Page of Swords FIC - Part Two
Title: Desires of the Damned (2/2)
Length: 12,300
Main character or Pairing: Draco-centric, Harry/Draco
Card: Page of Swords
Rating: soft R
Disclaimer: Anything recognizable isn't mine, it belongs to Jo and WB and whoever else has a legal claim.
Author Notes: See Part One for full header.
The minute Draco steps into Grimmauld Place, he begins to live in a world of need. He only wants what he needs, and if he doesn't need something, he doesn't want it. Before his mother's murder, Draco wanted everything - he wanted glory, beauty, gold, fame, the world.
Now the things he wants are easy - food, water, redemption. Well, perhaps not entirely easy.
He doesn't think of his mother at all. He refuses. It's not that he wants to forget - as if he ever could - but he knows he has yet to be worthy of remembering her, and until he can look himself in the eye again, the memories of his mother will stay out of his conscious mind. His dreams, however, are plagued by her, and more often than not, he wakes up with a throat sore from crying out, and a tear-streaked face.
Draco doesn't think the nightmares would stay to haunt him if the people at Grimmauld Place would stop asking him about it. They're the pointless questions a person is always asked when the people around him know he has suffered something tragic, and somehow they all know. Even Weasley doesn't pick fights with him anymore. Draco knows that this kind of polite pity would be the least tolerable from Potter, who had greeted him at the door with little better than a nod of acceptance before taking the key, showing him to a decent guest room with his wand laying on the bed, and leaving him alone.
Except Potter never asks him questions like that. Draco presumes that's because he already knows the answers. The questions he asks, when he speaks to Draco at all, help Draco see why some of the gossiping press and cowards are afraid of Potter possibly taking the throne of the Dark Lord for himself. The man seems utterly fascinated by Darkness.
He doesn't want to know if Draco has killed; he wants to know how many and how he'd done it. He doesn't ask why Draco has left; he asks how hard it is to lose everything that had once meant something to him. He never asks if Draco will betray them, never questions his motives for seeking them out, and until the day he comes home covered in blood, Draco wonders why that is.
Potter doesn't do frivolous, doesn't skirt away from emotion. If someone were lying on the ground dying, a normal person would give him a pat on the back and ask if he was okay - Potter would grip him by the arm and ask how badly it hurt. And it takes a subtle person like Draco to tell the difference between the two.
Potter has a way of making everyone feel the best and worst they've ever been, and he can do it with just a look. His intensity baffles Draco who had always seen him as just another stupid, self-righteous Gryffindor. Truth be told, Potter doesn't try to lead, doesn't have to fight the others for control; something about him makes them fall in line like little toy soldiers, even though, from what Draco can tell, he's the youngest member of whatever rebellious band meets at the house a few times a week.
The only two who don't fall in line behind Potter like ducklings are Severus and Lupin. They always stand beside him, support him when he stumbles and his youth shows through. Though Draco has only overheard one of the meetings (and then entirely by accident), the dynamics between their little unit and the others are so easy to read they might as well write them up as part of the law. They are the only two men Potter trusts without question or reservation, and he makes that more than clear. Draco finds it ironic that a Death Eater and a werewolf will be the most instrumental in the resistance against the Dark Lord, but he only thinks about it for a moment before the vacuum of his depression pulls him out of himself again.
A hazy week or two pass for Draco before he is called downstairs by Severus's deep voice and he dutifully obeys it. The man is clearly preparing for travel and looks different, somehow more mysterious and dark than Draco has ever seen him. He begins to speak, and Draco knows that Severus doesn't waste his time on unimportant words, so he listens.
"Whenever you get a Summons, you need to put a glamour over that scar and stay as quiet and out of the way as you can. The Dark Lord is already suspicious of your disappearance, but I've told him and Lucius that you are helping me with some Potions work. You are not a vital or particularly trusted part of the Death Eaters, so do nothing to bring attention to yourself and you should be able to stay out of any real trouble."
"But…where are you going?"
"Away. The Dark Lord is sending all of his Inner Circle on recruitment missions across Europe, and I have no idea how long I'll be gone." Severus finishes clasping his outer cloak and tucks his shrunken bags in his pockets before turning to Draco. He clutches Draco's shoulder, squeezing gently as if to ground him. "I know you're still upset over your mother's death, Draco. There is nothing I can say that would do any good - this is something you'll have to get through on your own, but it is something that you have both the ability and will to do, you just need to find them."
Severus turns and looks over his shoulder before looking him in the eye again. "This above all, Draco - we will all be damned if Potter should fail. He will be vulnerable now, without my help, and he needs more than Granger and Weasley can give him. There's no telling when I'll be back, or if I'll be back, and I have to ask something of you." Draco waits patiently for the command. "Protect him, Draco, if I cannot. Help him." He squeezes Draco's shoulder again. "Do you understand?"
Draco nods, but Severus shakes his head. "No, you don't yet. But you will."
Draco spares a quick embrace for the man who saved his life before he's gone.
**************************************
The library is cold and quiet, and when Draco thinks that this day will be the same as the monotonous others before it, he is wrong. Harry slams the door and sighs as he slides down the large panels to sink to the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, head between them. Draco says nothing - his feet are propped up on the window seat and he's slouching in the armchair he moved across from the big bay window for precisely this activity.
He's not even half through with his daily brooding, but he's not as annoyed with the interruption as he should be. He keeps staring out the window - Harry will either leave or come and sit by him. It’s a ritual they perform every day, one that Draco now counts on perhaps more than the existence of yesterday and the inevitable rising of the sun. They never speak, just sit, stare, mourn.
On days when rain drips down the window, Harry comes and sits at the other end of the window seat, knees drawn up to his chest, back against the glass. It started raining twenty minutes ago, and Draco is not surprised when he hears footsteps behind him. Harry looks more upset than usual, but he still remains quiet, so Draco says nothing.
Though a measure of his former self has been lost, Draco still notices everything, and he can't help but notice that Harry's gaze is on him today instead of a point of nothingness in the library. His stare is piercing, nearly compelling enough to make Draco rip his own eyes away from the window and stare back at him. But he doesn't.
Long minutes of tension-thick silence pass before Draco decides that Harry's stares are completely ruining his sulk and he needs to do something about it. He shifts his eyes so subtly that it takes a few seconds for Harry to realize something has changed before he turns his eyes away, like a coy virgin caught staring at a bathing man.
"If you're going to stare, you might as well make yourself useful and draw a portrait."
Harry doesn't have the grace to blush or scoff. He just turns his intense gaze back to Draco and shrugs. "Sorry."
"Well? What is it?"
Harry sighs and leans on his arms, propped up by his knees, never breaking their stare. "We're in trouble."
Draco raises an eyebrow. "Not that I expect you to tell me, but why are we in trouble?"
"Snape."
"What? Why is Severus trouble?"
"He isn't trouble, the lack of him is trouble. It's getting harder for him to report back to us, and now that he's expected to be so devoted, he can't skip out on as many things as he used to. We haven't heard from him in three weeks."
"Miss him do you, Potter?"
"No, Malfoy. I miss his information."
"And everyone says Gryffindors are too sentimental." Suddenly he remembers Severus's last words to him - 'Protect him, Draco, if I cannot. Help him.' A spark of a plan forms in his mind. True, it's just a spark, with no substance to speak of, but a spark in the darkness seems like the sun to him.
"You know, you do have another Death Eater at your disposal."
Harry looks at him blankly, a slightly confused expression on his face until Draco pushes up his left sleeve. Harry is the only one, besides Severus, to whom Draco has shown his ugly scar, and Draco is surprised to see no revulsion or pity in Harry's face, just complete understanding. Perhaps Harry has scars of his own, but Draco doesn’t think about it for long before the comprehension of what's under the scar hits the one staring at him.
"You? But…it's dangerous, Malfoy. I can't ask you to do something like that."
"You don't have to ask, I'm offering." And suddenly it's clear - he doesn't have to go to the ends of the earth to find salvation - it is right here, in this vision of a careworn teenage boy huddled on a window seat. Draco sits up straight in his chair and pushes his sleeve back down.
"I can spy for you. I'll find Severus; he can teach me everything I need to know. I'm not in the Inner Circle, but I would be able to transfer information from Severus and Aunt Bellatrix to you. I would be much easier for me to go to them than to have Severus come here. And they're using the Manor as headquarters, so I can bypass most of the wards - nobody knows that house better than me, not even my father."
Harry has been frowning throughout Draco's whole proposal, but now he seems thoughtful, as though he really is considering it. For the first time in months, Draco's chest doesn't feel empty, and he feels like doing more than staring out into the street and mourning the loss of a life he isn't even living anymore. He feels hungry, and lonely, but it feels so good to feel something, to have purpose, that he doesn't care what his emotions are as long as they exist.
Harry is no longer frowning, he's staring again, watching the light return to Draco's eyes and Draco knows he's dying to ask him how badly his heart is burning after being frozen for so long. "You really want to do this?"
"No," Draco says in absolute truth, "I need to do this."
Harry nods; he knows about need.
"I'll talk to Remus about it, and I won't promise anything, but I'd be lying if I said we couldn't use your help."
The corner of Draco's mouth twitches, and it's as close as he's come to smiling in what seems like years. He slouches back down in his chair, closes his eyes, and allows himself to relive a happy memory of his mother. She's dressed in a gown that his four-year-old hands haven't been allowed to touch - silver and crimson and a hundred tiny buttons down each side. Working out nerves before the gala, she leads him to the centre of the empty ballroom, curtsies as he bows, lifts him up into her arms and twirls him around; her warm laughter fills his little heart and he feels loved, so loved.
He knows he'll never hear that laugh again or deserve that love, but maybe, if he can play spy for Harry, if he gives himself over to someone who has the power to redeem him, perhaps he can learn to live with being his mother's murderer.
In a rush of relief he whispers, "Thank you," and Harry keeps staring at him. Draco opens his eyes and watches the rain, Harry keeps his body folded and watches Draco, and they sit in silence until Harry speaks.
"I didn't mention Snape with this in mind, Draco - just so you know."
Grey eyes leave the window and a weak smirk forms on a thin pair of lips. "I haven't forgotten who the Slytherin is in this relationship."
Harry smiles and Draco thinks making him smile can't count against him anymore, so he vows to do it more often. "You're just easy to talk to."
Draco scoffs. "Hard to believe since we don't seem to do much talking."
"That can change if you like." An eyebrow raises, but Harry is too busy climbing off the window seat to notice. "Are you coming to dinner today?"
Draco has not yet sat down with the other occupants of Grimmauld Place to share a meal, but the hunger he felt earlier is now shooting through his abdomen, and he decides to celebrate the end of his period of mourning with a 'yes'. Harry waits for him at the side of the nearest bookshelf. They walk into the kitchen together - Lupin looks proud, Moody looks suspicious, and Tonks drops an entire jar of spice into whatever had been the night's meal. They Floo-call the twins and tell them to bring Chinese. When Draco sleeps that night he dreams nonsense and when he wakes his cheeks are dry and his throat isn't sore.
**************************************
"You are already well suited for this, Draco. As a spy, everything you see, everything you hear, everything you sense has the potential to be the most important thing you will ever discover."
Severus trains him well, when he can. Draco starts carrying a dagger just in case he has to cut an incriminating throat or two.
He goes about in black - a spy's most friendly colour.
He slips through dungeon passages and hidden oubliettes, servant's corridors and crumbling doors.
He reports to Harry everything he sees, and everything he hears. He doesn't know how much good he's doing, but Harry always thanks him with a smile, and they do talk together now, about things besides the war.
Months pass. The Order stays strong and the Death Eaters gain little ground. The Dark Lord is frustrated and he takes it out on them, of course, but Draco would rather have that than see him happy.
Things are going well for Draco, both on and off the field of battle and the shadows where he hides. His life just may be back on track.
When Harry nearly dies in a defensive at Hogwarts, however, everything changes. Draco spends less time spying and more time protecting. He helps Lupin craft a talisman for Harry to wear around his neck and prods Severus to place more wards around Harry's room and the house in general. He follows him, hooded of course, into battle whenever he can, deflecting curses and stunning masked men, and Harry stays safe.
Draco brings back memories of his mother whenever he's done something worthy. Sometimes he shares them, sometimes he doesn't, but when he does and he seems a bit depressed, Harry reminds him gently that he should be glad to have any memories of her at all. Had they been in school Draco would have called him a motherless git for that remark, but now he just smiles and says, "Yeah, I am."
**************************************
The first time Harry kisses him, it's an accident, so Draco doesn't think much of it.
He's just returned from a Summons to find the still body of the man he was supposed to protect sprawled in the hallway, propped against a doorjamb. His heart stops for a brief moment; he lunges towards Harry and grasps his shoulders. He doesn't have time to breathe a sigh of relief at finding the flesh under his hands warm before Harry wakes with a gasp and sits up straight. His face collides with Draco's, open mouths catch each other and two pairs of eyes widen in comic surprise before they both turn their heads away in shock.
Harry's eyes are wide, but still a bit dazed from sleep. "Oh…erm…sorry." He rubs his mouth with his fingertips. Not a gesture of disgust, but one of awe.
Draco regains his composure and asks, "Why aren't you in your room? You're not under any of the protective wards out here."
"Was worried," Harry says sleepily.
"About what?"
Harry frowns. "You were gone almost ten hours."
Draco blinks in astonishment. "You…you slept out in the hallway because I wasn't back yet?"
A blush, a slight shrug, and Draco's frown softens. He holds out a hand. "Come on. I'm here now, and fine; you can go back to sleep."
Harry takes his hand to pull himself up, and the walk to their rooms is more than sufficiently awkward.
After that night, things are not the same between them, yet Draco is still surprised when Harry kisses him - on purpose - a week later.
It's after an Order meeting and Draco's in the kitchen making tea. Harry walks in behind him, thanks him for the tea when Draco hands him a cup, leans over the cup and presses his lips to Draco's gently. Despite the softness of his lips, the kiss is not hesitant or clouded with doubt, and after a few moments, Draco reacts and kisses back.
And everything that follows has no place in their plans, but there's no stopping it.
They share their days now, along with Harry's bed, kisses, and the warm comfort of each other's mouths or hands on flesh when they need it. Well, when Harry needs it. Not that he doesn't ask Draco what he wants, because he does, incessantly at times. But Draco owes it to Harry to protect him, help him, and having Draco seems to make Harry happy, so it's not about what Draco wants.
Draco doesn't understand how much this would hurt Harry if he knew.
**************************************
Something's coming. The Summons are coming so often lately that Draco has taken to keeping the glamour on his scar even when he's at Grimmauld Place. Severus tells him the Dark Lord has become more secretive about his plans, and every member of the Inner Circle has been called back from their recruitment missions. By the time Draco resets the privacy charms on his room at the Manor and completes his cycle of sporadic Apparition, Harry has called a meeting and Order members are in the parlour brushing ash from the Floo off their robes.
Severus and Draco stand in the shadows lurking in the hallway. They know nothing, but some of the Order are skeptical - Harry is attempting to persuade them. Only a few moments pass, before the scarred, worn face of Lupin comes into view and nods for them to rejoin the others. They stand at the head of the table, sandwiched between the werewolf's calm dominance and Harry's barely contained rage. For all his newfound maturity, his temper still has no rival in this house. Harry's anger calms as he slips on his Leader's mantle, and he tells them all that there is no time to waste.
He turns to Severus who turns to the small crowd around the table and suggests that they attack before the Dark Lord gets a chance. The moment Harry nods in agreement, it is no longer a suggestion and people begin to shout out ideas.
The organized chaos continues for hours and Draco can see Harry's strength and mind fading. He stretches out his hand and brushes his knuckles against the back of Harry's neck; so slight a movement that only Severus notices. The small touch receives a slight acknowledgement from Harry, in the form of moving his neck backwards and twisting it to feel more of Draco's skin on his own. Suddenly, Harry's head turns and he stops leaning into the touch.
"What do you think, Draco?"
Draco blinks; he had stopped listening a while ago. He's just been watching. "About what?"
"The wards; how can we dismantle them?"
Draco shrugs - the answer's easy. "You can't. That magic has been there for centuries - even I can't take them down."
A few groans and sighs of frustration flutter across the table.
"Then it's impossible to get in!"
Draco rolls his eyes and thinks how glad he'll be when this is all over, so he won't be forced to spend time with all these idiots. "That's not what I said, Weasley."
Harry sighs. "Why don't you tell us what we need to do, Draco; how can we get into the Manor undetected?"
Draco smiles - he's thought about this for weeks. "Actually…"
**************************************
"Harry, what does it feel like to be good?"
"Good?"
"Yeah, good. You know, honourable, virtuous, worthy…good."
"I don't know, Draco."
They're lying side by side in Harry's bed, the taste of each other hasn't even had time to fade from their mouths. Tomorrow they could both be dead and Draco needs to talk to Harry before that happens.
But Draco didn't expect that answer to his question. He turns to Harry with a puzzled expression.
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
Harry sighs as if he has been asked this question too many times, and by the wrong people.
"Do you know how many people I've killed?"
"No, but -"
"Nineteen. I've killed nineteen people, Draco."
"The people you killed deserved to die, my mother was innocent."
"I know you think it's different, Draco, but it -"
"Stop it. You just don't understand." Draco sits up in bed and Harry mimics him.
"What don't I understand?"
"You don't know what it feels like to be responsible for the death of your own mother!" And the words are barely out of his mouth before he realizes it, and Harry smiles.
"Yes I do, Draco."
A flash of fury runs straight through Draco's heart. "It isn't the same thing!"
He expects Harry's eyes to harden with defensiveness and anger, but he just cocks his head. "How? How is it different?"
"Well I…she didn't…your mother chose death to protect you, mine didn't have a choice."
"Yes she did, Draco. You even said yourself that you could never have done it if she had asked you not to; but she didn't. She protected you, knowing that you might be a bit broken, but at least you'd be alive - mine did the same thing."
"But -"
"I know you feel like it was all your fault, Draco, but it wasn't. I know you feel guilty too, and I also know that I'm never going to be able to convince you not to feel that way, because I feel the same about my mother."
Draco feels the warmth of a hand come to rest on his shoulder, but it isn't as comforting as it would have been just minutes ago.
"I'm not any better than you are, Draco. I'm not the saviour of the world, and I definitely don't know what it feels like to be good or innocent or whatever you want to call it."
Maybe…maybe Harry does understand. But then…
"How are you supposed to save me, then, if you're just as fucked as I am?!"
"Who told you I was supposed to save you?"
"Well that's…that's the whole reason I'm here!" Draco gestures wildly around the room, becoming frantic as he feels the Light start to slip away from him.
He doesn't see the dark glint in Harry's eyes when he asks his next question. "The reason you're here? Here as in 'this house' or here as in 'this bed'?"
"God, Harry. 'House', 'bed', what fucking difference does it make?!"
"Get out."
"What? Why?"
"Because it makes a lot of fucking difference to me, Malfoy. Now, I said get out."
Draco can't understand why Harry's acting so hurt when he isn’t the one who's just had his months of work and risk come to nothing. And did he just call him 'Malfoy'?
"Will you just stop being a bloody girl for a second and -"
He freezes. Harry rises from the bed, wand in hand, absolute fury in his eyes. A flick of his wrist lifts the frozen Draco off his feet, pushes him out the open door and down the hallway. Harry follows behind him, silent, all the way to the door of Draco's old room. He opens it and lays Draco down on the bed, pressing his face close as if for a kiss.
"Stay in your own bed and out of mine."
Draco is unable to move until he hears a door slam down the hall, but even when he can, he doesn't want to. He curls onto his side and his mind sinks into itself and he's trying to understand this difference that apparently upsets Harry so much.
Eventually, he convinces himself to sleep in preparation for tomorrow. When he dreams that night, however, he dreams of Harry and wonders what he misses more: his chance at redemption or his chance at love.
**************************************
"Potter is a bastard."
Severus scoffs and pours himself a drink, then turns to look at the pouting blond boy sitting in his favourite chair.
"He's as stupid and moody as a bloody Gryffindor girl and even though he did kill the Dark Lord, I still hate him."
"What did you do, Draco?"
He splutters. "Me?! What makes you think I did anything?"
A few moments of intense staring break him and Draco relents. "All right, I think I must have said something…but he was raging on about houses and beds and -"
"Just tell me what happened so we can get this over with."
So Draco tells him.
Severus shakes his head and wills it all to just go away. He should not have to deal with this, today of all days - the first time in over two decades that he's been truly his own man. And now the world sends him teenagers. He sighs.
"Potter is not a saviour, Draco; he is just a man. He fights for the same selfish reasons that you do, and you are both equally damned. The second you started thinking of him as your redeemer, your personal salvation or whatever it is you tell yourself, that's the second you started to lose him. You know him now, perhaps better than anyone does; I shouldn't have to explain this to you. Stop being such a selfish child and think of someone else for once."
"How dare you! I put my life on the line for all these fucking people - Harry most of all! And don't call me a child. After everything I've done I have to be a man now, even in your eyes!"
Severus shakes his head slowly, a look of pure exhaustion comes across his face, the kind of fatherly exhaustion that comes from too many late-night feedings, and waiting up for teenagers and giving decades-worth of warnings only to watch your child make the same mistakes.
"No, Draco. A man, an honourable man, would never have done what you did to him. You are still a boy. Until you forget all this nonsense of saviours and start believing in yourself you will just be a little boy waiting for a fairy tale to come true."
"But you…you even told me that I had to be saved! You said I could be forgiven and redeemed -"
"By yourself, Draco! Forgiven by yourself. Your mother had no need to forgive you because you did not do anything wrong. If you hadn't thrown the curse, you would have both been tortured and killed, and most likely your father as well. Your mother knew that, Draco, that's why she pleaded with you at the end. She did not want you to be ruined like this, unable to see past her death to anything else, unable to experience happiness for the weight of guilt. She wanted you to recover and move on, and I want that and so does Harry." He sighs deeply. "The people who love you, Draco, want to see you happy."
The blond blinks in disbelief. "He…you think he loves me?"
Severus rises from his chair and turns toward the door. "It's time, Draco - time for you to grow up."
"I am grown up!"
Severus raises an eyebrow at his almost-tantrum. "Tell me, do you feel relieved now that the Dark Lord has been defeated? Do you feel redeemed?"
Draco frowns. "No. No, I feel exactly the same as I did yesterday."
"That's because it isn't salvation you're looking for. It's something much simpler. Now go and find him." He waits for Draco to join him at the door before he reaches into his pocket, pulls out something small, and clasps Draco's hand around it. "But find yourself first. Even if you don't want to be a Malfoy anymore, you're still my godson; now act like it."
Severus shoves him onto the front porch and slams the door. Draco opens his hand to find his old signet ring, clean of blood and transfigured slightly to include elements of the Snape crest and Draco's own personal signs. His eyes well with unbidden tears. Knowing that someone had never given up on him, that someone had known he wouldn't fail like so many times before is enough to make him believe Severus's words. Enough to make him believe in himself again.
He turns away from the door and closes his eyes. Severus is right - it's time to swallow his new-found pride and grow up.
**************************************
"For all I've heard of this Gryffindor chivalry, I haven't seen much of it. I'm beginning to think it's just an elaborate PR scheme."
"Mmm. Well you'd know plenty about deception wouldn't you?"
Draco smiles, a meek, unpractised smile. "Touché, Potter."
The threshold of Grimmauld Place seems a poor place to have this conversation, but at least they're having it.
"What are you doing here, Draco?"
"Well at the moment, I'm being soaked with freezing cold rain, and I'd like to come inside…and stay…if you don't mind."
Harry's eyes are hard, unforgiving, and Draco wonders if he made the right decision in coming back to him.
"I'm not going to be with you if all you want is for me to save you."
"I don't need saving, Potter, so that shouldn't be a problem."
"Last time we talked that's the only reason you seemed interested in me; why the change of heart?"
Draco takes a deep breath and shares his realization. "Everything I've done…I did for myself. Even saving you and helping you was just saving me and helping me. But now…this - I'm doing this for you."
Harry scoffs. "Me? You used me, Draco, for something I couldn't even give you; you don't care about me."
Draco shivers pitifully and looks genuinely defeated. "Of course I care; I came back, didn't I?"
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because I'm sorry."
Harry no longer looks skeptical, instead he looks understanding, not pitiful or patronizing, and Draco thinks he might have a chance.
"You know, I'm not perfect, Draco."
Draco blinks before he scoffs. "Yeah, well welcome to the club, Potter."
Harry steps back into the doorway and Draco moves with him.
Harry holds out a hand and presses it against Draco's chest. "Stop."
Draco frowns, his heart sinking. "But, I thought -"
Harry closes his eyes and gives a slight push and Draco's clothes are dry as if there had never been any rain.
Draco smirks at him to keep from sobbing in relief, pride shining in his eyes as if he'd taught Harry that trick himself. "Wandless? I'm impressed."
He shrugs and takes another step back into the doorway. "Been practicing. Can't let you drip water all over my house."
He follows Harry through the winding corridors, and he knows exactly where they're going. Harry pushes open the door to the library and heads for the window seat. Draco notices his chair hasn't been moved, but when he reaches down and runs his fingers over the seat, he doesn't expect it to be warm, as if someone had been sitting there for a long while. He shoots a surprised glance in Harry's direction. The man just turns his head down with an embarrassed smile, but his eyes beckon Draco to him and he pats the space between his legs on the window seat.
Harry leans back against the wall as Draco climbs up and sits between his legs, back to his chest, and relaxes against him. A gentle kiss falls on the side of Draco's forehead.
"I missed you."
Draco sighs and feels better, more whole than he has in months. He feels…forgiven.
"I missed you too."
As he and Harry sit together, watching the rain, a memory of his mother comes to his mind and he smiles. A long time ago, she used to read him fairy tales, before his father banned them from his bedroom. After she closed the book on each one she would tell him, 'Find someone to love you, Draco; only love can save you'.
She was right.
THE END
Don't forget to check the link to the notes, if you're interested.
Length: 12,300
Main character or Pairing: Draco-centric, Harry/Draco
Card: Page of Swords
Rating: soft R
Disclaimer: Anything recognizable isn't mine, it belongs to Jo and WB and whoever else has a legal claim.
Author Notes: See Part One for full header.
The minute Draco steps into Grimmauld Place, he begins to live in a world of need. He only wants what he needs, and if he doesn't need something, he doesn't want it. Before his mother's murder, Draco wanted everything - he wanted glory, beauty, gold, fame, the world.
Now the things he wants are easy - food, water, redemption. Well, perhaps not entirely easy.
He doesn't think of his mother at all. He refuses. It's not that he wants to forget - as if he ever could - but he knows he has yet to be worthy of remembering her, and until he can look himself in the eye again, the memories of his mother will stay out of his conscious mind. His dreams, however, are plagued by her, and more often than not, he wakes up with a throat sore from crying out, and a tear-streaked face.
Draco doesn't think the nightmares would stay to haunt him if the people at Grimmauld Place would stop asking him about it. They're the pointless questions a person is always asked when the people around him know he has suffered something tragic, and somehow they all know. Even Weasley doesn't pick fights with him anymore. Draco knows that this kind of polite pity would be the least tolerable from Potter, who had greeted him at the door with little better than a nod of acceptance before taking the key, showing him to a decent guest room with his wand laying on the bed, and leaving him alone.
Except Potter never asks him questions like that. Draco presumes that's because he already knows the answers. The questions he asks, when he speaks to Draco at all, help Draco see why some of the gossiping press and cowards are afraid of Potter possibly taking the throne of the Dark Lord for himself. The man seems utterly fascinated by Darkness.
He doesn't want to know if Draco has killed; he wants to know how many and how he'd done it. He doesn't ask why Draco has left; he asks how hard it is to lose everything that had once meant something to him. He never asks if Draco will betray them, never questions his motives for seeking them out, and until the day he comes home covered in blood, Draco wonders why that is.
Potter doesn't do frivolous, doesn't skirt away from emotion. If someone were lying on the ground dying, a normal person would give him a pat on the back and ask if he was okay - Potter would grip him by the arm and ask how badly it hurt. And it takes a subtle person like Draco to tell the difference between the two.
Potter has a way of making everyone feel the best and worst they've ever been, and he can do it with just a look. His intensity baffles Draco who had always seen him as just another stupid, self-righteous Gryffindor. Truth be told, Potter doesn't try to lead, doesn't have to fight the others for control; something about him makes them fall in line like little toy soldiers, even though, from what Draco can tell, he's the youngest member of whatever rebellious band meets at the house a few times a week.
The only two who don't fall in line behind Potter like ducklings are Severus and Lupin. They always stand beside him, support him when he stumbles and his youth shows through. Though Draco has only overheard one of the meetings (and then entirely by accident), the dynamics between their little unit and the others are so easy to read they might as well write them up as part of the law. They are the only two men Potter trusts without question or reservation, and he makes that more than clear. Draco finds it ironic that a Death Eater and a werewolf will be the most instrumental in the resistance against the Dark Lord, but he only thinks about it for a moment before the vacuum of his depression pulls him out of himself again.
A hazy week or two pass for Draco before he is called downstairs by Severus's deep voice and he dutifully obeys it. The man is clearly preparing for travel and looks different, somehow more mysterious and dark than Draco has ever seen him. He begins to speak, and Draco knows that Severus doesn't waste his time on unimportant words, so he listens.
"Whenever you get a Summons, you need to put a glamour over that scar and stay as quiet and out of the way as you can. The Dark Lord is already suspicious of your disappearance, but I've told him and Lucius that you are helping me with some Potions work. You are not a vital or particularly trusted part of the Death Eaters, so do nothing to bring attention to yourself and you should be able to stay out of any real trouble."
"But…where are you going?"
"Away. The Dark Lord is sending all of his Inner Circle on recruitment missions across Europe, and I have no idea how long I'll be gone." Severus finishes clasping his outer cloak and tucks his shrunken bags in his pockets before turning to Draco. He clutches Draco's shoulder, squeezing gently as if to ground him. "I know you're still upset over your mother's death, Draco. There is nothing I can say that would do any good - this is something you'll have to get through on your own, but it is something that you have both the ability and will to do, you just need to find them."
Severus turns and looks over his shoulder before looking him in the eye again. "This above all, Draco - we will all be damned if Potter should fail. He will be vulnerable now, without my help, and he needs more than Granger and Weasley can give him. There's no telling when I'll be back, or if I'll be back, and I have to ask something of you." Draco waits patiently for the command. "Protect him, Draco, if I cannot. Help him." He squeezes Draco's shoulder again. "Do you understand?"
Draco nods, but Severus shakes his head. "No, you don't yet. But you will."
Draco spares a quick embrace for the man who saved his life before he's gone.
**************************************
The library is cold and quiet, and when Draco thinks that this day will be the same as the monotonous others before it, he is wrong. Harry slams the door and sighs as he slides down the large panels to sink to the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, head between them. Draco says nothing - his feet are propped up on the window seat and he's slouching in the armchair he moved across from the big bay window for precisely this activity.
He's not even half through with his daily brooding, but he's not as annoyed with the interruption as he should be. He keeps staring out the window - Harry will either leave or come and sit by him. It’s a ritual they perform every day, one that Draco now counts on perhaps more than the existence of yesterday and the inevitable rising of the sun. They never speak, just sit, stare, mourn.
On days when rain drips down the window, Harry comes and sits at the other end of the window seat, knees drawn up to his chest, back against the glass. It started raining twenty minutes ago, and Draco is not surprised when he hears footsteps behind him. Harry looks more upset than usual, but he still remains quiet, so Draco says nothing.
Though a measure of his former self has been lost, Draco still notices everything, and he can't help but notice that Harry's gaze is on him today instead of a point of nothingness in the library. His stare is piercing, nearly compelling enough to make Draco rip his own eyes away from the window and stare back at him. But he doesn't.
Long minutes of tension-thick silence pass before Draco decides that Harry's stares are completely ruining his sulk and he needs to do something about it. He shifts his eyes so subtly that it takes a few seconds for Harry to realize something has changed before he turns his eyes away, like a coy virgin caught staring at a bathing man.
"If you're going to stare, you might as well make yourself useful and draw a portrait."
Harry doesn't have the grace to blush or scoff. He just turns his intense gaze back to Draco and shrugs. "Sorry."
"Well? What is it?"
Harry sighs and leans on his arms, propped up by his knees, never breaking their stare. "We're in trouble."
Draco raises an eyebrow. "Not that I expect you to tell me, but why are we in trouble?"
"Snape."
"What? Why is Severus trouble?"
"He isn't trouble, the lack of him is trouble. It's getting harder for him to report back to us, and now that he's expected to be so devoted, he can't skip out on as many things as he used to. We haven't heard from him in three weeks."
"Miss him do you, Potter?"
"No, Malfoy. I miss his information."
"And everyone says Gryffindors are too sentimental." Suddenly he remembers Severus's last words to him - 'Protect him, Draco, if I cannot. Help him.' A spark of a plan forms in his mind. True, it's just a spark, with no substance to speak of, but a spark in the darkness seems like the sun to him.
"You know, you do have another Death Eater at your disposal."
Harry looks at him blankly, a slightly confused expression on his face until Draco pushes up his left sleeve. Harry is the only one, besides Severus, to whom Draco has shown his ugly scar, and Draco is surprised to see no revulsion or pity in Harry's face, just complete understanding. Perhaps Harry has scars of his own, but Draco doesn’t think about it for long before the comprehension of what's under the scar hits the one staring at him.
"You? But…it's dangerous, Malfoy. I can't ask you to do something like that."
"You don't have to ask, I'm offering." And suddenly it's clear - he doesn't have to go to the ends of the earth to find salvation - it is right here, in this vision of a careworn teenage boy huddled on a window seat. Draco sits up straight in his chair and pushes his sleeve back down.
"I can spy for you. I'll find Severus; he can teach me everything I need to know. I'm not in the Inner Circle, but I would be able to transfer information from Severus and Aunt Bellatrix to you. I would be much easier for me to go to them than to have Severus come here. And they're using the Manor as headquarters, so I can bypass most of the wards - nobody knows that house better than me, not even my father."
Harry has been frowning throughout Draco's whole proposal, but now he seems thoughtful, as though he really is considering it. For the first time in months, Draco's chest doesn't feel empty, and he feels like doing more than staring out into the street and mourning the loss of a life he isn't even living anymore. He feels hungry, and lonely, but it feels so good to feel something, to have purpose, that he doesn't care what his emotions are as long as they exist.
Harry is no longer frowning, he's staring again, watching the light return to Draco's eyes and Draco knows he's dying to ask him how badly his heart is burning after being frozen for so long. "You really want to do this?"
"No," Draco says in absolute truth, "I need to do this."
Harry nods; he knows about need.
"I'll talk to Remus about it, and I won't promise anything, but I'd be lying if I said we couldn't use your help."
The corner of Draco's mouth twitches, and it's as close as he's come to smiling in what seems like years. He slouches back down in his chair, closes his eyes, and allows himself to relive a happy memory of his mother. She's dressed in a gown that his four-year-old hands haven't been allowed to touch - silver and crimson and a hundred tiny buttons down each side. Working out nerves before the gala, she leads him to the centre of the empty ballroom, curtsies as he bows, lifts him up into her arms and twirls him around; her warm laughter fills his little heart and he feels loved, so loved.
He knows he'll never hear that laugh again or deserve that love, but maybe, if he can play spy for Harry, if he gives himself over to someone who has the power to redeem him, perhaps he can learn to live with being his mother's murderer.
In a rush of relief he whispers, "Thank you," and Harry keeps staring at him. Draco opens his eyes and watches the rain, Harry keeps his body folded and watches Draco, and they sit in silence until Harry speaks.
"I didn't mention Snape with this in mind, Draco - just so you know."
Grey eyes leave the window and a weak smirk forms on a thin pair of lips. "I haven't forgotten who the Slytherin is in this relationship."
Harry smiles and Draco thinks making him smile can't count against him anymore, so he vows to do it more often. "You're just easy to talk to."
Draco scoffs. "Hard to believe since we don't seem to do much talking."
"That can change if you like." An eyebrow raises, but Harry is too busy climbing off the window seat to notice. "Are you coming to dinner today?"
Draco has not yet sat down with the other occupants of Grimmauld Place to share a meal, but the hunger he felt earlier is now shooting through his abdomen, and he decides to celebrate the end of his period of mourning with a 'yes'. Harry waits for him at the side of the nearest bookshelf. They walk into the kitchen together - Lupin looks proud, Moody looks suspicious, and Tonks drops an entire jar of spice into whatever had been the night's meal. They Floo-call the twins and tell them to bring Chinese. When Draco sleeps that night he dreams nonsense and when he wakes his cheeks are dry and his throat isn't sore.
**************************************
"You are already well suited for this, Draco. As a spy, everything you see, everything you hear, everything you sense has the potential to be the most important thing you will ever discover."
Severus trains him well, when he can. Draco starts carrying a dagger just in case he has to cut an incriminating throat or two.
He goes about in black - a spy's most friendly colour.
He slips through dungeon passages and hidden oubliettes, servant's corridors and crumbling doors.
He reports to Harry everything he sees, and everything he hears. He doesn't know how much good he's doing, but Harry always thanks him with a smile, and they do talk together now, about things besides the war.
Months pass. The Order stays strong and the Death Eaters gain little ground. The Dark Lord is frustrated and he takes it out on them, of course, but Draco would rather have that than see him happy.
Things are going well for Draco, both on and off the field of battle and the shadows where he hides. His life just may be back on track.
When Harry nearly dies in a defensive at Hogwarts, however, everything changes. Draco spends less time spying and more time protecting. He helps Lupin craft a talisman for Harry to wear around his neck and prods Severus to place more wards around Harry's room and the house in general. He follows him, hooded of course, into battle whenever he can, deflecting curses and stunning masked men, and Harry stays safe.
Draco brings back memories of his mother whenever he's done something worthy. Sometimes he shares them, sometimes he doesn't, but when he does and he seems a bit depressed, Harry reminds him gently that he should be glad to have any memories of her at all. Had they been in school Draco would have called him a motherless git for that remark, but now he just smiles and says, "Yeah, I am."
**************************************
The first time Harry kisses him, it's an accident, so Draco doesn't think much of it.
He's just returned from a Summons to find the still body of the man he was supposed to protect sprawled in the hallway, propped against a doorjamb. His heart stops for a brief moment; he lunges towards Harry and grasps his shoulders. He doesn't have time to breathe a sigh of relief at finding the flesh under his hands warm before Harry wakes with a gasp and sits up straight. His face collides with Draco's, open mouths catch each other and two pairs of eyes widen in comic surprise before they both turn their heads away in shock.
Harry's eyes are wide, but still a bit dazed from sleep. "Oh…erm…sorry." He rubs his mouth with his fingertips. Not a gesture of disgust, but one of awe.
Draco regains his composure and asks, "Why aren't you in your room? You're not under any of the protective wards out here."
"Was worried," Harry says sleepily.
"About what?"
Harry frowns. "You were gone almost ten hours."
Draco blinks in astonishment. "You…you slept out in the hallway because I wasn't back yet?"
A blush, a slight shrug, and Draco's frown softens. He holds out a hand. "Come on. I'm here now, and fine; you can go back to sleep."
Harry takes his hand to pull himself up, and the walk to their rooms is more than sufficiently awkward.
After that night, things are not the same between them, yet Draco is still surprised when Harry kisses him - on purpose - a week later.
It's after an Order meeting and Draco's in the kitchen making tea. Harry walks in behind him, thanks him for the tea when Draco hands him a cup, leans over the cup and presses his lips to Draco's gently. Despite the softness of his lips, the kiss is not hesitant or clouded with doubt, and after a few moments, Draco reacts and kisses back.
And everything that follows has no place in their plans, but there's no stopping it.
They share their days now, along with Harry's bed, kisses, and the warm comfort of each other's mouths or hands on flesh when they need it. Well, when Harry needs it. Not that he doesn't ask Draco what he wants, because he does, incessantly at times. But Draco owes it to Harry to protect him, help him, and having Draco seems to make Harry happy, so it's not about what Draco wants.
Draco doesn't understand how much this would hurt Harry if he knew.
**************************************
Something's coming. The Summons are coming so often lately that Draco has taken to keeping the glamour on his scar even when he's at Grimmauld Place. Severus tells him the Dark Lord has become more secretive about his plans, and every member of the Inner Circle has been called back from their recruitment missions. By the time Draco resets the privacy charms on his room at the Manor and completes his cycle of sporadic Apparition, Harry has called a meeting and Order members are in the parlour brushing ash from the Floo off their robes.
Severus and Draco stand in the shadows lurking in the hallway. They know nothing, but some of the Order are skeptical - Harry is attempting to persuade them. Only a few moments pass, before the scarred, worn face of Lupin comes into view and nods for them to rejoin the others. They stand at the head of the table, sandwiched between the werewolf's calm dominance and Harry's barely contained rage. For all his newfound maturity, his temper still has no rival in this house. Harry's anger calms as he slips on his Leader's mantle, and he tells them all that there is no time to waste.
He turns to Severus who turns to the small crowd around the table and suggests that they attack before the Dark Lord gets a chance. The moment Harry nods in agreement, it is no longer a suggestion and people begin to shout out ideas.
The organized chaos continues for hours and Draco can see Harry's strength and mind fading. He stretches out his hand and brushes his knuckles against the back of Harry's neck; so slight a movement that only Severus notices. The small touch receives a slight acknowledgement from Harry, in the form of moving his neck backwards and twisting it to feel more of Draco's skin on his own. Suddenly, Harry's head turns and he stops leaning into the touch.
"What do you think, Draco?"
Draco blinks; he had stopped listening a while ago. He's just been watching. "About what?"
"The wards; how can we dismantle them?"
Draco shrugs - the answer's easy. "You can't. That magic has been there for centuries - even I can't take them down."
A few groans and sighs of frustration flutter across the table.
"Then it's impossible to get in!"
Draco rolls his eyes and thinks how glad he'll be when this is all over, so he won't be forced to spend time with all these idiots. "That's not what I said, Weasley."
Harry sighs. "Why don't you tell us what we need to do, Draco; how can we get into the Manor undetected?"
Draco smiles - he's thought about this for weeks. "Actually…"
**************************************
"Harry, what does it feel like to be good?"
"Good?"
"Yeah, good. You know, honourable, virtuous, worthy…good."
"I don't know, Draco."
They're lying side by side in Harry's bed, the taste of each other hasn't even had time to fade from their mouths. Tomorrow they could both be dead and Draco needs to talk to Harry before that happens.
But Draco didn't expect that answer to his question. He turns to Harry with a puzzled expression.
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
Harry sighs as if he has been asked this question too many times, and by the wrong people.
"Do you know how many people I've killed?"
"No, but -"
"Nineteen. I've killed nineteen people, Draco."
"The people you killed deserved to die, my mother was innocent."
"I know you think it's different, Draco, but it -"
"Stop it. You just don't understand." Draco sits up in bed and Harry mimics him.
"What don't I understand?"
"You don't know what it feels like to be responsible for the death of your own mother!" And the words are barely out of his mouth before he realizes it, and Harry smiles.
"Yes I do, Draco."
A flash of fury runs straight through Draco's heart. "It isn't the same thing!"
He expects Harry's eyes to harden with defensiveness and anger, but he just cocks his head. "How? How is it different?"
"Well I…she didn't…your mother chose death to protect you, mine didn't have a choice."
"Yes she did, Draco. You even said yourself that you could never have done it if she had asked you not to; but she didn't. She protected you, knowing that you might be a bit broken, but at least you'd be alive - mine did the same thing."
"But -"
"I know you feel like it was all your fault, Draco, but it wasn't. I know you feel guilty too, and I also know that I'm never going to be able to convince you not to feel that way, because I feel the same about my mother."
Draco feels the warmth of a hand come to rest on his shoulder, but it isn't as comforting as it would have been just minutes ago.
"I'm not any better than you are, Draco. I'm not the saviour of the world, and I definitely don't know what it feels like to be good or innocent or whatever you want to call it."
Maybe…maybe Harry does understand. But then…
"How are you supposed to save me, then, if you're just as fucked as I am?!"
"Who told you I was supposed to save you?"
"Well that's…that's the whole reason I'm here!" Draco gestures wildly around the room, becoming frantic as he feels the Light start to slip away from him.
He doesn't see the dark glint in Harry's eyes when he asks his next question. "The reason you're here? Here as in 'this house' or here as in 'this bed'?"
"God, Harry. 'House', 'bed', what fucking difference does it make?!"
"Get out."
"What? Why?"
"Because it makes a lot of fucking difference to me, Malfoy. Now, I said get out."
Draco can't understand why Harry's acting so hurt when he isn’t the one who's just had his months of work and risk come to nothing. And did he just call him 'Malfoy'?
"Will you just stop being a bloody girl for a second and -"
He freezes. Harry rises from the bed, wand in hand, absolute fury in his eyes. A flick of his wrist lifts the frozen Draco off his feet, pushes him out the open door and down the hallway. Harry follows behind him, silent, all the way to the door of Draco's old room. He opens it and lays Draco down on the bed, pressing his face close as if for a kiss.
"Stay in your own bed and out of mine."
Draco is unable to move until he hears a door slam down the hall, but even when he can, he doesn't want to. He curls onto his side and his mind sinks into itself and he's trying to understand this difference that apparently upsets Harry so much.
Eventually, he convinces himself to sleep in preparation for tomorrow. When he dreams that night, however, he dreams of Harry and wonders what he misses more: his chance at redemption or his chance at love.
**************************************
"Potter is a bastard."
Severus scoffs and pours himself a drink, then turns to look at the pouting blond boy sitting in his favourite chair.
"He's as stupid and moody as a bloody Gryffindor girl and even though he did kill the Dark Lord, I still hate him."
"What did you do, Draco?"
He splutters. "Me?! What makes you think I did anything?"
A few moments of intense staring break him and Draco relents. "All right, I think I must have said something…but he was raging on about houses and beds and -"
"Just tell me what happened so we can get this over with."
So Draco tells him.
Severus shakes his head and wills it all to just go away. He should not have to deal with this, today of all days - the first time in over two decades that he's been truly his own man. And now the world sends him teenagers. He sighs.
"Potter is not a saviour, Draco; he is just a man. He fights for the same selfish reasons that you do, and you are both equally damned. The second you started thinking of him as your redeemer, your personal salvation or whatever it is you tell yourself, that's the second you started to lose him. You know him now, perhaps better than anyone does; I shouldn't have to explain this to you. Stop being such a selfish child and think of someone else for once."
"How dare you! I put my life on the line for all these fucking people - Harry most of all! And don't call me a child. After everything I've done I have to be a man now, even in your eyes!"
Severus shakes his head slowly, a look of pure exhaustion comes across his face, the kind of fatherly exhaustion that comes from too many late-night feedings, and waiting up for teenagers and giving decades-worth of warnings only to watch your child make the same mistakes.
"No, Draco. A man, an honourable man, would never have done what you did to him. You are still a boy. Until you forget all this nonsense of saviours and start believing in yourself you will just be a little boy waiting for a fairy tale to come true."
"But you…you even told me that I had to be saved! You said I could be forgiven and redeemed -"
"By yourself, Draco! Forgiven by yourself. Your mother had no need to forgive you because you did not do anything wrong. If you hadn't thrown the curse, you would have both been tortured and killed, and most likely your father as well. Your mother knew that, Draco, that's why she pleaded with you at the end. She did not want you to be ruined like this, unable to see past her death to anything else, unable to experience happiness for the weight of guilt. She wanted you to recover and move on, and I want that and so does Harry." He sighs deeply. "The people who love you, Draco, want to see you happy."
The blond blinks in disbelief. "He…you think he loves me?"
Severus rises from his chair and turns toward the door. "It's time, Draco - time for you to grow up."
"I am grown up!"
Severus raises an eyebrow at his almost-tantrum. "Tell me, do you feel relieved now that the Dark Lord has been defeated? Do you feel redeemed?"
Draco frowns. "No. No, I feel exactly the same as I did yesterday."
"That's because it isn't salvation you're looking for. It's something much simpler. Now go and find him." He waits for Draco to join him at the door before he reaches into his pocket, pulls out something small, and clasps Draco's hand around it. "But find yourself first. Even if you don't want to be a Malfoy anymore, you're still my godson; now act like it."
Severus shoves him onto the front porch and slams the door. Draco opens his hand to find his old signet ring, clean of blood and transfigured slightly to include elements of the Snape crest and Draco's own personal signs. His eyes well with unbidden tears. Knowing that someone had never given up on him, that someone had known he wouldn't fail like so many times before is enough to make him believe Severus's words. Enough to make him believe in himself again.
He turns away from the door and closes his eyes. Severus is right - it's time to swallow his new-found pride and grow up.
**************************************
"For all I've heard of this Gryffindor chivalry, I haven't seen much of it. I'm beginning to think it's just an elaborate PR scheme."
"Mmm. Well you'd know plenty about deception wouldn't you?"
Draco smiles, a meek, unpractised smile. "Touché, Potter."
The threshold of Grimmauld Place seems a poor place to have this conversation, but at least they're having it.
"What are you doing here, Draco?"
"Well at the moment, I'm being soaked with freezing cold rain, and I'd like to come inside…and stay…if you don't mind."
Harry's eyes are hard, unforgiving, and Draco wonders if he made the right decision in coming back to him.
"I'm not going to be with you if all you want is for me to save you."
"I don't need saving, Potter, so that shouldn't be a problem."
"Last time we talked that's the only reason you seemed interested in me; why the change of heart?"
Draco takes a deep breath and shares his realization. "Everything I've done…I did for myself. Even saving you and helping you was just saving me and helping me. But now…this - I'm doing this for you."
Harry scoffs. "Me? You used me, Draco, for something I couldn't even give you; you don't care about me."
Draco shivers pitifully and looks genuinely defeated. "Of course I care; I came back, didn't I?"
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because I'm sorry."
Harry no longer looks skeptical, instead he looks understanding, not pitiful or patronizing, and Draco thinks he might have a chance.
"You know, I'm not perfect, Draco."
Draco blinks before he scoffs. "Yeah, well welcome to the club, Potter."
Harry steps back into the doorway and Draco moves with him.
Harry holds out a hand and presses it against Draco's chest. "Stop."
Draco frowns, his heart sinking. "But, I thought -"
Harry closes his eyes and gives a slight push and Draco's clothes are dry as if there had never been any rain.
Draco smirks at him to keep from sobbing in relief, pride shining in his eyes as if he'd taught Harry that trick himself. "Wandless? I'm impressed."
He shrugs and takes another step back into the doorway. "Been practicing. Can't let you drip water all over my house."
He follows Harry through the winding corridors, and he knows exactly where they're going. Harry pushes open the door to the library and heads for the window seat. Draco notices his chair hasn't been moved, but when he reaches down and runs his fingers over the seat, he doesn't expect it to be warm, as if someone had been sitting there for a long while. He shoots a surprised glance in Harry's direction. The man just turns his head down with an embarrassed smile, but his eyes beckon Draco to him and he pats the space between his legs on the window seat.
Harry leans back against the wall as Draco climbs up and sits between his legs, back to his chest, and relaxes against him. A gentle kiss falls on the side of Draco's forehead.
"I missed you."
Draco sighs and feels better, more whole than he has in months. He feels…forgiven.
"I missed you too."
As he and Harry sit together, watching the rain, a memory of his mother comes to his mind and he smiles. A long time ago, she used to read him fairy tales, before his father banned them from his bedroom. After she closed the book on each one she would tell him, 'Find someone to love you, Draco; only love can save you'.
She was right.
THE END
Don't forget to check the link to the notes, if you're interested.