lomonaaeren | Chapter Nineteen of 'Bloody But Unbowed'- Hard Truths

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Chapter Nineteen—Hard Truths

“It’s been ten hours now.”

Harry opened his eyes slowly, blinking. He could have sworn he had lain down just five minutes ago, but the voice murmuring in his ear said otherwise, and so did the languor in his muscles, come to that. He rolled over and looked up at Draco, who was sitting beside him in the bed and running a hand through Harry’s hair as if fascinated with the texture.

“I’ve been asleep ten hours?” Harry wanted to say more, but a yawn cut him off. He stretched his arms above his head and grimaced; sleeping oddly on the pillows had given him a twitching pain in his neck.

“Ten hours since you cured my father,” Draco corrected. “And he’s sitting up, eating, talking, and sleeping without ill effects.” Harry could hear the smile in his voice as he shifted on his knees behind Harry. “Drinking healing potions to ensure his skin doesn’t scar, though that, he does complain about. Here,” he added, as Harry shook himself. “Let me.”

His hands clasped Harry’s shoulders and began to stroke; then his thumbs pressed into the nape of Harry’s neck and pressed down hard. Harry arched, gasping. For a moment, the pain was unendurable; then it melted, and Harry collapsed against the pillows as if the massage had cut all the wires in his body.

“You don’t make the potions sweet for him?” he murmured hazily. “If you did that for me, surely you can do it for him.”

“No one deserves sweetness more than you do.” Draco’s voice had descended from the pitch Harry was used to hearing it at, and had a trace of a hungry growl. He leaned forwards, and Harry felt a powerful jolt of arousal as he imagined what they must look like from the door. Despite the awkward position, though, Draco’s hands never stopped their slow, steady massage. “And I want to give it to you. Let me.”

“Yes,” Harry said quietly.

Draco made a sharp sound that Harry didn’t even want to define, and nipped at the back of his neck. “Roll over,” he said.

Harry had just started to when a loud pop shattered the silence, and Rogers appeared at the end of the bed with a tray in his arms and an announcement on his lips. “Mistress Granger is wanting to speak to Master Harry through the fire.”

“It can wait.” Harry had never heard Draco’s voice like that, so low and sensual it made him arch simply from the sound. His hands had dropped from Harry’s shoulders to his waist and were working their way under the robes Harry had slept in because it was too much trouble trying to take them off. Harry wondered if he was cheating and using a spell to make his hands warmer; Harry half-flinched from the brushes of heat Draco’s fingertips gave off, when before his skin had seemed a natural temperature. “So can that breakfast, for that matter,” Draco said, and his teeth closed on Harry’s shoulder. Harry arched again, and moaned this time. Draco leaned heavily against him, mouthing at the bite he’d made. “Come back later, Rogers.”

“Mistress Granger will be calling back and calling back,” Rogers said, his voice shrill with distress. “Rogers does not want to be making up excuses for Masters Harry and Draco fucking whilst there are still enemies abroad.”

Well, that effectively broke the mood, Harry thought as he rolled over and gently caught Draco’s wrists in his hands. After one glimpse of Draco’s eyes, he focused on his chin instead; he had never known how much gray eyes could change when the pupils were dilated and lust was shining from them. “Later,” he said. Draco gave a protesting little buck, letting Harry feel Draco’s cock against his arse. “Think of how much better it will be when we have no distractions.”

Draco made another growling sound—Harry hadn’t known he was so fond of them—and butted his erection up against Harry one more time, shutting his eyes. Harry grunted helplessly.

“So long as you promise,” Draco said. “I want this.” His voice was still in the sensual register, making it sound as if it would be a sin to deny him. Harry licked lips that felt chapped and managed to ignore Rogers’s piercing eyes long enough to nod.

“I do promise,” Harry said. “And do you really think I want it less?”

“I don’t know.” Draco’s voice had risen and turned coy; his eyelids drooped over his eyes in a parody of innocence. “I know you didn’t seem enthusiastic at first, and then the few touches of eagerness I saw in your face were overwhelmed by concern for my father, to the point that I almost thought it was him you came to the Manor for.”

Harry let his legs spread and rolled to the side until Draco could feel his own erection, which had hardened the moment Draco bent over him. “I came for both of you,” he said. “I just didn’t realize the truth at the time. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Forgiven,” said Draco. “With your promise to resume later.” His hand trailed lightly across Harry’s groin, so suddenly that Harry had no time to do more than let his eyes roll back in his head. “So long as you only come for me in the future.”

By the time Harry could recover, Draco had already crawled to the end of the bed and was choosing calmly and quietly among the scones, biscuits, and grapes Rogers had brought. Harry shook his head and moved up beside him to eat a hasty breakfast, knowing Hermione wouldn’t like to wait.

He tried to think of that, and not of the way Draco kept letting his wrists brush against Harry’s. The last thing he wanted was to appear flustered and out of sorts in front of Hermione, who had no doubt spent all sorts of time gathering the information that would make it easier for them to track down the conspirators.

*

Harry had not expected Draco to come with him into the spare library where Hermione had made the Floo call, but he did, and took up a standing position behind Harry, his arm falling, as if casually, across Harry’s shoulders. Harry would have rolled his eyes and told him he didn’t need to stake a claim in front of Hermione, but his friend already looked impatient.

Besides, Harry would never admit it to Draco—yet, anyway—but he liked the feeling of the arm resting there, solid and immovable, a part of his life.

“I have fairly solid proof about who cursed Mr. Malfoy,” said Hermione, barely nodding to Draco. She wore a cold smile of triumph, and Harry hid a shiver. Draco leaned closer to him anyway. “I finally found a witness who was more curious than the rest and less loyal to his family. He eavesdropped on a meeting between Burne-Jones and Neverlong. They were the ones who came up with the first ideas for the curse and chose Smythe as an appropriate dupe to cast it. He’ll require a payment from your vaults, Harry. Can you manage that?”

Harry started to answer, but Draco interrupted, voice full of vindictive glee. “He’ll have whatever he wants from the Malfoy ones.”

“Good.” Hermione rustled about for a moment, then produced a Pensieve and passed it through the fire. “He’s also agreed to confess under Veritaserum in a small setting with only a few people present, if that’s necessary,” Hermione added.

“Hopefully it won’t be.” Harry handed the Pensieve to Draco, who cradled it under his right arm like a newborn baby. His left arm remained draped across Harry’s shoulders, as if it were unthinkable than he should move it. Harry tried not to preen. Hermione would never understand why he was doing it, and it was too awkward to try and explain right now. “Thank you, Hermione. How can we repay you?”

“Make sure that Burne-Jones, Neverlong, Foxe, and the rest are tried fairly,” Hermione said bluntly, “not subjected to vigilante justice.”

Draco drew a breath, but said nothing. Harry wished he had that luxury himself. He leaned forwards, holding Hermione’s eyes. “Of course I want them to have fair trials,” he said. He wouldn’t look at Draco. “The last thing I want is suspicion to cling to my adopted family. And their families would probably be quite willing to turn in the Malfoys for hurting their loved ones, even if they disapproved or didn’t know about the original plan to curse Lucius.”

“You never finished listening to the Malfoy laws,” Draco said, his arm suddenly pressing on Harry’s shoulders like a chain. “One of them is vengeance. No one is allowed to get away with hurting a Malfoy.”

Hermione’s face shut down in sharp lines of disapproval. Harry sighed, murmured some words to her that he hoped would excuse his turning his attention away, and then faced Draco. Draco looked obstinate and pleased with himself both at once, as if he were obeying a rule he knew to be absolutely right. Not a good combination, Harry thought. “Listen,” he said. He massaged the back of Draco’s hand with his cheek, since it lay on his shoulder, and held his eyes. “You let Emptyweed get away with only a headache, even though he could have told us about the conspirators earlier and even though he cast the headache curse on me.”

“You were paying too much attention to my words and not enough to my wand movements.” Draco’s eyes glittered. “I cast a nonverbal spell that will give him a permanent headache, lasting the rest of his life. I thought it fit payment for the kind of low-grade, constant suffering he caused you.”

“You did what?” Hermione said.

Harry wanted to bang his head against a wall, especially when Draco glanced at Hermione and arched a brow. “It’s all right,” he said. “There’s no way he’ll trace it back to our family, since I Obliviated him. He’ll certainly never remember coming to the Manor.”

“It’s the fact that you did it at all—“ Hermione began.

Harry moved, standing so that he was literally between his friend and Draco. He realized, as he reached out and cupped Draco’s face in his hands, that he had no convenient term for his relationship with Draco. Friend? Not when they had conflicts of ideals like this one. Brother? But no, Draco had made it clear he wanted to make love to Harry. Could they be lovers when they had barely spent time together in bed yet?

“In the future,” he said, voice so quiet that it would force Draco to pay attention to him, “don’t do such things.”

“I have to protect you,” Draco responded simply.

Harry smiled. “I appreciate the impulse,” he said, and heard Hermione snort behind him. Well, right now he was dealing with Draco, and even if he wouldn’t reject Harry for not choosing the right words, Harry still wanted to choose ones that wouldn’t hurt him. “But it makes me uncomfortable when someone hurts others for my sake. Whether that hurt is physical, magical, financial, or otherwise,” he added, seeing Draco open his mouth and guessing what was coming next. “In self-defense or the heat of battle, it’s one thing, but I still tried to use non-fatal spells on the people who attacked me in hospital.”

Draco’s eyes were nearly as dark with fury now as they had been earlier with arousal. “I’ll find them,” he said. “And I’ll make them suffer.”

“But that’s exactly what I’m asking you not to do.” Harry lowered his voice even more and stared directly into Draco’s eyes, smoothing his hands up and down his face. “Unless what I want doesn’t matter to you?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’re being manipulative.”

“Then I fit right into this family, don’t I?” Harry asked, even as he smiled to let Draco see he was joking.

Draco bit his lip for a moment. Harry was surprised that he felt comfortable enough around Hermione to show such a sign of uncertainty, and then realized that, with the way he stood, his head and shoulders were blocking her from getting a good glimpse of Draco.

At last Draco, folding his arms stubbornly, said, “They also hurt my father. And if you think Father and Mother will be content to let our enemies go unpunished for doing that, then you have not learned anything about them at all.”

“I’ll speak with them,” said Harry. Draco blinked, probably at the implacable tone in his voice. Hermione made a small spitting noise, as much to say that that wasn’t good enough. “For now, there’s something I need to say to Hermione. Why don’t you go see Lucius and Narcissa and prepare them for our talk? You can even tell them exactly what you want to say and make up a secret strategy to use against me. You won’t find me so easy to convince.”

Draco walked slowly towards the door of the library. Once he paused with his hand on the wall and looked back, opening his mouth. He ended up shutting it and walking out without saying anything, however. A faint line between his brows denoted the whirling of his mind, Harry was certain.

Harry turned back to Hermione.

*

When Harry stepped into Lucius’s bedroom, it was to face cool expressions from all three Malfoys. He reminded himself that they had forgiven worse things from him; his seizing Draco’s magic had been a crime even if it had saved Lucius’s life. And Draco had admitted that he didn’t expect Harry to abandon his principles. Harry shut the door behind him, though there was no one to close out except the house-elves, who didn’t need doors, and leaned against it.

“If you will, Lucius,” said Narcissa, never taking her eyes off Harry.

“The fourteenth law of the Malfoys,” said Lucius, in tones that suddenly made Harry wonder if Rogers had been imitating an ancestor after all, or just his current master when he talked like this, “calls for the protection of the family. No insult shall be suffered when it can be avenged. The authorities at any time are unlikely to do much for us. We must dispense our own justice, our own mercy, and our own punishment, as we must reward our best friends in secret if we would keep any allies at all. You shall remember this, and carefully contrive subtle and suitable punishments for those who hurt us, that others may fear and hesitate to harm a Malfoy again.”

“Well,” Harry said, “that doesn’t make much sense.”

Narcissa’s lips twitched. Draco’s eyes opened wide. Lucius was back to the cool mask he had worn for the first few days Harry tended him in hospital. “And why not?” he asked. “I must admit it sounds very attractive to me, having endured the pain that I did.” He touched the side of his face, as if Harry would forget about the fading scars the healing potions had only just begun to affect.

“It wants you to punish people in secret, and yet do it in such a way that everyone will fear you?” Harry snorted.

“The ones who matter will know,” Lucius said gravely. “In this case, the members of the Burne-Jones and Neverlong families who were not involved in the plot against me, and any Death Eaters or ‘victims’ of mine who might have declined to avenge themselves this way. They will know the risk is not worth it.” His hands twitched on the covers, as if he imagined clutching his wand and having his enemies in reach at the moment.

“You have enemies who were clever and brutal enough to devise this curse and cast it on you in the first place, through a dupe who, I’m sure, had no idea what he was doing,” Harry said.

“Smythe did not, no.” Lucius smiled. “We have looked through the memories in the Pensieve. They are few and the explanation straightforward. When they had put the curse together, which took many tries, according to our informant, they had to work extensively with Smythe to be sure that he would cast it correctly and scatter his saliva with the dreambane on me at the same time. Many of the minor spells were linked together not so much to cause me to suffer as to baffle any attempts at healing.”

“And the families of people like that are the ones you want to enrage,” Harry said flatly.

There was a long pause. Narcissa took a step back and then stood there looking like a contented cat, which Harry felt was a pair of decidedly mixed signals. Draco closed his eyes. Lucius leaned forwards. “This time, we shall be prepared for them. And it’s at least possible that they won’t seek revenge.”

“Do you believe they won’t?” Harry asked quickly.

Lucius slowly shook his head.

“Then I think this is stupid,” Harry said. “You risk drawing down danger on yourselves when you’re still vulnerable—“ He paused when he saw Narcissa dart a quick glance at him. “We risk drawing down danger on ourselves,” he corrected himself. Narcissa gave him a small smile that made him feel so absurdly good he knew he would have to watch what he did in the future, as far as letting her approval determine his actions. “If we let the Aurors take charge of this, those families will blame the Ministry and not us. There’s no risk of getting in trouble with the Aurors for our revenge, either. We buy time for Lucius to recover, because the remaining enemies won’t move whilst the Prophet’s attention is on us, will they?”

“No,” said Draco, in a faint voice. “They have similar laws about the lack of wisdom in drawing publicity to their vengeance.”

“Well, then.” Harry made a motion as if he were brushing invisible dust off his hands. “There’s one more advantage. If this is the fourteenth law of the Malfoys, it stands to reason that it’s fairly far down the list, and the others are more important. I think we have a better chance of survival if we live through our revenge vicariously.” He ignored Draco’s little mutter about how “Granger must have taught you that word.” “And you can go on showing me how to settle into the family. My comfort and safety, in this case, is more important than revenge.”

Narcissa smiled fully this time. “I agree with Harry,” she said. “You know that I’ve disagreed with drawn-out revenge from the beginning, Lucius. I don’t want you to make the same mistake that Neverlong and Burne-Jones did by giving you time to get treatment and figure out who was behind the attack. And as we can think of nothing that would be sharp, sufficiently painful, and yet undetectable, turning the matter over to the Aurors is the best course.”

“There may be something yet,” said Lucius. “There are several books of Dark curses in the library that I haven’t looked through in years.”

“And I was helpless during most of this,” Draco said passionately, his cheeks flushed. “I want to do something.”

“Helping Lucius recover with your potion wasn’t enough?” Harry asked.

“I want to hurt someone. That’s different from healing.”

Harry didn’t reply to that. It was too opposed to his own principles for him to make a rational argument. Instead, he turned to Narcissa. “Of all the people in this room,” he said, “you and I are most likely to get our wish.”

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. Lucius said, in a lower and colder voice than Harry had yet heard him use, “Malfoys owe loyalty to the first of their name, Harry. You will tell me what you have done at once.”

Harry grinned and made a point of facing Lucius slowly. He thought Draco might figure out the truth before he could tell it, but Draco’s forehead was still wrinkled, giving him the pleasure of announcing, “My friend Hermione Granger, who works in the Ministry and discovered most of this information for us, has already alerted the Aurors. If all went as scheduled—“ he made an elaborate show of drawing out the watch Mrs. Weasley had given him for his seventeenth birthday and checking it “—then all the conspirators will have been arrested by now.”

“I knew you wanted to stay behind with Granger for a reason!” Draco exclaimed in fury.

“As you told me,” said Harry, putting away the watch and smiling at Draco, “I’m a Malfoy in more ways than one.”

Lucius spoke with a gentleness that would have frightened Harry more than open anger, if he had decided to allow himself to be frightened. “We can strike at them as easily when they are in Auror custody as we can when they are free. It’s a noble effort, Harry, but shall only fail.”

“No, you can’t,” said Harry. “The Aurors aren’t always competent, that’s true, but they’ve been much better at holding criminals since Kingsley Shacklebolt became Minister. And you’ll still need a regular dose of healing potions for several weeks, which means you won’t be away from the house for any length of time.”

“Besides which,” Narcissa said then, her voice as light as a fall of flower petals, “I agree with Harry. No vengeance is worth the possible loss of life and prestige that we would incur.”

Lucius turned to glare at his wife, but she looked serenely back. She was more than a match for him, so Harry wasn’t worried that her support would suddenly vanish. He looked at Draco in turn, and wished he had something more solid than the door to brace himself against, because Draco’s face was a mask.

When he spoke at last, it was slowly, consideringly, as if he had thought of several different perspectives on the situation that would never occur to Harry. “You’re quite determined not to allow me my vengeance, are you?”

“Quite,” Harry said.

“I’m not bound to the house by my father’s limitations,” said Draco. “Or by my mother’s opposition.” Narcissa slewed a glance sideways at him, but Draco didn’t choose to take notice of this. “You’ll have a task to keep me here.”

Harry ground his teeth. He had planned to open his own Healing practice as soon as Lucius was cured, or within a week, when he had made absolutely sure that no ill effects from the Mirror Maze’s curses lingered. “I would prefer to think that you’re a responsible adult who knows when he’s been outmaneuvered, and—“

“I’m a responsible adult who knows a sound bargain when he hears one,” Draco said. Finally, he smiled. Harry thought the edges of the smile curled up like parchment touched by fire. “I want you to agree to study for your Potions exam again, and to let me help you.”

Harry stared at him. Then he shook his head. “I’d agree if I thought that would do any good,” he said. “They only let me sit my NEWTS a second time because I’m Harry Potter. And I did as badly the second time as the first. No becoming a Healer without an Outstanding on both the theory and the practical portions.” He heard the bitterness coming out in his voice, and did his best to swallow it back. “Your offer’s generous, but you can’t help me.”

“The NEWTS are offered as many times as needed to anyone in a particular profession,” Draco said, “who’s already shown several years of proficient practice in that profession. No, they won’t give it over and over again to lazy students who haven’t chosen a job. But they will give it to you.” He surveyed Harry with something uncomfortably close to pity. “You never looked again once you failed the second time, did you?”

Harry blushed.

“And I don’t know if I’m so generous,” Draco mused, “when I’ll drive you harder than Snape ever did.” His face twisted with a complex expression as he mentioned Snape, sorrow and resignation and exasperation and anger. Harry found himself wanting to know what that meant. He wanted to know everything about Draco.

“I never had a problem with the amount of work involved,” said Harry. “It was Snape’s teaching method I objected to.”

“It’s settled, then.” Draco smiled, and his eyes looked sleepy, which rather made Harry distrust him. “You’ll let me teach you Potions, and in return I won’t seek vengeance. Shall we aim for a date of October in which to take the NEWTS?”

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience—“

“That would be most convenient for me,” Draco said, with a hint of sharpness in his voice.

Harry liked to think he knew when to give in with good grace and when to stand his ground. He nodded, and Draco reached out and ran a lazy hand up his arm. Then he turned to Lucius; it seemed that his parents had taken the chance to look in the Pensieve but Draco hadn’t, and he wanted to do so before he and Harry resumed their interrupted morning activities.

It was just as well, because, when he returned to his bedroom, Harry found Kreacher waiting with a letter from Healer Pontiff.

*

Harry stared at the letter sitting on the bedsheets and wondered if he had the courage to read it. Kreacher was being roundly scolded by Rogers because he was “a disgraceful and dirty and despicable example of a house-elf, whom Rogers is being ashamed of.” He had already reassured Harry that he had seen no suspicious activity from Healer Pontiff; he had listened to all the private conversations she had with other people, and she only ever talked about Healing and sometimes her nieces and nephews, when she firecalled her sisters.

On the other hand, she had placed a letter on her kitchen table that morning and told Kreacher he might as well take it to his master. She’d announced that without looking around, and immediately walked out of the room. Kreacher had wavered, but in the end accepted the letter and carried it back to Harry.

In the end, Kreacher’s whimpering in front of Rogers was what convinced Harry to read the letter. Poor Kreacher had suffered enough, and if Harry rejected what Healer Pontiff had chosen to say to him, whether it was the truth or a bundle of lies, that suffering would be for nothing.

Dear Harry:

First, I want to say that, as you have collected enough evidence to show you have some suspicions of me, you may send your house-elf to follow me again at any time.

Second, I know what you wish to accuse me of. Others have accused me of the same fault in the past, and I can only answer that I am too old and set in my ways to change.

“Others have accused her of conspiring with the hospital administrators?” Harry muttered.

I do not notice enough. I have many cases on my mind all at once, and give a full portion of my attention only to the life-threatening ones. I only ask persistent questions, dedicated to uncovering the truth, when I know that my patient has a reputation for lying or concealing issues vital to his health. I did not have such an impression from you. Perhaps I should have asked more questions of you when you came to me to heal your injuries. But I trusted you to take care of your health.

Harry could feel his ears flaming. It was true that, when Healer Pontiff asked him if he’d taken any damage from curses during his flight from the conspirators, Harry had been as vague as possible. He hadn’t mentioned the Breath-Stopping Curse at all, and had only admitted to the one that cut bloody lines on his face and legs because those couldn’t be hidden. And Healer Pontiff had nodded and healed those.

Could he blame her for taking him at face value? It was only Draco and Hermione who had dug so much deeper, and that was because they knew him as a friend, instead of as a mentor knowing a student.

I have always been aware that there are things happening in hospital of which I do not approve. When something like that crosses my path and I can find out about it, then I use my influence to investigate and stop it if I can. At other times, I fear I let vital things slip. But there are always questions I should ask and do not—that is my fault as lack of concentration is yours—and always patients to be helped. I choose to help patients instead. I pride myself on never having lost a patient to hospital corruption or for any factor that was not inherent to me or the case. But you seem to suspect a connection between me and the people who hunted you.

I deny such a thing. I care for you deeply, Harry. But from the beginning, I could tell you were a talented mediwizard, and did not need as much of my individualized attention as other students. So I spared my attention for them, and only looked in on you occasionally.

Harry looked at the letter in wonder. He had always thought Healer Pontiff spent extra time on him, and it was somewhat humiliating to be told she didn’t.

On the other hand, the reason she didn’t made him feel honored. And it would explain why she had never noticed Emptyweed’s headache curse; she trusted him to tell the truth about how bad the headaches were (which Harry never had) and to have to skill to tell if someone had cast a curse on him.

I can understand if this does not soothe your anxieties. Send your house-elf to follow me again if you wish. Or, if the Malfoys will allow you to invite me to their house, I can visit next Saturday at three in the afternoon. I understand the Malfoy son is in Potions training. He can make Veritaserum for me. I prefer to take it in tea; I have an abnormal sensitivity to potions that others find tasteless.

I hope these truths are not too hard for you, Harry.

I remain

Yours,
Emily Pontiff.

Harry sat back slowly on the bed and stared at the ceiling for long moments.

Then he began, even more slowly, to smile. He was intensely, insanely, astoundingly happy.

There was an excellent chance his mentor was not his enemy. He had a second family that accepted him, besides the Weasleys, and a home like no other he’d ever known. Lucius was cured. Hermione had promised to contact him immediately if there was a problem with the arrests, which likely meant they had gone smoothly. He had a chance to pass the Potions exam and become a full Healer in the future.

And then the door opened, and Draco stood there with his eyes gone brilliant dark gray, as they had been that morning.

Harry swallowed and sat up.

And now, he and I are going to make love.

Yes, I’m very happy.

Chapter 20.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

caribelleih.livejournal.com

Oh, I loved everything in this chapter, since when Harry woke up, until he read the letter of Healer Pontiff.

It was really funny when he did those manipulative tricks :D And the way he and Narcissa didn't agreed with the vengeance. I’m going to miss this story so much.

Thanks for updating so soon!

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Chapter Nineteen of 'Bloody But Unbowed'- Hard Truths

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