“This is about the antidote,” Harry said, as Draco seemed inclined to remain silent. “To the Polyjuice Potion.”
“That is correct. Severus?” said Dumbledore, and Snape stepped forward and set two large glass vials of a brownish solution on the desk.
“These,” Snape said, “have been designed precisely to reverse the results of the potion you took last year. The effect should be close to instantaneous. I will of course by standing by in case there are any problems, though I anticipate none.”
“Nor any side effects?” asked Dumbledore, with a raise of his white eyebrows.
“None. This potion is quite perfect, I assure you.” Snape reached forward and snapped the lids off each of the vials. “I have measured out the correct amount for each of you. It would be best if you swallowed them at the same time, or at least within the same minute.”
Harry looked at Draco for his reaction, but Draco was simply staring at the vial in front of him, his grey eyes winter-bleak. There was no curiosity in them, nor really even any resignation, just a sort of blank acceptance. A sort of concern registered on Dumbledore’s face. “You may take a moment if you like, to prepare yourself,” he said. “Mister Malfoy, I hope you will pass on to your mother my compliments for what she’s done with this house. I was at Malfoy Manor once as a boy myself, and I recall thinking that for a structure so grand, there was precious little homelike or beautiful about it. That has certainly changed.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that along, Headmaster,” said Draco, with perfect politeness, and reached for the vial that was on his side of the desk. Very slowly, he turned to look at Harry, almost as if he were being dragged around by the shoulder by some unseen force and made to look at him.
“Shall we then, Potter?” he said, and indicated with a wave of his hand the vial that stood swirling and smoking on the desk in front of Harry. Harry was reminded forcefully and suddenly of Lucius, in this same room holding a very different vial, and with a very different expression on his face than Draco’s, though they shared the same beautifully modulated, aristocratic voice.
Harry reached for his vial. It was cool to the touch, despite the smoke rising from the surface of the liquid, and smelled — well, rather like Polyjuice Potion, though undercut by something sour, like lemon juice or vinegar. He looked back at Draco, half expecting a sort of mordant cheer, perhaps a raise of his vial in a macabre toast, but Draco only stared down at his hands and Harry was reminded of the look on his face when Draco had kissed his cheek just outside the castle in Romania, kissed him and said, “Te morituri salutant.”
“Are you ready, then, Potter?” said Snape, in his slippery-cold voice, dry as snake scales. “The Headmaster and I do not have all day.”
“That’s all right, Severus,” said Dumbledore. “Harry, you look troubled. Is everything all right?”
Harry raised his head. “Yes,” he said, and saw Draco shoot him a look, narrow and thoughtful and surprised. “Yes, everything’s all right. I was just making up my mind about something.”
“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “And have you reached a decision?”
“Yes,” said Harry. He leaned forward and set the vial back down on the desk. Then he stood up. “It’s awfully kind of you to go to all this trouble to create a reversal for the Polyjuice spell,” he said. “But all the same, I don’t think I want it. I’m sorry for having wasted your time.”
“But —“ Dumbledore began, sounding bewildered.
“You can’t refuse the potion!” Snape interrupted, looking shocked.
“Headmaster —“
“Actually,” said Harry, “I think you’ll find I can refuse it. I’m seventeen — an adult. And I’m no longer a student at Hogwarts, Professor Snape, so I think you’ll also find that you have no real authority over me.”
Snape muttured something darkly in response to that, something that was only audible to Dumbledore, who sighed.
“Technically, Harry, you are correct,” he said. “Neither of us have any real authority over you. But I think you’ll agree with me, won’t you, that I have always looked out for your best interests?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said, more quietly — Dumbledore’s sincerity was much harder to take than Snape’s angry bluster.
“Looked out for his best interests?” said Draco, suddenly, surprising everyone in the room, even Harry. “You dumped him as a baby on a bunch of soulless Muggles who tortured him for eleven years. You’ve tossed him in front of dragons, let him stand up to Dementors alone, left the responsibity of saving his godfather from Azkaban entirely on his own shoulders when he was thirteen years old and you say you’ve always looked out for his best interests?”
Dumbledore raised his head, his glasses a gold blur in the dimness. “I did not realize, Harry,” he said quietly, “that you held quite such a catalogue of resentments as that.”
“I don’t,” said Harry, almost surprised that he meant it. “I know you’ve always looked out for the wizarding world’s safety first, and mine second.
I don’t resent that. It was what you had to do. I’ve always admired you for it, and tried to be like you. To make unselfish choices. My whole life was always about trying to be whatever it was that I had to be, molding myself into what was needed, at that moment, to fight Voldemort. But Voldemort’s gone now, and I’m not a child any longer. The descisions I make now are going to have to be about my own life, and what kind of man I want to be. You can consider this my first decision, if you like. I don’t want that antidote. I will not take it. Is that clear?”
“What’s clear,” said Snape coldly, “is that you have truly mastered the art of ingratitude, Potter.”
Harry smiled at him, the bland, infuriating smile he’d learned from Draco.
“I respect your position, Professor,” he said. “I just don’t share it.”
“Headmaster,” Snape said, turning to Dumbledore. “There is more at stake here than Potter’s petty show of independence. If he does not take the potion, it may well impact the efficacy of Draco taking it. Potter may be grown-up enough to make decisions for himself, but I don’t think he should be allowed to make decisions for other students —“ He caught himself, his voice tightening, — “for others, I mean. Should he?”
“That is a point of some merit, Severus,” said Dumbledore, and looked at Harry. “You do realize how your decision affects Mister Malfoy?”
