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lomonaaerenChapter Twelve.
Title: Ceremonies of Strife (13/50)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Lucius/Narcissa
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, Dark magic, angst, profanity, sex (slash and het), character deaths (not the main characters).
Summary: Sequel to Soldier’s Welcome. As Harry and Draco head in to their second year of Auror training, they are resolved to try and balance the relationship between them with their personal difficulties. That might be a bit harder than they think when the difficulties include necromancy, Azkaban escapees, unicorn ghosts, the risen dead, a secret order of assassins…and the second war, guided by Nihil.
Author’s Notes: This is the second part of what I’m calling the Running to Paradise Trilogy, focused on Harry and Draco’s Auror training. A reader on AFF called SP777 suggested the idea for this series to me. I’d advise you to read Soldier’s Welcome first before you try to read this one, as this story doesn’t spend a lot of time recapitulating the first one.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Thirteen—Words Once Spoken
The door shut behind them with a sound that Harry, at least, dreaded. He turned to face Draco, who leaned against the door and stared at him uncertainly. Then he straightened his spine and cleared his throat.
Bully for him, Harry thought in misery. He doesn’t seem to mind telling me the secrets he’s been hiding, whatever they are. But how in the world am I supposed to tell him about the necromancy?
He knew that Weston and Lowell would insist on that, if they knew. Fuck, they’d probably insist on a lot of other things, too. And Harry simply couldn’t give in and confess the secret, because of the way Draco would react.
Then I’ll have to do the best I can, Harry thought, and felt more fit to meet the challenge when he remembered that he had to do his best for people other than Draco. The yearning eyes of the dead were visible in his mind whenever he blinked. There had to be a way of reconciling their claims and Draco’s claims, or at least the ones Lowell and Weston were raising on his behalf.
I’ve done harder things. Compared to dying so that everyone else could live, this ought to be easy.
“Why did we stop talking, do you think?” Draco asked. His tone was desperately casual, and he toyed with a button of the front of his robes, staring down at it. “There was no reason to it. It just—happened.”
“That’s what I think,” Harry said quietly, thinking back and trying to remember. It seemed to him that they’d had some pretty honest conversations at Grimmauld Place, when Draco had told him about Lucius escaping from prison and Harry had confessed he loved Draco. But after that, they’d become tied up in their classes and their separate lives, and they didn’t seem to come together even when they were, well, coming together.
Draco smiled when Harry said that and nodded. “Yes, I think that’s true,” he said. “Was there one event that made that happen, though?” He moved away from the door and further into the room, which made Harry feel a little more relaxed.
“I don’t think so,” Harry said. “But our classes are hard, and we seem to deal with it by sinking into work and forgetting about each other.”
Draco relaxed even more. Was he waiting for me to say that? Harry thought. Or maybe he wanted to say it but he’s glad to be spared the necessity. “That’s it exactly,” Draco said. “And sometimes I wonder whether I really want to be an Auror, if it takes us this long to get there.”
“You knew that before we came in, though.” Harry peered at him in curiosity. “And you already know that the War Wizards probably won’t accept you. What was it that you wanted to do instead?”
Draco hesitated, then gave a flippant shrug of his shoulders and seemed to commit himself to speaking whatever words came into his head. “I want power, Harry. I need it, to protect myself against my father and anyone who might take a special interest in ending my existence.” He smiled grimly. “It seems that I have no chance of getting it, since the War Wizards won’t take me. I was going to study the Greek magic that I saw Dearborn and Nihil using on my own, but I didn’t get the chance before that attack happened, and since then, I’ve been observing Pushkin, who shares almost nothing.”
He finished that with a little rush and then stood peering at Harry. Harry knew his mouth was open, and did his best to shut it. He had never suspected that Draco wanted something like that; he had seemed, if anything, more patient than Harry was, willing to try several new things to see if they would work. The only time he had seemed truly impatient was when Lowell and Weston had criticized his fighting skills.
“I didn’t know,” Harry said at last. “I’m sorry. I would have tried to help you if I had.” Something occurred to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you would think it was—naked,” Draco said.
Harry frowned. “What?”
“Too naked a grab for power.” Draco was flushing by now, but he looked half-defiant, too. “Why should you trust me with that much? Slytherins were supposed to be ambitious in Hogwarts, and you disliked us for that. I thought you would say the same thing if I explained that I wanted power now. Be amused, or tell me that we had enough with the compatible magic and I should be content.”
Harry shook his head hesitantly, and tried to think of sophisticated, subtle words that would explain what he was thinking. Then he decided that was never going to happen and went straight for the clear ones. “I don’t want power for myself, but I’m not going to oppose your desires as long as you don’t want to hurt other people, Draco.”
Draco stared at him. Harry could see surprise in his expression, and maybe something else, but Draco turned away before he could be sure. “That’s—generous of you,” Draco said.
“Why?” Harry said. “I love you, and I know that what I want isn’t the same as what everyone else wants.” He came forwards a few steps. Draco didn’t protest or back away, so Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and leaned his head on Draco’s shoulder, listening to his jolting breaths.
“It’s hard for you,” Harry whispered, “being partnered to me.”
Draco made a sharp movement as though he would deny that, and then stood still, only bowing his head slightly.
Harry stroked his back. “I know,” he said. “It certainly isn’t the fate that either of us thought we would have.” He knew Draco was smiling, though he continued to stand there without speaking or moving. “But I don’t mind, Draco, really. I’m not threatened if you’re stronger than me, because I know that you would always share that strength with me through the compatible magic if I needed it.”
Draco finally moved, linking his fingers through Harry’s, and whispered, “Why don’t you want power?”
Harry frowned and wondered how to explain. Draco turned around in his arms meanwhile and stared him directly in the eyes. Harry licked his lips. He would have to be careful how he answered when he was bad at lying and Draco would probably see one easily.
“I want some kinds,” he said. “I want to have the strength to protect people and be a good Auror. I haven’t really used my fame except for a few small things, but it could be useful if you or one of my friends was in trouble and it was the only way to make the Ministry listen to me. And of course I wanted the strength to kill Voldemort, even though that turned out to be rather different than I thought it would be.”
“But magical power,” Draco said insistently, touching Harry’s cheek with the back of his hand as though feeling for a fever. “I’d think that would be important to you, since you grew up with Muggles. A way of distinguishing yourself from them.”
Harry shook his head. “I was just happy to have magic, at all. It hasn’t bothered me, how strong or how weak I am.”
“Well, that’s because you’re strong,” Draco said, face set in a stubborn expression. “It would be different if you weren’t, because then you would have to realize how many people around you were more powerful. You’d get tired of looking up to them, and envious, and then you’d want it.”
“Maybe that’s true,” Harry said. “But I don’t think it explains you, because you’re strong and yet you want more.” He hesitated, then decided that he would probably never have the courage to ask this question again if the conversation moved on. “Are you envious of me, because I’m strong?”
Draco leaned hard against him, almost knocking him from his feet. Harry swayed, but managed to stay standing upright. And he looked Draco calmly in the eye, too, because if Draco didn’t want to answer this, Harry thought it was all the more important that he get an answer.
Draco scowled over his shoulder at the wall. Then he said, “Lowell and Weston have painful ideas. Remind me to tell them that the next time we see them.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re not good,” Harry said gently, and shoved at Draco’s left shoulder a little.
“I know.” Draco sighed and brought his eyes back to Harry’s face. “Sometimes. You seem to do some things so easily. And I envy you your courage. And I envied the way that you fought those beasts off during Nemo’s attack, while all I could do was stand there and get frozen by an ice-dragon.”
“Nemo would have captured me if not for Flash,” Harry said. “And Flash was your gift to me. So you could look at it as you rescuing me.”
Draco smiled, but his eyes were vague. “Mostly,” he whispered, “I can keep my envy under control, because I know that you’ll share your strength with me through the compatible magic. But sometimes, yeah.” He shuddered a little and shook his head. “You seem to walk through the world so unconcerned sometimes. I wonder how you do it.”
Harry laughed. “Have you ever seen me the day before one of the essays is due? I’m not unconcerned then. I think the last time we had an essay due for Coronante, I ended up with ink on my eyelids and in my hair, and you were kind enough to let me know about it before everyone started laughing at me.”
Draco half-smiled. “Coronante,” he muttered. “I wish someone else was teaching us Stealth and Tracking.”
Harry cocked his head. “Do you mind her because you think that she’s too ridiculous and Aurors should be more dignified, or because she’s not pure-blood?”
From the way Draco stiffened and looked at him with sudden wariness, as if he thought that Harry had used Legilimency on him, Harry was sure this was another of the things he had been concealing. He concentrated his gaze and waited with the patient expression he had learned made Draco uneasy and defensive and liable to talk sooner.
*
Draco flexed his fingers open and shut, and wondered how he could approach this subject in a way that wouldn’t offend Harry. He had to tell the truth—their magic, and thus their partnership, depended on that—but he wasn’t sure he knew the words.
That’s happened a lot before, and you still spoke the truth, and Harry still put up with it and reassured you.
“I don’t like that she’s so ridiculous,” Draco said, deciding to start with the easier question to answer. “And I think that has to do with her blood, because she would have been more reserved and more serious if she had a pure-blood upbringing, which means that I could tolerate her better.”
Harry’s eyes sharpened. “What about me? Do you disapprove of my manners because I don’t have a pure-blood upbringing? What about Hermione?”
“There are times I wish both of you acted differently,” Draco said. “But I know what kind of upbringing you had, Harry, and I don’t want you to think I’m blaming you for it. And Granger is serious enough for me, if not reserved enough.”
Harry stepped back and folded his arms. “Would you be happier if I was a pure-blood?”
Draco bowed his head and stared at the floor. They had to dust, he thought absently. And they should sweep, too. Really, the floor of their room was dirtier than he had realized it was.
“Not happier,” he muttered at last, when the silence had gone on too long and got a tinge of impatience that he knew came from Harry’s waiting. “You’re you, and I’m happy with you. But there are times that I wish I could talk about something with you, and then I remember that you wouldn’t understand it.”
“Is that a difference of blood?” Harry asked. “Or culture? Because that’s what it sounds like to me.” His breathing and voice were both getting quicker, and Draco had no chance to apologize or say something that would excuse himself, because Harry was sweeping ahead, like a stream in flood. “Besides, what can’t you discuss with me? Name one thing that you’ve talked to me about and that I haven’t at least considered.”
“The difference in blood, for one thing,” Draco said, and met his eyes. “Listen to yourself right now. Are you considering it?”
“I haven’t punched you in the nose yet,” Harry snapped, “which I think is pretty bloody restrained, given that the subject is the reason Voldemort killed my parents and some people thought Hermione shouldn’t be attending Hogwarts.”
Draco tilted his head in acknowledgment, but kept his hands clenched. “Perhaps you’re right, and it’s a difference of culture instead of blood,” he said. “But it still puts barriers between us. I still want instructors who are more reserved, like Dearborn, and don’t just leap to a conclusion or try to make someone who doesn’t learn in the way they approve of feel bad. I want someone who can be calm and cool and explain the subject in long, intelligent sentences.”
“Davidson does that,” Harry said. He’d stepped back to put some more distance between them, and it made Draco ache to see it. “Lowell. Weston. Even Aran, some of the time. And I know that you enjoy the Spell Lexicon class, Draco. Does it matter that maybe they’re not all pure-bloods? Is it really the manners you want, or the blood? I think the answer to that question will tell me a lot about you,” he added.
Draco swallowed and looked at him for long minutes until he thought that he could speak calmly. He had expected an interruption before then, because Harry was volatile, but all he got was a concentrated stare.
“The blood matters to me,” Draco said.
Harry turned his head away.
“But I’m trying not to let it matter,” Draco said, and could have grimaced at how high and shrill his voice was getting. Then he decided that that might not matter; maybe Harry would even respond better to it, if he knew that Draco could make the same kind of mistakes he did. He took a few appealing steps nearer, while Harry stubbornly continued to stare at the opposite wall. “I do care about you. I can put up with Granger. I can learn from the teachers who aren’t pure-bloods. Just because I might want them to behave better or be different kinds of people doesn’t mean I discount them.”
Harry whipped around to face him. “Wanting them to be different kinds of people doesn’t mean you discount them?” he asked in incredulity. “Draco, do you even bother to listen to yourself for one solitary moment sometimes?”
Draco shook his head. “It’s—it’s not a prejudice,” he said. “It’s just something I can’t help noticing, Harry. It’s the way I was raised, the same way you were raised by Muggles. I want people to act the way my parents taught me. I think coldness is politeness. I would rather that people be reserved and treat me like an adult than like Coronante does, making bad jokes and then waiting around with this breathless readiness for you to laugh.”
“If I was like that,” Harry asked, his voice low and deadly, “do you think that we would have become friends, or partners? Or lovers?” He flinched suddenly, though Draco didn’t understand why until he spoke the next words. “Does it disgust you every time you touch me, because you think my mother has dirty blood?” he asked accusingly. He had already taken a step towards the door, as if he intended to be ready to leave if Draco’s answer didn’t please him.
Draco shut his eyes and shook his head. He would have to take more of a risk than he’d thought he would, he realized, his heart pounding crazily. He would have to speak words that he had hoped he would be able to shut up in his heart as long as he needed to, words that exposed him in a dreadful way.
But this is Harry. I know that he’ll give me a kind hearing, a fair one, which is more than those friends of his or anyone else in the whole bloody Auror training program would do.
Draco took a deep breath and moved forwards so that he could take Harry’s hands. Harry wouldn’t let him at first, keeping them stubbornly folded in fists, but Draco rubbed the back of his knuckles and murmured nonsense words until Harry gradually let his fingers relax and open. Draco then stroked the webs between his fingers until Harry was humming under his breath and shifting restlessly.
“Listen,” Draco said. “I love you.”
Harry’s humming stopped, and he stared at Draco in open disbelief, his arousal forgotten in the wake of what he’d just heard.
Draco smiled. He appreciated the reaction, although he would have liked more joy and less incredulity. “You don’t have dirty blood,” he said. “And your differences from me, the way you react to things more openly and speak honestly, make us stronger than being exactly alike would. I don’t know if I could partner with another pure-blood, tempting as the idea seems. This way, we have contrasting strengths, and we stand more chance of being able to defend ourselves and fight our enemies.”
Harry nodded. His eyes were wide and clear again, and he looked at Draco with the quiet appreciation that Draco thought he might have missed more than even honest speech in this last little while when they hadn’t been talking. “What about Hermione and Coronante?” Harry asked. “What do you feel about them? They can’t benefit you in the same way I do. And you don’t care about them in the same way.” He had taken Draco’s fingers in turn and was gently caressing the backs of his hands with tiny movements of his thumb that were driving Draco mad.
I don’t think he’d like me to jump him right now. Draco took a deep breath to regain control. Which is a pity.
“I wish they could behave differently,” he said. “But it really is a matter of culture, and not blood, the way you put it. I was calling it blood, but that’s because I was used to using one term and didn’t want to change my mind. I should, though. Mother always said that being precise in one’s speech is an art in itself. I should say what I really mean, not use terms that have a taint on them in more ways than one.”
Harry gave him a sweet, radiant smile. “And you really do love me?” he asked, like a child going back to a recently-opened present.
Draco chuckled and bowed his head. “More than you can imagine,” he breathed into one ear, and Harry shivered and reached up and wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck.
Draco lost track of time for a short while after that, or at least space, as the world seemed to spin and then realign itself in several different directions. When he could properly see and think again, he was resting on the bed, with his shirt on but his pants and trousers stripped off, and Harry was between his legs, stroking his cock with an intentness that Draco wouldn’t have exchanged for a thousand pure-blood ancestors.
He tossed his head back and sighed, then moaned when Harry wet one finger and ran it along the tip of his erection. But Harry didn’t get on with the faster stroking, which Draco thought was the point of this. Instead, he kept up the gentle touches until Draco frowned and looked at him for an explanation.
“I wanted to be sure you were paying attention,” Harry whispered, and then pulled off his own trousers and pants and climbed up to lie on Draco, aligning their cocks.
Draco reached up and grasped Harry’s shoulders, holding him in place. This was perfect. They could rub against one another without fear of one of them falling off, and Harry’s weight was heavy as a warm sleep against his shoulders and chest, and Harry was kissing him and moaning into his mouth, and their cocks slipped and wedged against one another and then slid free again and angled in from the side…
Draco let the world become a blur again, grateful for the sensation and the way that Harry’s fingers dug into his shoulders and his sides. Their hisses, squeaks, whimpers, and gasps twined around one another, and Draco arched up and came feeling as if it had been the sounds that compelled his orgasm instead of the friction.
Harry came against him, shuddering with a strength that did nearly cause him to fall off, after all. He caught himself in time and kissed Draco’s chin lazily, then licked along his cheekbone to his ear, which he bit. Draco slapped his arse in retaliation, and Harry drew in his breath sharply.
“I didn’t know you liked that,” Draco said in interest.
“I like anything when it’s you doing it,” Harry said in a breathy voice, and lowered his head to be kissed again. Draco rolled him to the side and reached for his wand to perform a Cleaning Charm.
Harry’s eyes shone, and Draco relaxed. Confessing his love hadn’t been as bad as he had thought it would be.
And what Harry had said made sense. It was a difference in culture, not a difference in blood, that separated Draco from people like Granger and Coronante. He could see that now. He would use the more precise words because they would please Harry, but also because they more accurately conveyed what he meant.
And he would try to remind himself that not every instructor could act like Dearborn, and he probably wouldn’t want them to. Not even Dearborn was a perfect teacher. He hadn’t been able to show most of his students how to fight in teams when he tried, which was something Lowell and Weston labored to correct in the Partnership Trust class.
I could choose another mentor, Draco thought as he kissed Harry, in that hovering moment before he allowed sex to drown his thoughts completely. This is supposed to be the year we do that anyway. Go to someone and ask whether he’ll teach me.
Considering the choices left by Dearborn’s death and the fact that he wanted his new mentor to be powerful, Draco knew there was only one true choice. Roger Aran, the Spell Lexicon instructor. He would understand why Draco needed more and stronger spells to combat his enemies; that was what he wanted the students to learn in any case.
Satisfied with his plan, Draco gave his full attention back to Harry and slid a hand down his belly, searching for his cock and rubbing the head. Harry arched with a muffled cry.
Draco bit his throat, and listened to that cry travel higher.
*
Harry lay panting beside Draco, his eyes closed. Draco was already asleep. He’d barely managed to cast the Cleaning Charm after their second round, and hadn’t managed to cast it on Harry; he had dozed off in the middle of a syllable. Harry had done it himself and then curled up next to his partner.
That had worked, far better than Harry had thought it would when he realized Draco hadn’t really changed his attitudes towards Muggleborn ancestors. There were still things they should talk about, but this was a good beginning. For the first time in weeks, Harry felt like he was seeing Draco, hearing him, and feeling him when they fucked, instead of a shadow that paled next to some of the other things he had to consider.
And, best of all, he hadn’t had to confess any of his own secrets. Draco seemed to think Harry was so honest that he couldn’t have any.
Harry put aside the twinge of guilt. He had to remain as loyal as he could to both Draco and the dead. This was the best way to do that.
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Date: 2010-02-08 01:23 am (UTC)