Chapter Two of 'Seasons of War'- Putting It Together

[lomonaaeren]

Chapter One.

Title: Seasons of War (2/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, torture, sex, angst, profanity, ignores the DH epilogue.
Summary: The war against Nihil enters its final stages, Harry and Draco train as partners, and they may actually survive to become effective Aurors. Maybe.
Author’s Notes: This is the final part of the Running to Paradise Trilogy, sequel to Ceremonies of Strife, and won’t make much sense if you haven’t read the first two stories. I don’t yet know how long this one will be, but based on the others, I’m guessing 45 to 50 chapters.

Thank you for all the reviews!

Chapter Two—Putting It Together

“How did it go?”

Harry let the tent flap fall in behind him and embraced Draco, burying his head in his neck. He heard Politesse’s growl at being squashed but didn’t care, because there were things more important than keeping the dog happy. Draco only chuckled in response to the growl, anyway, and rubbed the back of Harry’s neck.

Claws settled on Harry’s shoulder as Flash found him, and then the blunt head nudged his cheek. Harry backed away from Draco and went to sit down in a chair, scratching Flash’s wing as his head fell back. “Can I just sit here for the rest of my life and never have to have a conversation with Portillo Lopez again?” he asked pathetically.

“I think she might object to that,” Draco said. Harry looked over at him and found him leaning forwards, hands clasped, eyes so bright that he must have a scheme in mind. “Was it really that bad?”

“I don’t understand the theory no matter how many times she explains it,” Harry said. Flash crawled into his lap, and he had to shift around and make a place for the little fire-dancer before he could continue. That was all right. It let Draco consider his humiliating confession while Harry didn’t have to look at him. “And how am I supposed to teach this necromancy to someone else if I don’t understand the theory?”

“It’s a problem,” Draco said in a neutral voice, for which Harry was grateful, especially as he thought Draco would have understood the theory at once. “I do wonder if we aren’t going about this the wrong way.”

Harry blinked at him and sighed as Flash coiled his neck around Harry’s hand. The warmth felt good against his skin. “What do you mean? I thought we’d decided to cooperate with the instructors now.”

Draco’s face tightened as if someone had bound his skin more closely against his skull. “Not when one of them is questioning me about what kind of tortures could be used against you to break you if you ever go rogue.”

Harry felt as though a lightning bolt had struck him through the stomach. He sat up, saying, “Tell me.”

Draco did, and Harry had to fight to keep from holding Flash too tightly and hurting him. “I don’t know what I did to annoy Holder,” he said. “Why focus on me as the threat and not you? You’re the one who has the ownership of Malfoy Manor, the more powerful Dark spells, and the greater intelligence behind you.”

Draco had started to answer, but he fell silent at that and regarded Harry with a long, level stare. Harry shifted. Maybe Draco didn’t like to be reminded that he’d so recently come into ownership of Malfoy Manor with his father’s death.

But Draco said quietly, “You’re smart. I’ve told you that. Just because you don’t understand all the magical theories the first time around doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”

Harry sighed and sought for a word that would explain the way he felt. Flash stood up on his lap and peered anxiously into his face, and Harry had to scratch and soothe him, which didn’t help the search. But at least Draco was sitting there patiently and waiting for him, so Harry could take his time.

“I know that,” he said finally. “But I make my best decisions on impulse, in the middle of battle. I couldn’t tell you that I understand how every single defensive spell works together, or why it’s best to use a Shield Charm here and a Summoning Charm there, if you just asked me to describe a fight. It comes naturally to me when I’m acting. Not when I’m thinking.” He managed a smile for Draco. “And I think you have to be able to think to be smart.”

“There are different kinds of intelligence.” Draco had relaxed back in the chair and started stroking Politesse again. Harry had to smile at how much he looked like a picture of an evil genius Harry had seen on the Muggle telly once. “I couldn’t do what you do. I’d want to plan too much, and then get nervous that the plans might not work, and spoil them by overthinking.” He smiled, though Harry wasn’t sure the smile was directed at him. “That’s one reason I want to be a leader. I know how to delegate and work with people who can do things I can’t.”

“Of course,” Harry said.

The doubt must have shown through despite his best attempts to contain it. Draco snorted at him. “That’s why I think we should call the comitatus together again. They’re the best chance we have to resist the instructors’ pressure and do something on our own.”

“But do we want to?” Harry scratched along the outside of Flash’s wings, and he stood on his hind legs, resting his front feet on Harry’s shoulders as he crooned. Harry had to duck his head to the side to see around him. “That’s what I’d worry about. We haven’t achieved as much as we should acting on our own. Isn’t it time to listen to them?”

“There’s no law that says we can’t listen to them and act on our own at the same time,” Draco said serenely.

Harry shook his head in doubt, but he knew that shine in Draco’s eyes by now. He was going to do what he wanted, and the consequences would fall on his head later, instead of immediately.

The only thing I can do is be there to help him deal with them.

*

Draco stood behind the table in his and Harry’s tent, looking around at the other four people he’d gathered there, and hoped his confident stance—direct stare, hands on hips, haughtily uplifted head—hid how nervous he felt. He had been their leader before, but only in small, immediate situations, such as trying to figure out what Nihil wanted in Wiltshire. He was asking them now to accept his guidance long-term.

There was at least one person there who would eagerly do so, which made it easier. Ursula Ventus sat upright on her chair, her legs crossed and one foot swinging, her wand held in her hand. Whenever he caught her eye, she smiled and nodded. Ventus was a bit mad, caring only for war, but she had declared her loyalty to Draco early, and that was calming and comforting right now.

Beside her sat Weasley, who regarded Draco with a cautious glance. Draco nodded to him, too, though he knew he and Weasley didn’t have anything like the amicable trust that connected him and Ventus. Weasley had saved Draco’s life, and he had objected and fought against him dating Harry every step of the way. Who knew how he was feeling at any particular moment? Draco was of the opinion that even Weasley didn’t know his own feelings most of the time.

Except maybe love for the woman who sat beside him, Draco had to admit. Weasley and Granger’s relationship seemed more stable than his and Harry’s.

And then Draco wanted to cover his face with one arm, because he had just admitted that something between Granger and Weasley might be worth having.

He shoved the thought determinedly away and studied Granger as she was studying him, the way he might regard a recalcitrant potion. She didn’t move, but sat there bolt upright as though someone would walk in at any moment and accuse her of slumping. She had worked with Draco, too, and also accused him of trying to seduce Harry for his own evil ends. Draco never knew what part of her would be uppermost regarding him.

And then there was Harry.

Draco let his gaze linger on Harry’s face, as much to build confidence as anything else. Harry was smiling gently at him, face resigned, as though to say that he knew Draco would fuck up but he would support him anyway.

He really is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

The sentimentality of that thought was disturbing, and Draco pushed it away and cleared his throat. “The comitatus needs to act.”

“Of course we do,” said Ventus, who was always ready to act. She leaned forwards. “Where are we going?”

“Well, for the moment, we’re going to stay right here,” Draco said, and ignored her disappointed frown. “We have to learn as much as we can from the instructors, and Harry and I are under informal watch. Luckily, we do have an ally working with us. Auror Gregory wants to get rid of Nihil as much as we do.”

“I don’t know what she can do that she’s not already doing,” Granger muttered. “She disciplines people brutally.”

“We have to get into one of her classes, first,” Draco said. “Harry and I have been so busy with Portillo Lopez and Holder there hasn’t been a chance, but we plan to go out and join one tomorrow.” He hesitated. This would be the point of conflict, because even if Granger and Weasley accepted him as leader, that didn’t mean they obeyed his will unquestioningly. “We all should.”

Silence, and then Weasley said, “Oh, yes, we’ll just do that, in between the drills with Morningstar and Lowell and Weston’s frantic efforts to forge us into a partnership and Coronante and Davidson acting like we’ll die tomorrow if we don’t learn how to disguise ourselves and track people and Ketchum stuffing tactics down our throats. Not to mention this meeting.” He shook his head. “There aren’t enough hours in the day, Malfoy.”

“We can make the hours,” Draco said levelly. “For example, if you and Granger spent less time—what was the phrase?—ah, yes, having private study sessions, you’d have a lot more time.”

Weasley flushed. Granger just regarded Draco with that polished look of disdain and said, “Leisure time is essential to make sure that we don’t get swamped with our duties. I don’t want Ron to break down, and I don’t want to break down, because we’re pushing ourselves too far and too fast and never relaxing.”

Draco nodded. “I know. But it does mean that you can stop some of your snogging sessions and attend Gregory’s class.”

Weasley said, “Oh, yeah? And will you and Harry do the same thing?”

“Harry and I have barely been alone since we arrived here, thanks to the Aurors’ distrust of us,” Draco said smoothly. He didn’t look at Harry, whom he knew would be blushing redder than Weasley. “But yes, we intend to focus most of our efforts on the war with Nihil.” He did glance at Harry then, to receive confirmation.

Harry took a few deep breaths, as though nerving himself for battle, and nodded. “I want him dead for everything that he’s done to Draco and me,” he said, “and everything he’ll do to people in the future. So, yeah.”

Not the most eloquent testimony in support of him, but Draco hadn’t chosen Harry for eloquence. He faced Weasley and Granger again. Ventus, of course, looked eager to do anything that would get her closer to the war with Nihil. “Do you understand? Gregory’s class is going to be important because she’s our ally and because she’ll help me develop methods of torture that actually work on Nihil’s servants, rather than harassing me to tell her about things that will work on Harry.”

Granger started to answer, but Weasley interrupted with another firestorm of red starting in his face. “What, they wanted you to hurt Harry? That’s—that’s stupid.”

“I quite agree,” Draco said. “But yes, Holder was questioning me about what Harry was afraid of in the way of pain, and when I asked her why that was important, admitted that she thought Harry was a necromancer who might turn on us as Nihil did and that she wanted a way to combat him if that happened.”

“It’s outrageous,” Granger said, “but we still haven’t discussed whether using torture is moral.”

Draco rolled his eyes. He had thought Granger was past that, since she hadn’t brought up the way that he tortured Aran again. Still, he might be able to get around her on the grounds of sheer practicality. “Look at it this way,” he said. “Do you know any other way to stop Nihil? Other than Harry’s necromancy, which he can’t share with anyone so far and which Nihil might find a way to get past.”

“Fight him,” said Ventus. “Kill him.”

Draco smiled wryly at her. “We have to discover how to kill him first. If he’s connected to the forces of life and death, then it won’t be as simple as marching up and sticking a knife in his heart, attractive as that option is in some ways.”

“There’s a poison or a blade out there for everything,” Ventus said, sounding as though she was quoting someone. Perhaps her father, Draco thought. He knew her father had been a War Wizard. “We only have to locate the one for Nihil.”

“And that’s what we’re trying to do,” Draco assured her. “If some people will stop being stubborn because they have moral problems with one of the few weapons proven to work.”

Ventus looked at Granger. “Stop it,” she said.

Granger ignored her, although the way her jaw tightened made Draco suspect that took some effort. “You still don’t understand, Malfoy,” she said. “My concern is that we might use torture on Nihil’s servants and subjects and maybe even to kill him—or at least frighten him to death—and then have to live with ourselves afterwards.”

“I certainly hope that we’ll have to live with ourselves afterwards,” Draco said. “Much better than the alternative.”

Granger ground her teeth. Weasley put an arm around her shoulders and glared at Draco, but didn’t seek to interfere. He knew when he was outmatched, Draco thought in contentment, and would let his girlfriend match wits with Draco instead. Paradoxically, that showed that he might have more sense than Granger in some respects.

“I meant,” Granger said, “that we’ll have to deal with what we’ve become, what sorts of corruption we’ve introduced into our souls. The Ministry is corrupt enough already. Do you want it to license torture?”

“Robards already wants us to,” Draco pointed out. “Holder was asking me questions because supposedly I can her develop torture techniques to use on the people Nihil infects. If what you want is official disapproval, I don’t think you’re going to get it.”

Granger opened her mouth, then closed it and, for some reason, looked appealingly at Harry.

Harry hesitated, then caught Draco’s eye and murmured, “It got so that, during the war, I thought nothing of using the Cruciatus Curse for a pretty minor reason. That was after I’d used the Imperius Curse and a couple other spells that I’d thought I would never use. The same thing could happen here. What if we go on using torture after the war and liking it?”

Draco gazed fearlessly into Harry’s eyes. “I think you’re too good a person to do that,” he said. “Do you wake up at night sweating and gasping because you haven’t used the Cruciatus Curse that day?”

“Maybe I’m that good a person,” Harry said. He looked miserable, and Draco wondered why he was so unhappy making this argument, and why he would make it, at Granger’s instigation no less, if he didn’t believe in it. Or maybe he was just unhappy about saying something he did believe if it went up against Draco. “But how can we know everyone will be who uses these techniques?”

“I don’t believe in the notion of corrupting your soul,” Draco said. “I don’t believe that you take one step on a ‘dark path’ and it somehow compels you along after that.”

“But there are lots of examples,” Granger said, taking up the thread of the argument again. “After all, the Dark Arts are mostly banned because they’re tempting and someone who uses one spell will use others.”

Draco smiled at her. “And you know that I’ve used Dark spells,” he said. “Do I look as though I was an addict to you? Do you think I’m unable to control myself and that I’ll use Dark spells just to be using them?”

Granger opened her mouth, then stopped and peered closely at him. “Well, the analogy of Dark Arts to torture isn’t perfect,” she said. “Obviously.”

Draco nodded. “Despite all that was wrong with him,” he said, “Dearborn taught us a number of sensible things. Including that the Ministry often bans the Dark Arts for political reasons, not because they’re evil. I’m going to stick by that, and say that I can use torture without acting as though I’ll be a torturer for the rest of my life because of that.”

“I don’t see how I can support this,” Granger said.

“Then don’t,” Draco said, changing tactics again. He didn’t really care if it made him look inconsistent or false to Granger. He wanted to win the argument and get her to go along with the rest of the comitatus, not make her approve of him. “I’ll be the one who does the torture, and all you have to do is step back and smile.”

“I mean that I don’t know if I can do even that,” Granger said, shifting as if she would rise to her feet.

Draco’s temper snapped. He moved closer to her. Granger sat still, probably because she knew as well as Draco did that moving now would make her seem weak. But her white knuckles betrayed her agitation.

“I’m sure that the people who die because of Nihil will be comforted by the notion that at least we didn’t use torture to oppose him,” Draco whispered. “I’m sure that your Gryffindor spun-sugar morality can provide a shield against the limbs of a corpse. Why don’t you go out and offer that protection to people who are his victims or lose family members to him? Why don’t you teach them how to shield themselves with words?”

“This is more complex than you’re making it appear, Malfoy,” Granger said, and her thumbs ground down into her knuckles. “You’re making it too simple.”

“In war, things are simpler than normal,” Draco said quietly. “That’s just the way it is. Could you pause during the war with the Dark Lord to question every single Death Eater and find out whether they wanted to be loyal to him? Or did you just have to assume that they were and attack them when they found you?”

He rubbed his hands on his trousers as he spoke, and wondered if Granger would notice. Months of crouching beneath the Dark Lord’s rule, and then the rule of the Carrows at Hogwarts, and hoping and praying that someone wouldn’t notice his obvious (to him) lack of enthusiasm, because then he might die.

“That was different,” Granger said. “It was an actual war.”

“And this isn’t?” Draco stepped back and considered her. “What else does it have to have to convince you? More marching armies? Greater or lesser use of necromancy? Nihil appearing on the battlefield with a white mask and dark robe?”

“The people we’re fighting aren’t those who’ve chosen to be loyal to a madman,” Granger said. She did stand up now, and forced Draco to take a step backwards so that their heads wouldn’t slam into each other’s. Granger smiled sweetly at him, and Draco fumed in silence, sure that she had done that on purpose. “These people are innocent victims, called back by Nihil or infected by him.”

Draco touched his left sleeve. “If you think that everyone who followed the dark Lord chose to be loyal to him,” he said, “you’re wrong.”

Granger’s confident expression faltered. Then she shook her head and said, “But it’s more of them than Nihil’s followers.”

“That, I will grant you,” Draco said. “But once again, you’re making an argument based on personal experience and morality that will do nothing when Nihil comes hunting people who have no one to protect them. If we torture, then I’m not arguing that we’ll protect everyone in the war with its effects, but we are more likely to stop Nihil and so stop him from doing horrible things.”

Granger clenched her fists. Weasley stood up next to her and touched her shoulder. Draco heard him whisper something to her that sounded like, “We thought that was a simple war, and now it turns out it wasn’t. That’s something, huh?”

Granger laughed aloud and then relaxed her hands. When she looked at Draco, it was with hostile eyes, but a resigned cast to the rest of her expression. “If you need to, then you can do this,” she said. “But I won’t do it, and Ron won’t do it, and if I see that you’re becoming corrupted, I’ll do something about it.”

Draco bowed a little, never taking his eyes from her face. He didn’t know if he and Granger would ever get along, but more and more, he thought of her as an opponent he could respect. “Very well.”

“Are you going to do it, Harry?” Granger asked, turning to Harry as though their prior conversation had somehow led up naturally to that.

And now I’m losing respect for her again, Draco thought crossly, and glanced at his lover. Harry rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the floor as if embarrassed. Draco wondered if he should intervene, but it would look weak of him to try and cross out Granger’s question with his own words, so he remained silent.

*

See, this is why I feel stupid next to the two of them—and Draco can talk about different kinds of intelligence all he likes. I would never think of these things. I would never be able to argue against one of them if they were arguing with me. It’s impossible.

But Hermione had acted as though his answer was important, so Harry looked up and did his best.

“I’m going to help,” he said. “I don’t know how much use I would be with the torture spells, but I would support Draco if that’s the only way we can defeat Nihil. With my necromancy, though, it might not be the only way.”

Hermione had a complex expression on her face. Harry wasn’t sure if she approved of what he’d said or not. He looked at Draco.

Draco was watching him with a faint smile near the corner of his mouth, although his eyes were steady and serious. “Good,” he said.

Harry must have showed his response to that more obviously than he wanted, because, as Ventus was leaving the tent, she stopped by him and bent over to whisper, “I know. I feel that way when he looks at me, too.”

Harry stared at her, wondering if he had more rivalry for Draco’s affections than he knew. But Ventus rolled her eyes and said, “He’s my leader. That’s all I meant.” She patted his shoulder and departed through the tent flap after Ron and Hermione.

“So,” Draco said. Harry glanced at him and saw him bite his lip once before he looked at the floor. Strangely, that gave Harry more confidence.

I’m not the only nervous one.

“So,” Harry said. “Let’s get started as soon as possible.”

If he never did anything else to help the war, he thought later, the way Draco looked up then, with swift, bright eyes, would stay with him.