Oh, right. Harry flicked a glance toward his brother, then returned his gaze to Snape. "By the way, Draco and I worked out the inheritance thing. He's going to take the house and Sirius' vault as well, so I guess it'll be up to him if the portrait can stay. We . . . uh, we'll probably need help with the legal end of things. Can you get us a solicitor?"
Snape looked from Harry to Draco. "I suppose it's my destiny to be the poorest one in the family."
Harry gulped. He hadn't thought of it that way. "Um, well I wouldn't mind sharing with you, but I can't possibly give you Sirius' things. He wouldn't have liked that--"
"Harry," said Snape dryly, "my remark was a poor attempt at humour. Very poor, as it turns out. I'm hardly in financial straits."
"Wouldn't know it from the paltry allowance we get," said Draco, his grin proof that he was joking as well.
"You'll have to forgive me if I wished to teach you to budget. Particularly you," stressed Snape.
"But is it all right for me to sign it all over to Draco? Last time I wanted to give my inheritance away, you told me to wait and I'd thank you later."
Snape inclined his head as though remembering. "You didn't so much wish to give it away as to rid yourself of it. There is a difference."
There was. Harry could see that. "I'm still thanking you, though. I'm really glad you didn't let me dump it all just because it was a reminder. This is a lot better. I just know Sirius would be proud of Draco."
"Yes, I do believe he would," said Snape slowly. A sardonic light entered his eyes. "Though as he always was a stubborn cur, it might take you quite a while to convince Black that you were truly on Harry's side, Draco."
Draco moved his hand in a familiar arc, though he had no wand in hand. "Serpensortia! There's my proof!"
"Yes, you did well," said Snape. "I'll arrange for a solicitor, of course. Now, back to the portrait. Since it can't be destroyed except by Albus, Grimmauld Place is likely the best location for it. However, you're not to be alone with it again, Harry."
"Ha. Like I'd want to." Shuddering in memory, Harry began running his hands up and down his arms.
Draco and Snape both noticed, Harry thought. His father stiffened and opened his mouth to say something, but Draco beat him to it.
"Let's go back to Grimmauld Place right now and have Harry Lumos the stupid portrait," said Draco, pacing by then. "A wanded Lumos. I'd like to see the headmaster's spells resist that."
"I'd like Order Headquarters to remain standing," retorted Snape. "As would you, I presume, since the house is shortly to be yours. Any contest between Harry's magic and Albus' is like as not to be cataclysmic. I think for the time being we must endure the fact that the portrait will continue to exist." His dark gaze flicked to Harry's face. "I hope you're paying attention. I feel no reluctance or compunction whatsoever over the prospect of killing what remains of Lucius. And I quite assure you, should I have succeeded, I would not feel guilt over my lack of guilt."
"That's different," murmured Harry.
"Oh, indeed. Because I am a Slytherin?"
Draco turned on a heel to stare at Harry.
"No, because it's a portrait!"
Snape nodded briskly. "Be that as it may, in a certain sense it is also Lucius. Have I your word that you'll avoid the portrait in future?"
"God, yes."
"And yours, Draco? Even if it hangs in your house?"
Draco gave a careless shrug. "Oh, I can handle anything Lucius wants to throw at me."
"All the same you're to stay clear of that portrait!"
The boy narrowed his eyes. "Remus Lupin might need me to coax information out of it at some point, you know. Lucius is more likely to spill when he's really angry, and who better than me to rouse that feeling in him?" Draco executed a sweeping bow.
Snape's nostril's flared. "You're not to be alone with the portrait, all the same. If Lupin really needs your assistance, he can talk to me, and we'll arrange something. No doubt using a certain invisibility cloak."
Draco beamed a smile. "That'll work."
Harry was tired of hearing about the portrait. He just wanted to forget the thing existed. "I'm tired of Scrabble. Let's all order whatever suits for lunch."
What suited Harry turned out to be a juicy steak. It came with a bone-handled serrated knife.
Draco put his hand over Harry's when he saw it. "Better use this one," he said, passing over his regular knife instead.
"Oh, for pity's sake--"
"The other one's got a sharp point."
"So does my quill when it's in good shape!"
Snape cleared his throat. "Draco . . . your interest in your brother's welfare is laudable, but I don't think Harry's . . . compulsion is quite that generalised."
"Yeah, I started using a needle because I wanted to get over my fear of them. So they couldn't be used against me again."
Draco drew his hand back. "Oh. Well, that wasn't clear. All right. Enjoy your overcooked filet. I don't know why you can't order it medium-rare--"
That was a pretty stupid complaint, considering Harry hadn't ordered it at all. He'd got exactly what suited him. Steak and chips, with lots of ketchup slathered over the top of both. Draco called it a travesty of a fine cut of meat. Harry told him to shut up and eat his snails.
------------------------------------------------------
Late that same evening, Harry yawned and laid his book aside.
"Not keeping your interest?" asked Snape as he entered the room, a tray floating behind him. The scent of hot cocoa rose into the air.
"Well I was trying to stay awake until Draco finished his shower, but I'm starting to think he must want to be a fish." Harry sat up a little bit and took the cup that gently sailed his way. "Cocoa sounds awfully good, though. Thanks."
Snape picked his own cup off the tray, then sat down on the edge of Harry's bed. The ebony tray didn't seem to like levitating empty. It started spinning slowly in place.
"So," said Snape, his face slightly obscured by the steam rising from his cup. "It occurs to me that there are some additional things we ought to discuss."
Harry gulped some cocoa even though it was really too hot to drink fast. "Oh. Well, I don't think I'm over it or anything, but today wasn't too bad, really. I kind of wanted to make a needle a couple of times but I managed to distract myself somehow or other."
"I am glad to hear it, but that's not what I want to talk about at the moment." Snape paused, then resumed. "Have you given any thought to the health implications of what you were doing?"
Harry scooted back on the bed, and was a little startled when all that did was make his father scoot forward. "Well?"
"Um, some," said Harry slowly. "When I used the really big needle I bled a lot. I realised then that if I kept going I might bleed to death. I . . . I thought that healing spells would take care of that but the more I used them, the less they worked. Not that they worked all that well in the first place."
"Self-healing is self-limiting in a case like this," said Snape, nodding. "The essence of the spell is to provide aid. If the magic begins sensing that provision of such aid is only leading to further harm, it will cease to function well. But Harry, blood loss is not the only danger you were courting when you plied your needle."
"Yeah, I worried about infection too. I was trying to figure out how to get some salve and still keep it all a secret."
"Your arms were in fact infected when I treated them last night. Do you know what can happen when an infection is allowed to take root, Harry?"
Harry didn't, but he had a feeling he was about to find out.
"It's a bit more serious than a scab that won't heal over properly. Wounds can turn septic. Gangrene, Harry. Have you ever heard of it?"
Suddenly his cocoa didn't taste very sweet. "Yeah."
"Magic can heal a great many things, as you know. But it's not a cure-all, Harry. You only need to think of Moody to realise that."