Chapter Thirteen of 'For Their Unconquerable Souls'- And Softness Endures

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Chapter Thirteen—And Softness Endures

Draco bent over the book and tried to focus his eyes on the scribbled notes, but it was hard when he wanted to listen to the sounds of Harry in the loo.

He had gone there under protest, with Rogers practically herding him. It had made Draco want to laugh, but, now that he thought of it, this might be the saddest rejection of Malfoy gifts that Harry had performed so far. Maybe he had fallen asleep in the library intending no insult, and it was understandable that he wouldn’t be used to beauties like his room contained when he had been living in that rattrap he called a house. But that a Healer wouldn’t see the value of cleanliness, and superior cleanliness to anything that he could have achieved on his own—Draco found that deeply bewildering.

Well. You have some time before he gets out of the shower to think about this. And he will hardly expect you to have learned all of the Healer’s art in twenty minutes.

Draco leaned back in the chair with his arms folded behind his head and his eyes on the ceiling, frowning as he considered. He had scattered hints about the cause of Harry’s behavior: the fact that he did have reason to distrust the Malfoys based on their actions in the past, his mother’s caution that Harry didn’t understand as much of the pure-blood debts and blood connections as they wanted him to, the way he drove and poured himself into the needs of his patients, and the way he stared at Draco when Draco said some nice thing. But he didn’t know the source of any of them. Maybe there was more than one source.

For a moment, Draco indulged himself in mental whinging. If there was only some kind of research he could do on Harry’s background, the way he had researched the old Prophet to learn about his boyfriends and the way he’d left them! But he wouldn’t trust the Prophet to get information about Harry’s personal life right.

Then Draco paused. There might still be a path open to him. He didn’t think he knew anyone who had that kind of information at their fingertips, no, and approaching Harry’s friends would probably only result in a suspicious letter to Harry that would make him distrust Draco even more. But Lucius was still nominally a governor of Hogwarts—McGonagall hadn’t bothered to remove him from the board after his name was cleared, though she no longer sought his advice—and even better, he had friends who were governors in good standing. It was possible that they might have access to students’ personal records. And from those could be gleaned the name of Harry’s Muggle family.

And from that, Draco thought he could come up with some way to contact the Muggles himself.

It would be the right thing to do, he thought, trying to ignore the image of Harry finding out and being furious. Of course the pure-bloods who learned the truth wouldn’t question it; a former enemy who had the Boy-Who-Lived as a guest in his home would want to know as much as possible about his past, and would rightfully distrust the papers. And Draco didn’t intend that anyone who wasn’t a pure-blood, and therefore capable of a civilized level of understanding, would ever learn of this.

The water stopped flowing. Draco indulged himself again, this time in a picture of what Harry would look like stepping out of the luxurious shower in the loo. Water would crowd the back of his neck and drip down his spine, whilst the wet hair itself would curl and cluster and spring apart, not tame even then, and his skin would shine, and his eyes would spark if he caught Draco looking at him with desire—

Draco sighed and cast a spell that would subdue his erection. Then he gave Harry a few more moments of privacy to dry off and dress before he peeked around the entrance of the library back into the bedroom.

Harry was seated near the end of the bed, eating breakfast from the tray Rogers had left. His eyes were closed as he licked at the berries clotted with cream one moment, and then took a bite of buttered toast the next. Draco’s eyes followed his tongue, of course, but what heartened him—and what he couldn’t remember feeling with a lover before—was the notion that Harry was experiencing pleasure, even if that pleasure didn’t come from sex and wasn’t found in his company.

I can feel like that if I want to, he reassured himself, resisting the temptation to bristle at the vulnerability. Harry’s not like the others. He’s permanent, and the alliance that binds us together will never dissolve.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, and stepped into the bedroom. He’d made sure to take a book with him, so it would seem like he had been doing research,

He made a lot of noise, too, but Harry still let his eyes fly open and blushed as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. Then he began to snatch his napkin and dab at his lips. Draco spoke in as soft a voice as he could manage, wanting to soothe him. “No, no. Your expression is so much more open when you’re enjoying something.”

Harry stared at him like a trapped animal, and Draco reckoned that he wouldn’t be able to follow up any advantage with Harry right now. Instead, he sat down in a chair Rogers had conjured for him and tapped the book. “Your thought is that it’s the Mirror Maze, right?”

“Not—exactly,” Harry said. He pushed his food away from him. Draco frowned and was about to comment on that, but Harry had rushed ahead, as if a book existing in the same room with breakfast were impossible. “The spell I cast looking for Mansuefacio might have revealed the presence of that Maze, and certainly would have found the presence of that same spell reflected, as the Mirror Maze ensures.”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t understand. I thought the Mirror Maze was just a group of spells woven around a person in a certain pattern and designed to trigger one another when the right commands were given.” And he had thought that. He didn’t mind admitting his ignorance in front of Harry when that ignorance concerned his father’s life and Harry had been hired to remedy it.

Harry smiled, and Draco was certain he almost preened. There was a quiet satisfaction in his voice when he spoke. Draco thought he liked the chance to show off his knowledge. “No, that’s the definition of a spell maze in general. There are different patterns. The Mirror Maze is named because it uses the same spells reflected and repeated rather than completely different ones. It can be devastating when the command to trigger is issued, because the victim receives double the power of that particular curse.”

“I’ve never encountered anyone who could explain that so clearly.” Draco made sure to look down at the book when he spoke the compliment, specifically so that Harry wouldn’t think he meant to charm his way into Harry’s good graces with it. He hid a smile when he practically felt Harry blink at him, and said, “What do you think it is if not the Mirror Maze, then?”

“The Mirror Maze turned sideways,” Harry said.

Draco bit his tongue to choke back the impressed exclamation. No need to show Harry that he was actually cleverer at something than Draco was. But Draco had seen the diagrams representing the Mirror Maze in these books, and the mere thought of trying to imagine one turned sideways, and manipulate the patterns in the space of one’s mind, dizzied him.

“That would conceal the presence of similar spells in your father’s mind,” Harry continued, his voice heavy. “And it would explain why the Permanency Spell on those particular wounds he had is so strong. I’ve been thinking about it, and it doesn’t make sense that he should have severe injuries all over his body, even if part of the Mirror Maze’s purpose is to hand control of his body’s healing over to an enemy. At most, the ordinary maze should have reflected damage onto one particular part of his body, say the heart, like a lens focusing sunlight. Instead, we have wounds of almost equal severity all over the place. That would reflect a Mirror Maze turned sideways. There are similar cases in the literature.”

“And that’s more dangerous?” Draco couldn’t help the way his voice and his shoulders tightened. After all, this was his father they were talking about.

“Yes, it is,” Harry said. He had made his voice quieter. “It means that the maze can be bent in several directions at once, not only one, like a flexible lens. And until I can be sure of what the other spells in the maze are, I can’t dissipate it.”

Draco closed his eyes. He never would have dared show such weakness in front of most people he knew, but Harry was a member of the family, and not one who played scoring games in the way Narcissa and Lucius did. There was no safer person to show grief to—no safer human, at least, since none of the house-elves would tell on him, either.

A feather-gentle weight, but reassuringly solid at the same time, settled on his hand, and then on his shoulder. Harry was touching him of his own free will. Draco valued that more than the words that followed. “It’s all right,” Harry whispered. “It’s going to be all right. I’m certain I can figure this out.”

Draco opened his eyes and stared steadily at him. Yes, he had been thinking of what he could give Harry, and what Harry could give his father in the way of mediwizard magic, but right now, he was the one who needed the comfort. “I want to believe that,” he whispered, “but I find myself faltering.”

Harry smiled. Draco felt as though that smile might have given him the strength to face a dragon. “I know. It’s because I’m not a full Healer, and I used to be your enemy. But I promise—“

Idiot. Draco felt rage streak through his stomach and throat like bile. “That’s not it at all!” he snapped. “I just feel this way because he’s my father, and someone cursed him, and we don’t know who. You’re part of us now, and that means I can believe you’ll do a good job better than I can believe it of anyone in the world.” He stood up in the circle of Harry’s arms and leaned towards the right side of his face. He was angry and upset or he never would have done it, but later he thought he couldn’t have made a better decision if he was thinking clearly.

He brushed a delicate kiss against the skin beneath Harry’s ear, and then embraced him tightly, letting his head fall forwards so that his brow rested against Harry’s shoulder. He felt Harry twitch once as if he would struggle, but in the end he gave in and held Draco firmly back.

Draco’s tension drained away as he stood there, and he found the time to be faintly amused at himself. Yes, you’ve smugly calculated all the ways that Harry needs the family, but you’ve never thought once about the ways you need him. He won’t be your lover and the ally you’ve been dreaming of unless you respect his needs and charm him as well, remember.

He moved away when he thought himself safe to do so, gave Harry a smile of his own, and then picked up the parchment map he’d constructed. “Shall we?” he asked. His voice was smooth and sweet and normal. Narcissa wouldn’t have been able to guess what happened if she had intruded just then. “I thought I’d escort you to visit Father the first time. And he’ll want to hear from both you and me how you’ve spent the night.”

“Why?” Harry asked, turning his head away as if to hide his blush. His hand rose, trembled towards the place Draco had kissed him, and then dropped again.

“In case I’ve noticed an addition to your comfort that could be made, which you haven’t noticed yourself,” Draco said. He felt a sort of joy at the way Harry was acting, both because it might mean that Harry was becoming more susceptible to flirtation and because he might start to realize he wouldn’t escape from luxury. “We treat members of our family well, Harry. Now. Shall we?” He held open the door.

Harry followed him, after a small shake of his head. Draco continued to glance at him as they went along, partially to remind Harry that he wouldn’t get out of answering questions about how he had slept and how he liked the Manor—

And partially for his own benefit, because he liked seeing Harry flushed like that.

Draco had to pause when he realized that. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done something purely because he liked to do it.

*

Perhaps it would have been better if he had remained silent all the way to his father’s bedroom. But they passed through a corridor no less beautiful than any other place in the Manor, though considerably higher, and Harry tilted his head back as if he needed to see the ceiling or die, and Draco couldn’t resist the call of the stubborn, puzzled expression on his face.

“What’s the matter?” Draco stepped towards Harry as he spoke, and almost whispered; he hoped to increase their intimacy that way. One way or another, it was going to increase. “You look a little overwhelmed, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I am,” Harry said, and looked towards the invisible ceiling again. Only the height kept it invisible, Draco thought, not an illusion like the one in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but he didn’t see why he should have to explain that. Couldn’t Harry take some things on trust? “I’ve never been in a house like this before.”

“Or certainly not this part of it, anyway,” Draco said. Seeing the look on Harry’s face and the way he moved away from Draco a moment later, he could have kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to remind Harry of the time when he’d been a prisoner in the Manor and had to listen to Granger’s screams as Bellatrix tortured her.

He wondered if he should bring up his own memories of suffering at Bellatrix’s hands. Granted, she hadn’t actually tortured him; she must have known that his parents would have found a way to extract vengeance. But she had cajoled him into casting Dark curses on prisoners that otherwise only the Dark Lord could make him perform, and stood off to the side, laughing in excitement, as he did so.

To this day, evil and madness appeared in Draco’s imagination as the picture of a woman with long, heavy dark hair and heavy-lidded dark eyes, laughing like a buffoon in her excitement, whilst a Muggleborn woman curled and screamed in the middle of the floor like a crab dragged from its shell.

Draco shuddered and banished the memory. No, that was not the sort of thing he could endure sharing. When Harry finally trusted them and had let them see more of his weaknesses, then he would let Harry see into his heart like that. But for now, they had to maintain at least a simple position of strength relative to him. Otherwise, Harry would spend all his time thinking he had to heal them, and wouldn’t see that he could rely on them instead.

He looked sideways, and decided that he might as well begin talking again. Harry had ceased to pay attention to the ceiling or to frown at him, and now was examining the walls with his head tilted and one eye squinted shut, as if he could discern from such peering how much the ornaments had cost. Draco bit his lip on the temptation to tell him that he could sit down with the family accounts the moment he felt comfortable enough doing so, and see exactly how much luxury they could afford and what kind he could live in for the rest of his days. Harry would probably think Draco was trying to bribe him again.

“Well,” he said, approaching the subject most on his mind at the moment, “there’s a difference between being overwhelmed and being uncomfortable.”

“Assume it’s the latter.” Harry snapped the words, his eyes fixed ahead of them now, on the doors that ended this corridor.

Draco winced, and couldn’t help but reach out and place a hand on Harry’s arm. In the moment before Harry turned to face him, he had already decided to show his pain. He wouldn’t mind rousing those damn Healer’s instincts, even, as long as he got a straight answer out of the git.

“Why?” he whispered. “What have we done wrong, to make you fear and distrust us so much? We assumed our gifts spoke a universal language. You might not understand the significance of the Heart’s Blessing spell to pure-bloods or the way that blood adoptions work, but we had thought you would know we wouldn’t give you these things unless we wanted you to feel at home.”

And really, he wanted to know, even though he was also looking for some answer to the question of why Harry refused those gifts at all. What language did they have to speak to convince Harry they meant no harm? What gifts would he accept? He had saved Lucius’s life, shared his blood with them, and shifted his home to theirs. Draco knew the Malfoys had achieved a great triumph in the eyes of the world, but they also stood a chance of accumulating a debt they could not repay, at least if Harry continued to do everything for them. Draco needed a way to repay him.

He heard the sound of Harry’s teeth grinding together, and braced himself for an angry outburst.

Then, incredibly, Harry bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I suppose I can’t set aside the old enmity between us as easily as I thought I could. But the gifts do make me—uneasy. I’ve received gifts before that turned out to be attempts to buy my favor, or simply to put me into a position, by accepting them, from which there was no escape.”

These are different. He should know these are different. Draco forced himself to stand in silence and look at Harry, his eyes wandering from those green ones to the lightning bolt scar on Harry’s brow. He would snap something unfortunate if he spoke now.

But he could remember that, yes, people had been trying to buy the Boy-Who-Lived since the moment he appeared in the wizarding world. Lucius had been one of them, not so long ago. Was it any wonder that Harry would be wary of traps when someone offered him something he wanted or which looked desirable: beautiful rooms, a fully-stocked library and a loo that would actually clean him, a home?

Does he feel that way about us, too? Has he ever known the love of a family? Another idea for why Harry might distrust them had occurred to Draco, and he didn’t like it. What if he thinks a loving family is itself a bribe, because he’s never been able to experience it? He might never trust us until and unless we can reassure him in some way that we really do care about him.

Draco knew no way of doing that immediately. As Narcissa had said, Harry didn’t understand the power dynamics of pure-blood families, which would have been the simplest way to express the new insights coming to Draco. But Draco did know that he couldn’t stand to keep a distance from Harry right now, and for once he had someone who wouldn’t calculate the effect of every touch and see some as a weakness. He reached out and curled a hand around the back of Harry’s neck, pulling him closer.

Harry’s eyes fluttered half-shut, and the blush that had been deepening over his face all this time grew deeper yet. Draco wanted to reach out and stroke the heated skin, feel it against the back of his palm. But he thought it might distract him from what he meant to say, and certainly Harry could take it as an unwanted sexual advance—because Harry was always doing things like that.

Instead, he contend himself with whispering, “I understand that, and I forgive you. But I think we’ll get tired of repeating this before long, so you need to listen. The gifts we give you are meant to make you feel like part of the family. We wouldn’t think twice of giving such things to one another.” He paused, to give Harry some time to absorb the words. “Of course, we would hope that they were appreciated, and expect at least polite thanks.”

Harry’s throat jump. Once he clenched his jaw, and Draco suspected that he was again going to say something stupid. But in the end he gave his head a little bob and said, “All right. Thank you for the shower and the bedroom and the map and your friendship.”

Draco’s amusement came back and coiled through him, shining and cool and moon-silver. “More than just friendship,” he said, and let Harry step back, nervous as a shying horse, within the limits of his embrace. He didn’t want to let him go just yet. The longer he could keep him here, the bigger an impression he thought he would make on Harry, and the less likely Harry would be to forget it.

And, too, the longer he could stand near him, the longer he could watch the play of emotion on Harry’s face and breathe in his scent.

Harry blinked “But—if we’re family now, doesn’t that mean we’re brothers?” he asked. “So you wouldn’t be interested in dating me?”

Oh, no. We won’t have any of that going on.
Draco let his barriers fall long enough to show Harry the desire he was restraining by not throwing him to the floor immediately. He looked down demurely a moment later, and moved so that his hands hovered an inch above Harry’s skin. Harry shivered.

Draco bit his tongue on a groan. Yes, he could hold back those sounds and gestures, at least until he was sure that Harry wouldn’t spook the moment he made them.

“There are other kinds of family love, Harry,” he said. “My father and mother are part of the same family, and yet they aren’t siblings.” He tossed a smile at Harry, which made Harry blink and start yet again—does he practice that specially, along with feeling bribed because he’s the Chosen One?— and then made himself leave behind Harry’s body heat to start for the doors. “Now, my father awaits, and I’m sure he’s wondering if we got lost after all. I can’t know as much about this house as my parents do, since I’ve only lived in it twenty-six years.”

Harry followed him, off-balance, hesitating, but intrigued. Draco concealed a triumphant snort. It was exactly the way he had managed to tame a great, skittish winged horse his father had been certain no one could ride.

Feed him enough apples to sweeten him, let him run when he needs room to, and then make him wonder what sweeter things than apples might lie in my touch, and what the rewards of standing still might be.

Chapter 14.