Draco looked depressed, Harry thought as they Apparated into a grassy area a short distance from the cottage. Really depressed, and Harry knew it wasn't because of the essay their father had threatened to assign. No, Draco was upset because he hadn't got a chance to see that girl again. It shouldn't matter so very much; Draco didn't even know Rhiannon Miller. But clearly, it did matter. A lot.

Well, maybe if they were lucky, their father would forget all about the essay, anyway--

No such luck.

"Fourteen inches each on the importance of getting along," said Snape in a hard voice as he thrust open the cottage door and deposited the bags of foodstuffs they'd bought in Exeter. "But first, the pair of you will put this lot away. Without magic, and without squabbling. Is that clear?"

Snape didn't say much else, but he didn't leave them alone, either. Sitting down on the worn couch in the living room, he just watched them as they worked. Harry thought the man looked like he was brooding. About the way Harry and Draco had been fighting so much, probably. That made Harry feel just awful. It was like he'd really let his father down.

Trying to make up for it, Harry didn't say anything critical about the way Draco was stuffing food into the cupboards. He just began discreetly moving milk and butter and such out of the cabinets where Draco had put them, and into the crate spelled to stay cold. His brother didn't seem to notice, which was good, considering. Snape wasn't the only one getting pretty tired of them fighting all the time. Harry was sick of it too, and he knew that a lot of it had been his fault. "Maybe this Rhiannon really is a witch," he said in a low voice. Hmm, that had come out sounding like he doubted it. Which he did, but still..."I mean, she could be, right?"

Draco had been moving sort of slowly as he worked, but that had him stopping completely. "Don't patronise me."

"I wasn't. I really do think... er..."

"You think she's as Muggle as they come, and don't think I don't know it. And if you ask me, that makes you a right--"

Snape cleared his throat rather loudly.

Draco sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. I hardly want to write lines as well." He glanced around at the paper carriers, and seemed satisfied that the work was done when it wasn't, really. "That's it, then. I'll work on the essay in the room. You take the table."

Harry would rather have lain down on his bed to write, but thought it best not to make a fuss over Draco's high-handedness. Who knew, maybe he even thought he was being generous in giving the table to Harry. Though of course, they were wizards. Another table could always be transfigured. Or this one could be shared.

But Draco wanted to be alone, Harry suddenly realised. "All right," he said, nodding as though he thought the idea a good one.

Draco gave him a bit of a disgusted look at that. Harry wasn't sure why, but he decided he'd do best just to ignore it. He put away the rest of the groceries without saying anything, and then sat down and tried to figure out what to write.

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

Snape made Harry and Draco work together to prepare dinner. They managed not to squabble at all, though that might have been because they weren't talking much. Harry figured that pass me that spoon didn't really count. At least Draco did his fair share of the work, this time, even if he had worn a rather disdainful expression throughout.

After dinner, Snape read their essays. Out loud, which made Harry cringe a little bit. His had sounded a lot better in his head.

When Snape was done, he stared at each boy in turn. "A little less arrogance would help you get on better with others," he told Draco. Then he turned to Harry. "You, on the other hand, need to be less self-effacing. Things that go wrong are not always your fault, and it's not your responsibility alone to set them right."

Harry bit his lip, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him. He didn't believe that, not completely, not the way his father obviously thought. But he did believe it some, he realised. He couldn't help it.

Snape turned once more to Draco. "How are you progressing through those ethics books?"

Draco stiffened a little. "I've almost finished the first two."

"Good. And your opinion?"

That certainly seemed to take Draco aback. "My opinion?"

Snape looked a little amused. "Yes, your judgment on them as to relative merit--"

"I know what an opinion is!"

"And I would hope you have one, as well," drawled Snape.

Draco practically gnashed his teeth. "What do you want, to know which one helped me most? Because I'm so devoid of personal moral principles, like you said right here in this room after you made me choke down a poisoned fairy cake?"

Harry decided it would be petty to point out that apparently people did make Draco do things, after all. Actually, he was a little alarmed that their father had said a thing as cruel as that to Draco. Not that Harry remembered him saying it, but...

"What I said, and I do believe it was mentioned only in the privacy of my bedchamber, was that your upbringing had never encouraged you to think past advantage to absolutes, and that personal moral principles would stand you in good stead once you made it clear to others that you did in fact possess them."

Draco snorted slightly. "Yeah, well you meant that I didn't have any ethics at all, didn't you? And that's why you gave me such bloody stupid books to read, and why now you're asking what I think of them--"

"In fact, what I'd like to know is which book someone your age would find the most clear and understandable." Snape shrugged. "It's hard for me to gauge."

Harry had a feeling that something odd was going on. "But why would you need to gauge a thing like that?"

"Ah." Snape's expression was a little smug. "I'll be teaching an ethics course next year. Seventh-years only. There will be some hard choices to be made in this war, and Albus and I have decided that part of preparing the students to face it includes preparing them for that, as well."

"Oh... you're trying to figure out which textbook would be best?" Draco started to preen, then. "And you asked me to help you. You wanted my opinion. I see."

Snape gave him a wry glance. "Do you? If you're wondering why I didn't ask Harry to help with this, you might consider that he has more than enough to do in order to complete his spell lexicon. And only he can work on that, you realise."

"Yeah, I realise." Draco sighed a little. "Well, if you really want my opinion, both those books were tripe. I mean, the one by Brookbender was a little more readable than the one by Jamison-something-or-other, but they're both a little soft if what you're looking for is the kind of ethics that would help people make battlefield decisions."

"Try the other two, then," said Snape, his voice calm. "They're written to a much higher level, but since this is a course for seventh-years, I think they'll suit. When you've finished reading them, let me know which one you would prefer the class to use."

Draco nodded as though he'd been given a solemn charge.

"So you aren't going to be teaching Potions, Dad?"

Severus turned to glance at Harry. "Certainly I will. The ethics class will be an additional responsibility."

"Oh. I thought maybe you'd finally got fed up with the Ministry's changes to the Potions curriculum, and--"

"I frankly don't care what changes they make. I shall teach what needs to be taught, and well they know it."

"It's not as though they'll sack him," added Draco in a slightly disdainful voice. "The man who saved Harry Potter, and then took him in as his own son? I don't think so. Severus has carte blanche to ignore every curriculum guideline they might issue."

One glance at Snape told Harry that their father agreed with that assessment. Harry sighed a bit. He knew that Snape didn't think of him as famous Harry Potter any longer, but still...

"Draco, if you'd be so good as to get to that reading, I'd be very appreciative."

When Snape glanced at Harry, the boy knew what was coming. "And I'll get back to my spell lexicon--"

"Actually, I'd like to speak with you alone, about an unrelated matter."

That didn't sound too dire, Harry thought, but he didn't have any idea what his father could want. Unless it was to tell him to stop provoking arguments with Draco. But no, Snape had just said that Harry shouldn't blame himself for everything all the time--

"All right," he said, following Snape into the man's bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed, wishing he could feel less tense. It was probably just something about Harry's swimming lessons, or... but then, why was his father closing the door? Why was his expression so solemn as he turned around?

"Something wrong?"

"I sincerely hope not," said Snape, sitting down beside him. "But we're overdue for a talk, you and I."

"Oh, about how Draco and I keep fighting all the time? I'll try harder not to let him annoy me." Harry frowned. "I think you should talk to him, too, about just how annoying he's become. I mean... I'm not trying to put him down, really, but don't you think he's kind of changed since term ended? He used to say the occasional awful thing about Muggles, but he didn't go on about them constantly."

"Constantly is a bit of an exaggeration. That said, it's quite true that Draco is sharing more about his true opinion on the subject."

"Well, tell him to cut it out." Harry sighed. "Ron and Hermione are coming tomorrow. And I just don't need him starting in. Though maybe when they're here, he'll use those perfect manners he likes to brag about."

"Ah, but don't you see?" Snape's lips curled slightly. "He's testing us again."

"Oh..." Harry thought about that for a moment. "Seeing if we'll still love him, even though he thinks these terrible things. Well, I suppose this is better than what he did before."

"Not the least because this time, he's trusting us to accept who and what he really is."

"Did you figure all this out on your own, or did you talk it over with Marsha? But when would you have a chance to talk to her alone?"

"Let's merely say that the good doctor and I have been in contact." Snape grimaced slightly. "Do me a favour and don't mention it to your brother. His insinuations do get tiresome."

Harry nodded. "So if that's all, then--"

"That is by no means all," interrupted Snape. "I didn't ask to talk to you because I needed to discuss Draco. I'd like to know if you've given any thought to talking honestly with your friends when they visit. They don't know about your recent difficulties yet, I trust."

Harry bristled a little. "Look, I may not be able to tell them everything, but I'm not dishonest."

"I didn't mean that." Snape paused, turning to face Harry more fully. "This is difficult, Harry. You're almost an adult, after all, and your friendships are your own concern. But you were the one who convinced me how important those friendships are. We told Miss Granger and Mr Weasley about your wandless magic and your deep powers--"

"We?" Harry made a scoffing sound. "The way I remember it, you didn't want them told about any of it."

"I didn't." Snape shifted restlessly beside him. "Looking back, however, I can see how useful it was for them to know such things."

"You aren't going to go on again about them leaving me alone in Hogsmeade?" Harry slanted his father a glance. "Though I guess the Howler you sent them kind of covered that."

"Don't change the subject," Snape said firmly. "The matter at hand is how much your friends should know, now. They didn't always behave as responsibly as I would have liked, but all in all, it was best for them to understand the extent of your changed powers. You were right about that."

"I was... right." Harry couldn't help but goggle a bit.

"Yes. It all comes down to your instincts. I've learned to respect them, Harry. So what are they telling you now?"

Harry crossed his arms, scooting away a little. "I don't want to talk to Ron and Hermione. Not about this."

"I'm sure you don't. The question wasn't about what you want, however." Snape said nothing for a moment. "Are you wary of their reaction?"

Sighing, Harry forced himself to really think about that. When the answer came, he clenched his fists. Too bad he couldn't just answer yes. He was sure that his father would drop this whole idea if he was convinced that it would end up hurting Harry. But... it probably wouldn't.

"Harry?"

Another sigh, this one more heartfelt. "No, I couldn't really say that I'm worried, exactly. It's not like when I told Ron that I liked being your son. There's nothing about this that would make him... er, turn on me. It's just..."

Snape merely waited.

"It's embarrassing, I guess. It's kind of mental. No, scratch that. It's completely mental, so no wonder I'm going to counselling and all. But I haven't stuck myself since summer started, you know. So I figure I'm over it, mostly, and there's no reason to talk it over, you see?"

Snape gave him a steady, unwavering look. "Being over it, as you put it, would be a good thing if that were really true."

"It is really true!"

Still, that look that made Harry feel like his soul was on display. But no attempt at Occlumency. That was good, at least. "It's true that you haven't used a needle, or scratched yourself, since we've been in Devon, I think. But is it true that you haven't been tempted, Harry?"

Harry felt his face going a bit hot. He cleared his throat. "Um, well... er... sometimes I sit out under that big tree by the fence and wish I could. I... I don't know. It hurt, a lot, but there was something about it that just..." He shrugged, unable to really explain.

"It's an ongoing issue for you. Something like that would have to be," said Snape calmly. "So think again about your friends, and consider what your instincts are saying."

"What's the point of telling them about a thing like this?" Harry asked, frustrated. "I don't want people to know! I didn't even want you to find out, but then I realised I really did need some help, so I had to tell you. But I'm getting help, now, and things are getting better, so--"

"We just discussed the fact that Draco is beginning to more openly share his biased world view with us, Harry. He's letting us see who he really is. Don't you want your friends to truly know you? Not your reputation, but you, flaws and all?"

Harry started twisting his fingers together as he sat there. "This isn't the same as Draco's thing. He thinks his strange ideas about Muggles are perfectly reasonable, right? So no wonder he's willing to throw them about more, now that he's feeling more like we'll stick by him no matter what. But I know I'm wrong to do a thing like this to myself. And anyway, why would I want people to know I'm a nutter?"

Snape reached out and covered Harry's hands with his own, his gentle touch so warm and firm that Harry stopped fidgeting. "You aren't a nutter."

"I meant, they'll think I am! Who wouldn't?"

"Do Draco and I think that about you, hmm?"

"Well, no..." Thinking about that, Harry managed a weak smile. "Um, you know, for all Draco's faults, he never once has said anything like that to me. And he could have, you know. Could have used it to score points during one of our arguments. Could have cut me off at the knees."

Snape's fingers squeezed slightly. He didn't say anything, but Harry knew what they both were thinking. That Draco really did love him, even if he didn't know how to show it very often.

"I guess my friends wouldn't really think I'm a nutter, either," Harry finally said, grumbling a little. For some reason, it hurt to say that. Maybe because, deep down, he thought he was one. "I mean, if they're really my friends they'll understand that things have been really... um, hard for me. Especially lately. Oh, but I don't mean you!" Harry suddenly exclaimed. "I just meant, you know, Samhain and losing my magic and being out of classes for forever and thinking I ought to feel worse about Lucius and--"

"Hush, you idiot child."

One simple sentence, and one which might have sounded critical to anybody else, but to Harry it was like a balm. "Yeah, all right. I guess my friends'll understand. "

"It's best they do. You're a young man who's had too much piled on your shoulders, from far too young an age. Which can't be undone now, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" Harry scoffed a bit. "If I'm the only one who can defeat Voldemort, then things just had to be the way they were, right?"

Snape met his eyes and smiled, a little wryly. "In some sense, I suppose. But I don't like to think of you that way. I'm speaking as a father now, not an Order member."

Huh. That was nice. But still... "You're both," Harry said firmly.

Snape nodded. "So, about your friends?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll tell them. Not that I'd know how to put it." Harry frowned. "I guess I'll figure that out when the time comes."

"How very Gryffindor of you."

Harry grinned a little. He knew his father didn't mind that so much now. Not really. Which didn't make the man any less a Slytherin himself. Actually, that reminded Harry of something. "You didn't ask Draco and not me to help you judge the ethics books just because I need time to work on my lexicon, did you?"

"No. In point of fact I'm fully capable of selecting a text, myself. I thought it might do Draco good to read them all, though."

Harry tilted his head to the side. "Why not tell him from the first that you were going to teach ethics and were looking for a good book?"

"Dr. Goode recommended that he be asked to read them without that knowledge, in hopes that he would apply the information in the books to his own life, rather than distance himself from the exercise." Snape shrugged. "When he took the assignment as though I were singling him out for criticism, I remembered what you had said, Harry. Constantly reminding Draco of his mistakes, instead of encouraging him to progress more still, is likely counterproductive. So I decided to mention the class, after all."

"He liked that," said Harry. "You coming to him for something."

"Yes. I shall have to remember that," mused Snape, his eyes looking like he was turning the idea over in his head.

"Just don't overdo. I do like him, but he's conceited enough already."

"Is he? I'm surprised you haven't realised that a good deal of that is merely a cover for his insecurities."

"Yeah, I know. But sometimes he really is conceited." Harry blinked. "Oh, God. Does your bedroom door automatically ward itself when it's closed, or is Draco hearing every word we say?"

Snape's stare was answer enough for Harry. Of course the door had wards built in.

Harry laughed softly, relieved. Then he remembered something. "Um, when Ron and Hermione come around tomorrow, do me a favour and take Draco out for something."

"Ice cream?" asked Snape, derision in each syllable.

"You really should get over that."

"Should I? To my mind, it's an indication of the kind of judgment Lupin possesses. He'll need flawless judgment in this new role he's taken on."

"Yeah, well Dumbledore's getting regular reports from him still, right?" asked Harry. "He's managed all right, so far. I bet you probably thought that Narcissa would figure it out before this."

"She probably has figured it out and is playing along for reasons of her own," said Snape darkly.

"Hey, maybe the old Lucius wasn't that easy to live with and she's happier now!"

"Maybe." Snape shook his head as though to clear it of dire thoughts. "You were saying? About Draco?"

"About taking him somewhere, just the two of you." Harry thought fast. "Oh, I know. Remember how he wanted to pick up adverts for the shows playing in London? Well, once he saw that Rhiannon girl he forgot all about it. So maybe you could pop out to get those, and take him along. I think it'd be easier to talk to my friends without him around. Especially since he knew about the needle thing before they did."

"I do believe--"

"And anyway," interrupted Harry, determined to have his way on this, "it would be another way for him to feel special, right? He needs to know he's not just some package deal that came with me, but that you love him too. And I'm sure you know I'll be safe enough on my own, as long as I stay right here on your unplottable, Fidelius-protected land."

"It's our land. But as I was saying," drawled Snape, sounding exasperated, "I do believe that's a sound idea, all around."

"Oh."

"You aren't the only one capable of recognising them, you realise." Snape moved a hand to his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. "Of course, you realise. Conceit hasn't ever been one of your problems. So, is there anything else we should discuss? Dr. Goode tells me regularly not to ask about your sessions, but you do know that I'm willing to listen to anything you'd like to share about them, don't you? I'm sure the doctor is quite good at what she does, but her position as a squib would naturally tend to limit her perspective on some things. If you need a wizarding point of view about anything, I am here."

"I know that, Dad." Harry couldn't resist it, then. His father was so close, and talking about being there for him through anything. Willing to listen to Harry, for as long as it took. About anything. It was everything he used to dream about, when he was lying alone in his cupboard. An adult who really, truly loved him.

All he had to do was shift forward a bit, and lean over, resting his cheek on the warm black fabric of his Snape's shirt. The man's arms came around him at once, as Harry had known they would. Harry couldn't help what he thought of next. If I'd had this all along, like I was supposed to, I'd never have wanted a needle like that. I wouldn't have to dread telling my friends that I'm not quite right in the head.

But at least he had a dad, now. A dad who really loved him. The amazing part of that, Harry realised, wasn't that it was Severus Snape who had come to feel that way. No, what really surprised Harry, deep down, was that anybody at all could love a boy like him.

But no, those were the kinds of thoughts Marsha always shook her head at, when Harry drifted towards them during their sessions. "Just because you weren't loved doesn't make you unlovable," she'd say in her quiet, firm way. "The things we suffer when we're young are very scarring, Harry, but we don't have to let them define us."

Very scarring... a funny turn of phrase, considering Harry's forehead. Now, the words made him think of Draco. He'd been scarred, too, from the day he was born. He just didn't have an outward mark to show it.

Harry nodded slightly, his cheek moving against Snape's shirt. Draco might be kind of hard to take at times, but Harry would try harder not to lose his temper with his brother. After all, Draco had already let slip that he didn't feel as though Harry liked him. Or Snape either, for that matter. That was pretty close to feeling unloved, and Harry knew how bad that felt.

"Thanks," Harry said, his throat tightening a little.

"More thanks."

"Yeah, for Marsha. She really is helping, Dad. But as soon as I think I need your perspective on something, I'll come straight to you. For now, though... I'm all right."

"I'm happy to hear that." Snape tightened his arms around Harry, for just one moment more. Then he was standing up and waving a wand for his door to open.

Harry started to go to his room, but thought better of it. "Dinner's over," he reminded his father. "How about we all have some of that shortbread, now?"

"I'd be glad of some tea, but--"

"Oh, come on," said Harry, determined. "No disodium phenate, I promise. Remember the label? Just sugar, flour, butter and, er, one more thing, I think--"

"Salt."

"See, it's as pure as can be. You can have yours with some Oolong."

"Oh, very well," said Snape, in the manner of someone making a large concession. But his eyes were twinkling as though he were very pleased.

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Ron and Hermione arrived mid-morning the next day, courtesy of one of the Portkeys to Devon that Dumbledore had prepared in advance for Snape. The first thing Harry did--well, after the greetings and hugs--was offer them some Walkers shortbread. He'd found out the night before that it  was every bit as brilliant as he'd expected, better even than the elf-made version served at school. No wonder Dudley had always hogged it all to himself.

When Draco took a wedge, Harry almost laughed. The night before, his brother had had nothing but complaints about the biscuits. They were too crumbly, he'd claimed, making a slight face as he added that Muggles obviously didn't know a thing about baking.

And you do? Harry had almost asked. He didn't want to fight, though. He and Draco had been doing too much of that.

And so now, if Draco was eating his biscuit without complaint... well, maybe he was just trying to be polite in front of their guests. Harry hoped so, anyway.

"So, what's kept you?" Harry asked Hermione. "I didn't think I'd have to wait until July to see you!"

She started twisted a strand of hair around a finger. "I know. But I didn't want to intrude on family time--"

"You aren't!"

Draco, Harry noticed, stayed conspicuously silent.

"And besides, I really neglected S.P.E.W. during the last school year, so I thought I'd better work up some more hats and scarves and such--"

So much for Draco saying nothing if he couldn't say something nice. He scowled as he sat there, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. "How long is it going to take you to notice that the elves hate that freedom rubbish you keep trying to shove down their throats?"

"Oh, like you care so much about elvish welfare," said Hermione, tossing her hair.

"Oh, that's right. I hate elves," said Draco, not a trace of sarcasm about him. "Free them all, then. Make the little buggers as miserable as possible."

"You hate everyone," said Ron.

Not everyone, Harry thought of saying as he remembered Rhiannon. But he didn't want to remind Draco of her. Not to mention, it wouldn't be very brotherly to bring her up in front of Ron and Hermione. Besides, he had better things to discuss. If Hermione wanted to be immersed in a project, Harry could give her a much better one than helping elves who wouldn't appreciate it. "Say, have either of you heard of something called the Mirror of All Souls?"

Ron shrugged while Hermione shook her head.

Draco raised his voice, which Harry thought ridiculous since their father was just a short distance away, sitting at the square table in the kitchen as he wrote on parchment. "Severus, do you think Harry should be blabbing to his friends about that mirror we found?"

"I found." Draco hadn't even noticed it.

Snape looked up briefly, his gaze intent when it met Harry's. "Miss Granger and Mr Weasley are Harry's long-standing friends, Draco. I'm sure they can be trusted to deal responsibly with any information Harry cares to impart."

Not too subtle, Harry wanted to scoff. Why don't you just remind me outright to tell them about my problem with needles?

Snape's eyes glimmered still further, for just a moment, before he turned to regard Draco. "And too, perhaps a new perspective is what we need."

"I hardly think that a Muggleborn girl is going to shed much light on--"

Harry glared.

"What?" asked Draco with an air of innocence. "She is, you know."

"She's also the most clever witch you'll ever have the luck to meet!"

"I admitted she was clever, myself, and I stand by it," Draco retorted. "That doesn't mean she's going to have the kind of background that would enable her to understand that mirror."

"Like your background was such a lot of help."

"Touché."

"What are the pair of you going on about?" asked Hermione in an exasperated voice. "Are they always like this, sir?"

Snape set aside his quill and leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, his dark eyes contemplative. "Yes, the bickering does get tiresome. But they're normal children, Miss Granger, and--"

"Children!" exclaimed Harry and Draco as one.

Snape went right on speaking "--and sibling rivalry is, I'm afraid, an ever-present--"

"Dad," said Harry in an over-loud voice.

That stopped him, at least. Snape stared at Harry for a moment. Then he shrugged and glanced once more towards Hermione. "Decorum prevents me from saying much more."

Decorum, Harry almost scoffed. Sure.

Draco actually made a noise that sounded a bit like he was strangling.

Hermione looked like she wanted to chuckle, but she knew it wouldn't be very polite. "Why don't you just tell me about this mirror?"

Harry still thought her tone sounded a little too jolly, but he ignored that. The mirror was what really mattered. He started explaining everything they'd learned so far. That certainly didn't take long.

"What was the inscription, exactly?" Hermione asked, frowning. "I mean, in the original?"

She, of course, could follow it pretty well in Latin, which really showed how clever she was. Unlike Draco, she hadn't had lessons in the language from a young age. Draco looked like he realised that, and it irritated him. When he saw Harry looking at him though, his expression went as smooth as a mask. Creepy, actually.

He rattled off the wording of the inscription in a bored tone.

Hermione looked like she was counting on her fingers as she listened, but it turned out she was just working out her own translation. "Hmm, it sounds like your English version of it is spot on, at any rate."

Draco looked down his nose at her. "I don't mistranslate."

"Of course you do," said Snape without looking up, that time. "Occasionally."

"Severus confirmed that it was the Mirror of All Souls," continued Draco in slightly less haughty tone. "So inscription or no, there's no question that it contacts the dearly departed."

Ron hadn't said much through all that, but now he started shaking his head, his eyes wide with alarm. "If it's used to get in touch with the dead, then it's a dark artefact," he said in a wavering voice. "And in that case, none of you lot should have anything to do with it, especially... er . . ."

Draco bristled. "Especially me, I suppose you mean?"

"Well, you are probably a little, you know, too familiar already with that sort of thing." Ron sounded sheepish, at least, like he knew Draco wasn't pure evil any longer. That was something, at least.

Draco didn't seem to think so. He raised his voice. "And you're too familiar with making ends meet, aren't you?"

"That's enough," snapped Harry. "You said you wouldn't be rude to my friends."

"It would help if he wouldn't be so daft. Dark artefacts . . ." Draco made a scoffing noise. "Are ghosts dark, then? All of them?"

"Well, no, but--"

"It's an oversimplification to claim that any connection to the realm of the dead must be dark by nature," announced Draco in a pompous tone.

Ron looked like he'd just been called a blithering idiot. Which maybe he had, but Harry didn't want his friends fighting. "Listen," he rushed to say. "The mirror has a safeguard built in, right? You can only call those who are in your heart. "

"That's not much of a safeguard," said Hermione slowly. "Whom do you suppose someone like Grindelwald would be able to call?"

Good point. But still... "Maybe your love has to be pure or something. That would keep somebody truly awful from using the mirror, I suppose. And it ought to keep something horrible from coming through."

Draco reached for another biscuit. "I don't think that coming through is the right way to think about what the mirror does, Harry. There's nothing in the inscription to imply any sort of resurrection or flesh-and-blood presence. Whomever you call will speak to you from the mirror. So what would it matter if a nasty sort showed up? The image couldn't actually do anything to anybody."

No? thought Harry, thinking of Lucius' portrait in Grimmauld Place. A children's rhyme came to mind. Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can never hurt you... But that wasn't true. It wasn't true at all. Words could hurt you; Harry knew that.

Even knowing that, though, couldn't discourage him. He wanted to talk to his parents. And Sirius. He wanted that more than anything. And they would never hurt him, so everything would be just fine. Harry cleared his throat. "Hermione... I really want to get the mirror working again. I didn't tell you about it so we could all have a debate. I thought you might be able to help me. You know, you could research it and figure something out for us."

The girl blushed a rosy pink, as she began twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Oh. Well, that's flattering, Harry, but if your father already looked into the matter and came up empty, I really can't believe that I'd--"

"Please? You never know."

"How could I research something magical, anyway? The library near my parents' house doesn't cover this sort of thing."

Harry ignored her dry tone. "Dad, didn't you mention a wizarding library in Edinburgh? Would it have a larger collection than Hogwarts?"

"Considerably. And the London Repository of Arcane Knowledge is even more extensive."

"Can you get the headmaster to set something up for Hermione, then? Some kind of owl access, or--"

"I can, but I've already inquired into their collections myself, Harry. To no avail."

"Yeah, but once Hermione starts reading, she might notice something you missed. I mean, she's brilliant. No offence."

"Oh, none taken."

Harry smiled at the sarcasm. "You're both brilliant, all right? I'm just thinking of that new perspective you mentioned, that's all."

Brilliant was an understatement, as it turned out. Hermione had a better idea of her own. As usual. "I'd love access to those libraries," she said, her eyes gleaming. "I'd appreciate anything you could help to arrange, Professor. But it just struck me that the books we need might be at Durmstrang."

Ron turned to stare at her, but Hermione seemed oblivious. Clearly lost in thought, she nodded slightly to herself. "That's right... Viktor mentioned doing an entire course on manipulating mirrors. It's something of a specialty, there. If I can borrow an owl I'll ask him if he can pop over to the library there and see if it has anything about a Mirror of All Souls."

Draco beamed a smile at her, though he slanted a glance at Ron as he did it. "What a simply marvellous idea."

Uh-oh.

"It is not!" erupted Ron, his voice just a little squeaky. "Durmstrang, Hermione? Well, that's proof for you right there, isn't it? Dark, I told you, this whole thing is dark--"

Draco's smile grew even wider. "Are you sure you aren't merely upset about the prospect of her exchanging owl-post with the legendary Viktor Krum, Ron? A genuine Quidditch hero, something you'll certainly never be?"

"Shut up, Ferret--"

"I'd rather be a ferret than a weasel!"

Harry felt a sudden burst of sympathy for his father. Watching people you loved squabble really wasn't very pleasant. "Stop it, both of you!"

Ron pressed his lips together for a moment, then said, "I really do think that mirror is bad news, Harry."

Draco rose gracefully to his feet, shrugging slightly when Ron jumped up to face him. "I thought so too, actually. But not because it's dark, for Merlin's sake. Harry wants to talk to his parents. Didn't think of that, did you?"

"Oh. Parents." The words came out kind of like a croak.

Draco twisted his lips. "Yes, exactly. Now, are you going to object if I say that your girlfriend can use our letter box?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Hermione? The letters will actually be owled from Hogwarts, but I would imagine that Krum's reply to you will go straight to your house."

"Thank you, Draco," said Hermione, a bit primly. She seated herself opposite Snape, smiling a little when he wordlessly passed her parchment and a spare quill.

Draco leaned against the wall, his eyes hooded as he stared at Hermione. And then he started whistling slightly through his teeth, just as though he thought there was more going on than an inquiry about mirrors.

Harry threw his father a pleading look.

"Draco," said Snape, his robes rustling as he stood up. "I do believe you wanted to go to London to investigate what might be playing in the theatres, there. Shall we?"

Draco's mouth dropped open, like he'd forgotten all about that. Probably he had. Once he'd caught sight of that Rhiannon girl, he hadn't had thought for much else. He glanced around the room, obviously weighing whether he'd rather continue to poke at Ron's insecurities, or enjoy an outing with his father.

His need to feel important in his own family evidently won out. "I'll just go change into something more appropriate."

Since the other boy wasn't wearing robes, Harry didn't know what that meant. But perhaps it was just Draco's way of hinting that Snape needed to take off his own robes. Sure enough, Snape went into his bedroom for a moment and then emerged wearing Muggle clothing. Well, what he considered to be Muggle clothing, at any rate. It was a bit odd-looking in Harry's view, but not so much so that it would cause much notice.

Snape paused on the way to the door, his gaze sweeping over Ron, who was standing with his arms crossed, and Hermione, still working on her letter. "Have a good visit with Harry."

Ron's eyes just about bugged out; Hermione actually dropped the quill. And the look on her face was priceless. Harry had to admit, the whole thing was rather funny. Snape, stopping to say something like that? To Gryffindors, no less? But Harry knew why he'd done it.

"They will," he said, knowing that his father would understand. Harry wasn't going to back out. He'd made his decision, and he would tell his friends, hard as it might be. He'd thought about it a lot the night before, and what had helped him feel good about his decision was something that Marsha had said. She'd said it about Snape, but Harry thought the principle would apply equally well to anybody he trusted.

Loved ones can help hold you accountable, she'd explained. They can watch out for signs that you might be reverting to destructive behaviour, and help you steer clear before it gets out of hand. That's one reason you should never regret having told your father and brother about the needles.

Yeah, Ron and Hermione could help hold him accountable, too... but only if they knew what to look for. In fact, his needle problem might never have got so serious if they'd been able to tell what he'd been up to, back near the end of term. Going off by himself all the time... hiding... keeping his arms covered in case anybody should see...

Hermione would never have let clues like that pass her by, not if she'd known more about how Harry was really doing.

As soon as he saw Snape and Draco Disapparate, Harry started feeling itchy all over. Nerves, he told himself. Anxiety. He'd talked about that a lot with Marsha. He tried not to notice how the antsy feeling was concentrated in his arms.

Best to just get it over with, he thought. Tell them everything, now, and put it behind him. That would be the mature thing to do, right? Dithering about it wasn't going to help.

"I've just finished," said Hermione, almost as if on cue. She took a moment to cast a spell that showered sand over the wet ink. Sand that vanished on its own, the moment it had soaked up all the excess ink from the parchment. Huh. Harry usually just let his writings sit until they dried on their own. Once in a while he used a drying spell, but not one like that.

"Old-fashioned magic," explained Hermione, smiling. "They had some lovely spells in ages past. I've set myself a goal of learning a new one every day during the summer."

"You picked up a book in Hogsmeade before term ended?"

"Oh, no." Her smile grew even wider. "Gregory sent me one. As thanks for helping him. The really nice surprise, though, was the fact that the note he wrote showed so much improvement. Hardly any backwards letters. He must be practicing like I told him to."

Her mood seemed to darken as soon as she picked up her letter. She made as though to fold it, but sent Ron a scathing glance instead. "Do you want to read it before I send it along?"

"Yeah, I--" Ron must have caught Harry's warning look, since he dropped his voice. "No, I guess not."

"Good." Hermione rolled the letter up and secured it with a bit of twine, then handed it to Harry, who put it in the wooden box they used to transfer mail.

"So, how about some flying?" asked Ron, clearly trying to distract himself. "Snape must have an old broom I can borrow, eh?"

Harry was sorely tempted to go along with that idea, but he knew he'd better not. Or at least, not yet. "Actually, I wanted to talk to the two of you. Snape taking Draco to London was sort of my idea. We set it up so the three of us could have some time alone."

Hermione instantly began to look concerned. "What is it, Harry?"

He waved them both over to the couch before he answered, and pulled up a chair so he could sit facing them. "Er... well, the thing is..." This was even harder than he'd expected. "You know, I'm not even sure you're going to believe me."

"Believe what, mate?" Ron gave him a serious look. "You know there's nothing you can't tell us."

Well, that was an opening if Harry'd ever heard one. "Um, well... the truth is, there is something I didn't tell you."

"What?" Ron again. Hermione seemed to realise that she ought to wait for Harry to say it in his own good time.

"I... I..." Harry swallowed and tried again. "Maybe I need to lead up to it. Um, you know how I killed Lucius Malfoy?"

"Accidentally killed," corrected Hermione quietly. "In self-defence."

"Yeah, I know. But after that, I started feeling... er..."

Hermione tensed as she sat there, like she wanted to run to Harry's chair and hug him, and was holding herself back only with great effort. "You've nothing to feel bad about, Harry, absolutely nothing," she said fiercely. "Maybe it's a natural reaction but in this case it's not warranted. At all."

Not you, too, thought Harry. "That's just it," he exclaimed, beginning to rub his hands up and down over his bare arms. "I don't feel bad. And right after it happened, everybody kept saying that I shouldn't, like they were expecting that any normal person would, and I started thinking that only somebody truly evil would be able to kill without it bothering him at all, and--"

"Evil!" Ron clenched his fists, so hard that his knuckles gleamed a stark white. "That's rubbish, Harry, rubbish! You aren't evil!"

Harry smiled a little ruefully. "Yeah, I know. It wasn't quite like that. It was more like, I was afraid I might end up evil if I didn't do something about it, and--"

"You could never end up evil."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Ron, let him finish what he's trying to say!"

By then, Harry was desperate for it all to be over. "I started sticking myself," he blurted, wincing a little when he heard how baldly that had come out.

They didn't understand, Harry saw with dismay. Probably, they couldn't understand.

"With a needle," he added, sighing. "Over and over in my arms." He held them out as if to show them, but of course there was nothing to show at the moment. Hmm, though his forearms did look a bit red. He must have rubbed them more than he'd realised. But at least he hadn't scratched. Well, that's progress, he told himself.

"You stuck yourself. With a needle." Ron sounded dumbfounded. "Um... how come?"

"Because I felt bad that I couldn't feel bad. Over, you know, Malfoy."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "But apparently you did feel bad, Harry. Bad enough to punish yourself?"

That was actually a pretty good point, Harry thought. He hadn't looked at it quite like that, before.

"But you're afraid of needles!" exclaimed Ron.

Funny how he sounded just like Draco, sometimes. "Yeah, I am. That was the whole point. I mean, somewhere in there I had this mixed-up idea that being afraid was the real problem and if I could just get used to them everything would be all right. Or... something like that. It's hard to explain."

"I'm sure." Hermione sounded like she was treading cautiously. "Er... so, you do know that it was mixed-up, then?"

"Yeah. Snape got me some help, see. Well, I knew before that, actually, but I couldn't stop. It was like I was, I don't know. Um, compulsive about it. That's the word Marsha uses. Oh, Marsha's my therapist."

Ron leaned forward. "What's a therapist?"

"Oh, honestly, Ronald. Wizards have them, too. It's someone you can talk to when you're having trouble coping, or--"

"But isn't that what a family's for?" Ron frowned, then. "And you have a real dad, now. So why couldn't you just talk to Snape, Harry? Or um, us?"

"I did talk to him. I mean, I do talk to him. But I needed more. And as for you..." Harry shrugged as he sat nervously perched on the edge of his chair. Maybe this was actually the hard part. "I was, you know. Ashamed, I guess. I mean, I knew even when I was doing it that it wouldn't make sense to anyone else." He smiled then, just a little. "But now I can see that it doesn't really make sense at all."

"So you don't, er, stick yourself any longer, then?" asked Hermione.

Harry wished that he could just say no to that, but he'd come too far to start lying now. Or, not lying, really. Misdirecting. He didn't care how Slytherin it might be; when it came to his friends, it would be wrong. "Well, yes and no. I mean, I haven't stuck myself since I was back at Hogwarts, but sometimes I still want to. I mean, sometimes I kind of crave it, and I wish more than anything that I had a needle. I was keeping a needle on me pretty much all the time, back near the end of term. And it felt... I don't know. Like if I had one to use anytime I needed it, I was in control. But now I can't keep one around, in case I'm tempted, right? And..." He sighed. "I miss it."

"Oh, Harry."

Hermione sounded so sad. It made Harry feel guilty. It made him want a needle, actually.

"How can you miss it?" Ron's question was too loud in the small room, though not quite a shout.

Harry thought back and tried to explain. "I don't know... it was like, when I had one, and I'd stuck myself a couple of times, I'd go into this... well, sort of like a trance. There was nothing but me and the needle, and when I'd stick it in, the pain would keep me in this peaceful state where I didn't have to worry about anything. But that was only after a while. After I got really used to doing it."

Ron looked like he felt sick and was trying hard not to show it.

Hermione, on the other hand, was practically glowing with compassion. It might have irritated Harry, except that for once he was glad of it. "But you're better now," she said, her tone more a command than a question.

Harry smiled again. "Yes."

"Good thing you had your dad to go to," said Ron, swallowing. "I don't really understand, Harry, but if you're getting better, that's all that counts."

"And I'm happy you felt you could tell us," said Hermione, nodding. She didn't add finally, but there was a hint of it in her tone.

"Snape's idea." He had to be completely honest, right?

"Really?" Now it was Hermione's turn to widen her eyes in shock.

"Yeah. He won't let on very often, but he does think that the three of us make a good team, you know."

"Three of us." Ron sounded a little satisfied by that. A second later, Harry realised why. "So Draco doesn't know, eh? Well, no wonder Snape got him out of the way like that, then."

"He did that to keep Draco from rubbing it in that he knew first." When Ron scowled, Harry felt like he had to explain. "I didn't tell him, Ron. It's just, he was there when I went down to ask Snape for help, right? He overheard."

"Eavesdropping bastard."

"It wasn't like that."

Ron sat back, huffing a little. "As long as he hasn't been making something of it. Because if he has, I'll knock him into next week, Harry--"

"He's been great," said Harry quickly. "Look, I know what Draco's like. A lot of the time he's a right git, but he hasn't been one about this. Not even once. And when I need him, he's there, Ron."

"Well, he should be, if he's your brother," said Hermione. "Right, Ron?"

"Yeah, all right." Ron took a breath and looked Harry in the eye. "You're sure he's not making fun, or threatening to tell people, or anything else nasty?"

"Whenever he thinks I might be starting up again, he threatens to tell our dad," said Harry wryly. "But he's never once made fun, no."

"That sounds all right, then," said Ron grudgingly.

Hermione had moved past that, by then. "This is why you seemed distant near the end of term?"

"Yeah, and one reason I told you was so you could watch out for that if I start having trouble again," admitted Harry. "Which I don't think will happen, but just in case, I wanted to tell you I might need help. Just keep in mind that I won't appreciate it until afterwards."

"We'll keep an eye out if you start acting oddly," said Hermione, nodding. "Do you want us to tell your father, or...?"

"You might ask to see my arms first, to be sure."

"You weren't using healing spells?"

"Poke yourself enough and they stop working."

"Oh."

"Salves?"

Harry sighed. "Trying to give me ideas? I thought about stealing some."

"No, I just..." Hermione shrugged. "I don't want to do the wrong thing again, Harry. I still feel awful about that letter, you know."

"Don't. Even Snape's forgiven you by now." Harry smiled, the itching in his arms fading now that the worst of it was over. "So, Ron. How about going flying, now? Which broom would you rather use, Snape's old Cleansweep, or Draco's new Firebolt XL?"

"Oh, he gets to choose," said Hermione, smiling like she knew thought a change of subject a very good idea. "Now why is that? Perhaps I'd like to try a Firebolt for once."

"All right. I'll take the Cleansweep and you two can share my own Firebolt and Draco's XL."

That brought her up short. "Really? Er... what is Draco going to say about you lending his broom out?"

"Nothing, if he doesn't find out. And if he does, well, Snape's always reminding him to share it with me."

Ron stood up, bouncing on the balls of his feet, though he thought to ask, "Why didn't he get you one, too?"

"I wanted something else more," admitted Harry, summoning brooms before leading them both outside. "You two, allowed to visit."

"Oh, Snape would have given you that anyway!" exclaimed Ron. "I never would have guessed it, Harry, but he's... a little bit soft when it comes to you. You know what I mean?"

Harry did know. When he thought about it, he felt like he was wrapped in a blanket, drinking cocoa before a warm fire.

"So tell him you want an XL," urged Ron. "You'll need one next year, to play against Draco. You don't want Slytherin winning the Cup again. You are coming back as Seeker, right?"

Harry really hadn't thought about it. Too much else going on. "I have to talk to Ginny about that."

"It's your last year!"

Harry shrugged. He still loved Quidditch, but a lot of other things were more important. "We told everybody that my supposedly wonky magic had messed up my flying, remember?"

"So, tell them that you practiced up over the summer," urged Ron.

"Or tell Ron to stop pressuring you."

"I am actually thinking about it," Harry said. "All right? It's a bit sticky for me. You wouldn't understand. Your family was always sorted into Gryffindor. And Snape likes to see Slytherin win, right?"

"Oh."

"But I really do want to play against Draco. It'd be fun, now." Harry sighed. "I'll figure it out, somehow. Let's just have some fun."

They were all still flying when Snape and Draco returned an hour later. Harry slowed the Cleansweep and landed in front of them. Draco glanced up at his XL. Ron was on it by then, but Draco didn't say anything. He just rolled his eyes and went into the cottage.

"Everything all right?" asked Snape.

Harry nodded, his eyes gleaming. "Yeah, brilliant. So... is Draco going to drag us to a bunch of plays, then?"

Snape grimaced slightly and answered in a low voice. "All he could talk about was Rhiannon Miller and how he wished he had some pull in the Muggle world so that he could see her onstage in the West End, getting the 'acclaim her talent deserves.'"

"So you didn't buy any tickets?"

Snape's shrug looked resigned. "Draco didn't find a single production that suited him."

"Because Rhiannon wasn't in them." Harry sighed, and kicked off the ground, hovering in front of his father. "All right. Well, tell him that he can come fly with us, if he wants. I think Hermione's had enough by now and would be glad of an excuse to stop."

Snape nodded, but Draco never did come out to claim a broom.