"You're perfection itself, all right? Just tell me!"
Draco flushed. "No, I'm not. But you wanted to know, so . . . it's just . . ." He clenched his hands together on his lap, his whole body tensing. "Well, you remember how there was a time a while ago when you tried to . . . er, give me the vault and house you had inherited from Sirius Black?"
Ah. All at once, several things clicked in Harry's mind. The almost appraising way Draco had been looking around in Grimmauld Place. The mention of something Harry didn't even want, anyway. Draco calling him selfish . . .
"You said you didn't want charity," Harry murmured.
Draco drew himself up a little. "I don't. But . . ." He cleared his throat, clearly ill at ease. Or maybe out of his depth. "Listen, at the time that's what I thought you were doing. I mean, you were trying to be nice, but it was pity motivating you."
"No, I was being a good brother," corrected Harry. "Or trying, I mean. I didn't know you'd take it like that. I should have. Severus did warn me."
Draco smiled slightly. "He mentioned that when he told me not to get too angry. But the thing is, I didn't understand before how things work between brothers. But now that I . . . er, feel the same way about you, I can see how it must have been. I mean, if you were down and out I'd do what I could to help you, right? And I wouldn't hold it against you that you'd taken something from me. And once I realised that, I started thinking it wouldn't be so terrible to let you give me something. If you still want to, that is."
"Oh, I still want to." Harry smiled as well, feeling like the expression was reaching all the way down inside him. "See, I feel like the vault and house really ought to be yours, Draco. You're a Black. A blood relation of Sirius. And I know he'd be so proud of what you've done this year. He'd want to help you, I'm sure of it." Harry blinked, still happy, even through the pricking feeling in his eyes. He didn't like dwelling on the fact that Sirius was dead and gone. "It's . . . I feel like I can honour him by being there for you when he can't, that's all. It was never charity."
"I know. And I don't remind you of Lucius. Sorry I threw that at you. I think I knew even when I said it that it wasn't true."
"No, it's not," said Harry. "You look just like him, and if you grew your hair longer the resemblance would be even more startling, but I don't even think of him when I look at you now. I just see my brother."
Something deep inside Harry seemed to wake up and stretch, then demand to be heard. It took him a minute to figure out what the voice inside him was saying.
Oh.
His father felt the same way, that was it. He didn't look at Harry and see James. Harry had known that, of course. He'd known it for a long time.
But now, he could really, truly believe it. When Snape looked at Harry, he just saw his son.
And knowing that all the way down to his deepest core seemed to heal something. A wound Harry had never even known was there. He felt more whole than he'd ever been. His arms stopped itching.
Harry didn't fool himself that he was over his problem for good, but for the moment . . . yeah. He felt all right. Accepted.
"Are you all right?" asked Draco, leaning forward. "You look a bit odd. You aren't . . . er, thinking about conjuring another needle, are you?"
"No." Harry jumped up. "I want to do something fun. Let's have that game of Wizard's Scrabble Dad wanted last night. I bet he'd play with us."
Snape wasn't back yet from talking with the headmaster, though.
No matter. Harry and Draco went ahead and played on their own.
------------------------------------------------------
Snape was in a foul mood when he returned from speaking with Albus. He whipped his robes off, the edges of them slapping the wall as he turned to hang them. His expression was nothing short of thunderous.
"The headmaster said we can't move back?" asked Harry, though he couldn't really believe that was the case.
Snape took several deep breaths, looking like he was trying to calm himself. "You're my sons, so the matter of your domicile is not within in his purview, but that cursed portrait is."
Something clicked for Harry, then. "Oh. You went to Grimmauld Place."
"Yes," grated Snape, his fists clenching.
Draco looked from Harry to Snape, his silver eyes reflecting curiosity. "What's this about the portrait?"
Harry glanced at his father, but like the night before, Snape was apparently going to make Harry do his own talking. Which was probably healthy, Harry thought with a slight grimace.
"Um, I sort of had a chat with Lucius. I mean, with the portrait. He said I was . . . er, turning dark, and that's kind of how it all started."
Draco shook his head. "Why would you believe a word Lucius said? You didn't believe him in France when he said he'd let me leave in peace if I would just betray you."
"Um . . . well . . ." Harry slanted a glance at Snape. "See, Dad had sort of said something similar earlier--"
"He did not!"
"One of his revenge-is-bad-for-you speeches."
Draco made a face. "Oh, those. Yeah."
Harry didn't want to seem like he was blaming his father. "It goes back before that, though."
Draco looked blank for a second. Then he nodded. "The Parseltongue thing second year, everybody calling you a dark wizard."
"Back before that, even," murmured Harry, thinking it through. "I mean, when I was three years old I was hearing how horrible I was. I know now that my aunt and uncle had issues of their own, but . . ." He shrugged.
"Hurtful things heard in childhood still do have an impact," said Snape.
Harry nodded, figuring his father would know. "But you had sensed dark magic from me in the Dursleys' house way back before you even liked me."
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose as if fighting a headache. "Which I've explained before does not make you dark. Neither does your access to your deeper magic. Calling it dark is just an expression."
"So what happened with the portrait, then?" Draco interrupted. He clearly didn't want Snape to take the conversation in a new direction, leaving his questions unanswered. "I take it the Order is keeping it at Grimmauld Place."
The Potion Master's anger flared back to life. "Nothing happened to it!" he practically spat. "Thanks to your lack of impulse control, I've been prevented from destroying the last trace of Lucius Malfoy's essence here on earth!"
"And that's supposed to be my fault?" Shooting to his feet, Draco glared.
"Albus warded it to protect it from you, I do believe," sneered Snape.
"Yeah, well at least you think I had the right idea blasting it to hell, then."
Snape dropped into a chair. "You did. That portrait is a malevolent force, but Albus insists that gleaning information from it is of the utmost importance." The Potions Master's lips turned down. "We just had quite a row."
Sighing, Harry pushed the game board away and scooted over to the edge of the couch. Closer to his father. "Oh, no. You couldn't convince him you were right because I wouldn't let you tell him about the needles?"
"As if that would make a difference," said Snape, clearly disgusted. "Harry, the headmaster knew about the needles on Samhain. And he was the one who insisted that Lucius mustn't be charged. This is more of the same. Lupin's precious mission, again!" Snape began to mimic the headmaster's jovial tones, only he did it with a snarl. "The portrait will remain in Grimmauld Place, Severus, and that is an end to the matter. Lemon sherbet?"
"Well, it's my house," said Harry fiercely. "I ought to have the final say in what can and can't go on inside it!"
Draco cleared his throat. Ostentatiously.