lomonaaeren

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Chapter Twelve—Real Words

“I’m here, Headmistress.”

Harry can’t keep the curiosity out of his voice. He’s been feeling pretty curious since McGonagall sent him a note with an elegant black owl at dinner to tell him that she wanted Harry to come to her office. Harry hasn’t done anything particularly noticeable since the beginning of their eighth year, except destroying Slughorn’s wards, but they don’t know that was him.

When he sees Daphne Greengrass sitting in a chair in front of the desk, he begins to understand.

“Please sit down, Mr. Potter.”

McGonagall’s lips are tight, and she keeps her head bowed, sorting through parchment on the desk in front of her. Harry sits down in the chair on the right side of Greengrass, and smiles pleasantly at her when she looks at him. Greengrass flinches, ducking her head.

When she seemingly can’t put it off any longer, McGonagall takes a deep breath and looks up. “Miss Greengrass tells me that you have been tormenting her, Mr. Potter.”

“No, Headmistress.”

“That’s all you have to say? Just no?”

“Well, yeah? Because I haven’t even heard any substance to these accusations. I haven’t been going up to her in classes or the corridors or meals, and we don’t share a common room or anything. What is she accusing me of?”

McGonagall’s lips pinch together even more tightly. Harry sits there and waits. Before the war, he might have felt the need to defend himself and yell if he was pulled into this office and accused of “tormenting” someone.

Now, he can just wait.

“She says that you have cast a spell or used a potion on her that makes her feel constant…desire,” McGonagall says at last.

Harry manages to hold back a snort. He’s pretty sure it’s more than that, because Theo wouldn’t be satisfied with something so tame. But he won’t get in trouble by saying so. He shrugs a little. “You can check my wand if you want, Headmistress.”

“Did you brew a potion?”

Harry does laugh, this time. “You know that I didn’t do well in Potions except during sixth year, right? And that was when I was cheating out of a textbook that Professor Snape made annotations in when he was a teenager.”

Greengrass is staring at him, although she hastily lowers her eyes again when Harry glances in her direction. McGonagall blinks and then turns around to face the portrait of Snape that’s hanging behind her desk. “Is that true, Severus?”

Harry meets the eyes of Snape’s portrait with amusement that he doesn’t bother to hide. Snape’s face is ghastly with hatred. Well, Harry doesn’t feel sorry for him at all. Theo’s spell was necessary.

“Yes, it is. It is also where he found the spell that injured Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter has always been a reckless, impulsive—”

“Yes, thank you for your contribution, Severus.” McGonagall’s tone makes Harry wonder what Snape has been saying about him already. She starts to say something else, but Dumbledore’s portrait clears his throat and interrupts.

“I wonder if I might have a chat with Harry, Minerva?”

“I don’t see how I’m to stop you, Albus.”

Harry smiles in spite of himself. Of course he doesn’t know exactly how McGonagall and Dumbledore sounded when they talked in private, but it might have been like this.

“I rather meant alone. Harry might feel able to confide things in me that he does not in front of Slytherins.”

Dumbledore’s smile is warm and inviting, but Harry just returns it without pressure. He has lots of complex feelings about Dumbledore. It’s hard to hate a portrait. He won’t betray Theo.

All of those things are true, but the last one is the most important.

“I have no objections to that, but I don’t know if Miss Greengrass and Severus do.” McGonagall manages to look at Greengrass and Snape’s portrait at the same time, without much motion of her eyes. Harry is a little impressed.

Snape sneers and whirls away, disappearing out of the side of the portrait frame. Greengrass stands up slowly, looking at Harry as if he’s about to attack her like a wild animal.

It’s harder than it should be not to roar like a lion at her. Harry manages to hold back the temptation, heroically.

“And you, Minerva?”

McGonagall and Dumbledore’s portrait look at each other for a long moment in silence. Harry watches and is still. He isn’t entirely sure how this is going to fall out, but he’s more interested in what their silent conversation is actually saying.

Not that it seems he can tell that, either, but Professor McGonagall finally shakes her head and stands up. “If you think you can,” she says, cryptically, and walks over to the door in the far side of the office that probably leads to her private rooms. Harry wonders if the job just makes all the Headmasters and Headmistresses cryptic.

“How are you, my dear boy?” Dumbledore asks the moment the door closes behind McGonagall.

“Better than I expected to be, honestly.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I died and came back. Things seemed weird after that.” Harry has to smile a little. Right now, the sensation of discomfort he’s associated with the Cloak and the floating feeling he sometimes had right after he returned to his body seem worlds away. He’s so connected to the world right now, thanks to Theo.

And he can think of nothing better than being in his body when Theo finally decides that he’s ready to—

“Harry?”

“Right, sir. Sorry.” Harry shakes his head a little. He doesn’t want to actually start daydreaming about that kind of thing in front of Dumbledore. The other portraits might not gossip about things like this to people outside the Headmistress’s office, but still.

“I have the feeling that you are not, how may I put this, taking this entirely seriously.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s true that I haven’t gone near Greengrass at all. And Professor McGonagall didn’t look at my wand, but she can, and she’ll see it’s the truth. I haven’t cast any spells on her.”

“What about the potions question? For all that Severus might not have forgiven you for using that very convenient book, I know that you always had more facility in his art than he appreciated. An Exceeds Expectations on your OWL is still a very impressive mark.”

“Thank you, sir. I think Professor Slughorn agrees with you.”

Dumbledore chuckles. “And now, please tell me what you did to Miss Greengrass, Harry.”

“Nothing?”

“Really. I find that hard to believe.”

Harry leans back in his chair and rolls his eyes a little. “Sir, when have you ever known me to play pranks the way my father did? I didn’t have time for that nonsense. Snape was the one who always saw me as my father, not you.”

“Professor Snape, Harry.”

“He’s a portrait, he doesn’t get a title.”

Dumbledore examines him thoughtfully for long moments. Harry stares blandly back. He knows that a portrait can’t use Legilimency; it’s something Theo told him about when they were practicing Occlumency. And people think you’re more trustworthy if you look them in the eye when you act like you’re telling the truth.

At least, Harry thinks that’s why Dudley got away with lying to their teachers as often as he did.

Dumbledore makes a humming sound. “If you did nothing to Miss Greengrass, why would she accuse you?”

“Maybe because she’s a Slytherin and I’m the Boy-Who-Lived? Maybe she’s friends with Parkinson, who wanted to throw me to Voldemort last year. I don’t know all the details of Slytherin politics, sir.”

“I did hope that you would have got over your prejudice against Slytherin House, Harry.”

Harry blinks at him. Dumbledore studies him back. Then Harry says slowly, “Sir, I never would have thought to hear you call it a prejudice. You wanted me to get along with Snape and not to worry about Malfoy during sixth year, but not—that.”

“You have lived through a war, Harry. You have died and come back. Surely you can put aside lesser concerns like a Hogwarts House?”

“I mean, if they put it aside first, sure.”

Dumbledore sighs. “Harry, I was trying not to say this, but I see that I must. Miss Greengrass seems to have no reason to accuse you, especially without proof. You seem confident that your wand will clear you. But what about the potions question? Or did you use wandless magic to harm her?”

“No, sir.”

Harry doesn’t hold his breath after he says that, even though he really wants to. Theo didn’t specifically say that portraits couldn’t detect lies, but it seems obvious. If they can’t use Legilimency, they can’t detect lies when they would have to have Legilimency to do it, can they?

Dumbledore settles back in his ornate chair. “Then why did Miss Greengrass accuse you, Harry?”

“Why not call her back in here and have her answer that?”

“I am interested in your answer.”

“And I already told you that I don’t know.”

Dumbledore gazes at him. Harry keeps looking back, but when some moments pass and the portrait doesn’t say anything, he adds bitterly, “So it just comes down to how you’re going to trust anyone’s word rather than mine, then? I suppose Snape taught you some things since you died, too.”

Dumbledore shakes his head, a deep sigh welling out of his mouth. “It is not that, my dear boy. I merely fear that you may have allowed something else to consume your attention since you returned.”

“Huh?”

Harry manages to sound stupid, he thinks, for all that his heart is drumming so hard that his chest hurts. Dumbledore can’t know about Theo. He can’t.

“I fear that you are looking into shadows and seeing enemies who do not exist,” Dumbledore says gently. “That is why you are looking to Slytherins to provide that enemy. You have always had someone to fight. Now you have no one.”

A strangled laugh slips out of Harry’s throat before he can stop himself. If you only knew. He has three Slytherins to fight, if no one else, and he’ll have people who hate Muggleborns and want to stop Hermione from campaigning for freedom for house-elves, and he’ll have those who want to attack Theo for being a Death Eater’s son.

“What have I said?”

“Just that we defeated Voldemort, but that doesn’t mean we defeated all our enemies.” Harry stares at Dumbledore. “The Ministry is still corrupt. There are still people out there who hate Muggleborns. There are still people who’ll want to kill me for the bragging rights.”

Dumbledore looks stricken. “Yes, you are right. I apologize, Harry.”

“And do you apologize for thinking that Greengrass must have some reason to accuse me even though I didn’t do anything to her?”

Dumbledore nods. “It doesn’t seem as though you could have done anything, if your wand is as free of spells as you say.”

Professor McGonagall comes back in then, maybe alerted by one of the other portraits, and summons Greengrass back from where she was apparently standing on the moving stairs. McGonagall casts Priori Incantatem and watches the shapes of the spells that form out of Harry’s wand narrowly.

Of course she’s not going to find anything. Harry stands by with his arms folded and takes the wand impatiently when she’s done. “Can I go now?” he asks.

“Miss Greengrass, do you have anything to say?”

Greengrass glances up. Harry is waiting, and she looks at him only once before she looks down again. She shakes her head.

“But I thought Mr. Potter was tormenting you?”

“Maybe I was mistaken.” Greengrass’s voice is tiny.

Harry doesn’t roll his eyes, but only just. All right, so she was afraid of him but still wanted revenge, but now that she has the chance, she can’t get revenge like a Slytherin or a Gryffindor.

“Perhaps you’ll think twice before you bring me false accusations again,” McGonagall says, sounding twice as stern as she ever did as the Transfiguration professor, and then she gestures them through the door.

Harry can feel eyes on his back, and he’s pretty sure it’s Dumbledore’s portrait as well as McGonagall. He ignores it. Dumbledore is dead, and Harry might have complex feelings about him instead of hating or loving him outright, but his first loyalty isn’t to the old Headmaster anymore.

Greengrass rides most of the way down the moving staircase in silence, but she whips around to face him when they step off, maybe because there are no portraits in sight. “You know what you did,” she whispers.

“Tell me what I did, Greengrass. You had the chance, and you couldn’t, but maybe you’ll be braver now that we’re out in the open away from professors.”

Greengrass opens her mouth, but then shuts it and hisses, putting a hand to her breastbone. Harry snorts. He supposes that Theo is flooding her with arousal at the moment that she can’t do anything about.

It’s still not as bad as what happened to Theo, but, well, Theo wouldn’t want to inflict that on her. So he’ll just take milder revenge that lasts longer.

“If only you would—”

“What is this?”

Harry starts and glances over his shoulder. He didn’t hear Theo come up behind them, and the voice is so low and flat that he isn’t sure it is Theo, at first. But yes, it is, standing in the middle of the corridor like a vengeful shadow.

His eyes flit from Greengrass to Harry, and his mouth opens in a low snarl.

Harry looks calmly back at him. Theo isn’t more frightening to Harry than his own ability to use the Imperius and the Cruciatus that he learned about during the war. He takes a step away from Greengrass and nods to Theo. “I was summoned to the Headmistress’s office. It seems that Greengrass had an accusation she wanted to make.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, that I was tormenting her. But when she had the chance to offer up details, she didn’t. You can imagine how surprised I was.”

Theo is silent, looking at Greengrass. Harry has felt people’s magic boil around them before—definitely since he returned from death, and maybe before then although he didn’t recognize it—but Theo’s magic feels like a cone of cold right now. It’s reaching out from his body, aimed straight at Greengrass, encompassing her.

Greengrass puts her hand over her mouth. Harry wonders if she’s about to vomit from fear.

“How strange,” Theo says.

“Wasn’t it?” Harry agrees. “Then Dumbledore’s portrait wanted to talk to me in private, so she left the office, and so did Snape’s portrait and the Headmistress. But I didn’t know what she was talking about. I certainly didn’t prank Greengrass.”

Theo smiles, and Harry can’t think of it as anything but the smile of a survivor rejoicing in the discomfort of the woman who would have raped him. “I think that’s very strange,” he says. “I think it’s so strange that the odds are very strong it won’t happen again.”

Greengrass makes a hiccoughing sound that might be agreement, and then she turns and flees. Harry shakes his head. She’s such a coward that he’s kind of surprised she even tried to give Amortentia to Theo in the first place.

Then again, she and Malfoy and Parkinson also seem like the kind of stupid who think they wouldn’t be caught.

Harry turns towards Theo to ask if he thinks that’s the case, and then stops. Theo is standing right in front of him, and Harry never heard him move. Theo looks him over carefully, from foot to head.

Harry shivers now, but it’s still not from fear.

“She didn’t try to—do anything to you,” Theo says. It’s not a question.

Harry flushes. “No,” he whispers. “Is that what you thought happened? I would never touch her, Theo.”

“She might have attacked you out of fear or anger. Or because of what I’m making her feel.”

Harry’s eyes widen. He shakes his head. “No. She—she’s pretty stupid, but I don’t think she’s that stupid. I mean. Mostly.”

Theo nods. “When you left dinner and didn’t come back, I didn’t know what had happened. And then I saw Greengrass was missing as well, and I—didn’t think you would have done anything of your own free will, but I thought I might have mistaken her viciousness when cornered.”

“I don’t think she’ll try to bring the Headmistress into it again,” Harry breathes. His stomach is tingling, and his skin feels stretched taut, like something someone is about to jump on. He wants to be touched. “Not after she completely lost her nerve and couldn’t describe what I supposedly did to her.”

“And anyone else?”

Theo is whispering now. Harry lowers his voice to match. “Slughorn or someone like that, you mean? Maybe. But he would still have to check her over, and he wouldn’t find that she was under a potion or anything like that. Right?”

“Of course. Why would he?”

Harry smiles up at Theo, wanting to cross the distance between them and valuing every inch, at the same time. It’s up to Theo what they do right now. It has to be. After what he suffered, Harry would never take any choice away from him.

Theo watches him intently. There’s a stirring on his shoulder, and the little dragon-shaped piece of Harry’s magic comes creeping out and settles in to watch, too.

“I’m not a Gryffindor.”

“No, of course not.”

“But I still have my own kind of courage.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, “you do.”

And Theo leans in and kisses him.

The heat between them seems to explode like a firework, and Harry shudders and clasps his hands behind his back to keep from grabbing Theo’s shoulders. Theo surges closer, knocking Harry’s head against the wall. A flare of pain joins the pleasure, and Theo’s tongue darts out and sweeps over his lips.

Harry moans.

The sound seems to startle Theo, and he pulls back. He’s not touching Harry, his hands on the wall on either side of him instead. For long moments, they stare at each other, heat and potential hovering between them.

Then Theo whispers, “Please don’t touch me.”

“Of course.”

“But you can make all the sounds you like.”

And Theo goes back to kissing him, and Harry tilts his head back and gives in, all the shivers that run all over his skin going off like their own fireworks.

*

The kiss is exactly what Theo wants. What he’s chosen.

And with the person he’s chosen, too.