lomonaaeren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lomonaaeren) wrote2009-10-21 05:21 pm
lomonaaeren) wrote2009-10-21 05:21 pm
Chapter Twenty-Five of 'Soldier's Welcome'- A Better Understanding
Title: Soldier’s Welcome (25/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Rating: R
Pairings: Harry/Draco preslash, Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Violence (and plenty of it), profanity, references to sex, takes account of DH but ignores the epilogue, heavy angst.
Summary: It’s the first year of Auror training for Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and…Draco Malfoy, But with Hagrid, Snape’s second Pensieve, rogue Death Eaters, Auror classes, and someone trying to start a second war to worry about, Harry might not have the time to pay that much attention to Malfoy. At first, anyway.
Author’s Notes: This story is the first in a trilogy called Running to Paradise, which takes its title from a W. B. Yeats poem. Each story will be novel-length, and each will cover a year of Harry and Draco’s training as Aurors. Though there are a lot of fics out there about them acting as Auror partners, there aren’t as many about their training, so I hope to cover some original ground there. I’m indebted to a reader named SP777 for suggesting a training fic for me to write.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Twenty-Five—A Better Understanding
Draco stared at Potter’s motionless body, and then shook it. Potter’s head flopped. His limbs dangled. He made no attempt to resist or fight back, and that, more than anything else, was what convinced Draco he had begun to die.
No.
He couldn’t feel anxiety or fear at the moment. Pain was a distant hum in the back of his mind. What overwhelmed him was the sensation of falling, as if someone had cast him into a starless void he was doomed to tumble through forever.
No.
He reached out and splayed his hand over Potter’s chest. His fingers shook so much he couldn’t hold them flat. “Come on, Potter,” he said, and then paused and listened for the echoes of his words. There had to be some way of getting around this. Potter had to get better. Draco rapped on his chest. “Come on, Potter,” he repeated.
“Out of the way, Draco.”
Draco found Potter’s body ripped from his arms. He slumped back against the wall of the bathroom, in shock, and sat there blinking as Narcissa knelt over Potter and held her wand towards his mouth. “Ago suspirium,” she whispered.
Draco shook his head in irritation. He should have remembered the Re-breathing Spell himself, he thought when he saw Potter’s chest heave. If Potter was his partner, his and no one else’s, then that meant Potter was his to protect and heal. Draco could have recalled that, and it would have done Potter more good than sitting around with an open mouth and staring eyes did.
His mother cast the spell again. Potter’s intake of air this time lifted his back and heels from the floor. But then he slumped down again, and Draco could see all too clearly that his chest wasn’t moving.
He tried to crawl forwards and get near Potter, but his mother sat back on her heels and blocked him. Another spell, this one Draco didn’t catch because he was staring too hard at Potter’s blue lips and motionless face, and a bright purple glow burst from Potter’s body.
“The problem is his magic,” Narcissa said, her voice soft with dread. “I do not know what is wrong, but he must have taken some kind of poison or had a curse cast on him that would interfere with his magic, and the drain is too much now for him to sustain normal bodily processes.”
Draco could have laughed with relief. “Is that it?” he asked, in a tone that made his mother stare at him. “But I can fix that!” He stretched out and laid his hand over Potter’s heart. He had no idea why, since magic was spread throughout the body, except that it seemed natural.
“Come on, Potter,” he said, and this time he envisioned his magic, the magic that was compatible with Potter’s, driving into his still body. There had to be something that would set him up on his feet and make him move again. “I know you can. I order you to.”
The magic trembled, and then seemed to break through a barrier that had been holding them apart. Draco found himself floating down what seemed like a watery tunnel, the gleam of light at the end growing closer and closer.
And then the light broke over him, and it was black and red.
*
Harry had felt a hand grasping and crushing his throat. He’d shuddered and fallen, wondering for a moment if this was one of his fits.
But the memory that he was used to overcoming him when the fits happened didn’t come. Instead, there was only blackness around him, and he could feel his magic changing.
It was strange, and unnerving, and the only thing Harry could think of was that it must be like what happened to a werewolf when the full moon rose. His magic wriggled and shuddered and twisted sideways, and Harry knew he didn’t have control of it anymore, that he couldn’t have used it to cast so much as a Lumos. His limbs fell slack, he could feel that, but he didn’t have time to worry about it with his magic occupying him. He fought in the only way he could think of, by grasping his power the way he had when Draco had poured it back into his body and tugging.
That didn’t seem to help. The magic was still changing, and now Harry could see intense flickers of black and red crossing his vision.
He had no reason to come to the conclusion that he did, but he was sure of it anyway. Nihil was changing his magic into grief magic.
I’m not going to let that happen, Harry thought, lunging forwards with a snarl. I’ll kill myself first. He set about grimly trying to stop his breath or his heart or something else that his body needed to function. He thought it was working, because his magic was no longer changing as rapidly as it had at first.
Then some fool started shoving magic back into him. Harry growled and tried to fight its entrance. That would only give Nihil more power! Was it Ron? He was the only one Harry could think of off the top of his head who would do exactly the opposite of what Harry wanted.
On the other hand, Harry didn’t think Ron could influence his magic. That left Draco, and Harry tried to yell his name, though he had no idea if Draco could hear him. Draco! Stop it! I have to get rid of this magic, not let Nihil take it over!
For long moments, the struggle was so even that Harry had the bizarre image of two snakes swaying back and forth, their bodies entwined, battering at each other with fangs and blunt heads. Then a particularly hard shove made him fall over, and Draco’s magic poured over him in triumph.
And over Nihil.
Harry heard a combination of a snarl and a scream, and then the alien force was gone from his body. He was floating alone on a sea of power, which Draco kept shoving into him, because he couldn’t pay attention to reality and realize that it was no longer needed.
Harry pushed the power back towards him instead, ignoring the way that Draco tried to ignore him. Prat. I don’t need it right now. Doesn’t he see that? He should. Maybe he thinks I’m too weak. I need to give him some sign of strength.
He choked. He had wanted to make a haughty announcement about how Draco was doing the wrong thing because he didn’t listen to Harry, but it seemed that all he could do was choke.
“Oh thank God,” he thought he heard Draco whisper. He opened his eyes, but the dazzle of light in front of them wouldn’t let him make out faces. Harry choked again and shut his eyes. He felt a cool hand lying on his cheek.
A voice that wasn’t Draco’s whispered, “Dormito.”
Harry had the chance to be only briefly outraged before the sleep spell took him down into a more wholesome darkness. At least he knew that his magic was whole and lying in his body the way it was supposed to again before he went.
*
Draco leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms. Potter lay in the bed in front of him, his black hair and pale skin startling against the deep green sheets. They’d put him in a guest bedroom close by Draco’s own chambers, so that the house-elves who’d watched him overnight wouldn’t have to travel far to fetch Draco in case something went wrong.
But nothing had, either last night or in the three hours Draco had been sitting here. He could almost hear Potter’s snort. Three hours? What are you doing? Go to some posh shop or read some book that would be impossible for me to understand. I’m fine.
Except that he wasn’t fine, and Draco didn’t intend to leave his side until Potter woke up and gave Draco his impression of what had happened last night. All Draco knew was that some kind of malady had infected Potter’s magic, and it had stopped when he pulled on the compatible magic and lent his power to Potter. The power had come back to him almost immediately. He didn’t feel weak and shaky the way he had after Potter drained it, so he could only suppose that it hadn’t required much of his magic to fix the problem.
If Nihil could strike from a distance like that…
Draco shivered and shook his head. Nihil could strike from a distance, yes, but why hadn’t he targeted Draco as well? The longer this persecution went on, the more uncertain Draco became about who was really the bastard’s main target.
Potter groaned. Draco glanced up sharply and saw the sweat breaking along his brow. One hand reached out and groped at the bedside table. Draco let out a deep breath, wiped palms that had gone damp with relief on his robes, and picked up Potter’s glasses.
“Looking for these?” he asked.
Potter jolted. But then he held still, which made Draco think he was waiting to see if the threat would go away. Draco curled his lip and dangled the glasses temptingly above Potter’s face. Would he snatch at them? Draco was interested in finding out.
Potter slit his right eye open and gave Draco a glare from a single intense slit of green. “Give them back,” he said.
“Ask nicely,” Draco said. “And then tell me what the fuck happened to you last night.” He was speaking more loudly than he meant to, and he took a breath that he hoped would force him to calm down. He wouldn’t give much for his chances if his mother heard him using language like that.
“I don’t know,” Potter said. “I felt as though someone was trying to take control of my magic and change it into something else, probably grief magic. When you came in, then that defeated Nihil. But then you went on pushing power into my body, and I had to fight you back before you drowned me.” He lashed out with his arm and managed to take the glasses away before Draco could react.
“I notice that you refuse to ask nicely,” Draco muttered, leaning back in his chair and watching the way Potter’s eyes seemed at once clearer and less attractive as the lenses settled into place on the bridge of his nose. “I probably saved your life, you know.”
“Yeah,” Potter said. “Thanks.”
His smile was slow and dazzling and made Draco’s heart contract in a way that was highly unpleasant. He coughed and looked aside, saying, “I’m afraid we didn’t know who you were staying with over the holidays, or we would have sent word to them about what happened. It’ll still be another day or so before you can travel.”
“A day?” Potter sounded aghast. He tugged himself up in the bed and then nodded briskly as he looked down at his body. “See? There’s none of that weakness that we felt after I drained you and you drained me. I can leave.” He reached for the sheet.
Draco shoved him ungently back into the pillows, his anger finding that sudden outlet. “You nearly died,” he said. “You stopped breathing.”
Potter frowned thoughtfully. Draco decided grudgingly that it probably would take a lot to impress him, after so many near brushes with death. “Oh,” he said. “I wondered if that would happen. I was thinking that I should die rather than allow Nihil to get control of me, and I reckon it manifested that way.”
Draco’s hands closed into fists. “You what,” he said.
“I didn’t mean it that way!” Potter sounded guilty now, darting Draco a sideways look. “It’s not like I want to die. It’s just that I thought it would be better than having Nihil turn me into a sack of human skin filled with grief magic the way he did those other people.”
“You think he was doing that,” Draco said. He wondered if he should keep talking about the way that Potter had tried to die, but he didn’t think he could get very far without speaking the kind of cruel words that would make too deep a cut on their friendship for it to recover. He would have to think about it and speak to Potter later, when he was more rational. He spent some moments staring at the headboard, as if he were gathering his ideas, and asked, “You think he transformed the fake Death Eaters?”
Potter nodded eagerly. He looked as happy to leave the subject of his death behind as Draco was. “Yes. Maybe he altered their features after that, too. Once he had control of their bodies, he could probably do anything with them. But that was what I felt like—like someone was taking my magic and changing the very nature of it, warping it into something else.” He shuddered and stuck his tongue out. “It wasn’t pleasant.”
“No, I imagine not,” Draco murmured, leaning back. “I hope now that you understand why we’re not willing to let you go yet.”
“Yeah, I reckon I know why,” Potter said, picking at the threads of his blankets in a way that made Draco itch to reach out and close a hand over his fingers. “Thanks, Draco. I hope that I’m not imposing on you and your mother.” He looked up, so anxious that Draco had to blink before he could respond.
“You’re welcome,” he said at last. “Now, where did you say you were staying? We need to send a message to let your relatives know. They must be frantic by now.”
*
Harry felt a tightness in his throat that couldn’t be expelled no matter how many times he swallowed. He wanted to tell Draco to go away and not ask any more questions.
Draco had always had a family. True, his parents didn’t always make the best decisions, and Harry personally wouldn’t have wanted Lucius Malfoy for a father, but he had parents who loved him. He’d always known a lot about his family, too—his ancestors and the good and bad things they’d done. He was attached to his surname in a way that Harry couldn’t imagine being attached to Potter.
How was Harry supposed to tell him that he didn’t really have a blood family? He had the Weasleys, but he knew how Draco felt about them. Besides, he would probably think that a chosen family was inferior to blood relatives.
“Potter?”
Draco sounded impatient. Harry glanced up at him and saw his eyes fastened sharply to Harry’s face.
You’re making a bigger deal of this than it has to be, Harry told himself firmly. Draco might make fun of you a little, but he’s going to be all right with this. You can get past it.
“I’m not staying with anyone, actually,” he said, forcing his voice to be as calm and normal as possible. “Until Christmas Eve, when I’m going to go and stay with the Weasleys until Boxing Day. So there’s no message to send.” He smiled slightly, hoping that the joke he was about to make would distract Draco from the subject. “Really, you’re worrying about me more than anyone else is at the moment.”
Draco just stared at him, blinking now and then. Otherwise, his face was frozen. Harry cringed at first, but as minute after minute ticked past and Draco still said nothing, he stiffened his spine and glared at his partner. If this is such a shock to his delicate sensibilities, maybe I should shock him more often. He’ll probably faint the first time we meet some really ugly abomination of a Dark creature otherwise.
When Draco finally spoke, it was a single, croaking word. “Why?”
“Because I like the Weasleys and want to stay with them, of course,” Harry said. He decided that this was an excellent opportunity to try and get Draco off the main track of the conversation. “You would like them if you paid more attention to them. Maybe not Ron and Ginny, but I think Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley could be persuaded to make peace with your mum. And you’ve probably never met Charlie for any length of time, he’s really good with dragons—”
“Why aren’t you staying with your relatives?” Draco said. His voice was so flat that it smashed Harry’s pretense like a plate of iron, and he could no longer pretend not to know what Draco was talking about.
Harry smoothed a hand along his hair and stared at the blanket. He’d never been in a bed with sheets this soft and smooth. Even they were too good for him, he thought, and wondered again if this friendship between him and Draco was going to work out.
Now you’re the one being ridiculous, just like with the jealousy. All Draco’s asking is a question. You don’t know that he’s going to make fun of you yet. Grow a bloody backbone.
Harry glanced up at Draco and saw him leaning forwards with his chin in his palm, waiting. It wasn’t a common posture with him; it made him look a little silly. Harry relaxed and said simply, “My relatives don’t like magic. It makes them nervous. And I never knew my Potter relatives. I think Dumbledore said once that my grandparents were old when they had my dad, and they probably died before I was born.” He shrugged. “Maybe there are cousins and aunts and stuff out there, but I’ve never met them.”
Draco exhaled slowly. “You know that I’m staying with my mother over the holidays,” he said.
Harry waited, but Draco didn’t go on. “Yeah,” he said at last. “So?”
Draco shook his head, eyes never moving from Harry’s face. “You could have asked to stay with me. We have plenty of room here. You’re my partner. Why didn’t you?”
Harry stared at him, but no matter how long he waited, Draco didn’t seem to see what was wrong with this, so Harry had to tell him.
“I don’t know your mother,” Harry said, feeling enormously frustrated. “How could I intrude? And you were going to be with her because you wanted to, and I assumed you needed a break from me. Everyone needs a break from other people some of the time. Why would I want to interrupt that?” He wished he could leap to his feet and pace back and forth, the way he usually did when he was upset, but the trembling weakness in his legs told him not to get out of bed. He would hardly convince Draco of his point if he sprawled inelegantly on the floor. So Harry had to sit still and clench his fists and try to think of how in the world he could explain himself.
At least he had the words this time—words that he’d been wanting to say for months, but which circumstance or anger always choked back.
“I think I’m depending on you too much as it is. I’ve depended on you to save my life and tell me when I’m doing something stupid and persuade me that we need to be partners and I shouldn’t ignore the compatible magic because it’s important. You’ve been the one making sacrifices for me, pulling and pushing and tugging on me to get moving. Sure, I’ve done a few things for you, but they haven’t been as important.
“I don’t want this to turn into one of those one-sided friendships where one person takes and takes and takes, and the other person gives and gives and gives and receives nothing in return. I want to do things for you. I want to save your life sometimes, sure, but that’s just something partners should do anyway. I want to go beyond that. But I don’t know how. I’m trying to figure it out. I feel like I should decide on my own because asking you what you want is—is cheating. I didn’t say it made much sense,” he added defensively, when he saw Draco’s mouth open. “But it’s necessary for me to try to give you things you want that are gifts, not things selected from a list. And giving you privacy and time with your family is something I can do. So is encouraging you to form other friendships, and maybe standing up for you when someone tries to make fun of you. But other than that, there’s so little. And now I’m here and taking up your time during the holidays, too.” Harry finally lost his composure and glanced away from Draco, his hands twining nervously together. He tried to make them stop, but they didn’t cooperate. “I just—fuck, of all the stupid things to happen! I didn’t want it to, and I’m glad you saved my life, of course, but don’t you see why I have to get out of here? Being here is depending on you and taking from you again.”
*
Draco sat still. Potter’s outburst had left him dazed. He had several answers that rose to the surface of his mind, bobbed up and down, and sank again, but he didn’t think any of them was an adequate response to what he had just heard.
What Potter had said was right in many ways. Draco did think he was more committed to their friendship than Potter was, who had other friends, and some of the things Potter did were so exasperating that Draco felt worn-out trying to correct his mistakes.
Their conversation about the not-kiss came to mind.
But to suggest that he should leave Potter to spend the holidays by himself because of that…
It wasn’t right. Draco just didn’t have a splendid argument about why it was wrong, something that Potter would nod and accept.
So he said quietly, “I want you here. You’ll need to stay at least a day so we can make sure that you don’t have another attack.”
Potter eyed him skeptically. He had drawn his knees up before his chest, as if to defend himself. Draco wondered if he was even aware of it. “But Christmas hols are a fortnight,” he said. “There’s a difference between me staying for a day and me staying for two weeks.”
Draco ground his teeth. “Yes, I know that,” he said with forced patience. “I want you to stay anyway.”
Potter tilted his head to the side, so that his fringe covered one eye, and peered at him with the other. Draco couldn’t describe the expression on his face. Trusting, maybe, or lonely, or astonished.
“Why?” he asked.
Draco shook his head. He would never have thought a question like that could come from someone like Potter, who seemed to be surrounded by people who would be delighted to have him stay the Christmas holidays.
But now Draco knew that wasn’t true. He had witnessed arguments between Potter and his best friends. And he had other information.
My relatives don’t like magic. It makes them nervous.
Draco had no idea what was hiding under the surface of those words, but he felt rather as he had one time when he was a child, playing in one of the attics of the Manor, and had moved an old tapestry. A cluster of insects was nesting in the threads of the tapestry, and had exploded out at him, silent and white. It had taken Draco an hour’s scrubbing to feel clean again.
And then Draco had a touch of the fiery genius that his mother said lived in the Black line.
“Because I want you to come with me and Mother when we start asking if anyone knows about Nihil,” he said promptly. “It would do people good to see we actually have the Boy-Who-Lived on our side.”
Potter lifted his head and blinked. Those brilliant eyes that could never hide anything from Draco now reflected distaste. But the distaste vanished a moment later, and his smile was dazzling again.
“Yeah, I can do that,” he said.
That was why it was a stroke of genius. Draco knew Potter wanted to do something for him that was radically unpleasant for himself; he seemed to think that everything Draco did for him had been a personal sacrifice, so he wanted to repay it in the same way.
It was still not right, not in the way that Draco wanted it to be. But there were so many things that he had to let go for right now, and discuss later, when he had his thoughts in order and they would make more sense.
Watching the way Potter sprawled across the pillows and began to ask questions about what Draco had felt during the struggle with the grief magic, and if he didn’t think Nihil was scarily powerful, Draco thought he knew how his eventual speech would begin.
You are a source of pleasure to me, a source of delight.
Chapter Twenty-Six.
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