[From Litha to Lammas]: Hearts Are Earned, sequel to A Glad Kindness, H/D, PG-13, 2/3
Part One.
Title: Hearts Are Earned (2/3)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing them for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Established Harry/Draco, mentions of Lucius/Narcissa and Ron/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Content Notes: Hogwarts “eighth year,” mild angst, established relationship
Wordcount: This part 3100
Summary: Sequel to “A Glad Kindness.” Harry and Draco are back at Hogwarts now, navigating their new friendship and repercussions from the war
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “From Litha to Lammas” fics being posted between the summer solstice and the first of August this year; it will have three parts. It was written for lijahlover’s request for a sequel to last year’s fic “A Glad Kindness.” Like that fic, this one takes its title from the Yeats poem “A Prayer for My Daughter,” quoted at the beginning of this fic.
Thank you for all the reviews!
Part Two
“Why won’t you tell us what you want to do with your life, Harry?”
“I did,” Harry murmured, his eyes half-open as he stared into the fire in the Gryffindor common room. His hand rested on the silver torque around his neck. He thought it was probably his imagination that it was humming pleasantly, but on the other hand, it was warm from all the times that he kept touching it. “I told you I didn’t want to be an Auror.”
“That’s not the same thing as saying what you want to do.”
Harry sighed and turned so he was facing Hermione, at the other end of the couch. He felt his heartbeat pick up with nervousness, but he told himself he was being ridiculous. Draco was right. Just because Harry was interested in Potions and Snape had been horrible to him didn’t mean that he should keep it secret from his friends forever. And he’d probably kept the secret between him and Draco for long enough.
“I want to brew experimental potions.”
It did give Harry more satisfaction than he wanted to admit to see Hermione’s mouth fall open. Ron, sitting in a chair a few meters away that faced her, was as still as Dudley used to get when he was waiting for a sweet. Harry glanced at him and saw that his face was a little red.
“But why?” Ron finally burst out, loudly enough to make a few of the other Gryffindors look over at him.
“Reading the Prince’s book was fascinating,” Harry said. He played with the cover of the book on his lap, one on experimental potions that he’d actually got out of the library. Hermione had glanced at it when he came back to the common room with it, but hadn’t said anything. She probably thought he was doing extra study for NEWTS, now that he thought of it. “And Snape was a horrible teacher.”
“Do you want to be Potions professor here?” Hermione had a gentle note in her voice, which was better than the incredulity Harry had thought he was getting.
Harry shook his head. “No. Experimental potions really are what I want to do. Altering potions and inventing new ones the way the Prince’s book talked about. But I can separate Potions from the fact that Snape taught it and was a terrible professor. That’s all I’m saying.”
“But being an Auror would be a lot more exciting.” Ron had found his tongue. He leaned forwards. “Come on, mate. You know that you want to chase Dark wizards some more!”
“I don’t. I already did that. If I was supposed to do the same thing for the rest of my life that I’ve already done, that would be pretty boring itself, right?”
“But spending all your time in a dusty Potions lab…”
“It wouldn’t be dusty if I was brewing in it,” Harry said. “Dust is terrible for cauldrons and anything else that you’re using to create an experimental potion. You’d never know if a reaction meant ingredients were combining or if the dust was involved in it.”
“Wow, you have thought about this.” Ron settled back against his chair and stared at Harry thoughtfully.
Harry nodded. Then he glanced at Hermione, who had started tapping a finger against the cover of her own book. “What?”
“It’s good that you’ve thought about it, of course, Harry.”
Harry settled for rolling his eyes for a second. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
“But you’d need an Outstanding on your Potions NEWT. You’ve have to study really hard for Herbology and Arithmancy, too, because you would need the equations to predict whether the experimental combinations would work. You’re not even taking Arithmancy, and I don’t see you pay all that much attention in Herbology.”
“There’s such a thing as private study, Hermione. I’m not saying that I’m going to start brewing tomorrow. I’ve started self-study on Herbology and Arithmancy, and if I can’t get the right scores on the NEWTS now, I’ll wait and take them later.”
Hermione shifted a little. “You didn’t come to me and ask me to help you with the studying.”
“I was afraid that you’d start making-psychological deductions about why I’m interested in Potions when Snape was so terrible to me,” Harry said, admitting it in those words for the first time to both himself and her. “About it being my way of compensating, or something. Or you’d get upset because I was talking about the Prince’s book.”
Hermione blushed as brightly as Ron had for a second. “No, of course not,” she murmured. “Sorry if I led you to think that.”
“I didn’t really think that.” Harry shrugged and glanced away. “It was what I thought. It probably exaggerated the threat of it to myself.”
“I’d certainly hope so, Harry Potter!” Hermione sat up a little. “Now, do you want my help with the studying or not?”
“Honestly, Hermione, no.” Harry smiled at her when her mouth fell open. “I respect you a lot, you know? But our ways of studying academics are really different. The way you have of reading straight through the textbooks isn’t really going to help me. I’m reading the advanced books for Potions, and they interest me enough to go back and read the basic stuff. And the same for Herbology. With Arithmancy, you’re so much more advanced than I am that I don’t think you could slow down enough for me.”
Hermione paused as if she was about to say something, then gave a little laugh and leaned back to pick up her own book. “Well, I never aspired to be a professor.”
“I know. And you’ve helped me a lot.” Harry reached out and squeezed her leg. “I think this is something I need to do by myself, then.”
“Is Malfoy not going to help you?”
“Maybe someday we’ll run a business together,” Harry said, although he didn’t know about that. Draco was great at Potions, but he’d said nothing about wanting to make them his life’s work. “I think he’s taking more time to look around and make a decision.”
“Except about that torque.”
Harry touched the torque and just smiled.
*
“I want to know what you were thinking, Draco.”
Draco frowned down at the piece of parchment balanced on his knee. “That I probably got the answer to number seven wrong.”
“Don’t give me that!” Pansy reached out, probably intending to dramatically rip his homework away from him, but her hand halted an inch from the parchment. Draco had put spells up in the beginning of the year because he couldn’t be sure that his Housemates wouldn’t try to destroy his possessions. Not all of them had been lucky enough to have their families escape Azkaban.
“Well, you didn’t tell me what you were talking about.” Draco flicked his wand at the parchment to Vanish his answer to the seventh Arithmantic equation and started writing again.
“What are you thinking, dating Potter?”
“That I like him a lot,” Draco said, pausing and raising his eyes to hers. “That I could grow to love him.”
Pansy stared at him with her hands clasped in front of her. Draco hoped she wasn’t about to say that he should be in love with her instead. Draco had sometimes thought about it, but even when they were younger, there were too many gaps between them, too many things she wanted that he didn’t, and now there was a chasm.
But Pansy surprised him. “And what is he going to think about that?”
“Harry?” Draco smiled in spite of himself, and was aware that Blaise and Theo were watching him curiously from across the common room. He shrugged at them and turned back to Pansy. “He’s completely in favor of it. Honestly, he’s so much more generous than I ever knew. Open and welcoming and-”
“I didn’t mean Potter!”
“Then who are you talking about?” Draco raised an eyebrow at her.
“Him.” Pansy leaned towards him, standing almost on her tiptoes. Draco didn’t know if this was an attempt to make him look down her shirt, but he kept his eyes resolutely on her face. “You know. The one who will return.” Draco just blinked some more, wondering if she was talking about his father, and then Pansy finally whispered, “The Dark Lord.”
Draco laughed without even considering it, and heads turned all over the common room. It wasn’t a place that saw much laughter anymore. “What? Pansy, you’re delusional. You should go see Madam Pomfrey.”
“I mean it!” Pansy caught her breath and began speaking more quietly again when her voice rose towards shrillness. “He will come back, and he’ll only reward the faithful, Draco, not those who took up with Potter.”
Draco shook his head slowly. “Pansy, you weren’t even Marked, the way I was.” He saw Blaise’s jaw fall, probably because Draco was talking about it openly, but he ignored that. He’d made his decisions about being this open and unshielded after the war, and he wouldn’t go back on them now. “Why would you be worshiping Voldemort?”
The name still sometimes hurt his throat when he said it, but it seemed to do far worse than that to Pansy. She backed away with her hand trembling on her wand. “He’s the only hope we have for taking back what should belong to us!”
“Then we don’t have much hope and don’t deserve to have it back,” Draco snapped, standing. “Think, Pansy. All Voldemort wanted was power. He was willing to kill my parents to make me be a Death Eater! He did kill Professor Snape. His followers weren’t safe from him, or purebloods! Why would I want him to ever come back?”
“It’s our only hope.” Pansy had stopped retreating, but she still stood there with her jaw trembling stubbornly and her eyes filling with what looked like tears.
Draco didn’t actually put his palm over his eyes, but he came pretty close. “This is about what you said right before the battle, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” Pansy folded her arms, but she had shivered for a second as if a Stinging Hex had struck her, and Draco knew he was right.
“You said that we should throw Harry to Voldemort to save our skins.” Draco shook his head, part of him aching. Yes, he had never really wanted to marry Pansy, but it still hurt to see her like this. “I think it embarrassed you when Harry won the war. And you didn’t want to apologize, because that’s not the kind of person you are, and maybe you thought Harry wouldn’t accept it anyway. But you just dug yourself further into the mud and decided that the only way to reconcile your feelings was to justify what you’d said. So now you’re setting up Voldemort as some kind of savior and pretending that you think he can come back. All to make yourself look less stupid over a mistake that I haven’t even heard Harry mention.”
Pansy was pale and sick-looking by the time Draco finished speaking. She turned and fled through the common room door without speaking. Draco sighed. He didn’t think she would go and try to curse Harry, Ron, or Hermione. He would have gone after her if he did.
Instead, he turned and studied the other Slytherins who remained, mostly of the years beneath his. Some of the sixth-years were avoiding his gaze. Draco snorted. “If you actually encouraged her to believe that shit, either because you wanted to deflect attention from yourselves or because you thought it was funny, you’re idiots.”
No one said anything, but Blaise stood up and sauntered casually towards him. Theo was only a little behind him. Draco sighed and leaned on the wall next to the staircase up to their bedroom to wait for them. He did send one more glare at the common room which made a whole lot of people decide they had something else to look at.
“How serious are you about Potter?” was the first thing Blaise asked. He was as bad about gossip as Pansy, although thankfully he hadn’t tried to bother Draco about either the torque he’d given Harry or his new open display of emotions.
“Dead serious,” Draco said softly, holding Blaise’s eyes. After a second, Blaise nodded.
“Always thought you’d end up with him,” Theo said, which made Draco snap his head around to stare at him. Theo just leaned an elbow on the wall and looked wise and knowing and not at all the way Draco knew him to be, which was actually a piece of shit a lot of the time, or the way he’d been since the war, which was a ghost.
“Right.”
“No, seriously,” Theo insisted. “The way he seemed so desperate to know what you were doing sixth year, and the way you couldn’t let a minor insult on the train during first year go, and your rivalry on the Quidditch pitch-”
“All of those things should have had you betting on which one of us would kill the other first,” Draco muttered, swiping his hand through his hair. “Merlin, Theo.”
“No,” Blaise chimed in. “Theo’s right. It’s all about the angle of the eyes and the tilt of the head, isn’t it?”
Draco stared at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“When your line of sight intersected with Potter’s arse as often as it did-”
“I’m the only one who’s allowed to talk about my boyfriend’s arse that way,” Draco said, and swiped at Theo, who ducked away, laughing. As irritated as he was, it still heartened Draco to see him act like that. He did pause and glance back and forth between Theo and Blaise. “You lot are more supportive than I thought you would be.”
Blaise grimaced and glanced away. A long enough silence ensued that Draco thought neither one of them would say anything, and then Theo muttered, “Yeah, well. We saw what the war took away. All the games we used to play feel so empty now. What did they gain us? Nothing more than Pansy’s did.”
Draco blinked, then nodded shortly. He hadn’t thought they would be so open about it, but then, his own parents hadn’t been entirely supportive of his decision to come back to Hogwarts after the war and start expressing his emotions. “Thanks for explaining the reason. And thanks in general.”
“At least this way, we don’t have to watch the two of you pine after each other for years on end.”
Theo had gone back to being an arsehole, so Draco followed tradition and shot him a Stinging Hex before going to find Harry.
*
“You think we ought to do something about Pansy?”
Draco leaned more heavily on him, and Harry stroked his hair. They were in the middle of the Room of Requirement, which at the moment looked like a cross between the Gryffindor and the Slytherin common rooms, with green chairs and a bright fire and hidden corners and a long couch right in front of the fireplace. Harry was sitting there, and Draco sprawled with his head in Harry’s lap.
“I don’t know.” Draco closed his eyes. He looked and sounded exhausted. “I know that what I said is right. She’s horribly embarrassed by the fact that you survived and she was wrong about turning you over to Voldemort, so she’s trying to distract attention from her mistake.”
“So she doesn’t really believe that Voldemort should be resurrected or any of that nonsense.”
“No. But she’s going to cling to it harder because she doesn’t want to admit to the mistake, and that means it’s going to damage her reputation.”
“What does Pansy like to do?”
Draco blinked open his eyes and stared up at Harry for a second. Then he shook his head. “If you’re thinking that you ought to offer her sex or something to cheer her up, Potter-”
Harry couldn’t help the way his laughter rang out, and Draco subsided with a little huff. “Of course not, Draco. But what you seem to be saying is that she doesn’t like to do much of anything except sex, right?”
Draco rolled his eyes and turned to look more in the direction of the fire. “Yes. Although she did mention an interest in Arithmancy a few times.”
“What kind of careers can you make with Arithmancy?’
“Experimental Potions brewer,” said Draco, with a sly smile in Harry’s direction, and Harry poked him in the side. Draco laughed and squirmed half-away from him. “Besides that, you can go into the sort of Divination that predicts the outcomes of duels and the like based on calculations. Or you can work as someone who provides equations and their results to people who design rituals. Or some magical research involves it. Or-”
“So fairly esoteric things. Would they be the sorts of careers that Pansy could still get if she went around spreading this nonsense about Voldemort being resurrected, or not?”
Draco held still for a second. Then he shook his head. “Especially once you start contacting some of the people who specialize in it and they learn that you’re interested in it, most of them will distance themselves from Pansy so fast that she’ll think she’s on fire.”
Harry sighed and rubbed his face. “Then I have to do something.”
“But why?”
“Because she doesn’t believe this and she’s acting like an idiot, but people are going to believe that she believes it. They’ll deny her career opportunities and the like to please me. I don’t want to be responsible for that.”
“You shouldn’t have to worry about that.” Draco’s fingers curled into the material of Harry’s robes over his legs. “You’ve done enough. You don’t have to rescue Pansy from her own idiocy. What did she ever do for you?”
“Idiot,” Harry said softly. “I’m not doing this for her.” Draco tilted his head back and blinked up at him, and Harry sighed. “I’m doing this for you.”
Draco turned his face away, probably to hide his expression. “Was I that unhappy about her acting like an idiot?”
“Yes.” Harry rubbed Draco’s shoulder and then returned to his book about Potions. This was yet another one that Professor McGonagall had signed a permission slip for him to take out of the Restricted Section; it seemed surviving a war and defeating a Dark Lord was one way to make all the professors give him permission for whatever he liked. Hermione would have been indignant about it if she hadn’t received the same treatment, Harry thought.
Draco sighed and turned his face back towards him again. Harry peered down from around his book, hoping that Draco hadn’t taken his words the wrong way and wouldn’t tell him to back off or leave the affairs of Slytherins to Slytherins.
Draco’s hand found his and clenched down hard. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Seriously, thank you.”
Part Three.