Snakes and Lions Extended Ending

The Quiri Project

All through his afternoon classes, Harry worried about seeing the quiris again. Perhaps he should have suggested they start later -- he knew how terrifying they would look. In his preoccupation, the cushion he transfigured from a rock was covered with leering, fanged faces that would have been quite impressive if he had intended them. Worse yet, one of them bit Professor McGonagall when she tried to examine it.

He ended up staying after the lesson to explain that it had been an accident, but that merely moved her from angry to worried, and still kept him five minutes late. He hurried along the corridors, afraid that by the time he got to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Draco would already have finished advancing his idea to Horsyr. Instead, Draco was standing in the aisle looking bored while Professor Horsyr talked with two Slytherin third years. The younger students were obviously having problems understanding the difference between desire and consent.

Harry could understand the difficulty -- he and Draco had hashed this out between them while studying for a defense essay in January, but their progress had gone in something more like a spiral than a line. Understanding didn't help. After three minutes of waiting, he lost patience.

"May I have a go, Professor?" he asked.

She gave him a curious look, but nodded. "Please do, Mr. Potter."

Harry turned to the students, who looked a bit nervous. "Now imagine," he said, "that two younger students were being bloody irritating prats, and I would just love to see them turn into frogs. Is that, then, my will?"

The third years looked at each other nervously.

"Well, yes," one said.

"No, it is not," Harry growled. "It is my desire. If it was my will, I would pull out my wand and DO IT. Because my desire is subject to my will, I do not consent to do it, and you are not green and bouncy. Is that clear?"

"But if I cast Imperio on you ...." the braver third year squeaked. Draco snorted in contempt. Harry laughed.

"No one, prat, has ever controlled me with the Imperius Curse. Voldemort couldn't do it."

The third-years flinched at the sound of the name, and Draco sauntered forward. "Relax, Seymour -- Harry doesn't bite ... much." He turned his head slightly towards Harry. "I believe Seymour had been about to go into the argument about how you might more readily accept being controlled by someone who wanted you to turn them into frogs."

"Certainly," Harry said. Repeating the highlights of old arguments felt rather like he thought it might to be in a play. "My will is stronger when it is in agreement with my desires. So yes, it would be easier, just as it would be easier to stop me from running uphill than to stop me from running downhill. That does not make my action less distinct from the terrain."

Draco smirked, no doubt remembering that analogy from when they had come up with it, and he made shooing motions at the third years. "Run along, now. You've had your answers, twice over. Come talk to me later, if you need a third round."

The third years did not quite run, but they were not slow about leaving. Harry suppressed the urge to pull out his wand and toy with it as they retreated. Once they were in the hallway, Professor Horsyr waved her wand at the door, and it swung closed and latched with an audible click.

"So," she said. "Here are two of my more ambiguous students ... what do you want to discuss?"

Harry and Draco looked at each other nervously.

"Well," Harry said, "I'm sure Dumbledore has talked to you...." He faltered. Professor Horsyr did not seem moved to help. She watched him with a steady interest.

"The thing is," said Draco, "we've both been doing Dark Arts, but in very different ways."

"He did a whole lot of different spells over a short period of time," Harry said.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "And he did one powerful one, not very many times, but repeatedly, over the space of several weeks."

Horsyr looked deliberately at Harry. A trace of contempt hardened the sorrow in her features as she said:

"And willingly."

Harry inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.

"So we were thinking," Draco pressed on, "that this would be a good opportunity to calibrate the quiris."

This was clearly not anything Horsyr had expected. Her eyebrows rose. "Calibrate?"

"See when they stop looking horrifying," Harry said. "See when they accept us."

"We both met the quiris shortly before ... before these latest episodes, so we have a marker for previous interactions."

"And our last castings were only a few hours apart, so we can judge the effects of quantity." Harry looked over at Draco. "You know we sound like Fred and George."

"We do not. We're both using complete sentences. And I could never sound like a Weasley." Draco shuddered theatrically and looked over at Horsyr. "So... should we do it?"

Horsyr frowned slightly. "I suppose I should have some consolation prize for one of my most promising students taking up Dark Arts." She regarded them speculatively. "Still, this information has many different uses."

"You can't restrict it to just those you trust," Harry argued. "It's not possible. You need someone who has done Dark Arts. Perhaps you could test the quiris' reactions to prisoners, but then you don't get the view from the other end. And without that, you can't say what their reactions actually mean. For example, you and Dumbledore treated me as innocent, but I had cast Umbram Jubo twice before you tested me. Had the headmaster actually questioned me, I might have confessed. I was feeling terribly guilty at how hurt he looked. Then you brought the quiri out, and once I'd gotten over how cute it was, I was just angry at him."

"And you started studying the Imperius Curse when?

"I approached my tutor at my next opportunity, about a week later. The next week I practiced countering the Imperius curse, but it wasn't until a week after that that I cast it."

"And then you cast it...?"

"Once that session, again a few days later, several times a few days later -- a week from the first -- and the last time a week and a half later, in the wee hours of Sunday morning."

"Did Dumbledore's actions, or mine, prompt you to do this?"

Harry had to think about that, for a minute. The level of distrust certainly hadn't dissuaded him. "No," he said slowly. "It was the Death Eater attack in London. Though I might not have dared, if I had confessed to the earlier spell."

"Why should a Death Eater attack prompt you to learn an Unforgivable Curse?"

"It's my job to destroy Voldemort," Harry said plainly. "That is all anyone expects of me, really. It's time for me to stop fooling around and do it. I wanted a way to turn Nagini against the Death Eaters, to provide a distraction and clear the field, a bit."

"I do not know whether or not it is your fate to destroy Voldemort, but I do know that it will do us no good if you immediately replace him."

"I don't want to rule the world."

"After casting the Imperius Curse a few times?"

"Oh, then I'd take it. But I didn't know that until I tried it." Pretending it didn't matter, Harry shrugged. "That's one thing no one ever tried to explain about Dark Arts. Except Professor Snape. Perhaps you really need to have done them to understand it."

Horsyr looked uncharacteristically sour. "I understand it," she said. "I'm never certain whether it dissuades or entices more students."

"Oh. I suppose that's a point. Still, it's better to have true information, isn't it? Because now I wonder what else I wasn't told, and you'll never stop me from wondering that, no matter what you tell me." Harry was surprised by the cold surge of anger that underlaid his words.

"Can we get back to the question?" Draco asked, with a warning look at Harry. "Should we calibrate the quiris -- remember?"

"How do you propose to do this?" Horsyr countered.

"We meet them once now," Draco said, "though we all know it will be unpleasant, just so we can each record detailed reactions. Then again each week, recording reactions, until we start to see a decrease in the negative reaction, one way or the other, or until we've gotten to four weeks, if that comes first. Then every few days, going to every day."

Horsyr nodded. "I think it would be valuable." She smiled a challenge at each of them. "Ready?"

Harry shuddered. "Let's get it over with."

The meeting with the quiris was horrible. It was all Harry could do to keep from pulling out his wand and hexing the creatures, and Horsyr actually did need to cast a few calming spells to keep them from attacking Harry and Draco. She quickly motioned the two students outside, and then followed them.

"I'm sorry. It's one of their more animal states -- reasoning with them is like reasoning with a child in mid-panic. I'll ask if I can put them in harnesses, next time."

Draco nodded. He was still panting. "Good."

"Terrifying, aren't they?" Harry asked wryly.

"Sweet Artemis, yes," Draco said. "I understand, now." He shuddered. "I wanted one of those ... things?"

"Your current perception is somewhat distorted," Horsyr said.

"Or perhaps it is truer," Harry countered. "Or perhaps neither is true."

"I want a photograph," Draco said.

"Yes," Harry agreed. He looked at Horsyr. "Do you have any pictures of them?"

"No."

Harry nodded. He didn't want to ask about taking one. Instead, he looked at Draco. "Let's go outside. I need a walk."

Draco nodded gratefully. "I need that, too."

In Harry's current shaken state, he longed for unrestricted space. They stumbled downstairs, still preoccupied with images of reaching, clawed hands and wide, fanged mouths. Harry hauled open the door and held it for Draco. They went down to the lake, and into the cover of the trees and bushes that grew alongside it. When they came to the first open spot, Draco set his arms against a tall tree and leaned his face into them. Harry thought he looked like he was about to count for hide and seek.

"Fuck, those things were scary," Draco said. "I've been wanting and wanting to see them again ... I wasn't ready for that."

Harry stepped up behind Draco and wrapped his arms around him. Draco's body was warm against the front of his own, and he wasn't sure that this was a good idea, but he needed it too much to pull away. "I'm here."

Draco's pleased murmur was overrun by the sound of a twigs breaking back along the path. Annoyed, Harry stepped back from Draco, and Draco turned. They were both standing with arms crossed over their chests, looking, Harry thought, probably disturbingly similar, when the intruders arrived.

"Fuck off, Blaise," Draco said immediately.

Blaise Zabini stepped forward, regardless. Two younger students followed him into the open space.

"We want to talk to you," he said.

Draco looked hesitantly at the younger students. Harry estimated that they were fourth years. The girl might be older. "Talk away then," he said carelessly.

"Without him here."

"Anything you can say to me, you can say in front of Harry."

"About the Dark Lord?"

"Why not?" Harry challenged. "I probably know him better than you do. I've met him four times in person, and more than that magically."

"If I name Death Eaters, you will betray them."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Avery, Crabbe," he started, as if reciting leaders of the Goblin Rebellions, "Nott, Macnair, Pettigrew.... If you want to count them still, Malfoy, Goyle, Lestrange, Crouch and Karkaroff. Want more? No one has ever believed me. Snape -- what can I say about him?" He laughed slightly. Perfect, no matter what he knows. After all, what can I say? "I know names, Zabini."

"You can make them up, you mean." Zabini spat. "Bastard."

"I'm not making anything up. Voldemort called them in front of me, confident that I wouldn't leave alive. He's an idiot."

"You watch your mouth, Potter!" one of the younger students shouted. "The Dark Lord is more clever than you could ever hope to be."

Harry caught his first reply, and took two breaths. He felt almost like he was back with the quiri, but without the fear. Slytherin children could be as hostile as they wanted to.

"He's very clever," he acquiesced, "but a clever madman." He shook his head at the fourth-year boy's spluttering fury. "He could have killed me a dozen times over -- but he had to make it spectacular. So I got away. Repeatedly."

"He will kill you in the end," the boy said fiercely. "You can't hide here forever."

"No," Harry said calmly, "He won't. Voldemort will lose; not because he is not clever or powerful -- he is both -- but because vengeance is more important to him than winning." My, this has become my little speech, hasn't it? Educate Voldemort supporters about their leader. I suppose someone has to do it, and "but that's not nice" won't get us anywhere.

Zabini had leaned back against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest, to watch.

"Around you," he amended.

Harry scowled. "Around Muggles, too. He only wants to kill them because the father who abandoned him was one."

Zabini smirked. "Now you're lying."

"I am not! When I was twelve, I met a memory he'd left from when he was sixteen, and he appealed to me as another half-blood--"

"You filthy liar!" the boy shrieked. Zabini caught at his arm to keep him back, taking one wild swing to his ribs, and watched Harry with narrowed eyes over the younger boy's shoulder. "Let me go! I'll --"

"Shut it," Zabini snapped at him. He looked scornfully at Draco. "You don't believe this shite, do you?"

Draco shrugged. "I'm staying neutral on that particular point, until someone produces evidence. Harry's certainly right about one thing, though. The Dark Lord is a madman. In my opinion, my father has become steadily less sane since his return. Two years ago, he would not have been so reckless as to follow me to Dumbledore's office while trying to kill me, no matter what I had done. I cannot feel guilt over his arrest. Such stupidity deserves the consequences."

"And why did you do it?" Zabini asked intently. "Because you believed, or ...?" His eyes flicked significantly to Harry.

"Because Harry's evaluation is correct, and Voldemort will lose," Draco said fiercely. "Or did you think I would leave my family for a handsome boy who won't put out?"

Blaise smirked. "Not what I heard."

"Oh, he'll tease, well enough," Draco retorted. He glanced at Harry, who tried to conceal his anger at the dismissal. "We're friends, really."

The quiet Slytherin, a girl, spoke, addressing herself to Draco as if Harry wasn't there. "Have you seen significant military weakness in the Dark Lord's forces?"

Draco shook his head. "Only command weaknesses. But the strongest forces in the world will do no good if they are poorly commanded. He wastes his followers on battles without gain."

"And that is a real loss Voldemort suffered with the capture of your father," Harry contributed, jumping back into the debate. "He may be less sane than he had been, but he's still better at planning than Voldemort." He met Blaise's eyes and smiled knowingly. "I will win."

"And if you have to dirty your hands?"

Harry smirked. "Why should I? I have Draco."

Draco jerked back, gave him a moment's hard stare, and then forced a shrug. Zabini's mouth was still open.

"Don't gawk, Zabini," Harry said coolly. Damn! Why did I say that? I knew he was going to say I was just a friend. It shouldn't make me snipe back. "I am no one's innocent little boy. I could dirty my own hands, if I had to."

After another few minutes of pointed conversation, Harry stood listening to the Slytherins' footsteps retreating through last autumn's leaves. Draco sat on the mossy ground with his legs crossed and his back straight.

"Please tell me," he said acidly, "that that was political."

"Of course it was political," Harry answered, kneeling down behind him. He set his hands on Draco's shoulders and leaned forward to say lightly, "I was trying to impress a lot of Slytherins into believing I'm a better bet than Voldemort. Shouldn't I be ruthless?"

He shifted back and started massaging Draco's shoulders, trying to remember what he had seen Hermione do to Ron, or felt her do to him.

"I suppose," Draco admitted, "but why impress them?'

He sounded petulant, and Harry worked on Draco's muscles while he thought. He didn't have much to compare with, but he thought they were pretty tight.

"Well," he said finally, "who else is going to do it? Dumbledore will talk morals and fairness and kindness at them, and get nothing but contempt, and my house will mostly just look down on them, so they hate us back. If I can say the truth so that they'll listen, shouldn't I?"

"Was that true, then?" Draco said coldly.

"Mostly." Harry hesitated. "You know I didn't mean what I said about you, right? I mean, I can't very well tell him I've done Dark Arts and am quite certain I can kill. I just meant to sound ... sound ruthless, and, well, cool, I suppose."

"Well, perhaps I'll tell him you're a good fuck, then."

"Look, I'm sorry. I know I can't order you around, and I didn't mean to imply that." Harry laughed slightly. "I'm in a mood, I think. The quiris, or perhaps just that intimidating the third-years went so well." He bit his lip. "Hearing you say we're just friends."

"Well, don't leave Blaise with the impression you're using me -- I think he may genuinely like me."

Harry nodded. "Perhaps I better let him corner me for a private talk."

"To say what?"

Harry leaned his cheek against Draco's warm shoulder. "That I genuinely like you," he whispered.