Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

A River in Egypt

For a while, as he pierced himself over and over, Harry almost felt like he was suspended in a world where there was nothing but his arm, and the needle, and the pain of one pinprick after another. He wasn't aware of time passing. He couldn't have said if he kept it up for one minute or ten. Or twenty.

Eventually, though, a series of noises roused him from his daze. Footsteps on the stairs. Voices calling his name. Severus . . . no, Severus and Draco both.

"Harry?"

"Where have you got to, Harry?"

"Oh, come on, Harry! Severus says he'll take us out for trifle!"

Like a drowning man suddenly breaking through the water's surface, Harry's trance abruptly shattered. He grimaced when he looked down at his arm, covered in pinpricks, some of them still welling blood. No time to heal them, not that his self-healing spells were very good to begin with. No matter, though. The injuries weren't that serious. Harry yanked down his sleeve and buttoned his cuff, then swept his cloak back on for good measure.

There. Now nobody would see his arm and grow alarmed. Which was all well and good, since there was nothing to be concerned about. He was just getting over his fear of needles. And it was kind of personal, that was all, so there was no need for his father and brother to know about it.

The needle he hastily transfigured back into a match, which he then shoved into a pocket. This way he'd always have the match for when he was ready to practise again. Or train, rather. That's what he was doing, training his mind and body to get over his fears.

He felt better knowing the match was in his pocket for the next time he wanted it.

"Up here," he finally called out, just as the door swung open and Snape and Draco entered.

"What are you doing all the way up here?" asked Snape, glancing around. "As I recall, you never much cared for this room."

That was true. When Harry had lived here back in the autumn, he'd taken up residence in another room. "I guess it's all right," said Harry, ignoring the first question. "I still miss Sirius something awful sometimes, but maybe avoiding his room was a little silly. I just wish I could have had a chance to know him better."

Snape nodded, his expression hard for Harry to assess. And no wonder, considering what the man was thinking. "Harry . . . if I knew of any way to bring him back through the Veil, I would do it, for you."

Harry's eyes widened. "Really?"

Snape nodded again. No hesitation in the gesture. "Yes. Really."

Harry couldn't help but think about how that would likely go. "Sirius . . . hmm. You know, he might not take it so well that you're my father. He'd probably have some choice words on the subject."

Snape's eyes began to glitter. "I imagine he would. However, I think you and I are at a place where we could weather even that storm."

"Yeah." Harry nodded. That was a nice feeling, knowing his new family was just there, no matter what. Not that Sirius was coming back. Harry knew well enough that it was impossible. But Snape offering, even if he knew it was impossible too . . . well, that was really something.

Harry got up off the bed. "So, trifle sounds good. And then are we having some more time in Devon? Or is it back to Hogwarts? We have classes tomorrow, you know."

"I'd completely forgotten. Classes on a Monday? What can the Governors be thinking?"

"Ha, very funny." Something occurred to Harry, then. "Oh, that's why you were discussing teaching schedules a while ago. You were arranging for people to take your classes."

"Among other things," said Snape in a dark voice.

Draco hadn't said anything for a while; he'd merely been looking around the room, his gaze assessing.

"I know, it's small as houses go. By your standards," sighed Harry.

Draco's silver eyes met Harry's, but only for a moment. "It is, but that wasn't what I was thinking, actually. It's just . . . I'll talk to you about it later."

"All right."

"Shall we Apparate, then?" Snape looked from Harry to Draco. "I know of a pastry shop in Butterleigh with a secluded alley behind it. We won't be seen arriving there."

Harry drew his wand and cast Tempus. "Will it still be open, this late on a Sunday?"

Draco made a face. "What is it with Muggles and Sundays, anyway?"

Harry shrugged. He wasn't exactly sure, though he thought it had to do with it being the day churches met. "Superstition? We have them too."

"I think it will still be open."

"I'll just pop downstairs to say good-bye to Remus, then--"

Snape held up a hand. "I do believe that Lupin is unavailable. He was doing some research before the meeting interrupted him, and mentioned wanting to finish. In fact, he said to tell you both not to go into the library at all."

Oh, Remus must have been seeing what information he could get out of that rotten portrait, Harry realised. He definitely didn't want to see it again, not even in order to tell Remus good-bye. Not that Remus would want to be interrupted, anyway. "All right, let's just go."

Snape pulled Harry and Draco both against him and they Apparated away.

 

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They spent two more days in Devon. This time, Harry was actually bored, but that might have had a lot to do with the fact that Severus and Draco were pretty busy compiling information for Remus to have. They spent hours bent over the small dining table together, racking their brains for facts and details that Narcissa would expect her husband to know. They didn't mean to exclude him, Harry knew, but since he didn't have any information about Lucius Malfoy save that he'd been a horrible person, he didn't have anything to contribute.

So Harry went flying alone, borrowing the XL at times, but even that palled after a while. One-on-none Quidditch just wasn't that much fun. He worked a little bit on his spell lexicon since there was always more to translate. And he chatted with Sals, who'd been neglected for a while.

But mostly, he found time to be by himself, way out under an old tree at the edge of the property, where he'd roll up his sleeve and continue his project of getting over his fear of needles.

It was working, too. He could stab himself without even flinching much, now. Sometimes, as he drove the needle through his flesh over and over, he could feel himself descending into a kind of trance . . . like sleeping without closing his eyes. He tried not to fall into it too far, though. He didn't want to miss hearing Snape or Draco calling him again.

On Tuesday evening after dinner, Snape announced that they'd been gone from Hogwarts long enough and would return early the next morning.

"Just in time to go to Defence," said Harry, frowning. "Um . . . Aran's not still going to be teaching it, is he?"

"Actually, he is."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "You have got to be kidding. He attacked a student! Namely, me!"

"And he'll pay for it," said Snape darkly. "I don't want him sacked. It would only make it all the harder to deal with him properly."

"Oh, fine," said Harry sarcastically. "Inflict him on me again, why don't you? Haven't I put up with enough? Weren't you listening at all, the other night when I told you how bad it was in class with him?"

"It won't be like that again."

"Sure it won't. You think just because he's forgotten the last three or four weeks, he won't remember how much he hates Parselmouths?"

Snape gave Harry a stern look, as if he'd had quite enough argument. "I think he won't dare indulge his hatred again."

"Yes, sir," muttered Harry.

"What's to stop him?" asked Draco, taking over when Harry said nothing more.

Snape's lips curled upwards in a thin, grim line. "Me. Did I neglect to mention that I'll be supervising his classes until the end of term?"

Harry thought it was a good thing he didn't have a drink, because he was sure he'd have spewed it, he guffawed so hard. His irritation with his father vanished completely. "Oh, that's brilliant, it is! Ha, did I neglect to mention he's scared witless of you? I bet he'll get all tongue-tied and make even more of a fool of himself than usual!"

Snape raised one eyebrow. "Oh, surely not." His voice sounded innocent. Far too innocent. "I'll merely be there to ensure he treats all students with the respect and even-handedness to which they're entitled."

Like Snape was the best example in the world of respect and even-handedness towards his students. Harry almost laughed again. But since this was Aran they were talking about, he ignored the irony and moved ahead to what he really wanted to know. "You're just going to supervise the sixth-year class?"

Snape's eyes glittered. "Now how even-handed would that be, Harry, showing such blatant preference? I think in the interests of fairness I have to be present throughout all his classes, don't you?"

"You mean you want to humiliate him in front of every house and form," said Draco.

Again with the innocent voice. "Would I do that?"

"Well, this'll make Defence a lot more interesting," said Harry.

"Entertaining, one might even say--"

"Enough of that," interrupted Snape in a more normal tone of voice. "I actually didn't intend to explain in advance what I had in mind for Aran. You two really are quite persistent. Rather, what we really need to discuss is what sort of story will circulate to explain the events of last Thursday."

Harry nodded. He'd been thinking about that too. "Right. We can't let Voldemort learn that Lucius Malfoy snatched us. He'd take it out on Remus."

"In excruciating fashion," said Snape in the tone of one who knows from firsthand experience. His voice became brisk as he continued. "I've been in touch with Albus and we have developed what we feel is an acceptable story. I must say, Harry, it simplified matters considerably that when I spoke with him I already knew of your troubles with Aran."

Harry felt himself colouring.

His father didn't let him dwell on it. "Your classmates noticed you were missing from lunch onwards. They assumed that Aran had extended your detention into his free period following Thursday lunch. We will build on that and say that at the close of your detention, Draco requested the return of his confiscated amulet. Aran refused to yield it on the grounds that coming as it did from the hazardous Parselmouth . . ." Snape's lips twitched. "It was most likely dark and would harm Draco."

"That sounds like something he'd say," murmured Draco, reaching beneath his shirt to finger his amulet. He hadn't taken it off since he'd retrieved it from Lucius in France. "Actually, he more or less did say that in class."

Snape's eyes looked angry, but his voice was calm enough. "When Aran refused to return your property, Harry demanded to use the Floo to contact me, but Aran refused that as well. In a burst of Gryffindor obstinacy, Harry cast a silver message to summon me. This will explain the Patronus to anyone who might have seen it galloping through the halls."

"Good thinking," said Harry, ignoring the way Draco was grinning at the slight to Gryffindor.

"Aran, of course, could not understand Harry's Parseltongue," Snape went on. "He panicked and cast Petrificus on Harry just as the silver message was launched. Draco was quite understandably alarmed by this, and attempted to Petrificus Aran before the man could do additional harm to Harry--"

"Attempted!" exclaimed Draco.

"Yes. You missed."

"I did not!"

Harry laughed. "It's a story, Draco."

"It makes me look inept!"

Harry slanted him a glance. "Welcome to my life."

Draco sighed theatrically. "Very well. If you can put up with it then so can I."

Snape waited until his sons had quieted. "To continue, by then Aran had recognised the silver message. He knew I would soon be coming. Rather than Petrificus you as well, Draco, and have twice as much to explain, he then attempted to memory charm you. However, because he still had the amulet in his possession, an amulet designed to protect you, the spell backfired on him and knocked him out."

"Would turquoise normally do that?"

Snape shrugged. "No, but as Draco has worn it for some months it's credible that it could have bonded to his magic. Particularly considering the burn it once induced."

Harry nodded. "All right, then. I think people could believe the bit about the spell rebounding. It is just like what happened to Lockhart. Well, almost."

"Now, to explain your and Draco's disappearance. As soon as Aran posed no more threat, Draco realised that there might be an investigation and his wand as well as Aran's would reveal a Petrificus. Understandably, he lacked faith that the Governors would listen to his side of the story. Remember, at this point Draco did not know that Aran's memory had been affected; he knew only that the man was unconscious. In panic, then, Draco retrieved his amulet and summoned some Floo powder."

"Impulse control," said Draco dryly.

"Exactly. You flooed away with Harry to Diagon Alley and immediately Apparated him to a secure location I had provided you in case of emergency. However, once there you had no way to contact me, as it is so very secure. In the confusion of the Patronus and finding Aran unconscious, Albus and I suspected foul play and it took some time for us to realise what really happened."

"Wait, back up a bit. There's a problem. Aran's wand won't show a memory charm. I'm pretty sure Lucius must have hexed Aran using Draco's, or maybe mine, because his own had been destroyed at that point. But I know a priori wouldn't show it on Aran's."

Snape favoured the boys with a feral grin. "It will now."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at his father. "But we only just now came up with the story."

"Ah, but Albus has had Aran's wand all this time and will not be returning it until the investigation is complete."

Draco wasn't satisfied yet. "How can he possibly keep teaching? Don't get me wrong, I'm all for public humiliation." He rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. "But memory charms aren't exactly sanctioned by the Board, you know."

Severus gave Draco a condescending glare. "Clearly the headmaster doesn't always report things to the Board or I'd have been sacked for Obliviating Nott. Furthermore, Aran's hardly going to insist the Board hear of his abysmal judgment."

"And even if he did," Harry added. "Lucius Malfoy has suddenly become a very cooperative board member."

"Precisely," his father answered.

"Hmm." Harry sighed. "So, all that works, I guess. Did Draco Finite my body bind before we flooed away?"

"I think not. He knew you would have insisted on waiting for me to arrive. Considering he'd already been unfairly expelled once this year, he felt a strong urge to leave the scene so he could claim he'd never been there at all."

"And the reason we were both in hospital?"

"Flooing while under Petrificus drained you."

"Yeah, me being so fragile."

Snape nodded, though the look in his eyes was apologetic.

"And just why did I need medical treatment?" asked Draco.

"Performing Side-Along was too much exertion for you."

"Pomfrey knows I was snake-bit all over."

"Albus has instructed her to say nothing of that."

Draco sighed. "All right, fine. I'm going to get in trouble for Apparating without a license, though."

Snape waved that matter away. "Nothing will come of that. The Aurors have already agreed that there were extenuating circumstances."

"Order Aurors, in on the plot." Draco nodded. "Nothing like having well-placed friends. Am I to be excused for obviously having practised Apparition prior, though? Or are you going to claim that on my very first attempt, I not only made it without splinching myself, but also managed to bring Harry along?"

"You were learning Apparition from me. There's nothing wrong with that."

Harry grimaced. "And the reason you didn't teach me as well was my once-more fragile magic, I suppose?"

"Yes." Snape shrugged. "I know it is hurtful, Harry, but the more we can lull the enemy into thinking you helpless, the better our advantage of surprise."

Harry was well used to it all by then, so he nodded.

"Are we all agreed, then? This is the story you will circulate when asked for any details."

"Ron and Hermione included?"

Snape shook his head. "They may be privately told the truth, since they are so intimately acquainted with your true magical state and all the rest."

Harry smiled in relief. "Good. Thanks, Dad."

"I wonder if she really helped Greg at all," said Draco, his head tilted to one side.

"Hermione wouldn't say she would and then not do it."

Draco didn't look convinced, but he didn't say anything more about it.

One thing about the cover story still struck Harry as a bit off. "Look, if we spread this story around, all the other students are going to believe that after Aran hexed me, he tried to cast a memory charm! I think it'll seem awfully strange that he's still allowed to teach, even if he is being supervised while he's at it."

"In the story he thought he was hexing you in self-defence," Snape reminded him. "Which shows lamentable lack of judgment, though not true malice. Therefore, supervision is an appropriate consequence. And as for the memory charm, you can point out that he didn't successfully cast it. That should create enough of a legal loophole to settle the matter."

"Loophole!"

Snape shrugged as if to say that Ministry regulations never had made a great deal of sense.

Personally, Harry thought Aran deserved a lot worse. He almost said so, but knowing Snape, the man would get worse. Harry could hardly wait. That sentiment, though, seemed a bit dark, so he tried to repress it, even as he wished he were alone so he could have more time with his needle.

"Who's been supervising him while you've been here with us?" Draco thought to ask.

"His first teaching day will be tomorrow, since Lucius--or the amulet, depending on which story one has--injured him."

"And who's going to teach Potions while you're watching Aran teach Defence?"

"A rather complex rotating schedule is being worked out."

For Snape to allow someone else to cover his classes said a lot, Harry thought. He was pretty sure his father didn't really think the other staff could do a decent job teaching Potions, especially not the advanced levels.

"Thanks," said Harry. It felt good knowing he wouldn't be alone with Aran again, even if the man did deserve to be sacked.

Snape didn't ask for what. The dark look in his eyes said he knew.

 

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Harry didn't know how things were going at the Slytherin table, but when he showed up to breakfast early Wednesday morning, nobody in Gryffindor seemed to find the cover story odd. Of course, students at Hogwarts were pretty used to barmy Defence teachers, and one of them attacking Harry outright wasn't too different from what Umbridge had done. A few people did voice the opinion that he should be sacked straight away, but reasoned that as it was so close to the end of term, it probably didn't make much difference.

Ron staunchly announced that the man belonged in Azkaban, attacking one of his mates like that, and if Ron had been there his hex wouldn't have missed. He'd taken out Nott, hadn't he, he asked several times while munching his way through rasher after rasher of bacon.

Harry almost sighed. The so-called Hero of Hogsmeade was going to be disappointed when he found out Draco actually wasn't inept.

"He should absolutely be sacked!" said Hermione furiously.

Harry used Snape's line, then, to say that Aran had thought he was acting in self-defence. Which made him a perfect idiot, of course, but that was Aran for you.

Everybody had a laugh at that one. Except Hermione, who pushed her plate away, she was so upset.

The one thing Harry didn't mention was the part about Snape supervising Aran from now on. He wasn't sure how the other Gryffindors would take news like that. A lot of them still didn't like his father very much, which dismayed him, though he could understand it. Better than before, actually, now that he wasn't trying so hard to ignore just how Snape had treated him throughout most of his school years. So yeah, he could see how Dean and Seamus and Neville and Parvati might not like the idea of having Severus Snape hanging about in Defence class.

Though they might like it that someone else would be teaching Potions for once. Harry wondered which teacher they'd get.

Still, Harry didn't mention anything about Aran being supervised. His mates would know soon enough anyway. They all had Defence straight away after breakfast on Wednesdays. Harry almost didn't want to go.

He felt, deep in his trouser pocket for his match. Somehow, having it with him made him feel better.

He almost panicked when it wasn't there, and all he could feel was Sals crawling in between his fingers. But the match turned out to be in his other pocket, so that was all right.

"Come on," Hermione said, standing up and smoothing her skirt down before she scooped up her books. "We don't want to be late."

Yeah, because Snape'll be there to see, thought Harry. Odd . . . when his father had first mentioned being in Defence class, Harry had thought the prospect brilliant. Now, though, he was dreading it. He wasn't sure why. It couldn't just be because of how the Gryffindors might react, could it?

Harry slowly pushed to his feet. Draco was waiting for him at the doors of the Great Hall, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Ready?" he asked. "This ought to be good."

"What ought to be good?" asked Hermione, looking from Draco to Harry and back.

"Defence is always good," said Draco, grinning. "Don't you think so, Hermione?"

"Yeah, we do think so," said Ron, taking Hermione by the arm.

Draco's eyes were still glinting, but he stopped trying to get a rise out of Ron, then.

When they arrived at the Defence classroom, Snape was already there, standing in the shadows in one corner, his arms folded across his chest. He looked almost like a giant bat lurking there, Harry thought. Most of the students hadn't even noticed him. Aran knew he was there, though. He kept glancing nervously to the side, then quickly averting his gaze. His face was redder than usual.

Good, thought Harry. You humiliated me and called me dark and wouldn't let me fight back when the Slytherins used me for target practice. Your turn to be embarrassed. Everybody will know that Dumbledore doesn't trust you alone with students now!

As it turned out, though, that was to be only the smallest part of Aran's humiliation.

"Your attention," Aran said in a diffident tone as he tried to start class. Clearly, Snape standing there was making him nervous. Aran's voice wasn't loud enough to carry; all the students kept right on talking.

Snape took a step out of the shadows and spoke in quite a loud voice himself. "Are you always so unable to control your classes, Professor? Attention!"

The sixth-year Slytherins and Gryffindors fell silent at once, just before a hushed whisper swept through the class, the comments ranging from What is he doing here? to Who's teaching Potions, then?

Snape merely raised an eyebrow at the noise, which made it drop off straight away.

Aran's face had turned brick-red as he stood there in front of the class, his fists clenched. He did try to soldier on, though. "Open your books to the chapter on the limitations of caninae," he said stiffly. "After you've all had a chance to digest that, I'll call up the students who are still having trouble conjuring them--"

"Excuse me, Professor," said Snape, stepping out of the shadows still more. Everyone's attention was instantly riveted on him. "Since these are sixth-year students--"

"I know that!" snapped Aran.

Snape continued as though he'd never been interrupted. "I'm quite certain they're capable of reading the text on their own time. Shouldn't valuable class time be reserved for the practical application of skills under the eye of a trained professional?"

Aran went even redder, though Harry wouldn't have thought it possible. "Look here, Snape, this is my class and I'll run it as I see fit!"

Mistake, Harry thought, even before his father responded.

"Apparently you won't, since the headmaster has personally asked me to oversee all Defence sections from now until the end of term," said Snape calmly.

Another ripple of noise spread through the classroom. Oversee? All Defence sections? And Hermione, predictably, tugging on Harry's sleeve from where she sat behind him. "What about Potions?"

Harry threw the words over his shoulder in a low whisper. "We're getting a substitute."

"You're here to watch only!" sputtered Aran, his fists shaking even as he clenched them.

"And intervene as I see fit," smoothly added Snape. His own level voice only pointed out how . . . emotional Aran was getting over the matter. "I do believe that was made clear to you?"

It obviously had been. Aran had no reply.

"Excellent," said Snape, his voice actually purring over the word. "So, instead of asking the students to read, you'll begin the practical application right away. I understand from your earlier comment that some of your students are still having trouble conjuring caninae?"

Aran gave a stiff nod.

Meanwhile, the class had gone silent once again, everyone's gaze trained on Aran, then Snape, then Aran . . . Harry thought the students looked like they were watching Beaters batting a Bludger back and forth.

There was no doubt about who was going to win this verbal battle, though.

"Am I to understand that you propose to call up the students in difficulty and assist them one-by-one?" Snape's eyebrows drew together. "You've been working on caninae for some time, Professor. Don't you think it would be more efficacious to provide additional demonstrations before asking the students to make another attempt?"

Draco raised his hand. Aran ignored it, of course. That only gave Snape all the more fodder for criticism.

"Is it your practice to disregard your students when they are attempting to garner your attention?"

"Mr Mal--"

"Mr Snape," corrected Snape in a chilly voice. "It really is quite offensive that you neglect to acknowledge my son by his rightful name. I suggest you rectify your habits of speech at once, Professor."

Aran's angry flush faded away, to be replaced by a sickly pallor. He might be stupid, but he was smart enough to hear the threat underlying Snape's words.

"Mr Snape has already mastered caninae," Aran said, taking a step back, away from the Potions Master.

"That doesn't mean he has nothing to contribute. Yes, Mr Snape?"

Draco stood up, probably so his voice would carry better, Harry thought. "I thought you should know, sir, that Professor Aran never did provide us with any demonstration. He just told us to read the text and expected us to start conjuring straight away."

Snape turned shocked features toward Aran. "Indeed? Most unsound practice, Professor."

Harry thought that a laugh considering Snape's own learn by experience obsession. He could count on two hands the number of potions Snape had ever demonstrated before expecting his students to start brewing them.

"Well, let's rectify that matter as well, then," said Snape briskly. "Caninae, if you would, Professor."

For some reason, Aran hesitated. And tried to balk, actually. Snape was implacable, though, finally asking in a mocking tone, "Are you incapable, Professor? Is that the problem?"

Aran bristled. "Certainly not! Miss Patil, if you'll come up here to cast against me--"

Snape pretended astonishment. "Why, Professor, I am right here in front of you. Wouldn't it be simpler for me to hex you?"

"Miss Patil will do."

From further behind Harry, Seamus began to make a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chicken clucking.

Aran pretended not to hear it. When Parvati threw a mild Stunning Hex his way, he waved his wand. "Canis Horribilis!"

A small ball of fur, semi-transparent, erupted out the end of Aran's wand. When it landed and began yipping at Parvati, Harry could see it was no more than a puppy.

A Pomeranian puppy.

Parvati couldn't help it. She laughed.

And then the whole class laughed.

And then Snape as well, just as though he found Aran's caninae so completely ridiculous that professorial decorum could go straight out the window.

Harry had seen his father laugh before, but the other students hadn't, except Draco. They all went still and silent, shocked.

Snape did know how to play up a moment, Harry had to admit. His father fished in a pocket for a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes as he continued to chuckle. "Oh, Professor. Is that the best you can do? The very best?" And then, in a lower voice but still audible to everyone in the room, "No wonder your students are having such trouble."

Anger apparently made Aran reckless. "I suppose you can do better?"

Snape took a half-step forward, his posture all at once hardening into something resembling a duelling stance. "Canis horribilis!"

The thing that emerged wasn't even a dog, not that Harry could tell. It was more like a huge, vicious wolf, all claw and fang, leaping forth toward Aran in a blur of fur that already looked bloodied. It wasn't even transparent like everyone else's caninae had been.

Aran screamed and scrambled backwards, tripping over his own feet, ending up lying flat on his back. Parvati fled too, but had enough presence of mind not to fall over while trying to get away.

Snape's caninae circled the downed professor, growling, as the class sat shocked, but not silent.

It's going to eat him! . . . Merlin's wand, did you see? Snape didn't even have any curse to cast against! . . . How did he conjure it, then? . . .

"Professor Snape is the correct way to refer to me," said Snape with a slight glare directly at Dean. And then, with another glare at the Slytherin half of the room, "Mr Zabini, if you write one more line during class time you will certainly regret it."

Zabini hurriedly shoved his ink and parchment away and sat with his hands folded atop an empty desk.

Meanwhile, Snape's ferocious wolf-dog was still circling Aran like a shark scenting prey. When Snape flicked his wand slightly, the caninae backed away.

But then, it rushed the Pomeranian still bouncing and yipping in front of the class, and gobbled it up in one bite.

"Oh, no!" said Lavender.

"The strong will vanquish the weak," said Snape, stepping over to Aran and looking down at him. His next word emerged softly. Somehow, that made it all the more chilling. "Always."

Snape looked up and surveyed the class, then. "Remember that, ladies and gentlemen. The strong will vanquish the weak. You are in this class in the hopes that you will acquire the tools to become the former instead of the latter." He gestured toward his caninae, which was sitting on its haunches, licking its chops. "You see what is possible when one has both skill and resolve. Now, choose a partner and practise. Rotate through several pairs as the class progresses. Anyone who has yet to conjure a successful caninae may come to the front for personal instruction."

Nobody made a move to approach Snape. Or at least, not until he waved his wand to vanish away the hulking ugly wolf-dog sitting on the instructor's platform.

But then, a line began to form. And it wasn't Aran's help the students wanted.

Harry couldn't help but smirk, just a little. He still needed help learning to conjure caninae, but he knew that Snape could always tutor him over the summer. If his classmates were going to get some quality instruction, they needed to get it here and now.

It was nice to see that good teaching was available, for once.

And from Snape.

Harry didn't know whether to grin or laugh.

 

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There was only one topic of conversation in the Great Hall that night, and it was what a brilliant Defence instructor Snape was. Not just the sixth-years, but the other forms too, were saying the same thing. Even Neville was enthusiastic about having Snape in Defence class. Harry could hardly stop grinning. He knew that Percy had been wrong all those years ago, and Snape didn't really want the Defence job at all, but it was still nice to think that whatever happened with next year's disaster of a Defence instructor, at least this week and the next two they'd be getting a decent education in the subject.

"Dumbledore should just hire him for next year and be done with it," said a fifth-year sitting close to them, at one point.

"He can't. The job's probably cursed," said Harry. "That's why we never get anybody who lasts."

"Rotten luck . . ."

Ron was the one who asked what a lot of people were probably thinking. "Why can't he teach Potions like that, then? Let us work with anybody we want, and have enough time to get one thing down before we go on to the next, and . . . right?"

Harry shrugged. He'd been wondering that, too. "Well, I guess one reason he's stricter there is because Potions is really a lot more dangerous. And also . . ." He lowered his voice so only Ron and Hermione would hear. "He was trying to show Aran up, you know? Maybe competition--ha, not that Aran provides much of it, but still--brings out the best in him."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Hermione pushed her plate away and stood up. "I'm just going to go tell Draco how it went with Goyle. He's going to need a lot more help with his readings--"

Ron's eyes just about bugged out as he leapt to his feet. "You're going over to the Slytherin table? Not alone, you're not--"

"I can take care of myself, thank you," said Hermione pertly, walking quickly away.

"She can," said Harry. "And even if she couldn't, do you think Draco would let anything happen to her? With me watching?"

Ron sat back down, but turned his neck and watched Hermione the whole time as she talked to Draco and handed him what looked like a long list written on parchment.

 

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After dinner, Draco got Harry by himself and said that his Marsha session had been postponed. He asked Harry to come back to Slytherin to visit, but Harry really wanted to be alone. Out in Devon, he'd got used to having several needle-sessions throughout the day. Now, after a full day of being with people almost every instant, he felt sort of itchy inside.

It's the Dark Magic trying to come out, he reasoned. I need to work some more on conquering my fears.

"Sorry, I need to talk to some people in Gryffindor," said Harry. "I'll see you in class tomorrow."

Draco nodded and turned away.

Once he was up in the Tower, though, Harry told his friends that he was tired and was going to his dormitory to have an early night.

"But I have notes for you from the classes you missed!"

"I'll have a look at them later." Harry faked a yawn. He knew that keeping up with his studies was important, but so were other things. And Snape would have to agree, otherwise he'd never have let them have a holiday while classes were in session.

"It's pretty early," said Ron doubtfully.

"What, you think I can't get tired until midnight?" Harry was starting to feel even itchier. He needed to get on his own. Immediately! Why couldn't his friends just get out of his way?

"All I meant was that you might need a potion to drop off," said Ron. "Do you still have some?"

"Oh, yeah. I do," lied Harry. He was actually out, but that hardly mattered. Sleep was the last thing he wanted. "See you in the morning, then."

Once he was on his bed, curtains drawn, needle in hand, he started to feel better. He wouldn't trust a silencing charm, considering the way Ron and the others had spelled the room months and months ago. He wasn't sure if the enchantments had ever been removed. But he didn't need a silencing charm, anyway. He was getting stronger all the time. He could slide the needle in and out of his flesh without making any noise.

When he pushed up his left sleeve and stared at his arm, it was like he was looking at it through two completely different pairs of eyes. It looked alarming, and even slightly disgusting, covered as it was with red dots, some of them festering slightly, the flesh bruised in places. But at the same time, it looked good to him. Because these were battle scars, weren't they? Harry was fighting his fear, and winning. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

He pierced his arm a few times, gritting his teeth, but not hesitating. That was good. But of course, the people who wanted to hurt him, people like Voldemort, would make it as painful as possible, wouldn't they? Harry was just getting too good at stabbing himself. It didn't hurt like it really should.

Maybe left-handed, he thought, switching the needle into his other hand and rolling up his right sleeve. The flesh on the underside of that arm was soft and unmarked.

It looked incomplete, somehow, to Harry.

He set to work on it, thrusting the needle through again and again, fumbling with it since his left hand was so uncoordinated compared to his right. Harry ended up biting his lips against the pain, now. It was worse, on this side.

But somehow, worse was better.

He didn't transfigure his needle back into a match until much, much later when he heard his friends coming up to go to bed.

 

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The more times a day Harry could snatch a few moments to himself, the better he felt. Getting up early, he found, was a good way to get some time alone with his needle. Lingering in the loo worked too, though he knew he had to keep an eye out for ghosts. So far, none had appeared.

He also had to be careful about dressing and undressing, he soon discovered. He'd used some healing charms after his last few training sessions. They did help, some, but they also left a lot to be desired. Anyone who saw his bare arms would know that something odd was going on. Of course, they'd probably assume he'd caught some kind of pox, but he'd have a hard time avoiding Madam Pomfrey once word got out that he was ill.

It was too bad he didn't know anything about the Muggle remedies Severus had used on him after Samhain. Harry scowled. He might know about one or two if Aunt Petunia had ever bothered herself to treat his cuts and scrapes the way she'd fussed over Dudley's. But no, most of his had been caused by Dudley, which meant she'd ignored them completely, since her precious boy couldn't possibly have done any wrong--

Harry snapped himself out of that thought. It was over and done with. Aunt Petunia was dead, and the old Dudley might as well be, he was so changed. And none of that mattered now, anyway. He had another family, now. And plenty of friends, unlike when he was younger and Dudley drove them all away.

What mattered now was getting over his fears so he could protect that family, protect those friends, when the time came. So he made sure that nobody saw anything they could question. Once he put his mind to it, it wasn't that hard to arrange.

Defence continued to be nothing short of wonderful. Snape belittled Aran at every turn. That alone would have buoyed Harry's spirits. It was even better to see the other students coming to see Snape as a teacher instead of just some form of tormentor.

And then there was Potions class. Some forms had Sprout filling in for Snape; some had McGonagall. But Tuesdays and Fridays after lunch, the sixth-year Slytherins and Gryffindors had Albus Dumbledore come to instruct them.

He was teaching them to make sweets.

It reminded Harry of Snape's joke from a long time ago. And sure enough, sherbet lemons were the first thing the headmaster taught them how to make. It was almost like a party in there, everyone bent over glass pots instead of cauldrons, breathing in the smell of melting sugar and citrus juices boiling down and down and down. And then dribbling droplets onto paper they'd waxed themselves.

Harry was almost afraid to tell Snape about it, when he went down for dinner on Saturday night. But he didn't want to keep secrets from his father, either, so when Snape asked how their classes were going, he told the truth.

"Mmm, and next week I do believe you'll be learning fudge," Snape said.

Harry's mouth all but fell open. "You knew?"

"No, Harry," Draco said. "It was a lucky guess."

Harry ignored his brother's snark. "I don't understand why you'd let him do that with your classes."

Snape shrugged. "I doubt quite seriously that I could dissuade him, and it's a small price to pay in order to be present during Defence. But primarily, I suppose I can withstand it because we had in fact already started seventh-year material."

"Seventh-year!"

A steady, unflinching glance. "Yes. I push my students as far as they can go."

Harry decided that if ever there was an opening, this had to be it. "We all love the way you teach Defence," he ventured.

Before he could continue, Snape frowned. "I most certainly do not teach Defence. As I have no desire for the curse to cause me to leave Hogwarts, I am merely supervising the Defence teacher."

"Right. Of course, of course." Harry took a breath and started over. "Well, we all love the way you supervise, and--"

"I think you all enjoy seeing an incompetent put in his place."

"Well, yes, but honestly, I don't think Lavender ever was going to learn half the spells, not from Aran. But you give us more help, and individual attention, and you aren't even sarcastic about it. Well, not most of the time, anyway, and I really think the same kind of approach would work wonders in Potions class. Don't you?"

Harry held his breath and hoped.

His father merely stared at him for a long moment. "I'll consider the matter over the summer," he said at last.

Draco scoffed slightly. "You don't need to change, Severus. I've certainly never had any trouble learning in your class."

"You're gifted in Potions!" said Harry. "Not everybody is."

"And Severus should adjust his teaching to the lowest common denominator, is that it? What sort a way is that to foster excellence?"

"Maybe he shouldn't be aiming for excellence in one or two people at the expense of competence for everybody else!"

Snape held up a hand. "I'll consider the matter, as I said. Now, shall we play a round of Wizard's Scrabble before bed?"

Harry started slightly. "Oh. Um, you didn't think I was staying over, did you? I kind of need to get back up to the Tower for some house stuff." For his needle, that was what he meant. Not that he really needed to go to the Tower for it; he'd taken to keeping that match in his pocket at all times. He couldn't work on overcoming his fears down here, though, with his father and brother so close. He needed more privacy than that.

Draco blew out a breath. "I'm staying over and I told Severus you might do the same."

"Well, you told him wrong then," said Harry. "I have to get going."

"He already let you out of your Potions lesson earlier today, and you can't even bother yourself to stay over and visit?"

Snape gave a light shrug. "Potions is effectively over for the term, be it in class or on Saturdays. Besides, Draco, that was arranged as a punishment. I think it's time to end it, though of course I still do plan to aim for excellence in your Potions skills, Harry. Perhaps over the summer I'll help you master another few brews."

"You know," said Harry slowly, "if you'd let me pick what I wanted to learn to make, that might make a big difference."

"Agreed." Snape's eyes narrowed, and Harry had a strong feeling his father was thinking something like At least I need have no worries that you will wish to brew something like Venetimorica . . . The words were left unsaid, though.

That was good.

Draco didn't seem to have sensed the undercurrents in the room, but he definitely wasn't happy. "Can't you just stay an hour, Harry? Please?"

A funny kind of shiver ran across Harry's spine, then. It probably had to do with the strangely intense way Draco was staring at him. Like . . . he knew something? Like he had something to say and he really, really wanted to talk to Harry.

But that, of course, only made Harry want to be all the more secretive. He pushed back his chair. "Who's walking me back, then? Because I really do have to get back to Gryffindor."

Snape nodded and stood up.

Harry couldn't help but notice as he left that Draco looked mildly frustrated about something.

 

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With the end of the year fast approaching and Potions class focussed on candy-making, those students not taking O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s had very little academic stress. Harry's classes had become much more relaxed and even fun. The one exception, though, was Transfiguration. McGonagall seemed determined to make up for the levity outside her classroom by making sure that her students worked extra hard within it.

Harry didn't mind so much, though. As long as the Gryffindor Head of House wasn't intent on singling him out, he could cope with the challenging practicals and long essays. However, when the professor asked him to stay after class, Harry felt a moment of panic. He'd been fingering his match, wishing it was a needle, while struggling to translate a new spell into Parseltongue. But McGonagall couldn't have known that, could she?

"Mr Potter, I've been asked to inform you that a visitor has requested your presence in the headmaster's office. The password this week is Heavenly Hash."

Harry frowned. "A visitor, ma'am?"

A ghost of a smile crossed the stern witch's face before she answered, "An old friend recently back from the continent. He needed to pick up some job related research."

Remus. Harry's face split into a grin for a moment. But only a moment. In the next instant, panic gripped him and his heart began racing. "He wanted to talk to me, specifically?"

"Yes, is that so strange? Now run along; he's a busy man and hasn't got all day. Neither do you if you want to have your spell work sorted out before next week."

Harry took his leave and headed for the headmaster's office, but the feet that carried him there were heavy. Remus had been talking to that painting. A lot, probably. No telling what that bastard has told him. Harry gulped, despair almost making him wilt, he was suddenly so exhausted. Oh, God. Lucius must have said I'm turning dark. And Remus has probably come here to make sure I'm not itching to turn more Death Eaters into statues . . . Harry couldn't help the thoughts that came next. I wouldn't mind doing just that, either, to Bellatrix Lestrange or Peter Pettigrew.

Suddenly feeling so itchy he couldn't stand it, Harry dove into an alcove and turning his back to the hall, quickly got his match out so he could transfigure it. A few quick jabs and his breathing steadied. There, that was better.

Yanking his sleeve back down, Harry continued on his way.

Once he was up the spiral staircase and knocking on the heavy wooden door, he started wishing he'd taken more time in the alcove and done a more thorough job with the needle. It couldn't be a good sign that Remus wanted to speak to him privately, could it?

"Come in," said a voice Harry recognised. Smiling nervously, Harry pushed the door open. The sight that greeted him was familiar and bizarre all at once. The face was Remus', all right, but the clothes weren't remotely similar to his usual well-worn robes. Harry didn't have much idea what to say, about the clothes or anything else, so he made light of the situation as he thought Sirius might do. He closed the door first, though. "Well, well. I'm not sure I like the new look."

Grinning slightly, Remus struck a pose for a moment. Malfoyesque, it looked all wrong with Remus doing it. The robes looked wrong on him, too. The cut was perfect, the heavy silk falling in clean lines to the floor, but the steely grey shade made Remus look sort of sickly. Or maybe that was because the garment hung a little large on the werewolf's frame.

Harry could see how well it would suit Lucius, though. It was the exact colour of his dead, cold eyes.

"I arrived in costume, so to speak, this morning, but I wanted to let the effect wear off before seeing you," said Remus quietly, no grin about him, now. "Should I have transfigured the clothes?"

Wonderful. Now even people who ought to know better were thinking him weak.

"I can handle it," said Harry dryly. "I've seen you actually be him, remember. And I did all right, after I got over the shock."

Remus smiled, the expression sympathetic. "I still wish I'd brought a change of clothes. Well, enough of that. Your father and I are testing a new batch of potion. Severus is working some final kinks out of the formulation."

Harry frowned slightly. He could easily imagine what those kinks were. "Yeah, I was kind of wondering how this was going to work. Hermione once said that you couldn't use Polyjuice to impersonate someone who's dead."

"Ah, traditionally that would be true," Remus answered. "But this is Severus' own variant of the potion, as I believe you know. A little less aconite; more heat throughout the entire brewing process . . . " Remus' ran a hand through his grey-streaked hair. "Enough with the Potions lesson. I'm sure you get more than enough of those at home."

"You know, I don't get as many as you'd think." Huh, now that he thought about it, it was actually pretty impressive that Snape had cancelled the rest of his Saturdays. Not that there were many left. And of course he'd hinted about more lessons during the summer, but all in all, Harry had to admit that his father hadn't been too unreasonable. "Um, so do you need to see Severus? He's in Defence with Aran. I think they've got the fifth year Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff class right now, but I'm not sure. I could check."

"No, no. Everything seems well in hand." Remus sat on a soft chair near the fire and crossed his legs. "I wanted to talk to you for a bit, Harry."

Harry sat, trying hard to relax since he felt so stiff inside. What could Remus need to discuss? He hadn't mentioned the portrait yet. Maybe he wasn't going to. Harry could hope, anyway.

"Talk? Nothing much has happened since you saw me at Grimmauld Place."

"I suppose classwork is a relief after what you went through." Remus' soft smile clearly told Harry that the comment was intended to be an opening. Remus didn't just want them to talk. He wanted Harry to talk.

So, Harry did. "Oh, lots of my mates are starting to whinge on about how they're dying for the summer hols and all that, but I'm not too anxious. After all, I did miss a lot of the school year." He couldn't help but add the next bit. "Nobody's complaining about Defence now, though. Did you know Severus is supervising Aran? It's amazing -- we haven't had this much fun since you were teaching!"

Remus started slightly. "That's certainly unexpected. I don't think any of you felt that way when Severus would substitute for me on my moon days."

Harry blushed, just a little. "Oh. Well, he's trying to humiliate Aran. By being a better teacher than he is, among other things. When he would fill in for you he had another . . . uh, agenda."

Remus nodded. "I truly can't imagine what Professor Aran must be going through with Severus right there in the room. I almost feel sorry for the man. Almost."

It seemed like a good opportunity, then, to tell Remus about a few of the most colourful incidents in Defence class -- some he'd witnessed himself and others he'd heard about in the common room or the Great Hall. The longer Harry talked, the better he felt. There was nothing to worry about. Remus had just needed some reassurance that Harry was doing fine.

As it turned out, though, Remus was a little bit more perceptive than Harry had anticipated.

After their laughter faded, and Harry had run out of stories about Defence, Remus leaned forward and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Harry, are you truly well? I know you've never liked to make a fuss about the terrible things that have happened to you, but . . ." Remus sighed. "You shouldn't just sweep them all aside. Particularly not this time, after such an extreme trauma."

Harry flinched away from Remus' gentle fingers. Words like extreme and trauma tended to lose their meaning, he thought, when so much of your life was made up of them. "You think that was worse than seeing my own blood used to raise my parents' assassin to life? You think it was worse than losing my eyes?" Harry could feel himself getting angry, and tried to damp the feeling down. A calm voice, that was it. "Honestly, Draco had it a lot worse than I did."

Remus waited until Harry had met his eyes. "I don't think so, Harry. You've never killed anyone before."

That's not precisely true, Harry thought, guilt going around in circles in his mind. "Look, you're worried for nothing, all right? I know it was an accident! And I know not to use that spell again. So, problem solved."

Remus shifted in the chair, his fingers plucking at the rich fabric of his robes. "I think I know you better than that. You must be terrified." Remus' voice dropped a notch. "I know I was."

Harry looked up, startled. And horrified, in a way he'd never thought to be.

"Oh no, no," Remus said gently, his hand held up as if to forestall Harry's thoughts. "I didn't mean I was frightened of what you did. Or of you. I meant that I was terrified, too, when I realised how easily I could kill a person. I know what it's like to have powers you can't always keep under control. I know what it's like to fear you'll do great harm without intending to."

"Oh," Harry answered. If his thoughts had been spinning before, now they were in a complete whirl. Yeah, Remus would know, wouldn't he? He'd know all about living with the monster within.

All at once, Harry felt sort of dirty, like he was something low and awful. Not that he felt that way about Remus being a werewolf, but this was worse, wasn't it? It wasn't like he'd been bitten and had caught a dread disease. Remus couldn't help transforming under the force of the moon. But Harry ought to be able to keep from letting his dark magic have its way. He inwardly nodded, more grateful than ever that he'd hit upon a method to help get it under control. He just needed to step up his needle plan some. Find more ways to be alone so he could work on it.

Realising he'd been silent for a long while, Harry cleared his throat and struggled to say something that would ease Remus' worries. "It's good of you to come talk to me. But, you know, I'm really not so bad off. I mean, as long as I'm careful like Severus trained me to be, I can keep my wanded spells in check. Everything's fine."

The werewolf sighed. Loudly. "It's more than a river in Egypt, Harry."

"Come again?"

"Denial," Remus answered, his eyes going dark with memories. "That's what your mother always used to say. 'Denial is more than just a river in Egypt.' She told me that more than once. She used to roll her eyes and say that we 'ridiculously stubborn boys' couldn't admit how we really felt if we drank Veritaserum first."

That got a true smile from Harry. Well, a half-smile, anyway.

"Obviously she had a fondness for hyperbole, but she was right about one thing, Harry. It's no good to hide away what you're feeling. Merlin knows I have done, and I've always regretted it in the end."

"I'm not hiding," Harry insisted. But you are, aren't you? The sly voice inside just kept going. You're hiding morning, noon, and night so you can jab yourself with needles.

Another voice inside his head argued back. Because I have to!

"I'd like to think I know you," said Remus, his voice compassion itself. "I do know you, Harry. You're a kind, wonderful, loving boy. You must be feeling tremendously guilty about what you did to Malfoy. But, please, please believe me when I say that you didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault that your magic is so strong. You can't help being who you are. I know that Severus is your father now, but you'll always be James' son, too, do you understand? I love you, Harry, just the same as before."

All at once, Harry felt like he couldn't breathe. He'd been all right before, when Remus had mentioned his mother, but now, thinking of his father too, thinking of them both together, he thought he might sick up. I never even thought once of what my mum and dad would think of what I've done. Would my mum have given up her life to save me, if she'd known in advance how I'd turn out?

"Harry? Are you all right? You look a little ill."

Only a little? Harry almost asked. Everyone expects me to feel horrible about what I did. They think it must be eating me alive. What would they think if they knew just the opposite was true? Would they really still love me then?

"It's all right, you know, You can tell me, Harry," urged Remus, so sincerely that Harry suddenly just wanted to kick him. "There's no shame in being upset."

But Harry wasn't upset, and that was the whole problem, wasn't it? Instead of the regret everyone thought he should feel, he was just cold all over, like he was somewhere far away. Or like he was someone else, maybe, watching himself talking to his parents' friend. And there was really only one thing to say, wasn't there? He couldn't admit how much of a monster he was. He had to pretend he still was what they thought he was.

"You're right, Remus," Harry said slowly. "I-- I do feel just awful about what I did. What I had to do, I mean. But I didn't want to say anything and worry everyone."

Remus nodded as though he understood, when really, he didn't understand anything. Nobody did. Harry was all alone.

"I mean . . ." Harry gulped, trying to think what else Remus would expect to hear. "I know I have to, uh, kill Voldemort and I didn't want the Order to think I wasn't up to it. It's a war, and I just wanted everyone to know that I know that. But really, I feel just rotten about what I did to Malfoy. Oh, not so much that he's dead, but what it means about me, like you said. The uh . . . " Harry thought too much of Remus to say out loud the monster within. "But anyway, I do know that killing Malfoy was an accident. I don't exactly blame myself. I . . . uh, just need a little time. All right?"

"Time will help," Remus said, smiling kindly. "And about the war, Harry. You shouldn't even be thinking about that, not yet. Not until you're much, much older. Of course, you should never have had to deal with any of this. I wish there was somehow we could just take it all away. At least know that you're not in this fight alone. We're all in this with you."

Harry nodded jerkily. He wanted to get out of the room as soon as possible. He itched all over and he knew that only one thing would make these awful feelings go away. He needed to practice. He needed to practice fighting his fear because when it came down to it, he ought to be in this alone. Just him and Voldemort and no one else because he didn't want anyone else dragged down with him. And that's precisely what I'm allowing to happen, letting Remus masquerade as Lucius, right there in the man's own house. Remus'll be dragged down so deep, it'll probably kill him one way or another.

Harry closed his eyes in an effort to make the sudden dark thought go away.

"Harry?"

The boy snapped his eyes back open and tried to look and act like everything was fine. "Thanks for coming to talk to me, Remus, but really, I need to get going. I've got a class starting soon . . ." He reached for the books at his feet.

"There's a good lad. We wouldn't want Gryffindor to lose points for tardiness."

"I'm in Slytherin too."

Remus smiled again. "Of course you are, yes." Reaching into an inner pocket of his elegant robes, Remus drew out a vellum envelope. "Take this, Harry. For my own peace of mind, if for no other reason. If you need to talk about anything, anything at all, you can floo me at Grimmauld Place, right up until my new mission begins."

Nodding, Harry took the envelope and stuffed it into a book. He couldn't meet Remus' eyes as he thanked him. How could he face someone who believed in him so blindly? Who thought he was a kind, loving boy, when in fact he wasn't even the slightest bit sorry that he'd killed?

Harry was just glad that he knew what to do. He fled directly to the nearest empty loo and spelled it for privacy before he got out his match and transfigured it, applying just a touch of wanded magic to make the change solid and permanent. Best to keep it as a needle from now on out, he decided. He had to be ready to use it at a moment's notice.

This time when Harry positioned the needle against his forearm, he made sure to find the spots that hurt the worst.

All of them.

 

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Three times over the course of the next few days, Draco tried to get Harry alone to talk to him, but Harry kept putting it off. Draco didn't know anything. He couldn't. Nobody had seen Harry using the needle, not even a ghost. Harry'd been careful about that. But still, Draco obviously thought that something was wrong with Harry, or else why would he want to talk to him so urgently?

Harry started avoiding Draco as much as he could, and tried not to let it bother him when Ron obviously approved.

The following Thursday as Defence was winding to a close, Harry rushed to pack up his things and leave. Draco was faster still, though, placing himself in front of Harry before Harry could make it to the classroom door. "Let's go have dinner with Severus," he said.

Harry shook his head. "Sorry. I'm still trying to catch up on work from that little holiday we took."

Draco made an exasperated noise. "Harry, I know how much work we missed. You can't still be bogged down in it. Come on, all right? I really need to talk to you about something." His gaze swept over the Gryffindors milling about. "And I'd rather we have some privacy, all right? It's a bit of a . . . sensitive subject."

If anything, that overture only panicked Harry worse. He wasn't going to get within a mile of a Draco who needed to talk to him about a sensitive subject, not if he could help it.

"Can't it wait?"

"I've been waiting," Draco exclaimed.

"Yeah. Um, well, I'll try to find some time." Harry knew he was being a bit of a git, but he didn't know what else to do. "See you later!"

He tried not to let it bother him that Draco whirled away and headed straight for their father, who was up at the front loudly taking Aran to task for ineffective teaching techniques.

Harry didn't know exactly what Draco might have said to Snape, but the next day, Snape stopped by the Gryffindor table at lunch and asked Harry to join him in his quarters for dinner that night. Harry tried to beg off, but his father was implacable.

Oh God, what if Draco had somehow realised exactly what Harry was doing? And when Harry had refused to discuss it over and over, he'd gone to Snape with his suspicions? Of course, it was difficult for Harry to believe that was what had happened. Surely, if his father knew what Harry was doing to his arms, he'd have dealt with it right away, and not waited until dinner! Then again maybe Snape could understand the training for what it was and approved.

For all that, though, Harry found he couldn't enjoy his Friday Potions lesson at all. No matter that they were making homemade marshmallows to eat with the fudge they'd cooked on Tuesday. Feeling jittery and full of dread, Harry did the only thing he could think of to calm him down. He snuck into the ingredients cupboard for a quick jab into both arms. There, that was better. He yanked his sleeves back down and buttoned his cuffs, weaving the needle back into the seam where he'd been keeping it.

It was working out really well to have it ready for use at all times.

As it turned out, though, the supply cupboard might not have been the most brilliant place to use the needle. When Harry turned around, Draco was there, right behind him. Harry couldn't tell how much his brother might have seen. Or understood, maybe.

Draco looked puzzled, but concerned as well. It gave Harry a horrible feeling, deep inside.

"What are you doing in here?" asked Draco, looking Harry up and down as if trying to figure something out. "We don't need any real Potions ingredients for marshmallows."

"What are you doing in here, then?"

Draco eyes narrowed, probably at Harry's annoyed tone. "In point of fact, I followed you. I've been trying to talk to you, in case you've yet to notice." Draco's voice grew even more petulant as he went on. "I just wanted to know if you're going to come down to dinner tonight, Harry. Severus did ask you, didn't he?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "You know he did. You put him up to it!"

"Yeah, because you're avoiding both of us! Did you think we wouldn't notice?"

"Just because I've been a bit busy lately--"

"Harry, I need to talk to you! As I believe I just mentioned?"

"Boys," interrupted a third voice, a blend of kindness and age. "I think that tasting has begun at your respective work-tables. Was there something in here you needed?"

"Just my brother," muttered Draco. "He seems to have gone missing."

Harry could only think that was a way of saying he wasn't quite himself. A reference to the needles?

"Maybe I know what you want to talk to me about," he retorted, the words so cool that he felt chilled just saying them. "Ever think of that? Maybe I'd rather not discuss it. Maybe my mind's made up!"

Draco's silver eyes hardened to grey. "Yeah, maybe it is. You know, I really did think I knew you well enough to . . . well just never mind, then!"

"Fine," said Harry, pushing past Draco to get out of the cupboard. "Never mind is fine by me!"

"Draco, my boy," Harry heard the headmaster say behind him. "Is everything quite all right?"

He tried to hear what Draco said in reply, but by then Hermione was at his side, pressing a freshly cut cube of marshmallow into his hand and chattering on about how she thought they might have used a touch too much orange-blossom water in their batch.

 

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Harry didn't want to go down to dinner at all, not after the argument in Potions class, but he didn't fool himself that he had any real choice. If he cried off, Severus would come find him.

And it wasn't like Harry had much chance of hiding from his father, not when Severus was the one who had the Marauder's Map, these days.

Harry scowled. Why hadn't Severus ever returned it? It wasn't like anybody needed to study it for evidence exonerating Draco any longer, now was it? Maybe Harry would just ask for the map back. He could use it to know if anybody was coming when he was using his needle in the loo.

When Harry arrived in the dungeons later that evening, his father was alone.

No Draco yet. Harry was a little ashamed to feel so relieved about that. He hoped Draco wasn't joining them at all, in fact.

Snape nixed that hope, though. "I told your brother I'd like a few moments alone with you," the man said as he led Harry back to his office and gestured for him to sit down. Snape had evidently just got home; he took a moment to sweep off his teaching robes before settling into the armchair opposite his son.

Harry was reminded of all the times he'd come in here to talk to Snape, just before and after his adoption. All the long chats they'd had, talking about everything and nothing. Just getting to know one another, really.

He'd kind of missed those since he'd moved back to the Tower.

But this wasn't going to be a chat about nothing. Snape made that clear from that start. "So," said the man as he crossed his long legs and peered intently at Harry, "I get the feeling you've been avoiding me."

Harry stiffened. "You get the feeling, or Draco's been saying so?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I happen to know that Draco senses something bothering you, yes. However, quite independent of that, I've noticed you moving to the opposite side of the room from me, all through each Defence class."

Harry hadn't been doing that deliberately. He hadn't even been aware of it. "Oh. Well, you do want us to rotate through several partners," he said, wincing at how feeble that sounded.

"Perhaps that's why I prefer to teach Potions. Much more difficult for the students to run away."

Sensing that had been an attempt at a jest, Harry made an effort to smile. "Sorry," he added. "I wasn't trying to run away. I think I'm just, you know, under some stress."

"Yes, I can see that." Snape gave him what Harry felt was a longish stare. "It occurs to me that when Draco recounted all that transpired at Lucius' house in France, he in fact could not tell me everything that had happened to you. He wasn't with you until Lucius released him from the snake pit."

Snape waited again, probably for Harry to respond in some way. Harry started to get the feeling that his father would wait forever, if need be. "Oh. Well, it wasn't so bad. I mean, it wasn't outright torture like Draco got." Harry swallowed. It was hard to talk about it, but he didn't want his father to know that. "Um, he just made a lot of really creepy threats about my eyes, and ended up destroying my crest, and made me undress--"

"Made you undress?"

That tone, just short of an outright roar, was enough to tell Harry that his father was getting entirely the wrong idea. "No, just my shirt!" he rushed to say, blushing at what Snape must be thinking. "And it was only to humiliate me, you know? It's not like he . . . uh, touched me or anything."

"Just your shirt."

Now Snape's voice was flat, like he found it hard to believe that Lucius Malfoy would stop at a shirt. A good point, considering. Harry figured he might as well explain the rest. "Well, he did threaten to make me undress some more. For his guests, he said. But then he decided he didn't want to alarm Draco. Lucius thought he could get him to switch sides, you know? But of course he was going to double-cross him afterwards."

Snape drew in a long breath, then blew it out so strongly that it made a stray lock of his hair waft upwards. "I am sorry the man abused you so."

Harry shrugged, trying not to think dark thoughts about how glad he'd have been at the time to loose his wild magic and burn Lucius to a crisp. "Well, technically, he didn't get around to any real abuse, Dad."

"You only think so because you have suffered far too much in your short life."

Probably true. "Well, I wasn't going to let him do anything really nasty. See, Lucius thought he had me under Imperius. I let him think that so I could wait for my best chance to do something to help Draco. You'd have been proud. I was being Slytherin."

"You are mistaken if you think I have pride only in your Slytherin tendencies," said Snape. "I told you from the start that your Gryffindor virtues have their uses as well."

Harry hadn't thought of that in a long time. The memory warmed him a bit, and helped him feel less fractured inside.

"Lucius' behaviour . . . is that why you withdrew so much in Devon, Harry? I assumed you simply didn't care to listen to Draco and me compile that dossier, but it seems there was a good deal more on your mind."

That warm feeling Harry'd had a second ago got worse, but now, not in a good way. His collar felt hot, all of a sudden. And his face felt damp. Sweating, that was it. Because he had had a lot on his mind. Dark lords, his own awful powers, needles . . . Just as well he could blame it all on Lucius making him undress. "Yeah. I, uh, had things to think about, like you said. Being alone with Lucius was pretty horrible, but I didn't want to talk about it. You can understand that, right? I mean, after you came back that time from the . . ." He cleared his throat. "Death Eater meeting on Halloween, you didn't want to tell me about it. You said living through it once was more than enough."

"True," said Snape slowly. "But I am not convinced that we are similar in that respect, Harry. You might do better to talk through your troubles."

Uh-oh. This was heading into dangerous waters. The last thing Harry wanted to do was discuss what was really going on with him. He sighed, thinking that what Snape needed was a good distraction. "You know, you're a lot like Remus. Just a few days ago, he was trying to get me to talk, too."

Snape's expression was hard to read. "Was he?"

Too late, Harry realised what his father was probably thinking. "No, it's not like that," Harry quickly said. "He knows you're my father, and he's fine with it. But he just, you know--" Harry didn't want to say loves. "He's fond of me too. Because I'm always going to be James' son, he said."

Snape appeared to relax marginally. "I'm certain Lupin has more reason than that."

Harry nodded slightly, even though it made him feel a bit of a fraud. Sure, Remus had all sorts of reasons. Hadn't he said Harry was such a loving, compassionate boy? What would he think if he knew more about what Harry was really like inside?

Unable to stand thoughts like that for long, Harry jumped to another topic. "I want the Marauder's Map back," he blurted, a little embarrassed when he heard how demanding he'd sounded. "I mean, you were keeping it so the headmaster could try to figure out how it was tricked, right? But we know all about it, now. Why didn't you return it to me right after Nott confessed?"

Snape tapped his fingertips together. "Albus has been attempting to copy the document, as it could be invaluable to the Order should Hogwarts' defences ever be breached. However, he's all but concluded by now that it can't be copied."

"The Order can always get it from me when they need it." Harry didn't want to be selfish, after all. "But, you know, I would like to be the one to keep up with it, since my dad worked on it, and all."

But that's not the real reason, said a voice inside Harry. You're lying. Lying to Severus, and invoking the memory of James to make your lie convincing. How dark is that?

Harry fought the voice. He needed the map, after all. Needed it for a really good reason, too. He was trying to stop the darkness inside him.

"I will retrieve the map from Albus at the first opportunity," said Snape calmly. "Perhaps now we could return to the matter at hand?"

Harry had been sort of hoping they wouldn't. That was clearly hopeless, though, so he gave a brief shrug.

Maybe Snape had wanted more of an answer than that, since he sighed, and leaned forward again. "A moment ago you just said that you had been a bit distant because you have things to think about, but Harry . . . I suspect that you're trying your best not to think about any of them."

When Harry didn't know what to say to that, his father's dark eyes glimmered with sympathy. "I would never compare what you did last week to any of my own experiences, as your action was entirely justified and right, by any standard. My own past is far murkier, as I think you know."

"Yeah," said Harry thickly.

"But for all that, I do know what a shock it can be to realise one has taken a life," said Snape quietly. "You didn't want to believe you'd done so, in fact. And then I think you accepted it, but it's plain to me that you're deeply troubled, Harry. Ever since Lucius' death was acknowledged at the Order meeting, you've become more and more withdrawn. Even your friends have noticed that you are keeping to yourself to an extraordinary degree."

"My friends told you that? Some friends!"

"They are. They're concerned." Snape tapped his own temple.

Oh. Occlumency. Ron and Hermione wouldn't stand a chance. Wouldn't even know they'd been subtly probed. "I just needed some time alone," he exclaimed, starting to feel hot and sweaty again. "Is that such a crime?"

"No, but it's likely a mistake. You were the one who took such pains to convince me that you need your friends. And I think in that you were quite correct, Harry. You do need them."

"Look, I'm just going through a bit of a rough patch. I'll get over it." Harry tried to firm his voice. "The best thing you can do is just let me, all right?"

Snape studied him for a long moment. "You'll come to me if you need help?"

Harry did his best to smile. "Yeah, of course I will. Oh, and thanks for raking Aran over the coals like that. It's nice to not have to dread Defence."

Harry was pretty sure his father had noticed the change of subject. But this time, he didn't challenge Harry on it. He merely inclined his head, his dark eyes thoughtful.

 

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Dinner was a little bit tense, since Draco still seemed to be in a huff from earlier. Snape must have noticed that, and reasoned that his sons needed time to work it out, for shortly after dessert he claimed he had work to do up in his classroom office.

For someone who'd been so insistent that he had to talk to Harry, Draco sure was silent once their father had flooed off, Harry thought. That was actually good, though, right? It explained why Snape hadn't seemed to know anything at all about Harry's needle. Obviously, it was a hard subject for Draco to broach. Not that Harry wanted it broached, but he supposed he might as well make sure Draco continued keeping it to himself.

Harry took a moment to think, ignoring the way Draco was staring at him so resentfully. "Look," he finally said. "You know that thing you wanted to talk to me about?"

Draco's upper lip curled. "Oh, yes. The thing you'd already made up your mind about."

"Yeah, well my mind is made up," said Harry, nodding. He didn't care what anybody thought about his needle; he knew that conquering his fears, whatever it took, was the right thing to do. "So, I just wanted to say, don't mention it to Dad, all right?"

Draco crossed his arms. "You think I'd go running to Severus with something like this? He's got enough on his mind without me listening to me whinge on about how selfish you turned out to be."

Harry wrinkled his forehead. "Selfish?" It didn't seem like that to him, but maybe Snape had said something to Draco, too, about Harry needing to talk things out? "Listen, when talking isn't going to change anything, I just don't see the point."

"Yeah, well you talked plenty before, didn't you? Said you didn't even want it!"

Didn't even want it . . . Harry started, realisation sweeping over him. Draco didn't know about the needle at all. Whatever he wanted to talk about, it wasn't that. The relief was so great that he couldn't help but laugh.

"So you think it's funny, do you?"

"No," said Harry, schooling his expression. "Look, I misunderstood before. So, there was something you wanted, then? A favour?"

Draco lifted his chin. "I think we agreed earlier to just forget it."

"Oh, come on. Honestly, I misunderstood." Harry sighed, knowing this was mostly his fault. "What was it that you needed, anyway?"

Draco's entire posture seemed to stiffen. "Please. I don't need anything from a self-important prat like you."

That was a bit much to let pass without comment, considering the reason Draco had switched sides in the first place. "I thought you needed me to keep you out of Azkaban."

"I'm in the Order now, Potter. I may not be universally trusted, but I'm through the door. Now, you may not be able to look past the fact that I look a lot like him--"

"What?" Harry could hardly believe his ears. "I got over that months and months ago, and you know it!"

Draco leapt to his feet, his lips pulled back in a snarl. "I'll tell you what I know! Ever since we got back from that holiday you can hardly stand to look at me! You'd never even know I saved your stupid life!"

How many times had Harry already acknowledged that? "I thought you didn't want to listen to my thanking people thing!" he shouted as he shot to his feet. "And anyway, I thought you were saving yourself, just as much! So it wasn't for me at all, was it? You were just being Slytherin!"

"Listen, you Gryffindor, I'm the one who got tortured!"

All of a sudden, Harry felt like the top of his head would come off, he was so angry. "You think I don't know that? You think I could see that and just forget about it? Well, maybe you do! Unlike some people, I never have thought it would be great fun to watch somebody get tortured!"

Draco gave a low, bitter laugh. "Oh, of course not. You're pure, perfect Potter! You're better than me, better than Severus. And that's why you're acting like you'd rather drop dead than be anywhere near us--"

"Well, I sure don't want to be near you when you're in a mood like this," retorted Harry as he reached for the mantle. Thank goodness his father had put his Floo powder out within easy reach, again. "You can tell Severus I found my own way back to the Tower!"

Draco ground his teeth together. "Oh, and now you're above the rules, too! Severus said not to use his Floo for that!"

Harry stepped over the grate. "You're a fine one to talk about being above the rules! When's the last time I ever poisoned anyone, eh?" He didn't wait for an answer, but flung down his powder with as much force as he could. "Gryffindor common room!"

Draco, red-faced, started to yell something else, but Harry couldn't hear it above the rush of the Floo whisking him away.

 

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Harry emerged shaking with anger into a room full of Gryffindors. "Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, "What's wrong?"

Dusting ashes off his shirt and trousers was a good way, he found, to conceal how much his hands were trembling. "Nothing. I went down for a visit and now I'm back."

Ron was the one who said what everybody was probably thinking. "But somebody always walks you back." He sounded a little jealous. "You get to floo around the castle, now?"

"Look, Severus wasn't home and Draco was getting on my nerves," Harry snapped, "so I left. All right?"

Ron held up his hands, grinning. "Draco was getting on your nerves, eh? Imagine that."

"Ronald!" Hermione sounded absolutely scandalised. Harry might have found that funny in other circumstances, but after the past few minutes, he couldn't be anything but angry. And depressed. He wasn't even sure what had gone so wrong with Draco, though he was sure that throwing Samhain in his face hadn't been a stroke of brilliance. Let alone Venetimorica.

Had it really been just a few days earlier that he'd been the one telling Severus to stop bringing up Draco's past mistakes?

"Harry, sit down with me for a while," said Hermione softly. "You look almost ill."

The other Gryffindors seemed to sense that Harry might need some room. Except Ron, but he no longer looked so gleeful over Harry's fight with Draco. Now, he just looked concerned. The other students drifted away, though, leaving Harry and his closest friends alone.

"You need some water, mate?"

Harry shook his head. What he needed, he thought, was to go back down and work it out with Draco. He didn't realise he'd said so out loud until Hermione answered him.

"You'll see him tomorrow anyway, won't you? For your Potions Saturday? Wait until then."

"Oh. Severus said those were over and done with."

Hermione smiled. "Good for him. But you can still go down, right? Ron and I will walk you. But wait until you're bit calmer before you go work it out with your brother. "

That sounded like good advice, especially considering how much Harry was dreading seeing Draco again. He'd said such terrible things, and without even meaning to! He must be a horrible person inside.

Just like the portrait had said.

Harry blinked as he sat there, thinking that through. When he'd wanted to hurt his brother, Samhain had rushed into the forefront of his mind. Was it darkness bringing the thought forth, or something else?

You have good instincts, his father had told him, more than once.

So why had he thought of Samhain like that, if not because of all the efforts he'd been making to get over his fear of needles? His instincts were trying to tell him something.

Namely, that the needles he'd been tortured with on Samhain were nothing like the slender, tiny one he'd been using to get over his fears. He'd still be afraid if faced with larger needles, right? What good was it to get used to needles if he didn't get used to the ones that really mattered?

He could try working out some sort of enlargement spell, he supposed. Then again, sitting right next to him was someone who probably already had what he needed. Not that he was planning to ask Hermione for a yarn needle. What was he going to say to explain that? He'd taken up macramé?

He shouldn't need to ask, though. He could see from here that Hermione's wicker basket of yarn and oddments was in the common room as usual, shoved into a corner, the whole thing covered with just a little bit of dust. The elves were cleaning the Tower again, but they left that basket strictly alone.

Harry nodded to himself, a plan forming in his mind. He'd wait until everyone was asleep. Until the coast was clear, so to speak, and he could come down here and get a needle. As he remembered, Hermione's big ones were plastic, but the become my sharp metal fear spell ought to take care of that. Might even sharpen them up nicely, too.

Hmm, probably he ought to ward the common room and stay down here to use the needles. He wasn't sure how quiet he could be using a big needle for the first time. So yeah, he'd use the common room, along with his strongest privacy spells. Just to be extra sure nobody would see what he was doing, he'd sit with his back to the staircases, and bring his books down so he could claim to be studying if anybody happened upon him. But he'd leave things until late enough that he probably wouldn't be disturbed.

So that would all work, then.

His arms were sort of itching, wanting to get on with it, but for all that, Harry felt better now that he had a plan. He gave his friends a lopsided grin. "I guess it's a bit much to expect I'll never fight with Draco. He's been in a bit of a mood lately, but that's not hard to figure out. I mean--" Harry lowered his voice. "Think of what he just went through."

Hermione nodded, and even Ron looked a little bit less delighted that Harry and Draco had had a fight. Both of them knew the full truth now, of what had happened the day Harry and Draco had gone missing.

"I'm sure we'll get through it," Harry went on.

Hmm, Ron and Hermione still looked concerned about him. It reminded him of what his father had mentioned, about sensing their worries. Best to let them know that everything was fine, he thought. That he wasn't withdrawing as much as they'd started to think. "How about we have a game of Wizard's Chess, then? Hermione can play the winner. Oh, by the way, Severus said you two were welcome to visit during the summer. I want you to challenge my dad to a match, Ron."

Ron's grin looked a little bit wicked as he summoned the game board and watched the pieces hop into their places. "Just think how I could lord it over him if I won!"

"He might be the one to win, you know."

Ron actually laughed, then. "Yeah, but if he does, so what? He's got twenty years' experience on me, something like that. But if I win, that'd really be something!"

Harry couldn't argue with that. For the rest of the evening, he spent time with his friends, making sure they knew that he was all right. That really, everything was perfectly fine.

But the whole time, his gaze kept straying toward the yarn basket across the room.

 

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Just how long could it take the other boys to go to sleep? Harry rolled over--again--and punched his pillow a little for good measure. Every time he thought it would be safe to sneak out, some small noise or other would prove that Dean or Seamus or Neville was still awake. At least Ron was snoring. The noise usually irritated Harry slightly, but not tonight. He wished they'd all snore, because at least then he would know that nobody would notice when he slipped out of bed and padded over to the door.

More minutes passed. And then still more. It must be past one by now, Harry thought, exasperated. He was on the verge of casting some kind of sleepiness spell, no matter that he didn't really know one, when finally, the room lapsed into a lasting calm and quiet.

Well, except for Ron, who was muttering in his dreams, now. Something about Hermione. Harry didn't stay to listen.

Quietly sliding his feet into the slippers he'd laid out earlier, he scooped up the pile of books on his night table. As he tiptoed to the door, every small noise he made seemed deafening. Worse, the door creaked when he opened it. Harry froze, barely breathing, but nobody seemed to react to the sound.

Stepping over the threshold, he carefully edged the door closed again, holding his breath the whole time.

Once he was down in the common room, privacy spells surrounding him, he felt a lot better. Or maybe he felt better because now, he was just moments away from getting what he needed. His arms were itching something awful by then, but the yarn basket was only a few steps away. Thank God for S.P.E.W.

Now there was a thought he'd never expected to have.

It only took a minute's digging through the basket to find a thick, stout yarn needle. This one was even metal. Perfect . . .

It really was, too. The sight of it threw him straight back to Samhain, since it looked so similar to the needles Lucius Malfoy had used on him then. When Harry tentatively poked it against his palm, he found out that it was dull, though.

Become my sharp metal fear took care of that.

Once the needle was ready, Harry found a seat and spent a moment arranging his books and such so it would look like he was studying if anyone stumbled across him. Hmm, too bad he hadn't thought to grab his invisibility cloak from his trunk. It would have come in handy . . . but since Harry didn't want to risk waking his mates, he decided he'd better not go back upstairs for it, let alone risk an Accio. Summoning charms could be awfully noisy.

His back facing the staircases, then, Harry angled the razor-sharp yarn needle against the skin of his left forearm. The skin was bruised purple in places, at some points pierced raw. But that made sense. Harry had given up on healing charms by then, since they'd stopped working at all. He thought that must have to do with the way he kept on attacking his own flesh, day in and day out.

Healing magic obviously didn't care to be mocked.

The scabs and bruises didn't bother Harry, though. The more times he had to look at them, the more normal they appeared. Not to mention, they were proof of his bravery. Something to be proud of, though of course he couldn't show them to anyone, ever.

When the needle touched his arm, Harry flinched. Huh. He'd thought he was getting over his fear, but it seemed like that only really applied to the tiny needle he'd been using up until now. This new huge one was something else entirely. Harry stopped breathing, his thumb and forefinger trembling, his hands going slick with sweat.

How could he stab himself with such a big needle? It was too much, too fast--

No, he told himself sternly. I've come so far. I can't let fear stop me, not now. I can't let fear be stronger than I am, I just can't.

The strong will vanquish the weak, Harry heard his father's voice saying. Always.

He wasn't going to be weak, he decided, nodding in resolution. Drawing in a deep breath, Harry clenched his eyes shut and plunged the needle downward, straight beneath his skin and into his arm.

Not watching turned out to be a mistake. Or maybe the problem was that his motion had been so sudden. So vicious in intent. At any rate, he'd been holding the needle at a far steeper angle than he'd intended. Instead of skimming beneath the surface of his skin, a sensation he'd more-or-less got used to, this big needle had stabbed through skin and into muscle.

Harry had braced himself for the pain, though, so he did manage not to scream. Severus would be proud of him; nothing more than a whimper escaped his lips, pressed tightly together. As whimpers went, though, that was an awfully loud one.

Bloody Hell, that hurt, Harry thought, his arm still throbbing with pain. It was like Samhain all over again. But that was good, right? Harry kept his eyes closed, riding the wave of pain out until it began to fade away. Some, at least.

He could handle this, he told himself, nodding. The first time with the little needle had been the worst, after all. This was bound to be the same.

It wasn't, though. When Harry opened his eyes and saw the needle sticking out of his flesh, that was when the real shock of what he'd done hit him. The thing was enormous. The room seemed to swim around him as he stared at the horrible sight. He went dizzy. For a moment, he actually thought he might pass out. Or sick up. One thing was sure. If he kept pushing on this needle, the way he had on the other one, he'd end up shoving it straight through his arm. And that just wasn't on.

Or at least, not yet.

Clenching his teeth against the pain, Harry pressed his fingers to the needle to pull it out. Twice, his sweaty fingers slipped on the slick metal. The jolt of pain that produced was absolutely sickening. His arm was throbbing again now, worse than before. In fact, it hurt so much that Harry started wondering if he'd stuck the needle into a bone.

Grimacing, he wiggled the needle about a bit to loosen it. Shite, that really hurt! For a moment his vision darkened, but then he managed to blink his way back to full consciousness. For a while he sat there, shaking slightly, trying to recover. And then, trying to figure out what he was going to do. Perhaps a numbing charm . . . he hadn't intended to sink the needle this deeply, after all.

But no, a numbing charm was no good at all! This was supposed to hurt, right. If it didn't hurt, what was there to be afraid of? And the whole idea was to conquer his fears.

And anyway, so what if it hurt? So what if it was excruciating? It wasn't like Voldemort was going to go easy on him, was it? Besides, just how much pain could one needle cause? This probably doesn't hurt any more than those snake bites Draco had to deal with. He didn't only suffer fangs, he had to put up with poison as well.

Harry gave the needle one last twist, whimpering again as he did so. Remembering Draco had really helped him focus. Because those things he'd said downstairs--that had been his dark, evil side coming out, right? He had to squelch it, he just had to! With a final, agonized gasp, Harry yanked the needle free.

Blood trickled from the hole left behind. Then the trickle became more of a flow, a thin crimson rivulet coursing across his arm.

Shaking, Harry swore as he hurriedly pulled his pyjama sleeve down and used it to stanch the flow. By the time he got the bleeding to slow, his sleeve was a mess.

No doubt his arm didn't look so great, either. Harry didn't look. He didn't want to see.

I've got to find a way around the healing problem or my training will be over before it's really even got underway, he thought frantically. Especially since I'd better keep on with the big needle. Am I always going to bleed like this? What if I get an infection? Maybe I could nick some healing salve from somewhere.

Where, though? Severus probably had some in his classroom office, for accidents and such. For that matter, he had some at home, too. It would all be warded, but Harry could probably break through the protective spells. But no, there were monitoring spells too, and he didn't know how to disable them. His father would know what he'd done.

Damn, Pomfrey probably kept her stores well-guarded, too. Harry blew out a breath in frustration, as he looked down at his messy sleeve. He'd just have to hope for the best.

At least his cleaning spells were up to par, he thought. I'll just use Lavare to get the blood out of the fabric. Can't let the elves know what I've been doing. Oh, good, there's no blood on the rug or the sofa. The others can't know. Nobody can know . . .

All this secrecy . . . hiding things from his closest friends, it just wasn't like him at all, Harry abruptly realised. He didn't like it, but it had to be done, right? Hermione certainly wouldn't understand. She barely tolerated Harry getting knocked about in defence training--even after she'd started coming to Devon to see that nobody was abusing him.

But why was he keeping this from everyone else? His dad knew the importance of Harry's training, after all. His throat started feeling tight as he thought about it. Harry tried to swallow and couldn't quite manage it. Because Draco had been right after all, hadn't he? I have been avoiding them. Why would I do that? Was it because of what that portrait said? Did I really believe that rubbish about my new family corrupting me?

That last thought had Harry flinching again, the reflex even fiercer than when he'd tried to stab himself. All at once, it seemed like he'd been dreaming for the longest time, and he was only just now waking. Why had he listened to what that painting had to say, when he knew the wizard it represented had been nothing but a sadistic liar out to hurt Harry in any way he could?

But then he remembered all the evidence he'd thought about when he'd fled upstairs to Sirius' room. Evidence that something must be wrong inside himself. The black energy Snape had sensed back in Surrey. The violent wild magic he and he alone could do. And worst of all, being so happy to have killed someone! It all fit together, it did!

But if I'm really dark inside, how do I know that doing this is making it better and not worse? Hiding, lying, sneaking around. Thinking about stealing--from my father who loves me! How can any of that help me find my way into the light?

Sighing, Harry thought his way through the last couple of weeks.

What he realised was just awful. All this practice with the needle . . . was it really practice at all? Or was it more like an addiction? It seemed incredible now that he'd lain awake for hours, waiting for a chance to sneak off so he could be alone. He'd thought he needed privacy, but now it seemed more like secrecy. Dishonesty.

He'd been dishonest a lot, lately. Pretending, acting like there was nothing on his mind while he'd played chess with Ron and Hermione, when all the time, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about needles. Actually, he spent most of each class, most of each meal, thinking about them. And now he was thinking about stealing supplies!

Technically, I suppose I've already stolen from Hermione, he realised, looking down at the yarn needle in his hand.

If what he was doing with the needles was all right, why was he acting like he was so ashamed of it? There were probably safer ways to confront his fears. He could always use a boggart instead.

But when he'd confronted a boggart, ultimately it hadn't become Lucius with the needles, had it?

A dull sort of horror washed over Harry, then. Needles weren't his greatest fear after all, were they? So why was he getting so obsessed by them?

His bloody sleeve answered that for him. That, and the pain he could still feel.

Because the needles are what I deserve, aren't they, for being a killer and not even regretting it. They're a way to hurt.

Harry gulped, a new kind of pain coursing through him. Raw pain. Because he didn't understand how things had spiralled so far out of control! All he'd wanted was to conquer his fears. To be strong instead of weak, like his father had said.

But now, he was standing in the middle of the common room, all alone at almost two in the morning, his arm still slowly bleeding, and a gigantic needle in his hand! And the worst part of all was that he wanted the needle again. As much as it had hurt, as much as he'd hated it, he felt like he needed to stab himself again.

In that instant, fear coursed through Harry, leaving him shaking on his feet. He was out of control, so much so that he didn't trust himself, didn't know what he might do next. His fist clenched around the needle, the sharp tip of it piercing him.

An accident, this time. But it both hurt and felt good, and that frightened Harry more than anything that had passed before.

His thoughts fled frantically ahead of him. What was he going to do? He couldn't keep on like this, could he? What if he wanted a thicker needle next? What if he got an urge to stab himself someplace where it would really hurt? Someplace where he might do himself real harm?

He needed help! He needed Severus.

But his father wasn't going to understand this, was he? It was sick. It was twisted, what he'd been doing. Those marks on his arms weren't battle scars at all. They were proof of one thing only: that Harry was all messed up. On the inside, too.

Shivering, Harry looked down, his gaze slipping past his bloody sleeve to the table so near. His books were laid out there, proof of how far into deceit he'd fallen.

But Harry wasn't really thinking about that any longer. He'd noticed the corner of a vellum envelope poking out from between the pages of his transfiguration journal. The envelope . . . the Floo powder. Remus had known that Harry might need to talk to someone. Remus had given him a way to get to help.

Quickly, before he could lose his nerve, Harry snatched the envelope and broke the seal.

More words echoed inside his head as he stepped into the cold grate in the common room, the open envelope clutched in blood-stained fingers. Things Severus had said, but this time, not things about strength and weakness.

If you have a serious problem, I want you to come and talk to me. How else can I be your father?

And then, one thing more.

You either trust me enough as your father to come to me when needed, or you don't.

Harry tossed the powder and watched the flames flare green.

Struggling to speak around the lump in his throat, he admitted, "I need . . . I need to go home."

Chapter End Notes:
Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Ninety-Four: Offence in Defence


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Aspen in the Sunlight and Mercredi

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