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Wow, when Harry changes, he really...changes.
Chapter Fourteen: Paying the Piper
Harry told himself he was ready when someone knocked on the door of Snape's office.
He wasn't, not really. He could feel Sylarana shifting where she held the box, agreeing with him, and the distant, prowling guardian presences of Draco and Snape near the back of his mind. Both had their eyes focused on the door. Harry was faintly surprised to notice that he couldn't tell much difference between their emotions. He had assumed Draco would feel distinctly annoyed, but Snape felt annoyed in almost the same measure. Harry didn't think their irritation came from the same source, though.
He took a deep breath, throat still tingling from the potion he'd swallowed which bound him and Draco together, and then walked over to the door and opened it.
Professor McGonagall stood there, her eyes aimed higher than his head and her mouth just opening to say something. Then she lowered her gaze, and an expression of blank surprise washed over her face before she turned it into sheer blankness. Harry watched her and waited. Regret drummed in his head. McGonagall had been pleasant to him when her entire House suspected him of evil. That would have to change now, though. Now, one of her Gryffindors had been Petrified.
McGonagall said nothing about Harry being the embodiment of evil, however. She only said, "Mr. Potter. This saves me the trouble of a search. I was going to ask Severus if he had seen you." Her eyes darted to Snape, too quickly for Harry to read the meaning in them. "The Headmaster wants to see you right away."
Harry nodded. "I thought he might, Professor McGonagall." He scowled at himself when he heard his voice. Must it sound so breathy, as if he actually feared what Dumbledore would do to him?
You don't need to fear what he will do, Draco said, his voice seeming to spring from the left side of Harry's skull. My father is going to take care of everything. The iron-hard faith in his voice made Harry smile.
Professor McGonagall gave him an odd glance as she escorted him out into the hall, Draco and Snape remaining behind. Harry suspected the unusually free play of emotion on his face had caused it.
What? Is she surprised to see me feeling?
He calmed his irritation. It took effort, far more than it would have when he could use the box, and the irritation remained just below the surface, as if someone speaking harshly to him would make it erupt again.
Do other people feel like this all the time?
The thought made him experience a vague nausea, and for a long moment he didn't hear the question Professor McGonagall was asking him.
"...must ask if you've been with Professor Snape for the last hour, Harry," she said at last.
Harry coughed and focused on her face. His experience was still shot through with bright streamers of trailing emotion, including resentment. He forced himself calm again. It would not do to ache like this when he faced Dumbledore, for all that he did resent the Headmaster for promising and failing to keep him safe. "Yes, ma'am, I was."
Professor McGonagall glanced around once. They were in the corridor that led to the Headmaster's office, Harry noticed, but no one was with them. Professor McGonagall sighed and knelt down in front of him. Harry stiffened, ready to bolt if it looked like she would hex him for his actions.
"Mr. Potter," she said softly, "did Professor Snape do something to you? You look-odd. Peaky. Not like yourself."
Harry shook his head. "No, ma'am." Unless you mention the little matter of shields of pain built around a box in my head and creating a potion and a bond for a second person to be in my head, and then leaving a bit of his attention there himself to hold the shields. He swallowed a giggle that he suspected would turn into full-blown hysterical laughter if he let it out. Then he paused. That thought was unexpected. Harry could not remember the last time he had laughed.
Professor McGonagall gazed at him for a long time, then nodded, troubled. "If you say so, Mr. Potter," she said, standing, "I think I can trust you."
Harry winced. He would have liked to tell her the truth, of all people. She had been kind to him. She seemed wise, and not just in the matter of Transfiguration theory. She could help him.
But her help would almost certainly consist of urging him to trust the Headmaster and accept his presence in Harry's head instead, and Harry did not intend to do that. He trusted Sylarana and Draco. He didn't trust Snape, but he knew the man was necessary to maintain the shields.
The Headmaster he didn't even trust to serve the agenda of keeping this safe and secret and trying to fight Riddle out of Harry's head. Dumbledore was too unpredictable, and Harry hadn't managed to work out what his ultimate goal was yet.
He was so involved in that kind of thought that he didn't notice they had arrived at the statue, nor who waited there, until Professor McGonagall said, "Mr. Potter," in a sharp voice. Harry glanced up.
Connor turned around from the gargoyle, face red with startlement for a moment before it fell into wariness. His gaze jabbed his brother.
Harry would have looked calmly back, or sorrowfully, he thought, imploring Connor to trust him again, only a few hours ago. Now his brain raced and sparkled with anger bordering on the urge to scream and throw things.
How could you distrust me like that? I'm your brother. You were swearing that you would trust me when I was put in Slytherin and when I showed you I was a Parselmouth. Yet you turned against me the moment my friend's father did something wrong and I refused to let Ron hurt my friend. Why, Connor? What is it about that one thing specifically that set you off? I don't know, and it's wrong, and it hurts-
He halted the flow of his thoughts as he realized Connor was backing away from him. His brother had actually drawn his wand before McGonagall said, "Mr. Potter! That is quite enough. Why are you here?"
"I have to see the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, ma'am," said Connor, looking as if he wanted to glare at Harry around her robes again, and not quite daring. "There's been another Petrification. Neville, this time."
"Yes, Mr. Potter, I am aware of that," said McGonagall. "I am taking your brother to see the Headmaster now."
Connor's face transformed like the sunrise. "Does that mean he did it?" he asked. "Does that mean I was right?"
You were right, Connor, and you didn't deserve to be. You never deserved to be. All those times that I-
Harry stamped down the flow of his thoughts again and reduced them to another lava flow hiding beneath a scab, frightened at the turn they had taken. His brother was making a mistake now. That did not mean that he had made mistakes his whole life, as Harry might have shouted out if he decided to speak right now.
Indeed, Connor's judgment had been clearer than that of many children his age. Harry could picture other brothers turning their backs the moment they found out a sibling was a Parselmouth.
You have no right to feel like that, he told himself firmly. None. Anger is one thing, irrationality another.
"Mint Humbugs," McGonagall told the statue, and it leaped aside. Harry followed her towards the staircase. He was breathing softly now. He could make it up the stairs. He would count the stones in the walls, and watch the way that the professor's robes swished ahead of him, and he would ignore Connor.
Then Connor spoke again.
"You didn't answer me, Professor McGonagall," he said, voice that of a teacher chiding a student for an oversight. "Does that mean that I was right? Does that mean that he was the one who's the next Dark Lord?" He nodded his head.
Harry saw it as a glimpse of blurred motion in the corner of his eye. "I knew it. No one could have that many Dark traits by coincidence. Be Sorted into Slytherin and be a Parselmouth, maybe, but not stand against the Boy-Who-Lived."
The flood of his rage was instant. It didn't help that neither Sylarana nor Snape and Draco, though his sense of their presences had faded with distance, objected to the flood.
Harry swung around and glared at Connor. This time, Connor blinked and fell silent. Then he smirked and opened his moth to add something else.
"Silencio," Harry snapped at him. Connor blinked one time and put a hand over his mouth. His resulting wail-apparently it was a wail-made no sound at all, of course.
Harry stepped back and let his shoulders rest against the wall, never taking his eyes off his brother.
That wasn't enough. He wanted to use his magic in other ways, or maybe his fists, to make Connor hurt as much as he'd hurt Harry that week.
But he couldn't. There was a professor here with him, a professor who was looking at him strangely.
"I did not realize that you actually could perform wandless magic, Mr. Potter," she said.
Harry nodded. He hadn't meant to reveal that, but it was revealed now, and there was no turning back time. He just watched his brother instead, and breathed. The shame would be along any moment now. It hadn't come yet, but it would come. He was wrong to use magic against his brother like that. He would have been wrong to use it against any student without cause, but most especially the Boy-Who-Lived, the one he was sworn to protect. He knew that. Any moment now, surely, he would experience the red face and the apologetic stammer that were the natural consequences of such an act.
It isn't happening yet, he reassured himself. But it will happen.
McGonagall spoke at last. "Ten points from Slytherin for hexing a fellow student, Mr. Potter," she said at last. "And ten points from Gryffindor for accusing a fellow student without proof, Mr. Potter. Finite Incantatem."
Connor let out a loud, angry breath, and stood staring at Harry for a moment. Harry just looked back. He didn't think his brother knew how to accept this open attack. Of course, given that he hadn't known how to accept Harry standing up for himself earlier in the week, this would only be harder.
I wasn't standing up for myself, Harry thought. I had betrayed him.
His mind felt very odd right now. He seemed to believe that line of reasoning and disbelieve it at the same time. He could feel his heart thundering in his ears. He could hear Sylarana's mental hissing, turned almost to a croon. He could feel his magic, swirling about him in exaltation.
None of them seemed to argue that he had betrayed Connor. The old training said that of course he had, and he knew that Connor would write to their mother almost immediately and tell her so, and then Lily would write a letter to Harry, and he would feel crushing disappointment in himself when he read it. He knew all that was going to happen, and always before that clear vision would make him recoil and beg forgiveness.
It was not happening now. Oh, doubtless he would feel the shame and disappointment in time, but that was in the future. For now, he savored the uncertainty that crossed Connor's face.
"Go back to Gryffindor Tower, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall at last, her voice weary. "I will come and speak with you later."
Connor turned and trotted off, back stiff and head high. Harry watched him go. He wanted to say something, but he had no idea if it would come out as an insult or a cry for reconciliation, so he kept his mouth shut.
"This way, Mr. Potter."
Professor McGonagall led him up the stairs again. Harry walked with her, and listened to his magic singing. He had thought himself the victim of odd thoughts this summer, when Snape's exercises had led him to attribute a strength and motivation to his magic that he wasn't certain existed.
Now he thought it was no coincidence. He had acted without the box, and his magic moved around him like a stream of singing birds, brushing him with warm feathers. Harry knew that might not be an entirely positive thing, but for now he would enjoy it.
"Ah, my dear boy," said Dumbledore. He was sitting behind his desk when they entered, and leaned across the desk, smiling pleasantly, when he saw them. "Minerva, leave us, please. I would like to speak to Mr. Potter alone."
Harry cocked his head. He could feel the slight edge of magic that rode those words, briefly parting his hair like a thrown blade. It didn't bother him, as it was aimed for McGonagall, but it was interesting that the Headmaster felt he had to make sure that the Gryffindor Head of House would not stay.
McGonagall shut the office door behind her, and Dumbledore turned his attention to Harry.
He is too strong a Legilimens for you to conceal your thoughts from him, Sylarana advised him. Bow your head slightly. He'll be looking for shame. You can feign that.
Or not, Harry added. Shame was waiting there, too, another of the emotions that he could reach up and snag from the mental air-though it really should have been there earlier when he confronted Connor. He was ashamed that Riddle had managed to gain such a foothold in his head, that he had not been strong enough to resist.
He had trained to fight against Voldemort since he was a child. He had lost the first battle, or perhaps the second one if he counted last year, spectacularly. That was something to be ashamed of.
He felt a blush heat his cheeks, and then the shame hit him, so that he was actually feeling it.
Harry winced. Why had Riddle held him so easily? Could it be that the similarities between him and Voldemort went deeper than one shared Dark gift?
I wish you would stop thinking Parseltongue was Dark, Sylarana complained in his head. I am not accustomed to being kept in the background and scorned or ignored, as you know. I am only agreeing to stay in your head for right now because someone has to keep this damn box shut.
Harry concealed his smile. The Headmaster would hardly understand it if he saw it.
"What happened, Harry?" Dumbledore's voice was steady, and infinitely reassuring. It made Harry relax, and then he reminded himself that the Headmaster wanted that.
Why do you distrust Dumbledore this much? That sounded like Draco, but it could as easily have been the voice of his own thoughts, his younger and more innocent self, the one that had trusted the Headmaster because he had been a Gryffindor and was the leader of the Light side.
He doesn't share my goals, Harry answered, and then said, "It was Tom Riddle, sir. I felt his presence this time. There's no doubt that he's the one who's managing to Petrify those students."
Dumbledore went still for a moment. Which didn't he expect? Harry thought, shocking himself with his own cynicism. The information, or that I would admit it?
Dumbledore moved past his own shock quickly, though, and sighed. "That is bad news, my boy," he said. "I fear that many parents will be clamoring for your expulsion after this. One Petrification, in which no one could prove the culprit, they were willing to let go. But another one, in only a week... And you say that you know that Tom Riddle was behind this one."
Harry nodded. "I felt him in my head, sir."
Dumbledore froze for longer this time. Harry was sure that this news was completely unexpected.
The Headmaster sighed again, but the sound was shaky. He extended a hand. His phoenix rose from his perch and soared across the distance between them, landing on the Headmaster's shoulder and laying his head against Dumbledore's cheek. The Headmaster turned his face into the feathers. Harry blinked, moved against his will by the display of despair.
That is what he wants you to think, said Sylarana.
Probably, Harry admitted, and waited until Dumbledore gently sent the phoenix back to his perch and turned to face Harry once again.
"I am sorry, my boy," Dumbledore whispered. "I thought, from what I had heard about this book that you held, that Tom Riddle's home was the diary. He could only venture forth from that for short periods of time. Instead, it seems that he has made his home in your mind. I am sorry," he repeated. "That is supposed to be impossible."
"I think I'm used to impossible by now," said Harry softly. "It should have been impossible for Connor to survive the Killing Curse, too, shouldn't it, sir?"
Dumbledore nodded. He looked distracted. "But there remains the question of what will happen to you, Harry," he said. "If many of the parents ask that you be removed from the school, I may have no choice but to do so. And I must consider it in the best interests of other students as well. If you are gone from Hogwarts, the Chamber cannot open, and the attacks will cease."
"Where would you put me?" Harry asked, as though a voice had not opened up just behind his forehead to chant No, no, no! He could conceal his emotions better from the Headmaster than from Connor, he thought, as long as he didn't look Dumbledore in the eyes. The Headmaster could be infuriating, but he didn't tug and pull on the chains of Harry's heart in the way that Connor did.
"St. Mungo's would be the best place," Dumbledore murmured. "There are skilled healers of the mind there, who helped many of the former Death Eaters who had been under Imperius."
Knowing how many Death Eaters had managed to escape imprisonment by proclaiming they had been under the Imperius curse, Harry was skeptical about these skilled healers of the mind. He went for an attack instead. His road lay clear before him.
Dumbledore didn't have Connor's status as a beloved brother who simply didn't understand Harry, nor Draco's status as a confusing friend or Sylarana's status as a Locusta willing to speak with him.
He was only an obstacle in the way of protecting Connor, and that meant Harry could lay aside some of the confusing emotions that poured through his mind whenever he made a move and concentrate on defying Dumbledore.
"But what would happen if they tried to help me, and Tom Riddle possessed me?" Harry asked. "It's true that he couldn't open the Chamber at St. Mungo's, sir, but he told me that he could use my magic if he possessed me completely." He was sure that Dumbledore's pallor this time was not feigned. "Would they really be able to stand up to an angry young Voldemort in a hospital? And what happens if Riddle found some of the patients who were there to be treated?"
Dumbledore closed his eyes. "I am sorry, Harry," he said. "This should not have been able to happen."
His words carried another edge of magic this time, one that Harry thought the Headmaster had sent forth automatically. He wanted to make Harry believe that he was sorry, and that this would never have happened if only things were a little bit better. Harry ducked the power. He didn't want to believe the way that Dumbledore wanted him to believe. It was probably true, but if it was true, then he could come to understand that for himself.
"There is another solution," Dumbledore was saying now. "You may be able to stay in Hogwarts and undergo the theoretical part of your education, Harry, though not the practical part, if you will allow us to cage your magic. With a close watch on you, you would not be able to go to the Chamber without our knowledge, but-forgive me, dear boy, but I cannot trust someone with your power and Riddle in his head even if we find and seal the entrance to the Chamber." He opened his eyes and looked at Harry, sad and stern and commanding. "Surely you must see that this is the best solution."
Harry had angry words on his tongue. He wanted to say them. He wanted to ask Dumbledore if he would consider suppressing anyone else's magic, such as Connor's if the suspicion for the attacks had fallen on him. He wanted to say that Lockhart was more a danger to the other students than Harry was right now, now that he knew about Riddle. He wanted to ask Dumbledore why he didn't prevent Snape from making any Potions involving half a hundred ingredients, all of which could potentially scar or disfigure a student for months or years.
He swallowed them all. Rage, good as it felt to entertain it, would not serve him right now.
"Do you really think you can cage my magic, sir?" he asked quietly.
Dumbledore's gaze came knifing to his face. This time, Harry met it full on. He trusted Snape's shields to hide the box and Sylarana, and Snape's skills to hide himself. Only Draco might be left out in the open, and Harry was willing to take the risk. He wanted to show his magic to the Headmaster.
He called on it fully, the way that he would if he were about to defend Connor, and let it rise around him.
He started as one and then another of the delicate silver instruments the Headmaster kept began to chime and vibrate. Fawkes lifted his head and trilled.
A few dozing Headmasters stuck their heads towards the front of their portraits, or cupped their hands around their ears. Harry briefly thought he could hear something himself, a distant voice singing in happiness and glad, confident power, before the room filled with stronger sensations to catch his attention: warm pressure over most of his skin and a clean smell like a waterfall.
He sat there in wonder. Why have I never felt this before? Was I putting part of what I felt about my magic in the box, too?
"Harry."
Harry looked back at Dumbledore. The Headmaster's face was calm, and if Harry squinted, he thought he could make out a white shell around him, probably locking his own magic in and keeping it from mingling with Harry's. If he didn't, Harry supposed, then there might be an explosion, or Harry might possibly learn things about the Headmaster that Dumbledore didn't want him to know.
Harry wanted to know them, suddenly. He wanted to sing and wander Hogwarts's corridors with his magic showing him secret tunnels and ancient wards just for the fun of it. What good was magic, after all, if one tamed and constrained it and used it for only a few simple tasks?
"Harry," Dumbledore repeated.
Harry took a deep breath and reined his power in as he had earlier controlled his anger. Yes, magic could show him wonderful things, but he didn't want it to get him thrown out of Hogwarts, and right now he thought there was a danger of that. "I'm sorry, Headmaster," he said, listening to the last coil of wild song fade. "I went a little too far in making my point."
Dumbledore beamed at him. "Quite all right, my dear boy! And you are right, caging your magic would not work. I think it best if you stay here in Hogwarts, where the wards can protect you. You are never to be alone. If you are, it will result in detentions for you and lost points for Slytherin, I am afraid. I will ask Professor Snape to strengthen the wards on the Slytherin common room, and construct one that will alert him if you are wandering after curfew. And there will be a few other precautions taken to insure that the students stay safe. I think Hogwarts is the best place for you, after all."
Harry raised an eyebrow. What made him decide that?
Your power, said Sylarana, in the bored tone that indicated everyone in the world knew this except him. Given how serious she had been lately, Harry was just as glad to have it back. He doesn't want someone with magic as powerful as you are in St. Mungo's, or anywhere that isn't under his immediate control.
Harry blinked. But I just called it up. And Dumbledore is the strongest wizard in the world.
That may not matter, said Sylarana cryptically. Sometimes the thing we fear most is what might happen.
Who's this 'we?' All the other snakes who speak with Parselmouths?
She sulked at him. Harry surprised himself by smiling. He had not often teased her like that before. He wondered if it would be an obstacle on his road to defending Connor and getting Tom Riddle out of his head, but it did not seem as if it would be.
"You do realize," Dumbledore was saying, "that the governors of the school might object to having you stay. Most of them have children here, and the threat from the Chamber and from a powerful young man possessed by Tom Riddle-"
Fawkes turned his head abruptly and trilled. A knock sounded on the door, and when Dumbledore called, "Come in," Professor McGonagall walked in, carrying an enormous golden-colored owl with a letter tied to its leg. She had a peculiar expression on her face.
"This is a letter from the school governors, Headmaster," she said, and extended the owl to him.
Dumbledore's eyes flickered to Harry. Harry looked down so as not to meet his gaze.
"How strange," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "We were just discussing them." He took the letter from the owl's leg and broke the seal, then read the letter within. His happy, patient expression did not change, except at the end, when he looked up and beamed at Harry. "Wonderful news, my boy! It seems that Lucius Malfoy has firecalled the other governors, and they have agreed that you should stay in school, as it is the best and safest place for you. Mr. Malfoy also pointed out that so far the attacks have been against purebloods, which is not what the legend of the Chamber points towards, and suggests that we may be jumping to conclusions, that this is a particularly nasty and vicious prank."
Harry knew that Dumbledore did not believe that. He also knew that Dumbledore was wondering how Lucius Malfoy had learned of Neville's Petrification so fast, and why he had made it a point to put himself between Harry and harm's way.
Not telling, said Sylarana, in a voice of utterly childish delight.
Not telling. We have a secret. It is fun.
Harry bit his lip to stifle a snort, and looked back up to see Dumbledore nod to him. "If you will escort Harry back to his common room, Minerva," he said. "I think we have reached an understanding. Even the governors of the school seem to agree."
"But, Albus-"
"I will explain later, Minerva," said Dumbledore calmly. "In fact, if you wish to return immediately after escorting Harry down, I can explain it to you then."
Professor McGonagall nodded uncertainly, and led Harry down the stairs. This time, unlike last Saturday, she did not speak with him. Harry read her darting glances and the hesitant way she clenched one hand in her sleeve, and knew she could not decide what she wanted to say.
Well, for that matter, neither could he have, and he was not sure what his response to one of her overtures would have been. His heart was pounding, and he was biting his lip until it was close to a bloodied mess. He was starting to feel the shame he had expected for hurting and humiliating Connor, but he also still felt the delight in fooling the Headmaster, and irritation with Dumbledore's intent to ship him off to St. Mungo's, and determination to protect Connor, and, and, and-
The emotions kept going off like firecrackers beneath the surface of his chest. Harry told himself he would only feel them as long as he needed to, only until Tom Riddle was flushed from his mind and his brother was safe. Then he could use the box again, surely.
No, said Sylarana calmly.
No, Draco agreed, as they came nearer to the common room and Harry could hear him again. I like you better this way. I want to see what happens the next time Weasley says something.
Harry put aside the temptation to revel in the emotions. He had letters to write, and, surely, letters to receive-mostly from his parents. Connor would write to their father and wail that Harry had betrayed him. James would write sternly to Harry. Harry would explain; he thought he could do a better job of staying calm in writing than he was doing right now. And then their mother would write him, giving him advice on protecting his brother and staying true to his cause, and then Harry would reply and explain what had happened.
He was not sure what would happen then. Neither their mother nor Harry had ever thought that he might be possessed by Voldemort.
Lily had theorized once about telepathic connections hidden in curse scars, but perhaps Voldemort was strong enough to possess anyone he wanted.
I'll get books on Occlumency. I'll study. I'll do whatever I have to, he thought, the edge of his will slicing through his crowding emotions again.
I'll master my mind, and then thank Draco and Snape for their assistance and get them out of my head. This is only a temporary change. Given that, I can handle it, surely.
He ignored the part of him that hummed and sang in his magic, that enjoyed the emotions, and wanted to make the change more permanent.