didn't help them obtain plenty of hair for the Polyjuice.

Besides, his concern for Remus, true as it was, was just an excuse in the end. The real problem was cowardice. Deep down, Harry was starting to believe he'd killed Lucius. He really ought to face up to it, right?

Without giving himself time to dwell on the matter any further, Harry swiftly walked until he stood directly above the prone marble figure. The motion created a disorienting head rush. For one instant, Harry went almost blind. He staggered slightly, his balance all askew. He must be more tired than he'd thought.

"Harry?"

"I'm all right." A moment's pause helped him regain his equilibrium. His gaze settled on the sleeping viper on the floor. Mustering as much will and strength as his exhausted body could supply, Harry pointed his wand at the statue and hissed, "Go back to the way you were."

When nothing happened, Harry frowned and thought for a moment. "Stop being stone and be flesh and bone," he commanded

This time he felt the magic swell forth. He hadn't really wanted to see the corpse, but found that against his will his gaze was drawn to the transformation unfolding at his feet. An odd memory rose to the surface of his mind. The Wizard of Oz, that scene when everything went from black and white to sparkling colour. It was just like that.

Instead of white tinged with veins of grey and blue, Lucius Malfoy was suddenly taking on a myriad of hues: palest gold-tinted hair, silver and purple embroidery on the trim of plum-coloured robes, flesh tones--an angry flush fading from the aristocratic face right before Harry's eyes. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that the man on the floor was dead. The absence of life in those silver eyes was unmistakable. For a fleeting moment Harry thought of Cedric, but the thought fought against a stronger emotion that Harry couldn't quite define.

Moments before dying, Lucius Malfoy had been seething with anger. He'd just broken Harry's clumsy curse and had probably intended to murder his own son. He'd been so sure of himself, and yet moments later, he was dead from a simple defensive spell.

Harry clamped both hands over his mouth and bit his lip. He was dimly aware of his father saying something supportive, but the words were nothing but a soothing buzz in his ears.

Harry didn't need soothing, though. He wasn't distraught. What he hid behind his hands was nothing short of a grin. His furious swallowing wasn't to prevent sicking up, but to stop the peals of laughter threatening to leap out from his throat.

Lucius, dead beyond all doubt.

Harry was so happy he was almost giddy with it.

It wasn't appropriate to burst out laughing though, and he knew it. Reaching inward toward the fortifying fires of his Occlusion, he somehow managed to fight back the urge to giggle. He didn't want his father to think he was cruel. Or hysterical. Or barmy.

"Well, I guess all of you were right about him being dead," Harry said from behind his hands, his voice tight with self-control. "You don't need me here to, uh, pose him, right? I need to use the loo."

As Snape gently pulled Harry's hands from his face, the boy clamped his lips into a thin line. "Are you well, Harry? I know this must be terribly distressing for you. It's all right to feel upset--"

"I, uh, just need a few minutes to myself, yeah?"

The minute Snape nodded, Harry fled the room. Of course he had no idea where he was going in this house, and he certainly didn't want to wander it. Choosing a door at random, he ducked inside what turned out to be a small library. Harry leaned against the closed door, shaking with exhaustion, as he let the grin he'd been repressing split across his face. Ha! Lucius was dead! Forever and ever and ever. Harry couldn't help it; he started laughing quietly.

Part of him knew this just wasn't right, of course. He wasn't supposed to be delighted that he'd killed a man. Killing wasn't supposed to feel good.

But it did. Or at least, knowing that Malfoy was dead felt good. The entire situation was surreal. He never had to worry about this man again. He and Draco were both safe--Severus too--from anything Lucius Malfoy could cook up. It was an overwhelming relief. He saw again in his mind's eye that vision of Lucius turning from stone to dead flesh.

Ding Dong, the witch is dead, he thought to himself, the words following the tune from the song. Well, not a witch, but wicked wizard doesn't quite work. Laughing a little, Harry started singing softly, making up words as he went along. "Ding Dong, the wiz is dead, the wiz is dead, the wiz is dead. Ding Dong, the wicked wiz is dead . . ."

Pushing off from the door, Harry did a clumsy approximation of a little jig before slumping into one of the small upholstered chairs surrounding a long table.

The chair moved a little as he sat. For one instant, Harry was afraid it would attack him. But then he realised that it had merely swivelled 'round a bit. Since he was too tired to dance for joy, he decided to expend his giddiness that way. Pushing with his feet, Harry set the chair to spinning as fast as it could. Dizziness overtook him as he hummed the cinema song again and again.

Yes, Lucius Malfoy was dead. The sadistic bastard would never again grin as Harry screamed in pain. He wouldn't get to humiliate Harry before a leering audience. He'd never blind him, or burn him, or make him bleed He wouldn't torture Draco either, or warp him into a dark wizard, or feed his prejudices, or manipulate his fears. Lucius Malfoy would never again infiltrate Hogwarts with his evil, or bend the Board of Governors and the Ministry to his malicious will. He'd never threaten Severus or even kick another house-elf. The evil bastard was dead, dead, dead.

Ding Dong, the wicked wiz is dead . . .

Harry wasn't sure how long he spent all by himself in the library, but by the time he heard his father calling for him from down the hall, he felt more than a little high. Stopping the chair at last, Harry closed his eyes against the image of the room still spinning around him. His heart was hammering like he'd been playing Quidditch all day. He staggered toward the door, waiting until his balance returned before he opened it.

Snape was pacing in the hallway. When Harry stepped out, the man looked at him appraisingly, one eyebrow raised in question.

Harry felt his face heating a bit. "I . . . uh, couldn't find the loo."

"Yes, it would be difficult with all those books in the way," drawled Snape.

Pushing past his father, Harry muttered that he'd just needed some time alone. Then, hoping to get off the subject, he added, "Are you all done with Malfoy?"

"We are," said Snape, falling in beside him as they walked. His voice still sounded concerned, but Harry figured his lack of any comment about that meant he was respecting Harry's need to drop it. "All that remains is for your wanded Petrificus to be reapplied."

When Harry returned to the small parlour with his father, he was surprised to see Lucius standing. The dead wizard appeared to be staring into the distance, his chin held high but his face completely passive. He was now wearing a hooded cloak which completely concealed what Harry suspected was quite a severe haircut.

Malfoy appeared to be holding his cane, but one side of his cloak covered the top of it, along with his right hand. Of course. Harry had destroyed the wand that used to sit in the top of the cane. No silver snake-head. Rather than try to fashion one that might not fool an onlooker who knew what Lucius' cane looked like, they'd hidden the top of it.

Well, if they had to do this, they might as well make a good job of it. Harry appreciated their attention to detail, but was a bit confused to see that Lucius' other hand was reaching forward, extending a thin book as if in offering. He couldn't help but think of Tom Riddle's diary. Snorting slightly, he decided not to ask.

"If you're ready then, Harry," said Snape in a calm voice, "we require your special skills for the final transformation."

Harry wondered a bit about that, remembering Draco changing his textbook to a small rock and back. And if his brother could manage that trick, then surely . . . "Can't you do it, Dad? You can transfigure stuff to stone, can't you?"

The Potions Master frowned. "Volume is an issue in this case. As well as simultaneity. I haven't the requisite talent to transfigure body, clothing, and props all of different base materials, at the same time. Nor to do it with the thoroughness and permanence your spell would have."

Harry blushed a bit, unsure why he was the one embarrassed. It seemed odd having power greater than his father's. But then again, if they were powers the Dark Lord himself knew not, it was a bit much to expect Severus to have them. "Um . . . what about the headmaster?"

Dumbledore's beard swayed as he shook his head. "Alas, no, my boy. Traditional transfiguration is notoriously unreliable for transforming deceased individuals. Were this not so, this type of artistic memorial might even be commonplace."

Harry had to fight back an urge to say Ewwwwww.

The headmaster gave him a knowing glance. "Even more likely, the skill would be used to cover up murders on a regular basis. Light magic does not allow for such activities. Therefore for me to duplicate what you accomplished with ease would require a lengthy and difficult Dark Arts endeavour."

That information was certainly sobering to Harry. He felt he'd eventually have to contemplate the implications of his magic in connection with what had happened, but now was not the time. Harry suspected he really would become hysterical if he thought too much about how much like Dark Arts his peculiar powers could get.

Harry pointed his wand to where Lucius stood. Then he hesitated. "Um . . . can you two get behind me? I'd sure hate for a stray spark to . . .yeah."

"A very sound notion, I would think," murmured Snape as he and Albus moved back.

Harry looked at the sleeping viper, not at Lucius, as he cast. "Turn completely to stone and stay that way," he hissed fiercely.

Magic surged up from within him and poured out through his arm and hand and fingers before shooting through his wand. The sensation was strangely overwhelming. Harry felt a flutter in his chest --like his heart had skipped a beat and tried to make up for it with three quick ones. Worried that the strange feeling meant something was going wrong, Harry did look at Lucius, then. He was relieved to see the glistening sheen of polished marble replacing the flesh and cloth. Or at least he thought that was what he was seeing. His vision was growing foggy, and strangely dim. Harry let out the breath he was holding, his arm trembling with the effort it took to keep his wand pointed at Malfoy, just in case something was going wrong.

Without warning, his legs gave out from beneath him, but he didn't hit the floor. For a second, he wondered why it was taking so long. Then he became vaguely aware of something black and soft surrounding him. Someone he could trust to hold him.

Relaxing then, Harry let himself dissolve completely into his father's arms.

------------------------------------------------------

Sensations surrounded him. Floppy-feeling muscles, his father's close embrace, Apparition, motion, the smell of Floo powder. However, Harry didn't jolt back into full awareness until the Potions Master shouted for Poppy Pomfrey while in close proximity to Harry's ear.

Frowning, Harry tried to make a sarcastic comment about not being deaf, but only managed a somewhat annoyed whimper.

"What the hell happened?" Draco shouted from across the room. "You lot dawdled for ages!"

"Mr Snape, calm yourself at once. Professor, lay Mr Potter down here."

Becoming more lucid, Harry struggled against his father's gentle grip. "I'm not an invalid! I can walk." Pleasantly surprised when Snape actually let him go, Harry squinted blearily around the infirmary as he made his way to the bed Madam Pomfrey was pointing at. He sat down heavily, rubbing his eyes and blinking as he struggled to clear his vision.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Magical exhaustion at the very least," said Snape in clipped tones. "However, Harry may well have sustained injuries which he and his brother have failed to mention."

Harry cringed a bit as the accusation hit home. "Oh . . . um, I think the magic on my eyes has been mussed a bit. I didn't really figure it out until just now, though," he added defensively.

"Fuck," Draco muttered.

Moments later Madam Pomfrey was shining wand light into Harry's eyes and commenting that she saw a small amount of scarring in both. After a series of incantations, she also confirmed what Harry already suspected: his eyesight was no longer magically corrected to perfect vision.

"Damn it! I should have transfigured a blindfold," Draco said. "Harry, I just didn't think! Well, I mean, I did, but I didn't have any time. Shite. I am so, so sorry."

"S'ok," Harry sighed, more than a little depressed. No point in upsetting Draco, though. He hadn't meant any harm. "I'm sure they'll fix it."

"I don't appreciate this cavalier attitude about your sight, Harry," announced Snape in a hard tone. "Now, what is this about a blindfold?" When neither boy answered, the Potions Master's voice became even more insistent. "Which of you is going to tell me everything that took place in that house?"

"Draco will," Harry answered. Probably he should have offered to explain it all himself, but he just didn't feel like it. And he figured he was entitled to a little selfishness, after all he'd been through. Of course, Draco had been through a lot as well, but then again, he'd already been treated and had got a chance to rest. "Can I just go to sleep?"

Before anyone could answer Harry's head was hitting the pillow. He was so tired he could barely drag his legs atop the bed. He closed his burning eyes, wishing he could sleep for a week, and didn't even open them when he felt someone pulling off his shoes. Harry batted the hands away, though, when they started tugging on his school robe.

"You'll be more comfortable with it off," said Remus' soft voice.

"Then I shall assist him," Snape announced, a little huffily to Harry's ear. "He is my son, you realise."

"Yes, I realise, but I knew him well a lot earlier than you did, Severus--"

"Gentlemen," Pomfrey announced, her voice a shade amused. "Allow me."

The mediwitch swiftly spelled him into soft pyjamas. As she began murmuring diagnostic spells, Draco recounted their entire misadventure from the time they'd gone to fetch his amulet.

Harry didn't want to answer any questions, so he lay still and quiet, feigning sleep. Draco's embellishments made it a bit difficult, though. Hundreds of snakes became thousands. Then Draco said that he'd known all along that his old wand was probably a Portkey. He'd bravely risked the danger in order to defend his brother, he claimed.

Harry couldn't help it. He snorted.

"Problem?" said Snape quickly.

"Uh, no. Just something up my nose," said Harry, just as quickly.

He turned his head into the pillow and grinned while their father proceeded to scold Draco for doing something so "Gryffindor."

Draco was just getting to the part about Gibby taking away the snake he'd so bravely killed when Pomfrey lifted Harry's head and helped him drink a sickly-sweet potion. After that, blissful sleep descended, sending Harry into a place that was dark, but safe.

------------------------------------------------------

After sleeping for what felt like days, Harry was aware of his father coming to his bedside and gently shaking him awake to tell him he must wake to answer some questions about Aran. Harry vaguely nodded, but he didn't have the strength to break the potion's effect and was quickly back to sleep.

When his father came a second time it was to tell him that Harry needed to eat and that his friends were driving him mad begging to visit him. This time Harry didn't even bother trying to wake. He felt like he was back in the Second Task. It was like being just below the surface of the water and wanting to swim up with not being able to do so.

The last time someone tried to wake him, Harry managed to open his eyes. Everything looked hazy, but as Draco's face came close, he could see well enough to make out his features. "Hey," whispered Harry. "Your bites are gone."

Draco smiled. "Yeah. No more hideous and disfiguring scars, eh? How are you feeling?"

"Uh . . . sleepy, I guess." Rolling slightly on his side, Harry went right back to sleep.

Much later, when Harry finally surfaced from his slumber and squinted over at the other bed, Draco appeared to be asleep himself. It didn't seem like it was night, though, not really. The fuzzy form of Remus was sitting on a chair beside his bed.

Harry's mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool. Reaching awkwardly for the glass of water on his night table, he took a few gulps. There, that was better. "Hey, Remus."

A warm smile lit up the other man's brown eyes. "Good to see you awake, Harry. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," said Harry, stretching. "Kind of tired and bleary, but good. Oh no, bleary . . ."

Apparently understanding his difficulty at once, Remus leaned over and spoke in a low voice. "Severus has owl-ordered you some replacement glasses. Proper wizarding ones, this time."

Harry didn't know quite what that meant, but he found it discouraging, all the same. Weren't his eyes ever going to stabilise? He didn't want to whinge about it though, not with Draco in the other bed. No telling if the other boy was really asleep, after all.

Remus smiled at him, apparently misunderstanding his wan expression. "It's all right, Harry, what you did back in France."

Harry glanced left and right, a little bit startled.

"Poppy's out for the moment and the room is warded," added Remus, that time figuring out just what Harry was thinking. "We can speak freely. And truly, Harry, it is all right. You shouldn't be feeling guilty."

Harry wasn't, actually, but something struck him then. "You didn't seem very surprised to see what I'd done to Lucius Malfoy," he said, a thread of suspicion running through his voice. "I didn't think you knew . . . er, just how unusual my magic can get these days."

"Oh, I didn't know," Remus admitted, smiling still. "Not until Severus mentioned it just prior to the three of us Apparating to rescue you. He didn't say much, of course. Just enough to make me aware of a few things."

"What, exactly?"

Remus chuckled softly. "I believe his exact words were to keep out of your way if you were casting, as one could never quite be sure what might come out of your wand. Also, he said not to stand in front of him at any time, as you might need to see his Dark Mark. I'll admit I was puzzled by that until you mentioned Serpensortia having been so crucial. And of course, seeing the state Lucius Malfoy was in helped me understand the other comment."

Harry nodded. "Huh. If that's all the warning you had, you took it pretty well. I mean, it's not every day you see . . . yeah."

"Well . . ." Remus' brown eyes began twinkling with humour. "Perhaps I ought to mention that you were in no position to notice that my jaw had hit the floor. At the time, you were busy being smothered by your father."

Harry couldn't help but laugh, though he said. "Bit embarrassing, really. At my age?"

"No," said Remus, all at once serious. "Don't think that. It's good that you have someone."

Harry thought so too, but he still felt a little embarrassed, so he covered it by asking, "Anyway, where's my dad now?"

"Making Eyesight Elixir." Remus started smiling again, the expression tolerant and amused all at once. "Poppy informed him she still has plenty in her stores, but Severus absolutely insisted you have fresh."

That didn't embarrass Harry the way remembering the hug had. A warm feeling stole over him, like a blanket made of soft fuzzy wool had just been draped over bare skin.

"And before you ask," added Remus, "the headmaster is talking with Professor Aran."

Harry hadn't been going to ask, but instead of saying that, he sat up a little in excitement. "That stupid git is sacked, right?"

"I don't think so," said Remus, shaking his head. "I've no idea what's to be done. Severus and Albus were speaking in rather cryptic terms. It seems there's a plan. I don't think Albus liked it, but Severus was applying a fair measure of guilt to get his way."

Harry sighed. "All right. Well, it's so close to summer I don't suppose it matters, really. I just wondered what was going to happen." He scowled thinking about what Aran had put him and Draco through. "Lucius cast something at Aran. Some kind of horrible hex, right?"

Remus shook his head. "It was a forgetfulness spell, Harry. Aran's lost about the last three or four weeks. But it's only recently we learned that much. When you and Draco first disappeared, Aran was out cold and of no use at all. Severus and Albus traced the Floo to Malfoy Manor, though of course that was a false lead, as we know now."

A knock on the closed door interrupted them. And voices. Ones Harry would have known anywhere. "Harry!"

After Remus unwarded the doors and allowed them to open, Harry smiled to greet his friends. "Wow, seems like forever since I saw you. Um . . . I've been asleep a while. What time is it, anyway? Heck, what day is it?"

Hermione's eyes filled with concern. "It's Saturday before breakfast, Harry. Just what happened to you? All anybody here was told was that you'd gone missing. And it obviously has something to do with Professor Aran. When his class arrived on Thursday, your father and the headmaster were in with him. They wouldn't say what was wrong, but they told the students to go have a free period."

"Yeah." Ron stepped closer to the bed. "I don't suppose you got even with him once and for all, like with a certain dung beetle, something like that?"

Harry had no idea what to say. He didn't mind his friends knowing everything, but they wouldn't have been included in the wards Remus had mentioned a few minutes ago. Harry gave his old professor a pleading look, but Remus shook his head slightly and began to speak. Apparently, the adults had anticipated that a cover story would be needed.

Eventually, anyway.

"Actually, we've asked the boys not to discuss the matter," said Remus. "There was apparently some sort of altercation and it's under investigation. Until we know more, I'd ask you both to avoid speculation."

Hermione frowned, her eyes glittering with suspicion.

"I'll tell you the whole thing when I can," Harry said, hoping to mollify her.

"We've heard that one before, mate." Ron held up his hands when Harry shot him a scowl. "Not to worry! I didn't mean I didn't believe you."

"What are we supposed to tell Gryffindor, though?" pressed Hermione. "Some other students wanted to skip breakfast to come see you. They know you went missing, Harry. And now you're back but in hospital . . . they're going to want to know what we found out, since we were the only ones allowed to come here."

"Who stopped the others?"

"McGonagall said that you needed rest and you were limited to two visitors only."

"Tell the others," said Remus in a slightly impatient voice, "that there was apparently some sort of altercation and it's under investigation."

Hermione sniffed, but finally nodded.

She and Ron pulled up chairs and settled in for a chat. As Harry talked, he was careful not to explain any details of what he'd been through. However, once Remus went to Pomfrey's office to ask about getting breakfast for the three of them, Harry made sure to tell his friends that Draco had done him a really, really good turn and he'd personally punch anybody who doubted his brother's loyalty ever again.

Ron paled a little, hearing that.

"Out loud, I meant," Harry generously added.

Proving that he'd been eavesdropping all along, or at least for a while, Draco chose that moment to sit up in his bed. "I'm as committed as you lot to keeping Harry safe, and if I hear you say otherwise, you'll get a good deal more than a Mugglish sort of trouncing!"

"Yeah, that's the way to win over my friends," said Harry, glaring a little at Draco. "Threaten to hex them."

"Did I say hex?" Draco raised an eyebrow in a bad imitation of innocence.

Remus came back then, three trays floating behind him.

"Left out as usual." Draco sniffed. Loudly.

"Oh, do stop being so silly, Mr Snape," said Pomfrey as she bustled over. "Mr Potter, you tuck in. You need to keep your strength up." She cast a spell over Draco, clucking like a hen all the while. At least, it sounded that way to Harry. "All right, your system seems clear. . . Mr Lupin, if you could fetch another tray?"

Remus nodded and went back toward Pomfrey's office.

"His system's clear of what?" pressed Hermione as soon as Remus was gone again. "Just what happened to the two of you?"

"Merlin's head, you're dense," said Draco. "Like a crazed kappa, you just won't let go, will you? There was apparently some sort of altercation and the matter is under investigation."

"It's not nice to eavesdrop," retorted Hermione, going a little red in the face. She did stop her questions after that, though.

Harry was about to tell Draco not to talk to his friends so scathingly, but when Goyle walked in the moment was lost. Just as well, really. Harry was tired of playing referee. Why couldn't they all just get on? Or at least pretend to?

Draco turned on his side away from Harry and spent some time quietly talking with Goyle. About what, Harry didn't know. Unlike some people, he didn't constantly eavesdrop.

When Remus came back with a fourth tray, Goyle looked up, a big smile on his face. "Oh, breakfast. Great! I had to skip the Great Hall to come up here--"

Draco laconically picked up his wand from the night table and waved the tray over to his friend, then looked at Remus expectantly. "I'm starving here."

Remus' voice was a shade irritated when he answered. "Then perhaps you shouldn't give away your food."

Goyle spoke through a mouth full of half-chewed bangers. "Oh, was this yours? Sorry, Draco. Want it back?"

"No, thank you," said Draco pertly, turning a smile his way. It faded when he resumed talking to Remus. "Well? Hop to."

"I'm not your house-elf, Mr Snape."

"Well, if you were," said Draco, "I wouldn't trust any food you brought me. Eh? You ought to take it as a compliment that I'd eat anything a werewolf handed me--"

"Werewolf?" gasped Goyle, the glass of milk in his hand shaking so much that droplets flew everywhere.

Draco put a hand out, steadying Goyle's wrist. "Don't you remember Professor Lupin? Third-year Defence?"

Goyle peered intently at Lupin, scrunching up his face in an apparent attempt to dredge up things long forgotten. "Oh, you," he said at last, scowling. His voice dropped to an undertone as he said to Draco, "I already ate a banger and half a crumpet. Are you sure it's safe?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Draco sighed a little as he let go of Goyle's wrist and turned to Remus again. "Would it kill you to bring just one more little tray?"

"Would it kill you to ask politely?"

"Look, you lycanthrope, I'm bloody hungry and I know your . . . condition isn't catching at the moment--" Draco broke off and then resumed in calmer tones. "On the other hand, there's nothing wrong with being a little Slytherin. So, fine. Ple--."

"Is Mr Snape still waiting for his meal?" called Pomfrey from the desk in the far corner where she was scrawling something. Her voice was shrewish. "He needs to keep his strength up, Mr Lupin!"

"I'm just fetching it now," said Remus, sighing.

Draco beamed a smarmy smile and waved for him to get on with it, then.

"What happened to your perfect manners?" hissed Harry as soon as Remus had gone off to once more communicate with the elves. He'd have said something sooner, but thought it might humiliate Remus. "You don't have to like him, but you do have to be civil, Draco. Haven't we talked about this before? He's one of the good guys. Just like you, eh?"

"Ha. He may be one of the good guys, but he is not just like me."

Still, Draco was less obnoxious when Remus returned. He nodded politely as he took the tray.

Remus left then, to speak with the headmaster, he said. Harry sighed, thinking of this idea that Remus should keep right on spying. But since Ron and Hermione didn't know about that at all, Harry certainly couldn't voice his objections in front of them.

Not to mention that Goyle was in the ward too, now.

Maybe Remus will tell the headmaster it's a daft plan, he thought. And if not, I'll find a way to talk to him later.

As breakfast progressed, Harry chatted with his friends while Draco talked with Goyle, all their conversations sprinkled with the noises of munching and swallowing. Goyle was the first to leave, mumbling something about how one tray just wouldn't do it and maybe he could still catch a spot of breakfast in the Great Hall.

Once he was gone, Draco sighed loudly. "Granger," he said, interrupting Harry and Ron's argument about which wizard's chess set was the best. "Hermione, I meant," he said after a moment of silence.

"Yes?"

Draco cleared his throat, obviously nervous. "Er . . . do you think you could take time away from your busy studies to help Greg a little with Defence during the next few days? The textbook is hard for him, so he needs somebody to read it to him out loud. And a talking quill just won't do it. You have to talk him through it, if that makes sense."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "I don't have to do anything at all, Draco. If Goyle needs help so badly, why don't you do it?"

Draco's features hardened. "I have been. Ask Harry if you don't believe me. But I promised to help Greg more this weekend and that's just not on now, is it?"

Harry blinked, a little bit alarmed. "We're not going to be in hospital all weekend, are we?"

"Oh, right. You were asleep." Draco pushed his tray off his lap and with a flick of his wand, set it floating across the room. "Severus said that as soon as we were released, he was going to take us away from the castle for a bit of a holiday. I'm sure you can guess where."

"Oh, to--" Harry couldn't say it, not with Fidelius shutting him up in Pomfrey's presence.

"Yeah, there. So I won't be here to help Greg and he needs it in the worst way." Draco looked up at Hermione again, a smile plastered on his face. A fake smile, but at least not one that was horribly sarcastic. He just looked like it was hard to ask a Muggleborn for anything, and Hermione Granger above all.

"I'm sure there are Slytherins who know Defence at the level we're learning," she insisted, her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest.

Draco's smile faded. "Well, yes. But they're all rather . . . supercilious, you know?"

"Yes, I know," Hermione put in dryly.

Draco swallowed, like this was getting harder and harder and he'd just as soon give up. Instead, he soldiered on. "They'll lord it over him--"

"Like you don't?"

"He's comfortable with it from me, though." Draco began to huff. "Look, if you won't do it, just say so. I thought you'd just love a chance to show off your pumpkin-sized brain to someone new, but noooo--"

Harry stepped in before a full-scale squabble could erupt. "Draco, haven't you ever heard that you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar?"

Draco's eyebrows drew together in what looked like genuine confusion. "No, and why would I want flies? I mean, unless I was brewing?"

Hermione stifled a laugh.

"And you," said Harry in a hard voice as he turned to her, "haven't you ever heard of an olive branch? Because that was one, Draco asking you for help, even if it's help for Goyle. I really would like it if all of us were less at odds."

"Oh, very well." Hermione took three steps toward Draco's bed. "I guess I'm actually impressed you seem to care about someone other than yourself--"

"Seem to?" Draco clenched his teeth. "Listen, you waddlepated twat, I care about Harry! Plenty!"

Immediately upon saying it, he coloured scarlet and yanked his face to the side.

Draco's obvious sincerity seemed to get through to Hermione. "I apologise," she said a bit stiffly. "You can tell Goyle I'll tutor him, yes. Library, tonight, seven p.m."

"Make it seven-thirty." Draco made a random motion with his hand, his colour still high. "Greg needs lots of time to eat."

"I can see that," said Hermione, in a tone just as dry as before.

Draco smiled. "Good, then. And since I wouldn't want to be uncivil, I'll even say 'thank you.'" He glanced over at Harry. "See? Told you I had perfect manners."

Hermione giggled slightly. In the next instant, Ron was on his feet at her side. "We'll both help Goyle," he said staunchly. "Be glad to. Yeah?"

Harry tensed, sure that Draco would come back with some sort of sarcastic rejoinder about Ron's brains. But his brother just smiled faintly. "Fine. You protect your lady-love from the big bad Slytherin. But Greg knows better than to treat Hermione badly, anyway. I told him she was all right."

Hermione gaped.

"For a Muggleborn," Draco added. He seemed irritated when Hermione still looked stunned. "What's the big surprise? I told you to your face that you were clever, didn't I?" His silver eyes began to sparkle with mischief. "And I told Harry you were a bit pretty, once. Just a bit, though," he added as Ron's fists clenched. "I mean, you're hardly my type, are you now?"

"We need to be going, Harry," said Hermione faintly.

"Good idea," muttered Ron.

As if to make up for the boorish comment, Hermione added, "We'd like to stay longer, really. But Ron has Quidditch practice and I'm leading an Arithmancy review that I'm almost late for."

The two of them said a quick good-bye to Harry; Hermione said one to Draco as well.

Ron made a point of scowling as he walked out.

Draco chuckled softly when they had left. "Weasley . . . oh, do pardon me, Ron, should really have more faith in his girl. If she is his girl, that is. Did you see the way she was looking at me, there at the end? I bet I could get her to leave him for me."

"Draco!"

The other boy lifted his shoulders. "Did I say I was going to? Relax!"

"Why would you even want to? You can barely stand Hermione!"

"But I thought you wanted to see us getting along much, much better." Draco waggled his eyebrows, and when Harry fumed, laughed. "You're almost as easy to manipulate as Ron Weasley. I don't want to, Harry. The only reason to do it would be to see Ron's face turn purple. But in the interests of amicable friendship all around, I'll desist."

"Yeah, you'd just better," muttered Harry, flopping onto his back.

------------------------------------------------------

After giving both boys one final dose of potions, Pomfrey pronounced them fit to be released, though she told them to stay put until she had a chance to talk to their father, who was supposed to be bringing Harry's Elixir shortly.

After about twenty minutes of cooling their heels in the infirmary, Draco said they ought to just go find Severus. "Come on, Harry," he urged. "Pomfrey's not even in her office any longer. Didn't you hear her close her door and go down the hall?"

"Easy for you to suggest we should traipse our way down to the dungeons. I can't see so well, so, enough said. I'll wait here for Dad."

"We could always Floo," said Draco in a wheedling voice. "I bet I could figure out where Pomfrey keeps her powder."

Harry was saved from answering by Remus returning from his talk with the headmaster. The man had a grim, determined look about him. That was enough to tell Harry all he needed to know.

"You're going to do it, aren't you?" asked Harry.

"Yes--"

"Do what?"

Oh, yeah. Draco didn't know. Harry didn't know exactly how to tell him, either.

Remus obviously thought that Draco deserved the truth, however. Walking over to the other boy, he spoke in a quiet voice. "I think Harry's already told you about the work I've been doing for the Order. Well, with this latest development, I'll be able to impersonate Lucius Malfoy . . . ah, 'round the clock, as it were."

Draco's eyes went wide. Stiffening, he looked completely dumbfounded. "You're planning to live in the Manor? With my mother?"

"Well, except for when the full moon intervenes," said Remus. "I'll have to go on business trips or some-such at those times."

"Oh yeah? Well, what if you're summoned at those times?" demanded Harry.

"I'll deal with contingencies as they arise."

"I'll give you a contingency," said Draco, his voice pitched loud and sounding higher than usual. "You filthy half-blood half-breed! If you think you're going to just take over and be him, then you're going to get a hex shoved straight up your arse, because I'm not standing for this, is that clear?"

"Draco!"

Harry hadn't heard the door swing open, and evidently neither had Draco. But there was Snape, closing it behind him and warding it several times over before he strode forward to glare down at his son. "You're not to speak to Lupin in that manner, ever again!"

Draco's lips twisted. "Oh, please. What is he, your new best friend?"

"He's your elder and an Order member," said Snape in a cold voice. "Whatever my own differences with him, they do not excuse you from treating him with respect."

"Respect, is it?" By then, Draco was practically screeching. "Look at him! He's salivating! He can't wait to get his paws on my mother!"

When Harry glanced over at Remus, he saw that the man was standing perfectly calm and still, though deep in his eyes there glimmered a little bit of surprise to hear Severus Snape coming to his defence.

Snape clicked his teeth together. "That is more an insult than the things you just said a moment ago. I quite assure you, whatever his other faults, Lupin will not be attacking your mother."

"Ha, attacking her. Yeah, I'm sure he won't. Well, let's just be clear here. He'd damned well better not start sleeping with my mother, that's all I can say! Because I'm not having a nasty werewolf putting his hands--or anything else--on her; I'm just not!"

Harry's mouth dropped open. Suddenly, he could understand why Draco was all but foaming at the mouth.

"Ah," said Severus, the penny obviously dropping for him, too. "Lupin?"

"Oh, Draco," said Remus slowly. He sounded like he was trying hard to keep his voice level. "Yes, I can see why that idea would alarm you. But truly, I've no intention of sleeping with your mother."

Draco crossed his arms, a trollish expression on his face. "Ha. Sure. Everybody knows werewolves are primal about things like that. And you're no different from the rest of your kind, are you?"

"Whether I am or not is no concern of yours," retorted Remus. "This perhaps is, though, so I will tell you that Narcissa Malfoy leaves me utterly and completely cold. I can't think of anyone I'd rather sleep with less."

If anything, that information seemed to offend Draco all the more. "My mother's beautiful! She's gorgeous!"

"Yes, she is." Remus' voice was calm again, now. "So is a rose in full bloom, Draco. It doesn't mean it excites me, if you take my meaning?"

Harry hated to make things worse, but he'd hate it even more if Remus got killed, so he went ahead and made his objection. "Um, no offence, but won't Mrs Malfoy find all that a little strange? I mean, if you're going to pretend to be him, won't she expect . . . er?"

Surprisingly enough, Draco took that well. "Actually, I don't think she will." His voice got a little bit snooty. "My mother's a lady, I hope you realise. I can't imagine her being the one to demand anything. Well, maybe once a year on their anniversary . . ."

Harry caught a look of mirth on his father's face. Actually, Remus looked amused as well, though when he spoke, it was in a level voice.

"You're correct, Harry. It won't be possible to deceive Narcissa completely. She simply knows her husband far too well. Albus and I have been discussing a solution. I'll make up a story about being cursed from behind to explain why Lucius is not quite himself these days and can't remember simple things such as his wife would expect him to know. Draco . . . this same story can be used to explain a lack of interest in, ah, bedroom matters."

"Well, the more you know the better, I suppose." Draco sighed. "Guess I'll be skipping that holiday so I can fill you in on everything you ought to know."

"We'll see to that later," said Snape. "Lupin won't begin his assignment for a few days, the better to lend credence to his story of having been cursed and left for dead."

Harry sighed. "And me hating the idea from start to finish, that counts for nothing, I suppose?"

"Lupin?" said Snape, his voice strained.

"I wouldn't say it counts for nothing," said Remus quietly. "But your reasons for wanting me to desist . . . they are personal, Harry. This is more important than our individual feelings."

"I have good instincts," Harry insisted.

"And what are they telling you?" asked Snape. "Be honest."

Harry pursed his lips. What were they telling him? Mostly, that he didn't want Remus to place himself in danger. But that was personal, as Remus had said. He tried to push that aside and listen to what his instincts for the war might be saying. "You might get us some really good information," he finally said, sighing.

It was hard ignoring his personal feelings. Harder than he would have thought. But then again, that's what Snape was doing, wasn't it? He had every reason to resent Lupin displacing him as the Order's most important source of information. But unlike at first, he seemed to be taking it well these days.

And if his father could, then so could Harry. "Be careful," he said in a low voice.

"I will." Remus said good-bye, then, including Draco in the farewell. Draco nodded, his features impassive. That was better than him being rude, Harry supposed.

Fishing a pair of glasses from his pocket, Snape turned to Harry. "These ones should be self-adjusting. If there's nothing further, we'll see to your Elixir and be on our way."

"Actually, Madam Pomfrey said she wanted to talk with you--"

"No doubt." Severus' voice was a tad grim. "Open your eyes wide, Harry, and tilt your head back."

Once the Elixir was in, Harry put his new glasses on and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You know, this yo-yo routine is really getting old."

"Yo-yo?" asked Draco.

"Oh, Muggle toy. I just mean, one minute I can see, the next minute I can't . . . I swear, I'm to the point where I don't even care where it settles. I just want to stop switching back and forth!"

"It must be frustrating, yes," said Snape. "There is nothing to be done, however. If it's any consolation, I do intend you to have an enjoyable few days as we all . . . recover, from recent events."

"Yeah, Draco mentioned that." Something about his father's phrasing startled Harry, though. "Wait, few days? Just the weekend, I thought."

Snape shook his head. "We may be back on Tuesday, possibly Wednesday."

"Better get my books then--"

"No. Absolutely no books," said Snape, no glint of humour about him. "Or at least, no schoolbooks. You're not to study until we return. This is not negotiable."

Harry laughed a little bit. "We'll fall behind, you understand."

"Your health is more important than your studies, Harry."

"But I feel fine--"

"The boy doesn't know to quit when he's ahead," said Draco dryly. "I, for one, will be only too delighted to enjoy a brief holiday after all that's happened."

All that's happened. Harry shuddered a little as a series of horrors flashed through his mind. He almost hated to ask with Draco there, but he couldn't quite resist. "Um, the snakes, the pit? Are they still there? I'm kind of worried some Muggle child might fall in. I mean, it's just the sort of thing Lucius might think was amusing, so I doubt he'd ward it properly."

"Albus dealt with the pit. I believe he banished the snakes back to the jungles from which Lucius had summoned them to begin with. And I, of course, erased the elf's memory that such a thing had ever existed."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco make a face. That was enough to settle his mind about Devon. "I guess I won't bring Sals on our holiday," he said, shrugging.

Draco flashed his teeth, his disgruntled expression fading. "That's considerate of you, Harry. But you know, I think I'm getting over the worst of my morbid fear. Something about facing it down, eh? If I can kill an enormous poisonous snake with my bare hands and without even using magic then yes, I think I can cope with your pencil-thin wisp of a pet."

"Enormous poisonous snake?" asked Snape, one eyebrow raised.

Draco held his father's gaze for a moment. "Well, medium-sized, we'll say."

"Medium-sized?"

"Oh, fine!" snapped Draco. "The one I killed wasn't a whole lot bigger than Sals, if you want the truth. But I think the principal still applies, n'est-ce pas?"

"You were very, very brave," Harry said with a straight face. Since he couldn't nudge his father with his elbow without Draco seeing, Harry tried to give Snape a look.

"Yes, very courageous indeed," said Snape after a moment's pause. "In fact, rather than Evanesco your Serpensortia snake, Albus sent it to a good home as well. In tribute to your courage and loyalty. I am exceedingly proud of you. Of both of you. I could not ask for a finer pair of sons."

Draco grinned. Clearly he needed to hear well done just as much as Harry did.

"Shall we be off?"

Harry nodded. "All right, then, I'll just pop up to the Tower to fetch Sals--"

"No need." Fishing in the pocket of his robe, Snape pulled the little snake out. "With your permission, Harry, I'll prepare her for the Floo journey."

Feeling a bit mischievous, Harry said, "Maybe Draco wants to hold her first. No? Are you sure, Draco? Oh, very well then. Get her ready."

"Very funny, Harry," growled Draco as they stepped into the large Floo in the hospital wing.

Harry fingered his Sals-bracelet, then pulled his sleeve down over it. "I thought so."

"Just one moment!" said Pomfrey as she bustled in. "Where are you going, Professor Snape? I need to speak with you!"

Harry caught a strange look on his father's face. He wasn't quite sure what it meant, except that Snape didn't want to talk to Pomfrey. Or perhaps, he didn't want to listen to her.

Harry had a feeling it was only to set a good example for his sons that Snape stepped out of the Floo and faced the mediwitch. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey?"

She glanced uncertainly at Harry and Draco, who were still standing in the Floo. "Perhaps my office would be a more appropriate place to hold this discussion?"

"I can't imagine why," said Snape mildly. "I do believe my sons may hear whatever you wish to say."

"Well then, here it is," said Pomfrey in a voice that was a good deal more frosty. "Mr Potter is delicate, as you well know, or should, after the kinds of injuries he suffered earlier this year. And now you have permitted him to become magically exhausted--and not just that, but to suffer impairment of his vision once again. You simply must take better care of him. He is fragile."

"Oh, I am not!" You barmy old bat, Harry almost added. He probably would have, if it wouldn't have been such a terrible example when he was trying to encourage Draco to be more polite to Remus.

"I will take better care of him," said Snape smoothly, nodding.

The mediwitch huffed. "See that you do. And then there is the matter of Mr Snape. He was poisoned! Is that any way to care for him?"

For one horrible second, Harry thought she meant the time that Snape had convinced Draco to take Venetimorica. How had she found out? But as it turned out, she meant the snakes.

"I will take better care of him, as well. I take it my proposed holiday for both the boys is a sound notion, in your view?"

Somewhat mollified, Pomfrey nodded.

"Excellent. Then we'll be on our way." Snape stepped into the Floo with Harry and Draco and fetching a pinch of powder from a vial in his pocket, sent them hurtling down to his quarters to pack.

Once his duffel was ready, Harry went back into the living room. "You didn't agree with her, did you? You don't really think I'm . . ." he grimaced. "Delicate?"

"I'd prefer you not tangle with Death Eaters again until you're ready, but you're anything but delicate," said Snape. "Agreeing was simply the most efficient way of silencing her tirade."

"Right, Slytherin." Harry thought that was fine. "I'm pretty sick of bed rest. I was worried you'd make me, you know, take it easy in Devon."

"Actually, I have something else in mind," said Snape, smiling a bit cryptically.

"What?"

"Ah, here is your brother, ready to go." Snape ushered both boys into the Floo. They took their usual route to Devon, Flooing to Grimmauld Place and from there, Apparating.

"Nice to be home," said Draco, sighing as he flicked his wand to make the front door of the cottage fly open. And then, in defensive tones, "Well, it is, you know. Mine as much as yours now."

"I know," said Harry, smiling a little.

Severus closed the door once he and the boys were inside. "Would either one of you care for a something to eat?"

"Harry would," said Draco with a straight face. "He needs to keep his strength up. He's fragile."

Harry laughed. "I think I can hold out until I'm actually hungry, though."

Draco' duffel floated behind him as he made his way to the room he and Harry shared. Harry followed, tossing his own duffel atop his bed. Draco was standing in the middle of the room, wand out, but he wasn't casting. He didn't speak until they heard the click of their father's door closing.

"What are we going to do out here for several days?" Draco asked, raising his shoulders. "There's always Severus' room . . . it still needs some work, I think, though I suppose it's habitable."

"I think Dad has some idea of what we're going to do."

"I'm quite good at lazing around," suggested Draco, smiling. The expression faded as he went on. "But in this case I'd rather not have time to think."

"Yeah. I know what you mean," muttered Harry. His Sals-bracelet feeling heavy on his arm, he took it off and laid it on his bed. He wondered if Draco would tolerate Sals better in future. Awful as it must have been, he'd faced down his fear of snakes, well enough to not just kill one, but perhaps more importantly, to stay in the room with the Serpensortia viper for quite some time.

Even if the snake had been asleep most of that time, Harry was still impressed.

A moment later, Harry heard their father's voice, calling them into the front room.

When Harry went back out, he saw Snape standing before the hearth, two fine racing brooms in his hands.

"My Firebolt!" exclaimed Harry, at the same time Draco said in awe, "A Firebolt XL!"

Sure enough, the shinier broom was the newest model of Firebolt. Harry had never seen one up close. "Wow," he said, eyes bright as he stared.

Snape's lips quirked a little. He handed the newer broom to Draco and gave Harry the Firebolt.

Draco blinked. "This is for me? I . . . " He seemed at a loss for words. Harry almost laughed, after all the times he'd seen his brother be greedy and graspy. "I already have a Nimbus 2001, you know."

"Yes, I know," said Snape. "But when you were playing Quidditch last, Harry obviously wanted to join in. I've no doubt he'll want to play next year. And in order to challenge him to his utmost as the two of you practice, I thought you ought to have a broom even faster than his."

"You expect me to help him hone his skills so that Gryffindor can beat us cold next year?"

"No, I expect your regard for your brother to be a thing apart from house loyalties."

"Well, there is that," murmured Draco, running his hands up and down the broom handle. "Oh, this feels good. But still, Severus, the Cup--"

"If you'd rather not present Harry such a formidable challenge, I can certainly take the XL back to the shop," murmured Severus.

"No, no, that's all right!" Draco said quickly. "I'll keep it."

"Yes, I thought you might. I hadn't intended to give it to you until summer, but it's nearly that now."

"And I need the distraction," added Draco, grinning. "I'm going to wipe the floor with you, Potter."

"Ha. Like you've ever wiped a floor at all," retorted Harry.

"Touché."

Harry smiled, happy for his brother. "It's a beautiful broom."

Snape cleared his throat and waited until Harry looked at him. "I would not have you feel neglected, Harry, but my . . . ah, finances at present could not stretch to two such brooms. And I rather thought that you'd prefer to keep using your Firebolt in any case. I understand it has great sentimental value."

"Yeah, it does," said Harry, nodding. "Don't feel bad, Dad. I don't, not at all. You've done a lot for me, too." He lifted a hand to touch the glasses Snape had given him. Except for being self-adjusting, they were the same as his old ones, right down to the etched snake and the spell to keep the drawing visible to him alone.

"Thank you, Harry," said Snape softly.

"Oh, yes. Thank you," piped up Draco, who'd obviously forgotten his perfect manners.

Harry and Snape exchanged a look.

"Well then," said Severus, "off you go, both of you. You'll find a practice Snitch out in the meadow, already dashing about. It's spelled to stay within the unplottable area, so you need have no fear of chasing it. I don't want to see either one of you inside again until you're ready for luncheon."

"I always knew you were a hard taskmaster," said Draco, shaking his head. "Haven't you ever heard of saying, Just go have some fun, eh?"

Severus reached out his hands to grab Harry and Draco each by one shoulder, propelling them toward the front door as he spoke. "Just go have some fun."

"See, slave driver," joked Draco. "Come on, Harry. Let's see how fast an XL really goes. And after you admit I'm the better Seeker, I'll even let you have a turn on it--"

"Ha, I'll trade you the Snitch for it," retorted Harry, laughing as he headed out.

------------------------------------------------------

One-on-one Quidditch was even better than Harry remembered, but maybe that was because Draco's new broom really did make Harry try his absolute very best. He caught the Snitch once to Draco's twice. Harry figured he was a bit out of practice and he'd do a lot better after he had all summer to fly around.

His dull, horrible holidays at the Dursley house seemed like a distant memory now.

After the first round, which Draco won, Harry spent a little while floating high above the cottage, admiring the countryside. Draco tugged his broom skyward and joined him. "Tired?"

"No, and I am not fragile," retorted Harry. "Actually, I was thinking about my family before compared to my family now, and that sort of reminded me I never got that chance to talk to Severus about Aran."

"Ah, Aran."

Harry gave his brother a suspicious glance. "What's that supposed to mean? After you finished explaining about the thousands of snakes, did you tell Dad how Aran's been treating me?"

Draco's hair fluttered in the breeze as he shook his head. "All I said was that Aran took my amulet because it was interfering with spells in class, and that's the only reason we went down. I don't think the headmaster said anything, either. I mean, Severus wasn't asking any leading questions, though he did seem to know that you don't much like Aran. But you've made that plain all year."

"Oh." Harry thought that over for a second. "All right. Thanks, then."

"The only reason I didn't tell him everything was because you ought to," added Draco. "Plus, it wasn't the right time. Severus hadn't calmed down yet from what Lucius did to us. I was afraid that if he heard about Aran too, he'd go kill the man. Not that I'd care, but I'd rather not have to go visit Severus in Azkaban."

Draco paused, but when Harry said nothing, pressed, "But he's calm now. Time to tell him."

"Yeah," said Harry thickly. "Tomorrow, I guess. Or the next day."

"Harry--"

"Where's the Snitch?" interrupted Harry. "Let's play another match."

Draco gave him a look like he knew Harry was changing the subject, but instead of arguing, he opened his fist and tossed the Snitch high.

Much later, Harry touched down on the XL and wiped his face with his sleeve. "Whew. I'm starving."

"I think that was the idea," said Draco dryly as he traded brooms and began to walk back to the cottage. Harry almost expected his brother to pester him again about telling Severus, but Draco had something else on his mind by then. "There, did you see? That flash of black in the window." He pointed. "Severus has been watching us the whole time, but he doesn't want us to know so he just now turned away. Ten to one he pretends to be reading or something when we go in."

Harry jumped on the change of topic. Anything rather than think about his problems with Aran. "Ten to one I can get him to 'fess up."

"Oh, the boy thinks he's Slytherin--"

"Just follow my lead. Start limping now."

"What?"

Harry ignored his brother and pulled the door open. "Dad, come quick! Draco crashed something awful--"

Snape flung a book aside and rushed to his feet. "I didn't see any crash!"

"Ha, you were watching us," said Harry. "I knew it!"

The Potions Master glowered. "That is singularly not amusing."

Harry had the grace to look a little abashed. "Yeah, all right. I just meant, you don't have to pretend you weren't watching us." Thinking a new subject might be a good idea, he said brightly, "What's that I smell? Soup?"

"Gizzard soup with dumplings made of paté de foie gras."

"That's goose liver," said Draco.

"Ewww." Harry made a face. "Oh, yuck. Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich instead? Please?"

Draco scoffed. "For Merlin's sake, Harry, he's jesting. Though if you tell him I've crashed again when I haven't he might actually serve it. Not that I'd mind the paté; it sounds lovely. Gizzard soup is a bit plebeian, though . . ."

Draco sat down then, cradling his new broom in his lap. For a moment he just caressed the fine, dark wood, but then he started examining every straw like he had to be sure the XL was still in perfect condition. When Harry and Snape sat down at the table to eat the beef-and-barley soup the elves had sent, Draco didn't even look up.

"Draco, if you could desist from worshipping your broom for five minutes?" hinted Snape.

"I'll be there in a second--"

"Now."

"Ha. Slave driver's right, all right." Grinning, Draco joined them at the table, but not before he'd carefully leaned his broom alongside Harry's.

After lunch was over, Harry didn't have to be ordered outside again. By then, he'd figured out that their father really did want them to relax. Instead of Quidditch, though, Harry and Draco decided to test the XL against the Firebolt and see how much of a speed advantage it had. They traded brooms halfway through to see if a different rider would affect the results.

All the while, the Snitch buzzed around playfully, trying to tempt them. At one point it even stuck a wing in Harry's ear as he hovered. "Go away," laughed Harry, batting at it.

Draco pulled up to hover alongside him. "I think the XL's advantage shows up more in sprints than long flights."

"Well, Quidditch has both kinds of flying." Harry glanced sideways and down. "Hmm. He's watching us again. You don't suppose he thinks anything could happen to us out here, do you?"

Draco considered that for a moment, his silver eyes looking all around to survey the empty Devon countryside. "I think he's just feeling fatherly after . . . er, nearly losing us," he finally concluded.

"Yeah, it could have been bad. But you were great, Draco. I don't even really know how to thank you--"

"Don't make me listen to your thanking-people thing, that's how." A sudden breeze pushed Draco's hair back. "You already thanked me, anyway, Harry."

"All right." Harry started heading down, looping in slow circles as they descended.

------------------------------------------------------

Dinner that night was a less than festive affair, and not just because by then Harry was feeling pretty tired after so much flying. He kept trying to figure out how to tell his father about his problems with Aran. Putting it off wasn't going to help anything, he knew. But since he didn't really want to ruin their holiday, either . . . he just kept putting it off.

As it turned out, Snape was the one who brought it up. Though, like a Slytherin, he took his time getting to the point.

"So, I don't have as much time with you both as I used to," he began, sipping at his wine and looking over the top of the glass at both of them. "I miss chatting each night about your progress in your studies. How are your classes going?"

Draco gave Harry a tell him look, but Harry ignored it. Setting down his emptied wine glass expectantly, Draco grimaced when it refilled itself with sparkling water instead of a second glass of wine.

"Neither one of you has anything to say about your classes?" asked Snape.

That time, Draco didn't even bother glancing Harry's way. "Well, McGonagall's lectures are as dry as ever. I don't suppose you'd speak to her about that, Severus?"

"No, I don't suppose I would."

"No matter. I can only understand one word in four anyway, on account of her lowbrow accent--"

Harry wished Draco would cut out the snobbery, but after his brother had jumped in like that with an answer to their father's question, he didn't have the heart to rebuke him. Of course, Snape didn't let Draco's diversion divert him for long.

"Are you still struggling in Transfiguration, Harry? I recall it's not your area of greatest strength."

"No, it's not, and having to figure out every incantation on my own doesn't help."

"What about Defence, though?" asked Snape in a voice that was, perhaps, just a little too smooth. Harry couldn't be sure. "That must make up for your difficulties in Transfiguration, since you're naturally disposed to the subject."

Harry smiled and nodded. Snape couldn't know anything, right? Aran had forgotten all about Harry's defiance, and the headmaster wouldn't have said anything, not when the far more important matter had been getting Harry home safely. "Oh yeah, Defence is great. Aran's an idiot, of course. No doubt about that at all. Letting Lucius Malfoy into Hogwarts for a parent-teacher conference when even the Prophet got it right that Draco's not his son any longer! You told the headmaster to leave him to you, though. What are you planning to do to him?"

Snape smiled very thinly as though he knew Harry was changing the subject. As though he knew why.

Harry felt like somebody had just walked over his grave. He shivered, and tried to conceal it by snatching up a knife and buttering an entire slice of bread.

"I've told him," lamented Draco. "One bit at a time, but will he listen?"

"Quiet, Draco," snapped Snape. "Harry, you'll find out in due time how I plan to proceed with Aaron Aran. So then, Defence is great, is it? You aren't having any problems acquiring the material?"

Harry forced a laugh. "Problems? Well, the Parseltongue spells are a pain as much there as anywhere else, but apart from that Defence is a snap. You know me."

"Yes, I know you," said Snape in what Harry could only think as an ominous voice.

From across the table, Draco was giving him a stern look now, like Harry should really catch a clue and start talking.

"You'd come to me if you had questions the resources in the library couldn't answer, I would hope," added Snape.

"Oh yeah, I'd come right down," said Harry, relaxing a bit. It didn't seem like his father was really on the right track.

"Really," drawled Snape, shaking his head. "In that case, I can only conclude that you are very confused indeed as to the particulars of certain advanced defensive spells."

"No, I'm not--"

"Then how do you explain this?" asked Snape, drawing a parchment from the inside of his robes. For one horrible second Harry thought it was his test, and he was ready to have it out with the headmaster who must have restored it from ashes after Harry had left his office. But no, it wasn't the test at all.

Snape began to read out loud. "Caninae are called that because they come in cans. The hardest part of the spell is actually the can-opening phase. Many wizards over the years have died horrible, messy deaths when resentful caninae got trapped for too long in their--"

"All right, that's enough," interrupted Harry, suddenly feeling not just tired but exhausted.

"One would hope you were being facetious."

"Yeah, well I'm not as dim as that makes it sound," grumbled Harry. "Where did you get that, anyway?"

"That's not exactly the most salient point at issue, but in fact I found it while Albus was attempting to rouse Aran from his stupor. All we knew was that your Patronus had led me back to the Defence room and that there appeared to have been foul play. I began looking through your teacher's papers for any clue I could find. Imagine my surprise when I found drivel such as this." Snape tossed the parchment onto the table and glared at Harry. "Have you any coherent explanation?"

"I was out of sorts."

"Obviously. And the cause?"

"Er . . ."

"Harry, just tell Dad!" Draco shouted.

Severus leaned back as though startled. Then an expression that looked almost . . . smug, stole into his half-closed eyes. It took Harry a minute to put it together. Oh. Draco hadn't said, tell your Dad, he'd said, tell Dad.

His dad, too.

Harry swallowed, thinking about that. He remembered how hard it had been for him to try calling Severus his father. How his throat would clench up to stop him from saying it. And Draco had maybe more reason than Harry, even, to be skittish about things like that. Look at how horrible his birth father had been!

So if Draco could get past all that and screw up the courage to say it . . . well, then Harry could do the same, and tell his father why he'd written an essay like that.

He was just glad Severus hadn't seen the test as well.

"Um . . ." Harry took a deep breath. Starting was hard, but once he did, the words seemed to just pour out him. "Professor Aran really hates Parselmouths, sir. Ever since I've been back in his class he's been calling me a Dark Wizard and refusing to let me cast any spells because I'd have to do them in Parseltongue and he won't have it in class, he says. He calls it filthy language and unfit for decent people! At first he wasn't even going to let me take any practicals but I got him to agree that I could come in and do them privately, and then he wasn't even going to stay and watch me test, but McGonagall pretty much insisted and after all that, yeah, you can believe I had a reason to be out of sorts. I was tired of his shite! Oh! Sorry, sir."

Harry thought he might have said more except he needed air.

Once he'd stopped it was hard to start again. Then again, what was there left to say? He wasn't going to tell his father that he'd sworn in class and been openly defiant and such . . . unless he had to.

"That's quite a catalogue of complaints." Snape's eyes were blazing with anger, the black so dark it looked almost demonic. Dangerous, that was it. For once, Harry didn't care so much about his father's Death Eater past or the rest of it. He was angry enough at Aran to hope Snape cut the man no quarter.

Besides, he knew that Snape wasn't actually going to kill Aran over this. Or . . . he was pretty sure.

"And this began as soon as you resumed classes, did it?"

Uh-oh. Now that dark tone sounded more directed at Harry than Aran. Because this was the ugly heart of the matter, wasn't it? What Aran had done was nothing compared to the fact that Harry had kept it a secret for so long.

"I do believe my hair could use a wash," murmured Draco, pushing back his chair. "If you'll both excuse me . . . "

Snape suddenly whipped his wand out and pointed it at Draco. "Comalavare," he said, his voice intense. " Et secare."

Draco sputtered as his hair suddenly filled with lather and then just as suddenly went dry as straw. When it was all over, he looked awful. Definitely, that wasn't the way to wash hair.

Part of Harry couldn't help but feel that Draco had that coming for laughing when Harry had got Bocalavare during Aran's detention.

"Now you're clean," drawled Snape. "And while I'm sure Harry appreciates the attempt at decorum, you'll stay because you're involved in this matter too. Unless Harry insists we speak alone, that is."

"No, it's all right," murmured Harry. Draco had heard it all anyway, during that lunch with the headmaster.

"Excellent," snapped Snape. "Aaron Aran's prejudices are one matter. He shall be dealt with, make no mistake. What I fail to comprehend is why the two of you neglected to alert me to this problem. Well?"

Harry coloured. But he didn't want Draco in as much trouble as him, not when it wasn't fair. "Draco told me to come to you," he admitted, "as soon as he came to classes and saw how bad it was. And when I didn't want to he said he'd tell you himself--"

Snape leaned forward. "I can't seem to recall any such conversation!"

"Severus, I--"

"Let him speak," thundered Snape. "Yes?"

"I wouldn't let him tell you," quietly admitted Harry. "I more-or-less blackmailed him into keeping quiet."

Snape shoved his plate away, his dark eyes turbulent, now. "Merlin preserve me. What has he done that you could blackmail him? More Venetimorica?"

Harry gasped. "I wouldn't hide a thing like that!"

Draco snatched up his glass of water and threw the contents at Snape's face. "Thanks! Thanks a whole fucking lot!"

Snape had quick reflexes though; he moved to the side in time. Then he glared at Draco.

"Sorry," said Draco, mumbling. "Um, impulse control. Maybe I should . . . um, go to the bedroom after all?"

"Yes, maybe you should," said Snape. "I'll deal with you later."

Draco grimaced, but his hand under the table gave Harry's a quick squeeze before he left.

"It's all my fault," said Harry, sighing. "And I didn't blackmail Draco over anything he'd done, all right? I just threatened to tell you that Slytherin was calling him Malshite. Which they've stopped. But you know all about it now, so I don't suppose it matters if I mention it."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Wonderful. Now I have not one but two sons intent on concealing their problems from me. Though in Draco's case I can perhaps understand. His relationships with his peers, as long as they don't become hazardous, are best left in his hands. I do not think the same of your relationship with a biased professor."

Biased professor. Wasn't that the pot calling the cauldron black.

"It just didn't seem that serious," murmured Harry.

Snape pointed to the essay still on the table. "I beg to differ. I've seen you struggle with anger in class, and still manage to comport yourself tolerably well. To do that, I'd say you were more than 'out of sorts.'"

Well, Harry couldn't have asked for a better segue, could he? "Um, that's pretty much why I didn't tell you, Professor. Because er . . ." Anger came roaring in to loosen his tongue. "Because right up until you decided to actually see me instead of James, you were the most biased professor the world had ever seen! You treated me worse than Umbridge! You--"

"I most certainly did not treat you worse than Umbridge! Show me a single scar I ever gave you, Harry!"

"Ha, I can't! And you want to know why I can't? They're inside! And those are worse!" Harry pulled in a breath so fast that it felt like his lungs were burning. "And I'd like to know why, anyway, everybody assumes that if I had a problem with a teacher I'd go whingeing on about it! I learned early on that there was no use complaining about you, didn't I?"

"Harry, I--"

But now that Harry had started to vent, he felt like a steam pipe that had split open. "I couldn't do anything right in your class, oh, but all of a sudden I'm your son and you can stand me, suddenly I'm a decent student! But no, for years and years before that, it's your potion is too thick Potter, start over when it looked exactly the same as ten other students' work! And that's when it wasn't what's the matter, does that scar go all the way down to brain? or do you need new glasses, Potter? Because you can't seem to see what's right in front of your nose, and accusing me of stealing all the time, too! And that's not even counting detentions! You gave me about five million detentions, every single one of them undeserved, and--"

"Every single one, Harry?"

The quiet question stopped Harry's tirade. "No, not every single one," he muttered. "Most of them, though. And before you pick apart the rest of my words, I guess there weren't five million. Don't you get it, though? I feel like there were!"

"Yes, I see that," murmured Snape. "I did in fact apologise for all this, if you recall."

"Yeah, I know." More exhausted now than angry, Harry put his head down on the table and piled his arms on top of his skull. "I guess I'm not . . . er, as over it as I used to think. And I think deep down I knew I wasn't, and the whole Aran thing just . . . I don't know. I wanted to handle it by myself. I'm used to handling arsehole teachers by myself. Oh . . . sorry, Professor."

"For calling me Professor or an arsehole?" Snape dryly asked.

Harry blearily looked up. "Dunno."

Snape laid his hands on the table, almost as though to reach for Harry, but after a moment's hesitation, ended up just lacing his fingers together. "Harry, I am most sincerely sorry I used Potions class as a means to torment you. I know it wasn't well done of me. I--"

"Ha, not just Potions," said Harry, sitting up again. "How about hallways and in the Great Hall too? You practically knocked my head into Ron's fourth year during homework time!"

"You were talking."

"Half the hall was talking! How many students did you attack?"

Attack was probably strong, Harry thought the moment he'd said it, but Snape didn't dispute the word. "Only you. How many apologies do you need?"

"Maybe I need you to write ten thousand times I will not torture my students," said Harry caustically. "No, considering what you assigned Ron, it ought to be more like, As I hold a position of . . . er, great responsibility over the lives and hearts of innocent children, I will earnestly endeavour to . . . uh, not sure. Something long-winded."

"You've very angry."

Harry stared. "Well, duh."

"You said to me at one point that that was all over."

"It is." Harry leaned back, wishing this wasn't so hard. "I mean, I know you won't treat me like that again. And I've even noticed how lately, you've been less totally unfair to Gryffindor. I guess because of what you said, how you can't love me and still hate Gryffindor, or at least not like you did before. I don't know why I let all the old stuff still bother me. I mean, as long as I didn't think about it, I was fine! But then Aran started his rubbish and I just kept remembering you dropping my assignment that time I was sure I'd brewed a perfect potion and . . ." Harry shrugged and looked away.

"You had just violated my memories, Harry," Snape reminded him.

For Snape to put those two things on a level made Harry see red. "Yeah, I had!" he said, his anger surging back so strongly that he heard himself yelling. "But it's hardly the same thing! I was fifteen -- how old were you, eh? Old enough to know better, you think? And I wasn't trying to find out about your private business, anyway! I just wanted to know about the secret weapon at the Ministry and I ended up seeing all that other stuff by accident! And I damned well kept it to myself. Even Draco doesn't know you were hoisted upside down by my father so the whole school could see your pants--"

"Yes, thank you for your discretion," Snape interrupted, his voice a little caustic. "I'm sure Draco will continue on in total ignorance of the event."

Harry felt his collar heating. What his father meant was that even if Draco wasn't trying to eavesdrop, which was pretty unlikely considering they were talking about Draco, there was no way he could have missed Harry's shouting. Defensive, Harry crossed his arms in front of him. "Well, anyway, what you did to my potion that day wasn't on accident or for a good reason or anything. It was just petty revenge."

"It was ill-done of me," agreed Snape. "Which I have said before, although perhaps not in reference to that specific event. What can I do about it now, though, Harry? It's done and I have apologised. Yet you still bear me ill-will?" His voice by the end sounded pained.

"Not ill-will exactly." Harry's arms fell to his sides as he met his father's gaze. "I love you a lot, Severus. I think you know that. And that . . . it hasn't changed or anything. But how you used to act . . . it still does bother me some, I guess."

"Shall I write you those ten thousand lines to prove I do indeed regret the past?"

Harry almost said yes, just for spite. Or maybe to see if Severus would actually do it. Though he was pretty sure Severus would cheat on them, anyway.

"No," he slowly said, resting his hands on the table again. "That's just going to . . . er, keep us stuck in the past all the more. And that's the whole point, Professor. I didn't come talk to you about Aran because I knew it would get messy. And I don't want the past to stand between us. I really like being your son and getting on with you and having a home besides the Tower and . . . all."

"I like having you for a son," said Snape gently. "And I'm very pleased to provide you with a home. Harry . . . until I began to truly know you, I was a seething mass of anger over wounds which should have healed long before. You bore the brunt of it. If I could go back and get to know you from the first, I would. But at that time, I simply was not capable, and for that I am most sincerely sorry."

Harry swallowed. "Yeah. I . . . uh, I actually was going to, er, bite the bullet and come talk to you about Aran on my own. I'd been putting it off because I didn't want to dredge all this up. I mean, I didn't want you to think I still hated you for all that stuff, 'cause I don't. Honestly! I guess it's better that we talked it all over."

"Definitely, that is better. Harry, if you have a serious problem with another teacher or anything else, I want you to come talk to me. Even if you think that so doing will hurt me. How else can I be your father?" Reaching across the table then, Snape clasped Harry's twitching fingers in his large, warm hands. "Though I will admit it buoys me to know that in the end, you were intending to bring this matter to my attention."

Harry felt a little guilty then, remembering that it was only the headmaster's insistence that had made him decide to talk to Snape. On the other hand, though, Snape wouldn't enjoy knowing that Harry had discussed all of this with Albus Dumbledore first, so . . . He moved his fingers to hold hands better.

"You're growing up and it's good to see," Snape continued, squeezing his fingers lightly. "Do you recall, Harry, when we went to Surrey near the beginning of this year? I complained that you didn't ask for help, and you retorted that you didn't ask for things you wouldn't get. But now, I think you know there is help for you. In any respect. Really, you can come to me with anything." His dark eyes glimmered. "Even if it necessitates your calling me an arsehole."

Now Harry felt ten times guiltier. He didn't deserve this praise, not when he hadn't been grown up enough to talk to his father on his own. The headmaster's poking and prodding had basically forced the issue.

Harry grimaced. Snape talking about the beginning of the year made him feel just awful. Because he remembered deciding way back then to be more mature. And the way he'd handled his problem with Aran . . . that hadn't been mature at all. "I feel bad I didn't talk to you about all of this when it first began," Harry murmured, ducking his head.

Snape let go of his hands and leaned back. "Yes, that is a concern." When Harry glanced up, his father's keen, penetrating gaze was assessing him. "Am I correct in thinking that Aran's odd desire for a conference with Lucius instead of myself, as Draco's father, had something to do with this ongoing conflict over Parseltongue?"

Definitely, Snape was too smart by half. Or maybe something else was going on. "No fair reading my mind like that. I'm too tired to Occlude right now!"

"I wasn't using Legilimency."

"Oh." Harry's lips twisted. "No fair tricking me, then. Though I guess you weren't doing that either, really. Anyway, yeah, you're right. Aran was fed up with my lousy attitude and that pretty much led to the whole Lucius thing happening."

Severus flicked a glance at the parchment. "I fail to understand why your attitude would reflect on Draco, though. Perhaps you could help me circle the pitch, as it were?"

Harry was pretty impressed with the Quidditch analogy. Maybe that was what had him admitting the truth, though he was careful to put it in a way that wouldn't get his brother into trouble. "Oh, yeah. Well, Draco was standing up for me. Actually he told me to stand up for myself, which I think I needed to do. I started using Parseltongue in class whether Aran approved or not, and Draco backed me, and Aran knew you'd support the both of us on that. I mean, he was so scared of confronting you that he wouldn't even take points from Slytherin. So he firecalled Lucius to complain about Draco."

Severus nodded. "You realise then, that by not coming to me so that I could straighten this out with your teacher, you opened the door for him to summon Lucius Malfoy into Hogwarts."

Harry stiffened, even though his father had spoken in a calm voice. "I wasn't intending for that to happen!"

"No, but you made it possible."

"Look, it's not very fair of you to try to make me feel guilty, when half the reason I didn't come talk to you was that I didn't want to make you feel guilty for all those years of shite!"

Snape's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Were you under the impression that I was disposed at all times to be fair?" He didn't wait for an answer. "In this case the consequences of your reluctance to talk to me led to extreme hazard for yourself and your brother."

Harry made a face, but since his father had a point, he didn't argue further. "All right, then, fine. Speaking of consequences, what's mine to be? And don't forget I let you off the ten thousand lines I could have said I wanted you to write."

The attempt to joke fell flat. His father just stared at him. "Sorry. I know it's serious," Harry finally said.

"I rather think events as they already unfolded were traumatic enough," answered Snape. "However, even if Lucius Malfoy had never set foot in the castle yesterday, I would have no intention of punishing you. You either trust me enough as your father to come talk to me when needed, or you don't. The suggestion that I would chastise you on that account is anathema to me."

Harry wasn't sure what that last big word meant, but given how offended his father sounded, he could guess. "I didn't mean you'd punish me for that," he thought he'd better explain. Even if it wasn't so Slytherin of him. Snape's feelings were more important than strategy. "I meant for . . . um . . ." He made a vague gesture at the parchment.

"Incendio," said Snape calmly. "You do actually understand caninae, I think. And if you can't yet conjure them we'll work on it over the summer. So, enough of that." The Potions Master's eyes narrowed. "You have another concern."

"Draco and the water he threw," said Harry, leaning forward as he spoke very quietly. "Don't punish him for that. Please, Dad. I mean, you accused him of something really evil when just yesterday . . . er, or the day before, I mean, he was tormented by someone who should have loved him, just because he was doing the right thing, fighting as best he could for the side of Light. For me. I mean, he suffered to save me. That's got to be more important than one glass of water."

Snape nodded. "I do believe it is."

As long as he'd won that point, Harry figured he might as well go on. "For that matter, I don't think we should be bringing up Venetimorica again. He's learned his lesson. Don't you think?"

"Anything else?" asked Snape, a little sarcastically. "Since you appear to believe you know more about raising him than I do?"

"Nah." Harry grinned. "You're doing all right. Especially with the XL. I think Draco needed something like that to get him up out of the doldrums."

"I think you're playing the good son again."

"What?" Harry thought about that for a moment, then lowered his voice again. "No, I'm actually really happy you did that for Draco, Dad. I'm just not as . . . um, acquisitive as he is, I think. I mean, if I really wanted an XL I could go buy one. Well, assuming you'd give me my key for something like that. But I'd rather stick with the broom Sirius gave me. You were right about that."

"Yes, I know that things other than material goods mean the most to you," said Snape, nodding. "When I bought the XL I fully intended to give you something you would find just as valuable. Hence, your friends will be most welcome to visit here during the summer, Harry."

Harry smiled. "Oh, that's really great news. Why didn't you mention that earlier?"

Snape shrugged. "At that point I wanted you and your brother outside enjoying yourselves. I thought Draco would protest."

"Oh, thanks," came a sarcastic shout from the bedroom. A moment later, Draco strolled out. He looked as though he'd washed his hair properly. "Haven't I been sweet as canary creams to your irritating friends?"

"No," said Harry, laughing. "You have been decent, though. So that's all right."

"To have Granger and Weasley ruining my summer though?" Draco made a face. "I'll put up with it, I suppose, but only because you're my brother."

"How magnanimous of you," drawled Snape.

"And for the record, I am not acquisitive," Draco went on, tossing his head. "I merely have sufficient good taste to appreciate the finer things in life. I shared the XL with Harry, didn't I?"

"Yes, you were perfection itself, Draco," said Harry, grinning. "There, all better? You really shouldn't eavesdrop unless you're prepared to hear yourself discussed, you know."

"Well, if the two of you wouldn't gossip like a pair of witches in a froth, I wouldn't eavesdrop," retorted Draco. "Now, how about some cocoa?" He grinned. "I bet we could even persuade Severus to let us have it with some lovely crème de menthe. You know, so we'll sleep soundly in our beds."

Snape shook his head. "Dreamless Sleep will see to that. However, I do believe a nightcap may be in order. We haven't any mint liqueur but I did think to pack a bottle of Galliano."

Harry blinked. "You'll let us have a nightcap with you?"

"Certainly."

After the drinks were poured, Draco began to press Snape for information. "Aran, Severus. What are you going to do about him?"

"You leave that to me."

"It's more than his hatred of Parseltongue at issue now," insisted Draco. "He crossed the line into something else entirely when he hexed Harry! And don't forget, that was after he'd seen Lucius abduct me. And he still not only helped Lucius out, but attacked a student to do it!"

"Aaron Aran shall be dealt with," promised Snape. "But you will leave it to me."

And that was all Snape would say on the subject, no matter how Harry and Draco needled him.

Later, when Harry went into his bedroom to get ready for bed, he couldn't help but remember that it was here in this very room that he'd first known he was going to kill Lucius Malfoy. True, he hadn't done it by burning the man alive, though he'd come close in the Defence classroom. But he had done it. And he hadn't really said anything about it to his brother. That didn't seem right.

"Draco," said Harry, putting down the potion he'd been about to take.

"Hmm?" Draco turned after he finished putting on his pyjamas. His silver eyes glimmered as soon as he saw Harry staring at him. "Oh, for pity's sake. If you thank me again for Serpensortia I just may have to smack you. I was saving myself as much as you, you know."

"I know. That's not it." Harry sat down on his bed and stared straight ahead at the opposite wall. "It's just . . . I killed Lucius and as horrible as he was to you, he was your father before Severus was, and . . . well, I can't really say I'm sorry, exactly, but-- I guess I just mean, if you felt upset with me I'd hardly blame you."

"I think I'd be upset with you if you hadn't killed him, Harry," said Draco, sighing. After a moment he came over and sat next to Harry on the bed, twisted sideways with one leg bent atop the coverlet. "Look at me."

Harry turned his head.

"He wasn't going to stop, Harry," said Draco, no trace of humour in his eyes, now. "Ever. And after everything that's happened, I wouldn't trust Azkaban to keep him confined. Lucius was going to come after us again and again and again until he killed us both. I know you weren't trying to kill him when you cast your Petrificus, but really, it's just as well that you did."

"I know all that," murmured Harry. "But I thought you might feel, I don't know, something else."

Draco shook his head. "Whatever I might have felt was burned out of me this year, Harry. A warrant on my life, death threats made to my face, expelling me, arranging to frame me for murder? Not to mention it was my girlfriend who . . . yeah. He stopped being my father long before Severus adopted me. In the end, he was just a horrible man out for my blood. And yours. And I can't be sorry that he's gone."

Harry thought about that. Before he could reply, Draco was speaking again.

"I think you think I should be sentimental because you missed having a father at all when you were growing up. But I don't have any reason for regret, Harry. Really."

Harry smiled then. "All right. I just thought . . . yeah. I understand."

"Good, because I'm beat," said Draco. Making his way over to his own bed, he grabbed the vial of potion Snape had given them and downed it, then fell straight into bed. "Bet we get to sleep in," he mumbled. "Mmm, sleep."

Harry grabbed his pyjamas and took them into the bathroom so he could change into them after his shower. When he got back out to their bedroom, Draco was softly snoring, his features so peaceful it seemed he didn't have a care in the world.

For his own part, Harry didn't expect to sleep so soundly, potion or no. It wasn't that it bothered him to have killed Lucius. No, it bothered him that it didn't. He should feel bad about it, shouldn't he? He'd tried his best to feel bad on account of hurting Draco, but Draco had refused to let him. So now Harry was left feeling like he had no reason at all to feel bad. And that was just wrong, wasn't it? He'd killed somebody! He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to feel . . . well, fine about it.

Or more than fine. When he really thought about what he'd done to Lucius, he mostly felt happy. The man had had a heart of stone. Had been cold, clear through. The fact that he was marble now, and stuck that way forever, seemed a fitting end.

Still, though, Harry'd never wanted to kill anybody. Not even after hearing the prophecy. But now he had. So why didn't that bother him?

Sighing, Harry took his own portion of Dreamless Sleep, then lay down in bed and tried to rest.

------------------------------------------------------

On Sunday afternoon, Snape called the boys in early from their flying. "There's to be an Order meeting tonight to discuss recent events."

Harry sighed. "We'll save you some dinner, then. Or will you eat there?"

"Actually, I've an offer to extend. I think that those who experienced the events which precipitated this meeting should be in attendance."

It took Harry a second to work that out. "You want us to go? Seriously?"

Snape gave a brief nod. "Excluding you from the Order is, in my view, a pointless endeavour. I've prevailed upon Albus to this end. As of tonight, you'll both be considered members in full standing. However . . ." Here, his voice became stern. "I fully expect you to approach your Order duties with responsibility beyond your years. You will follow orders, you will respect the chain of command, and you will not use Order information to involve your friends in any hare-brained Gryffindor heroics." Snape snorted slightly. "Not even if the situation seems dire or the adventure seems foolproof!"

"I think that last bit's meant for you, Harry," Draco quipped in a stage whisper.

Harry folded his arms. "Well, speaking of friends, I think Ron and Hermione ought to get to join too! And Neville, and Luna. And Ginny--"

"And the Snitch as well?" asked Snape snidely.

"They've been there for me."

"I won't ask Albus to allow any additional underage members. In any case, the issue is moot without the blessing of their parents."

Harry frowned knowing the unlikelihood of Molly Weasley actually consenting to let any of her younger children put themselves directly into danger.

"Harry, leave it," said Draco. "It was probably a close thing them letting me in."

Severus didn't reply, but the look on his face spoke for him. There were clearly Order members with reservations about Draco. Harry supposed that was only to be expected, considering. It would probably be a long time before he'd proven himself. And some members, like Moody, might never trust him, even so.

Ha, would never trust him. Look at everything Snape had done for the Order!

The three of them ate an early dinner together, and then were the last to arrive at the Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry wasn't sure if this was due to his father's preference for dramatic entrances or if he merely wanted to give the headmaster a chance to handle any arguments against the boys' attendance.

The meeting was conducted in the kitchen, which seemed odd to Harry, considering the number of people in attendance. Why transfigure a larger table and more chairs in here when there was a spacious parlour available? Even the formal dining room would have ample room for everyone who had come. But the kitchen?

Well, I always did feel most comfortable in here. Maybe this room's been more thoroughly purged of the Dark Arts than the rest of the house has, Harry mused. Part of him knew, though, that Snape and Remus had gotten rid of every trace of Dark Arts in the dwelling, months and months ago.

Harry was fairly sure that the entire Order was rarely in attendance at any of these meetings. For all the crowd around the kitchen table, tonight seemed to be the same. He didn't spot Bill or Charlie anywhere, or several other people he thought were likely in the Order.

Remus, seated to one side of the headmaster, smiled at the boys straight away. Or maybe just at Harry; it was hard to be sure. Professor McGonagall, on Dumbledore's other side, looked like she tasted something sour, however.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks said, grinning. And then more pointedly, "Wotcher, Draco!" She snapped her gum and grinned even more widely when Draco, clearly discomfited, stammered, "Er, hallo, Miss Tonks."

Tonks was flanked by Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt. The black Auror looked calm enough, but Moody was staring at Draco like--well, like mad. He was practically frothing at the mouth, his magical eye almost popping out of his head, just as if he thought he could see through Draco if he tried hard enough.

Sighing, Harry told himself that the two would probably never get on, even if this Moody wasn't really the one who turned his brother into a ferret in fourth year.

On the other side of the table, Molly Weasley was busying herself by slicing some homemade pumpkin bread. Arthur sat next to her. Harry's survey stopped cold, then, since next to Arthur there was an elderly woman whom Harry had never seen before.

It might not be polite to stare, but Harry did, racking his brains to try to figure out who she might be. The woman stared back at him, her mouth neither smiling nor frowning. Cool, that was it. But her eyes were a warm, kind brown.

Just like Remus' eyes, actually.

Without a word, Harry slid in next to the new woman. Not that there were many free chairs available. Meanwhile, Draco raised his chin, a clear sign that he was feeling out of his depth and hiding it. As he seated himself by Kingsley Shacklebolt, he nodded rather regally at several people around the table, though he ignored Moody completely.

Snape took the end opposite the headmaster, who appeared unflustered by the boys' presence. However, Harry noticed that men at the two ends of the table did lock their gazes for several seconds. He wondered if another one of those telepathic conversations was taking place.

"Before I get on with the purpose of tonight's meeting," the headmaster began, "I'd like to introduce Lucinda Lupin, who has been working with Professor Snape on our werewolf project."

"Werewolf project?" Several people around the table asked the question at once.

Dumbledore merely curved his lips in one of those inscrutable smiles he favoured. "Yes. Lucinda?"

The old woman stood up as she introduced herself. "As Remus' aunt, I became interested long ago in lycanthropy. Ever since he was infected, I've been researching the ailment in an effort to understand it, and hopefully, learn how to reverse it. The development of the Wolfsbane Potion, which Professor Snape and I were both involved in," here, she gave Snape a respectful glance, "was a great boon to my nephew and others so afflicted. However, I have long felt that more could be done. My research indicates that a potions-based treatment to repress the transformation should be possible. My personal goal is surely obvious, but if we succeed, the benefit to the Order will be significant. Our goal is to win the werewolves over to our side rather than allowing them to ally themselves with He Who Ought Not Be Mentioned. Any breakthrough in lycanthropy treatment would be a huge enticement."

"How's that coming along?" Tonks asked.

"Not very well, I'm afraid," Lucinda answered. "The Professor's priority this year has been his new family. More significantly, perhaps, is that Remus has been largely unavailable due to his recent assignment."

Again, a buzz of noise circled the table. Several questions echoed all at once.

"Assignment?"

"Why would recruiting the werewolves impede him from participating in this research?"

"Unavailable? How's that?"

Dumbledore waited until the Order members quieted down. "Remus has been abroad, impersonating Lucius Malfoy via Polyjuice whenever possible, in order to secure information from Death Eaters and also, to foment ill-feelings within the ranks."

"Divide and conquer," said Moody, nodding sagely while the others either looked nonplussed, or stared at Remus with new respect. "Yes. Good."

"Due to several factors then," continued Lucinda briskly, "the werewolf project has largely stalled. We haven't developed any new approaches or theories in months."

"Well that's no good," Moody declared, his mood shifting like quicksilver. He actually began thumping the table with his fist. "Snape there may be enjoying his retirement from active duty, lollygagging about without a care in the world now that braver wizards have taken on his danger for themselves, but he ought to be accomplishing more than cozying up to Potter!"

"In point of fact, Alastar," said Dumbledore rather mildly, "there is nothing Severus could be doing that is more important than providing young Harry with a stable, loving home environment. We will need Harry's strength in the times to come, and there is more to strength, you realise, than how fast one can fly upon a broom."

Wow, he sure has changed his tune, thought Harry, a little stunned by the blanket endorsement of Snape-as-father. Of course, he didn't much like being called "young Harry," and he was pretty sure those splotches of red on Severus' cheekbones meant he didn't appreciate everyone knowing about the "loving home," he was providing, but still . . .

A lot of Harry's resentment of the headmaster faded away, right then and there.

"But neither is he quite committed to the werewolf project," Moody grumbled, turning his head to stare Snape down. "You've made it more than plain how you feel about Lupin here."

"Indeed." Snape's cheeks resumed their usual pale shade as he spoke in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, that's right. I'm so consumed by my personal dislike of Lupin that I've resolved to forego the inevitable fame and fortune that would result from curing the incurable. How very Slytherin of me."

As Harry glanced across the table at his brother, the two of them could barely repress their snickers of laughter.

Moody harrumphed but didn't say anything further.

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore quietly resumed, "although the project has been neglected these past months, I'm pleased to announce that we anticipate renewing our efforts this summer, since Remus will be completing his mission closer to home. That is, in fact, the main focus of tonight's meeting." He paused briefly until it seemed he had everyone's full attention. "The Order has been given an unexpected boon. Lucius Malfoy is dead."

A chorus of shocked exclamations rang out, ranging from "Why wasn't I told?" to "Good riddance!" to "Well, it's about damned time."

A lot of the comments were pretty insensitive, Harry thought, considering Draco was sitting right there listening. Sure, Lucius had been an awful person. It didn't mean Draco wanted to hear just how much everybody hated him, did it?

One person stood out though, as the compassionate motherly-type she was. "Oh, you poor, sweet dear," crooned Molly Weasley as she leaned forward, hands extended. Her expression and posture both oozed sympathy. "Are you quite all right?"

For the first time, then, Harry thought he saw Draco's attitude toward the Weasleys waver. Just for a moment, Draco held Molly's gaze. He nodded, but the bleak look in his eyes told another story. No, he wasn't quite all right. He was ashamed to be related to Lucius.

Harry knew how it felt to be ashamed of your relatives.

The moment passed quickly though. Recovering his composure, Draco raised his chin, sniffing a little bit before insisting that he'd never been better.

Once the general excitement died down, the headmaster, assisted by Draco and Harry, informed the Order of the details of the boys' abduction and Malfoy's subsequent death. It wasn't wanded magic that had killed Lucius Malfoy though, not in the version Dumbledore told. He claimed that Harry had gotten so angry seeing his brother tortured that his wild powers had exploded again, just like on Samhain, but with even more devastating results.

"Turned. To. Stone," said Moody slowly, cackling, rubbing his hands together. "Now there's a fitting end for all Death Eaters."

He glanced at Snape as he said it.

Everyone else around the table seemed to have realised, from Molly Weasley's example, that Draco just might have feelings. They carefully refrained from any comment.

"You're positive the house-elf's story was contained?" asked Shacklebolt, smoothly moving the Order back onto what really mattered. "And nobody else ever knew that Lucius had the boys?"

Draco was the one who answered, his voice almost dead. "Lucius made it pretty clear that he hadn't told anyone about us being there. He was going to break us and then gloat about it."

"More to the point," Harry added, "he was afraid to present me to Voldemort before he was sure that I wouldn't be able to escape with more wild magic. Kind of ironic, considering what happened in the end. Besides, it wasn't like he'd planned to snatch us that day. It was just his good luck that we crossed paths. Well, his bad luck, I guess, considering."

"It's just terrible what that man put you through. Both of you." Molly glanced from Harry to Draco and back, her concern clearly encompassing both of them. "Are you bearing up, dears? I feel just wretched. Such horrible things you've seen. But the best balm for all of it is a loving home, of course, and I've no doubt that Severus is providing you one." By the end, she was smiling.

Snape wasn't. Those twin splotches of colour were back in his cheeks.

"We're having a bit of a holiday for a few days," said Draco.

"Oh, I'm sure you need one, dear--"

"Your attention, please," interrupted the headmaster. "The primary purpose of tonight's meeting was to inform you all that Remus will soon begin to impersonate Lucius Malfoy on a full-time basis. He is to be our key contact in Voldemort's inner circle. We are allowing a small span of time to elapse before this begins, so Remus can claim to have been attacked by Order members and injured. This will allow him some excuse as to why his speech, memories, or behaviour might not perfectly match those of the real Lucius Malfoy."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Normally this information would not be known by so many Order members. In this case, however, you must all understand that from this point forward, 'Lucius Malfoy' and indeed, Malfoy Manor itself, must be left strictly alone. Please observe this with the utmost care."

Moody snorted. "Right you are about that. Be a shame to finally kill that no-good bastard at last only to find out we'd actually eliminated our best advantage."

"It'd be a shame to accidentally kill Remus, you mean," said Harry fiercely, his fists clenching atop the table.

"That too--"

"Harry," said the headmaster quietly, "I welcome your participation in the Order, as well as your brother's, but both your memberships are on a provisional basis. You must watch your temper."

Harry didn't see why he had to, when it seemed like nobody else did, but then again, nobody else had wild magic like his. So, maybe Dumbledore had a point.

"All right," he said, trying not to sound too petulant.

"Order members not present will also be informed to make no moves against Lucius Malfoy," continued Dumbledore.

"Or my mother," interrupted Draco.

The headmaster nodded. "Yes, yes of course. Thank you for clarifying that, Draco. Though I'm sure it was understood already. Narcissa Malfoy will also be left strictly alone for the duration."

"The duration!"

"Draco, we will discuss the matter later," said Severus calmly. "I know you must want the best for your mother, but there is nothing to be done now save allow Lupin to proceed."

Sighing, Draco nodded, slumping a little in his chair.

"I believe that is all," said Dumbledore. "Unless anyone has any questions?"

There were a few, but nothing very significant, in Harry's view. Actually, they reminded him a little of some of the questions he'd heard asked in class. Apparently, some adults were a little like students when it came to listening and paying attention.

Harry had expected everyone to leave when the meeting ended, but first there was the sort of socializing that reminded him of the common room after a Quidditch win. Well, maybe not as rowdy, though at one point the grown-ups came close. Tonks, laughing hard at something Dumbledore had said, accidentally flung her coffee into Moody's lap. The sudden burn had caused him to start so badly that his magic eye had fallen out and had begun rolling along the kitchen table, finally to sail straight into Mrs Weasley's bosom as she leaned forward to give Tonks her handkerchief.

Harry died with laughter, but tried not to show it. Well, not much.

The Aurors were the first to leave, followed by the Weasleys, who had loitered for an additional quarter of an hour while Molly fussed over "the poor, dear children." The headmaster and Professor McGonagall were just leaving now, having just worked out a new class schedule with Snape. Harry wanted to know what that was all about, but Snape was currently engrossed in conversation with Lucinda Lupin.

Harry wandered over there, deciding that even if he couldn't ask about the class schedule, he could at least get to know Remus' aunt a bit. After 10 minutes of listening to his father and her discussing the cumulative affect of various potions ingredients on curses, though, he felt ready to cry from boredom.

He decided that a better way to kill time while he waited for Snape to take them back to Devon would be to take Draco on a tour of the house. Maybe he could even entice Draco to take a little interest in the Black inheritance.

As it turned out, though, his brother was deep in conversation with Remus. When Harry saw Draco conjure a quill and parchment and begin scribbling furiously, he knew they'd be at it for an hour at least. It was nice to see, anyway, Draco and Remus working together to make sure all would go well at Malfoy Manor.

For lack of anything else to do, Harry decided to go have a look around Sirius' library. After two days of almost constant flying, some time with a good book might be just the thing. Short stories, maybe, something like that. Or adventures like Lockhart's, only ones that weren't total lies.

When he crossed the threshold to the book-lined room, Harry heard something that made him stop cold.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the conquering hero. Come to gloat, have you, Potter?" asked Lucius Malfoy.

Harry whirled to the side, wand out. Even though he knew better, he half expected to see Malfoy lounging in a library chair. In actuality, it was the portrait that had spoken. Propped up against a bookshelf, the painted Lucius looked a lot calmer than the last time Harry had seen him. The image wore a sneering expression and had its arms crossed.

Harry knew what he ought to do: turn on his heel and walk out of the room without even speaking to the portrait. He actually tried to do just that, but he found he couldn't. It wasn't a matter of gloating; it was something else entirely.

Everyone seemed to think he should feel bad for what he'd done. Oh, they said he shouldn't, but they all assumed that he did. Which meant they thought that any normal person would feel awful to have caused a death like that. But Harry didn't feel awful in the least. And he sort of wanted to see if he could. Maybe speaking with the portrait would drive it home to him what he'd done. Maybe then, he'd be able to feel some remorse.

"I didn't know you were in here," Harry said calmly.

"Just come to do a little Dark Arts research, then?" the portrait mocked.

"There aren't any books like that in here," said Harry. He thought there might have been once, considering the Black family history, but his father and Remus would have cleared all those away when they'd purged the house the previous autumn.

"Oh, that's right," drawled Lucius. "A boy like you would only be interested in Quidditch and fabled heroes. Or at least you'd like to believe that's all that interests you, eh, Potter?"

Harry didn't know what he meant. "Maybe if you'd read a few more decent books in your life you wouldn't be dead now."

Lucius smiled, the paint across his lips momentarily cracking and then healing itself. "Oh, is that why I've been shunted to the library? Does that fool of a headmaster expect me to believe he'll take a rare tome and read aloud to me if I cooperate?"

"Maybe he's put you in here to bore you to death. Oh, but you're dead already, aren't you? Yeah, well you deserve to die more than once, don't you now?"

The painted Malfoy smirked. "Planning to murder me twice then, boy?"

Harry shuddered, that word resonating somewhere deep inside him. "I didn't murder you. It was completely an accident. I never meant to do it."

Malfoy made a show of disinterestedly fingering the snake on his wand. "Oh, really. Well then, the done thing to do would be apologise."

Harry couldn't help but sputter a bit. "Apologize? I like that! Apologize to paint and canvas! You're not even a real person, you know."

"Yes, I do know. And that was my point. Or rather it was yours." As Harry just stared, Malfoy rolled his eyes as if he found it onerous to have to explain something so simple. The mannerism was so like Draco that Harry felt a little nauseous.

"You said that you never meant to kill me. Lack of intention implies you must be sorry that you did. Etiquette dictates that you tell me so."

Harry barked with laughter. "Just because I didn't mean to do it doesn't mean I'm sorry!"

"Ah." Lucius nodded sagely. "Yes, I suspected as much. You're glad that you killed me."

Harry was, but couldn't quite bring himself to admit it out loud. "Well, I'm certainly glad that you won't be popping out my eyeballs. You think? And I'm glad I don't have to worry about you coming after my brother. Draco. You know him, I think?"

Lucius ignored the jibe. "So, your intention all along was for me to die."

Harry frowned. "My intention was to immobilize you and escape, and you know it."

"Oh, please. You were going to let me share all your little secrets with the Dark Lord? I think not."

"Obliviate," said Harry, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

The portrait smiled in a smarmy way. "It's so good I still have all my memories of dear Draco. Lovely things to contemplate. Did you know he begged, when he was down in that pit? Begged and pleaded, grovelled on his hands and knees. Kissed my boots, Potter. You think he'd have learned at some point that begging doesn't move me in the least. Well, not toward pity."

Harry didn't know if the portrait was lying about Draco, but he also didn't care. Draco had done all right, and that was all that counted. "You shut up!"

"Ah, but let's not forget you, Potter. Do tell . . . at what point did you break my Imperius Curse? Before you took off your shirt, perhaps? Did you like stripping for me, Harry? Do you wish I'd demanded more than a mere shirt? Do you--"

Harry had had enough. He realised he had been a fool to speak to the wretched painting at all. Clearly the dead wizard was having a grand time goading him. Without a word, Harry turned and, head held high like he imagined Draco might do, walked toward the door.

"You do know that the Dark Lord has it all wrong, don't you?" Malfoy called out.

Harry stopped. He didn't trust anything that came out of the painting's filthy mouth, but he knew this might be important. He was an Order member now, wasn't he? He had a responsibility to listen and report anything he learned.

"Wrong how?"

Lucius sighed and seemed to lean back into the canvas, away from Harry. "Wrong about you, of course. He's this notion of you as a champion of the Light. He thinks you have some sort of selfless power from your mother's sacrifice that will trump his own if not snuffed out."

The painted lifted its chin haughtily. "But I've observed you more than he. I met your vulgar relatives--did you a good turn killing that disgusting fat creature, by the way. I know very well the company you currently cling to, and the sort of nurturing they're likely to provide."

"You don't know anything," said Harry, but his voice was shaking.

"Oh no? I know what I see in your eyes. Pain, hatred, defiance. You know what I don't see there, Harry? Regret. You wanted me dead all along and now you're just thrilled that you were able to do it -- and in the guise of defence, no less!"

"So what?" Harry ground his teeth together. "It doesn't matter how I feel because I didn't do it on purpose!"

"Oh pish. It's what's down at your core that matters--your deepest, darkest feelings. I know what's in yours." He made a show of picking some lint off his sleeve.

As if the artist would have painted lint on him, Harry thought.

"I don't know what Dumbledore thinks he's doing, playing with fire like you. But he really is an instrument of the Light--makes him blind. That's a metaphor the Dark Lord loves, by the way." Lucius' voice went silky. "But I'm not blind, Harry. Your so called wild magic? It's dark, all the way through. When you saw me in that classroom you didn't set forth beams of radiance to whisk me safely away from you, did you? That wasn't about protection! You tried to burn alive. You melted the wand right out of my hand."

"I can't control that," Harry whispered, feeling flayed. "It's just my magic trying to protect me."

"Your magic lashing out, more like. Mark my words, boy, you are the Dark Lord's equal. If you manage to kill him, you'll merely take his place. You are a Dark Wizard, Potter. How could you be anything else?" The image of Lucius gave a start of mock alarm. "Oh, dear me. Is that anger I see? Am I upsetting you?"

Yes, you are, and if you don't watch out-- Harry started too, suddenly feeling himself begin to burn with the very magic Lucius had spoken of. It was bubbling beneath the surface, heating his skin, demanding to be poured out.

He turned to go, fearing what he might unleash.

Lucius called out once more. "You know, I wonder if dear Severus will actually put you down himself when you turn? I rather think he will. He's certainly got it in him. Has he ever told you about--"

Harry never heard the rest. Running from the room, barely registering what he was doing, he found himself upstairs in Siruis' old room. He flung himself on the bed, and lay there hugging himself, shaking.

Oh God, what that painting had said made so much sense.

Maybe he's right, Harry thought. Maybe there's some core of evil inside me. The Dursleys-- maybe they saw something that no one else has wanted to believe. There was black energy in the cupboard under the stairs, and it was coming from me. Severus said so! And just look at the company I keep. The only people who have ever really wanted me--Sirius, Severus, Draco--they're not exactly pure as the driven snow, are they? It's like we're--what's the word--kindred.

Sitting up, Harry wiped at his eyes a bit.

I wasn't always like this was I? I mean, I was sorted into Gryffindor--I wielded Godric's sword. It takes a true Gryffindor to pull that out of the Sorting Hat.

So, there was hope then. There was good inside of him, too. He wasn't fated to turn into a new Dark Lord. He just had to keep himself from unleashing that horrible dark, wild magic again.

And just why had he burned Malfoy like that? Why had he burned the mask and robe back before Christmas?

Fear, that was it.

Harry lashed out when he was afraid.

And that's not right! Harry thought, the words frantic inside his own mind. I'm meant to be a Gryffindor. I can't be afraid all the time. Look at Draco, he faced his worst fear and came out of it looking for a way to help me. Every horrible thing he's been through this year has just made him stronger. From Pansy's death to Venetimorica to the snake pit and finally defying his father to his face, all of it has made him more committed to the Light.

And Dumbledore just said that they need me to be strong as well. I have to stop being so afraid.

Scooting back to lean against the headboard, Harry closed his eyes. The longer he thought about it, the better he understood what he had to do. The key to stop being afraid was to face his fears, the way Draco had done.

But how? Lucius was dead and challenging Voldemort wasn't exactly prudent. Not to mention, his father would kill him. So how could he possibly face down his fears and overcome them?

Needles, that was it. That was what he'd been afraid of the longest. That was what had started all of this, anyway. Needles during the transplant, needles at Samhain. If not for needles, he'd never have lost his light magic at all.

It was time to stop being afraid of them.

Snapping his eyes open, Harry darted his gaze about the room. No needles here, of course, but there on the bedstand stood a candle. There were matches for it in the drawer below. Or used to be, anyway, from back when Harry couldn't do Incendio.

Harry summoned them, not even bothering to pretend to use of his wand.

He drew out a single match, remembering first year, when he'd learned the spell. Such a simple incantation. It wasn't in his spell lexicon, as he'd never thought he'd actually want to conjure needles, but the Parseltongue shouldn't be too hard to figure out.

Even if there wasn't any word for needles.

Glancing through his glasses at the snake etched into the lens, Harry held the match and hissed what that particular spell had always meant to him. "Turn yourself into my sharp, metal fear . . ."

And just like that, he held a gleaming silver needle in his hand.

Poking it into himself was a whole lot more difficult than he would have expected. And since he'd expected it to be pretty damned hard . . . Harry shuddered. It hadn't bothered him so very much to handle the needles he'd transfigured back in first year. But of course he'd known that those weren't going to be stabbed into him.

Nothing for it though, right? He had to face his fears.

Sucking in a huge, bracing breath, Harry adjusted his hold on the needle and pressed its sharp end to the palm of his left hand. Even that was enough to make him feel a bit woozy, but he clenched his teeth together and told himself to stop being such a baby. It was just a needle! He'd suffered them before, and a lot worse than this. Wincing in anticipation, he pushed a little. Then harder.

The needle poked into his skin, making a depression, but didn't pierce it.

Instead of shoving harder and trying to break through, Harry thought strategy. The skin of his palm was awfully thick, really. Maybe he should start with someplace easier.

With another shudder, Harry pushed up his left sleeve and turned his forearm over. A pinch to the flesh on the underside told him that this skin was softer. More tender. Easier to prick. Of course, that probably meant it would hurt more here. A lot more. But what did that matter? At least he'd be able to shove the needle in.

Careful to avoid the blue veins that were visible here and there, Harry bit his lip, steeled himself further, and began to push again.

When the needle broke through his skin, it really stung. Harry almost yelped.

Instead, he held his breath and pushed again, harder, angling the needle to pass beneath his skin and parallel to his arm. The gleaming metal began to sink beneath his skin, bit by bit, the sight of it absolutely sickening, but somehow hypnotic at the same time.

There was hardly any blood at all. Noting that helped Harry feel a little more detached. Once he got over the first, worst part, it was almost like watching this happen to someone else.

Harry pushed farther still, watching as the needle made a white furrow in his skin.

Finally, it broke through the other side.

Blowing out his breath, Harry stared at the needle pierced through the skin of his forearm. What had he been so afraid of? This wasn't such a big deal, after all. Children get shots, he told himself. A lot of girls in Surrey have pierced ears. Muggles even get stitches, and think nothing of it.

Still feeling detached, Harry took a moment to think about the pain as he continued to look down at the needle. It wasn't overwhelming, not at all. Just a nagging hurt. Easily ignored.

Pulling the needle out was easier. Harry blinked as twin beads of blood welled up. Scarlet, like Voldemort's eyes. But that was all right. That was why he was doing this, so he wouldn't be afraid any longer. So he wouldn't unleash any more wild, dark magic. So when the war was over, he'd be just Harry still, not another Dark Lord.

This was a good start to all that. He'd proven he could do it. He was stronger than needles, and going to get stronger still. Because one wasn't enough, was it? He knew he'd still be afraid if he was faced with the likes of Samhain again. So he needed more, a lot more. And he needed to do it faster, instead of dithering.

Harry tried again, this time jabbing himself with more force. It hurt more, but at the same time, it was somehow more satisfying. Wiping away the blood, Harry tried again. And then again.

And again.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Ninety-Three: A River in Egypt

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight and Mercredi


Betaed by the Fabulous Mercredi.
To see fanart based on this story or download mp3 audio chapters, visit the gallery at http://aylnoartwork.havenofdreams.com/
To get update notices about when the sequel to this story is posted, join the Yahoo Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ayearlikenoneother