Ron and Hermione looked at each other again, but had enough sense not to reply to that while Snape was in the room. No doubt about it, if the Potions Master was pushed too far, he really might use Obliviate to solve his problem.
"It's almost curfew," Hermione murmured. "We should be going. Harry, are you still going to move back to the Tower on Sunday?"
Harry glanced up at his father. "Um, not sure."
"Assuming I can arrange matters so as to conceal or heal his black eye, yes he will," Snape crisply answered.
"But if Draco has to be in Devon for a long while I think I should go stay with him for moral support--"
"I think you have been out of proper classes for quite long enough."
"But--"
"I also think," Snape interrupted, "that I am your father and you will do as I say. And," he held up a hand to stave off Harry's attempt to speak, "I further think that this is a family matter and you would do well not to argue with me in front of your friends."
Snape had said something like that to him before, Harry remembered. Respect, at least in front of others, really mattered to the man; maybe it had something to do with Slytherin ambition.
"All right," he conceded. "Um, Ron, Hermione. I'll let you know, all right? About moving back. And in the meantime, I think you'd better not come visit again. I don't want the Aurors realizing you're here a lot and that you might have information. It'd just be better for them not to know to ask you anything, right?"
Harry fished Sals from his pocket so he could open the door --though under his father's scrutiny, he was careful to conceal his wandless magic-- then ushered his friends out before Snape could bring up the benefits of Obliviate again.
"So what about Devon," Harry pressed after the door was firmly shut. "Can I come? It's not like you and the headmaster could want to talk to Draco alone, is it? I need to be in on everything so I can be sure to... uh, keep all the stories straight in case the Aurors question me... say, why didn't you tell me that there wasn't any danger of Draco having to take Veritaserum? Hermione says it requires parental consent."
"Perhaps," Snape coolly informed him, "because I wanted you highly aware of the importance of monitoring what you say to Draco or in front of him."
"Oh, come on, he's not going to break under interrogation. Draco's too tricky for that. So unless they rough him up again --though remember that didn't work last time-- he'll be okay. And anyway you aren't going to let them get violent, I'm sure--"
"Harry," Snape interrupted, his tone so soft that Harry knew to brace himself. "You don't appear to comprehend what sort of state Draco is in at present. Yes, he's possessed of a fine intelligence and an excellent sense of strategy. But learning so abruptly that Miss Parkinson had died... it's unbalanced him. He... Harry. When I got him to Devon and the truth began to sink in past his shock and denial..." The Potions Master frowned. "I tell you this in confidence; do not repeat it. Not to him or anyone else, not under any circumstances. But you must know, so that you will appreciate the need for caution."
"I won't say a word," Harry swore, realising at once why his father seemed intent on pounding that point home. "I'm sorry I didn't respect your confidence before, back when you mentioned the restrictions on Draco's vault. It won't happen again."
Snape waved a hand as though to say that was all forgotten. "I'm sorry, as well. For what I said at the time. You are a fine son, Harry, and..." The Potions Master looked away then back, his gaze meeting Harry's as he said the rest. "I want to be certain you know how very proud I am of you. When you stayed here as I requested and let me be the one to bring your brother back home, you did the right thing. The mature thing."
Harry shuffled his feet nervously. "Thank you," he whispered past a choking, lumpy feeling in his throat.
"Thank you," Snape answered. "You let me concentrate on Draco alone, instead of causing me to be torn by worries about what dangers my other son might encounter. It helped, Harry. You helped."
Harry couldn't help but frown. "That's good, and I like hearing that you're proud of me, but... you know, something really bothers me. My first cycle of seer dreams helped give me what I needed to face down Voldemort and survive Samhain. But this latest cycle... I just can't see much point in it. What good did it do to know about the Owlery in advance? None! But I can't believe the dreams serve no purpose at all, I just can't! Prophecy is supposed to be good for something, isn't it?"
Snape tilted his head to one side. "I think perhaps your dream did indeed serve a purpose, Harry. The sheer urgency of thinking Draco likely to die is what brought your feelings for him into clear focus."
"Well, yeah," Harry admitted. "But still, I keep thinking I should have been able to do something more than just..." For some reason, he couldn't say love him again. Too embarrassing, somehow. He knew it shouldn't be, but it was.
Snape's nod seemed to say he understood the reticence, but that made sense. He'd only ever said that he loved Harry that once, after all. But this last thing, admitting he was proud... that was worth just as much. Maybe even more.
It took Harry a minute to remember how they'd gotten around to talking of love and pride. "Um, you were going to tell me something about my brother?" he prompted.
"Yes," the Potions Master paused as if considering how to phrase it. "When I was alone in Devon with him, Harry, Draco broke down and cried."
Harry felt his eyes go wide. Well, one eye. The other one, he realised, couldn't feel at all. Thinking he'd used the ice pack for long enough, he set it on the table before asking, "Cried? You mean he cried tears? Draco?"
"Harry, the girl he loves is dead."
"But... he tried to kill her himself just a few months ago!"
"Believe me, if Draco Malfoy had truly tried to kill her, she would have died then. He was angry and acting on it. Impulse control, as you know. But he never meant to do worse than make certain she would not attack him ever again."
"But... how can he love her?" Harry had to ask. "He went months down here without mentioning her at all, and then when he started getting letters from her, he kept them secret-- oh, I get it, I think." Harry sighed. "He didn't know if he could believe her letters at first, he didn't want to be played for a fool, he was going to make sure he didn't end up humiliated or something."
"Yes, so don't humiliate him by letting him realise you know about the tears. I would not have told you, except you need to understand that he is not his usual self at the moment. He may be more vulnerable to the Aurors' machinations than we would like."
"I understand grief," Harry admitted, thinking of Sirius. He'd been beyond depressed all through the previous summer. He'd hid in his room and ignored the Dursleys completely, so much so that he'd never even realised that Aunt Petunia was ill. Of course, they'd told him she was visiting this relative or that to explain her absences, but even so, he'd barely noticed she was gone.
Then again, his grief had been more than sorrow at losing his beloved godfather. He'd felt responsible for Sirius... but didn't Draco feel to blame for what had happened to Pansy?
Even counting that, though, there was a crucial difference between the two situations. Sirius had really loved Harry in return, whereas...