A Thousand Splendid Suns

My Wonderful Weakness

Salazar's arm is threaded through Harry's as they Apparate out of Hogwarts, from a dedicated Apparation zone that will be removed in later years, and into Diagon Alley. Harry's breath catches in his throat and he is oddly quiet as he walks.

"Harry? Are you alright?" Salazar is struck by the oddity that he cares about Harry's answer -- not just because of what Harry's answer could reveal, though that is definitely part of it, but also because of general care about Harry's wellbeing. And that is strange, that he should care about another person, especially one that is objectively lesser than he is. It is most disquieting.

Harry stares right through him. "It used to be chaos," he breathes, and Salazar is given the impression that he does not mean Salazar to hear these words. Salazar of course listens in closely anyway. "Diagon Alley cleans up nicely, but I can not and will not forget its time in ruins."

"What are you talking about, Harry?" He holds Harry's cheek in his hand. "Come back to me."

"There is nothing to come back to," whispers Harry, darkly. "It's over. It's all gone -- in puff of the wind, the turn of a sail, it is over."

"You don't know what you're saying," says Salazar, and he is for some reason frightened. He doesn't like what Harry's saying or, more importantly, how he's saying it. He is given the impression of a dark omen.

"I destroyed it," says Harry, and he laughs, though there is nothing funny about such a bleak statement of fact. "Under his orders... there's no limit to what my fingertips did not touch, did not infect."

And perhaps Salazar is just shitty at comforting people, because he does all that he thinks to do, and rifles through Harry's bag and pulls out one of his many calming potions. He shoves it into Harry's hand, and Harry's fingers close over it dumbly. Then he slowly, without blinking, downs the potion in three, large gulps.

His breathing levels out and his eyes lose their hazed quality. He breathes deeply and meets Salazar's concerned gaze. "Sorry," he says. "And thanks. I don't know what came over me."

"You've seen some terrible things," says Salazar, softly, "haven't you?"

Harry turns away. He laughs, mirthlessly. "More than you'd know," he mutters.

"Then tell me," says Salazar, and he didn't realize how much of a command he made it out to be until the words were out of his mouth.

Harry scowls. "So what? So you can learn all my secrets and abandon me once you're through?"

"You've been listening too much to Godric," says Salazar.

"Maybe you should listen more to him. He's right a lot, you know."

"So am I."

"Ah, that Slytherin confidence. Unmistakable."

Salazar takes both of Harry's hands in his own. "I will never desert you," he says.

Harry jerks his hands back, as if to try and escape from the small embrace. "I know what you want from me," he hisses. "And it's for your own good, not mine."

"My wonderful weakness, I tell you that is not true."

"I -- what?" Harry is gawking now.

"I care for you," says Salazar, and he knows it is true, even if he does not want it to be. "So, please, tell me of your secrets, not for my sake, but for yours. Let me unburden your heart."

And tears swell in Harry's eyes. Instead of giving a direct answer, he turns to the building of Diagon Alley, not facing Salazar. He says, "There was a horrible war. And I was a servant to it, a pawn. My... leader, he controlled me. Made me do terrible, terrible things. I see the streets of former ruin and know that it was in part my doing, my fault.

"He made me who I am today. And he will not ever let me leave... because he is sick. A powerful man who is in love. Who reads my mind as a hobby. Who kills for fun. I do not return his feelings. He knows this. And he thinks that he will one day have me regardless. He is my leader, my master, the holder of my chain, and this Alley will fall beneath his touch."

Salazar could've asked a thousand better questions, could've provided some sort of comfort. He doesn't. He has only himself at heart, no matter what he says, no matter how he feels.

Salazar thinks he already knows the answer, but he, quite stupidly, asks the question anyway, "Who was he, your leader?"

Harry speaks, dryly, hatefully. "Why, only my eternally chaser. A man named Gellert Grindelwald, the most powerful wizard of his time."

And Salazar... with that answer, he has much to think about. So does Harry.

Harry intestines Salzar's fingers in his own and tugs on them. "Come on," he says. "Let's go shopping."

Salazar wants to say that he's sorry. That he doesn't mean to be so distant, so selfish, that it's not his fault he is acting this way. But he knows it is his fault -- who else is there to blame? He is a grown man, in charge of his own actions. And he knows that if he could do this conversation over again, he'd only ask a question in which he could figure out something he doesn't already know instead.

Salazar is not a good man. He is a powerful one. A selfish one. So he lets Harry take his hand but does not return the embrace, and he lets Harry drags him from store to store, purchasing robes and schoolbooks with Salazar's money, knowing that they are tied together, no matter what Harry says or does. He has another leader here; another master with his hand unknowingly wrapped around Harry's neck like a chain.

Like a collar. Like an owner and not a friend.

Harry is destined to be ruled, a pretty gem coveted by giants. He will never escape his past, his present, his future. Never.