Chapter Sixteen of 'For Their Unconquerable Souls'- If It Is Possible to Expire of Exasperation
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Sixteen-If It Is Possible to Expire of Exasperation
The first thing Harry did was stare at him. Then he shook his head as if he expected Draco would vanish when he did so. “What kind of potion did I take last night?” he muttered.
This was not a flattering start, but Draco could understand Harry’s reluctance to make sense of the situation. After all, he must not be expecting to wake up with someone tender and considerate in his bed, someone who would do his best to ensure that the mistakes of the past did not repeat themselves. Draco had to wonder, thinking about Harry’s relationships with his past lovers, whether he didn’t have a strong self-destructive streak, connected to the part of himself that insinuated he didn’t deserve fair and careful treatment.
“No potion, actually,” Draco said softly. Harry’s head twitched as if the very gentleness made him want to leap out of the bed, but Draco noticed that he didn’t actually do it. Think about the positive things, not the things that are irritating in their absence, he told himself. “That was the effect of natural sleep, the first you’ve allowed yourself in-months? I would say so, given some of the diagnostic spells the books have taught me to use on you. And it was only this morning, not last night. Though it’s evening now. I didn’t think you would wake up inside the day.” Harry had slept longer than that, but Draco saw no need to tell him so right away. Otherwise he would be on his feet in moments, fretting about his lost hours’ work, and undo most of the good effect of his sleep.
Harry’s face promptly flamed. His eyelids quivered as if he longed to turn away from Draco and drop them over his eyes, but also hated that admission of weakness. He cleared his throat gruffly, but he didn’t reply, as Draco had expected. Instead, he started to sit up.
It seemed natural to Draco to hold him down on the bed. They hadn’t finished their discussion, after all. But it caused Harry to look down at the arm planted across his chest, realize Draco was in the bed, and convulse in fury.
“What did you think you were doing?” he snapped. He actually gripped Draco’s arm and threw it off, which made Draco wince in pain. Harry wasn’t in a mood to notice the wince, as his next rant proved. “Sleeping with me without my consent?”
Draco forced himself to smile. This was not exactly the way he had pictured Harry waking up. But showing weakness now would only encourage Harry to keep attacking, under the mistaken notion that he could force Draco to retreat or his new family to stop caring about him. “It did you no harm,” he said, “and I wanted to. In fact, several times during the past few hours you sighed and cuddled up to me. You’re used to sleeping with someone else in your bed, aren’t you? At least your body seems to have missed it.”
Let’s humble him a bit. Let him know just how much I know about him.
“You’re mistaking the source of my displeasure,” Harry said, with what he probably imagined was restrained dignity. “It’s not that someone was in my bed, it’s that someone I didn’t invite and in fact have explicitly refused several times was.”
Draco had to cramp the muscles of his face so that he could keep smiling. Harry was not being reasonable. Yes, he had refused Draco’s sexual advances so far, but it wasn’t as if Draco had tried to molest him. He should be listening to Draco’s words about pleasure and desire instead of bristling like a kitten offended by a dog’s stepping onto its territory. “You want to row with me over something that’s not worth a row,” he said, lowering his voice further still. Harry’s face acquired a light, new flush that said he wasn’t immune to Draco’s tone. “I didn’t take off my clothes, or yours. I didn’t hurt you. But I did want to see what kind of sleeper you were, for…future reference.” There. Calendus the Seducer couldn’t have managed a more subtle flirtation, and I know he slept with one of Harry’s ancestors.
Harry shook his head, face still shut in incomprehensible implacability. “You’ve seen,” he said. “Now. If you’ll excuse me, I should eat something and start studying again. That those Dark spells were buried under the Mirror Maze implies either a conspiracy of casters or-something else. And I have to find out what the other thing is.” He tilted his head back slightly against the pillow, showing his pulse to Draco as if defying Draco to hold him in bed when he was acting so vulnerable.
Draco looked at him very narrowly and without a smile this time, because Harry had to understand, and he was acting as if he couldn’t. Draco had never liked people denying their natural intelligence, but it was particularly unattractive when someone he wanted did it. “I’ve seen,” he said. His voice purred. What more did Harry need to grasp his meaning? “And I want to see more. Only then can I fully judge how much you’ve been neglecting yourself.”
“Neglecting myself?” Harry ran both his hands through his hair as if its disorder didn’t satisfy him yet, and then dug his fingers deep and yanked. Draco concealed a flinch only by dint of long practice. Yes, Harry did have a self-destructive streak, and when he thought it out of the question to react against the other people around him, he would punish himself. “You don’t know the first thing about Healers, Malfoy-“
“Draco.” Draco covered Harry’s hands with his own and began to massage them, adding the purring tone to his voice again. If all went as he planned, Harry would learn to associate that tone with pleasurable things done to him. And Harry did relax a moment later, his eyelids fluttering as if he would have liked to go further than he allowed himself to and surrender completely. Draco lowered his eyes, because he knew his smile would be visible in them as it wasn’t on his face. “And I know a thing or two from studying your books. But as you keep telling me, you’re a mediwizard and not a Healer, so I feel freer to listen to my instincts and my observations.” I win either way with that sentiment. Either he’ll have to agree with me and let himself be coddled a bit, or he’ll loudly assert his expertise and, with it, his own right to better treatment than he’s received.
Harry, being Harry, tossed his head like a wild horse and tried to pull away. Draco slid his hands down the sides of Harry’s neck to his shoulders and yanked him close. He made sure to frown himself. Perhaps it was time for a bit of true firmness. Harry was being incorrigible.
“And what my instincts and my observations tell me,” Draco said, making sure to keep his voice soft, “combined with what I learned of you when we mingled our power under the blood magic, is that you’re trying to compensate for what you see as your weaknesses or deficiencies by driving yourself to the edge of madness and exhaustion. Tell me, Harry. Who do you think is going to be impressed by that? Will you save one more person because you’re so tired you’re stumbling? Or will you be better able to brew a potion that will ease pain because you’ve missed a meal?”
They were sound arguments, weighty arguments. They should make Harry rethink his own position and evaluate it in the light of reason.
Of course Harry only looked at Draco as if he had declared an allegiance to Muggles.
“I don’t brew potions, as you know very well, Malfoy.” Draco hissed under his breath, irritated with himself for forgetting Harry’s sensitiveness about the Potions issue, and tried to apologize, but Harry was rushing ahead. “I’m only a mediwizard, and that’s because my poor skills at Potions followed me from Hogwarts into my career. You ought to see it as justified revenge, if anything,” he added.
Draco shook his head. He had to do that or explode in frustration. Who does he think I am? What does he think I’m feeling towards him right now? I’ve been as kind as I can, far kinder than I ever was at school, and he gets more and more suspicious. You’d think he preferred our old footing, with all the rivalry.
Maybe he does. Maybe he feels that would give him the right to reject my concern, as he can’t do whilst I’m talking to him like he’s a human being.
Because he needed to touch Harry and he was about to shake him, he raised his hand and cupped the back of Harry’s head, fingers feathering lightly through his hair. Harry closed his eyes and let his head sag forwards slightly. Draco reminded himself that Harry’s scalp was sensitive, for future reference, and breathed gently, hoping that he was close enough for his breath to reach the spot under Harry’s ear that he liked to kiss.
“Harry,” Draco whispered, “when you became part of the family, I gave up laughing at such things. I might joke with you, I might think your foibles are funny, but I don’t despise you.” He again touched the back of Harry’s head, this time a pale variation of the sharp poke that he longed to give to wake Harry up from his self-imposed blindness. “It’s a source of pain to me that you would drive yourself like that because you’re not good at Potions.”
“That’s not the only reason!” Harry opened his eyes and stared at him incredulously. “I also can take more punishment than most people. I’m still young, whilst most of my patients are children or people at least as old as your father. I can miss some sleep and some meals now, and that means I’m doing better, faster work. Missing those meals and sleep is not going to kill me, but sometimes it would kill them if I delayed.”
Draco bit his tongue. He had to, despite the welling of pain that filled his mouth and the temptation to yelp, because otherwise he would say something truly unfortunate, something that would drive Harry away from him. You mad bastard, do you have the slightest idea of what your words reveal to someone who actually listens to them? Your friends are probably used to them, or else you’ve never said something like this, and God knows what the other Healers in hospital with you were thinking.
You act as though you don’t matter, as though your life is only of use in the service of others. And I think I know why that is. Once the Dark Lord was dead, you didn’t know what to do with yourself, but you were certain that a life of service was the only way to keep people interested in and loving you. Maybe you even feel that becoming a mediwizard justifies your staying alive, instead of dying properly when your task was done.
Draco sighed deeply and spoke a lesser truth that he’d sensed from Harry’s words, because he doubted that the full one would be welcome now. “It’s perfectly clear now why you really refused this bed and stopped eating the moment I teased you. Sleep and food have never been sources of pleasure for you, have they?”
Harry opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, as if he had sensed the ridiculousness of whatever answer he was about to make. Draco was mildly impressed that he had that amount of insight. Of course, what he said a moment later wasn’t much less ridiculous. “They’re necessities,” he said. “I can survive as well on porridge and orange juice as on the fruit you served me this morning. Why would I go out of my way to seek something richer?”
Draco pursed his lips. “I see,” he said. Just a mild exclamation, nothing to reveal my bellyful of rage. Harry wouldn’t understand it.
“Do you?” Harry leaned forwards.
Oh, fuck. Now he thinks he has to convert me to his way of seeing things.
“It’s not that I’m not grateful for what you’ve tried to do for me. It’s just that I don’t need these gifts, and I won’t appreciate them properly. Keep them for yourselves. At least that way you know they aren’t going to waste.”
“Going to-“ Draco closed his eyes. His hand trembled where it lay on the bed. He was at least confident that Harry wasn’t looking in that direction, but that was a small consolation next to the sick, dizzy swooping in his stomach.
His relatives did something to him. They must have. No child raised normally, with love and affection, thinks that nice food and a snug bed are going to waste on him. If anything, most children want more than their parents will give them.
Draco was grateful that solid thought had come to him. It gave him something to cling to as he listened to Harry’s next diatribe.
“Would you really want to give someone a crystal pendant, for example, if you knew they didn’t value crystal pendants? It’s better if I have what I need to get the job done and nothing more. In this case it’s Healing books, and if you were keeping a book about that back from me I would be upset. But I don’t need books about magical creatures, no matter how beautiful the books are, because they’re not relevant to my job. Do you understand?” he added.
And he sounded so bloody earnest, too.
“I understand you,” Draco said, and opened his eyes, no longer trying to control his glare. His mother had said to be honest with Harry. Well, he would. “I understand that you aren’t thinking about the consequences of your own actions. What would happen if you didn’t treat a patient right, or missed a detail that would reveal their disease, because you hadn’t slept enough? What if you fainted from hunger in the middle of an important procedure?”
“That wouldn’t happen. I always get enough food and sleep to prevent that.”
“But someday you won’t, with as little attention as you pay to it.” Draco leaned forwards. He would make Harry understand this if it meant driving him away from the house. Lucius was still a patient here; Harry would come back. Draco understood enough about him now to be sure of that. “I had thought you would take care of yourself because you wanted to practice your job, but no, you don’t even do that, do you? Otherwise you would have slept in this bed last night and attempted to eat as full a breakfast as possible.”
Harry flushed and shifted, as if he wanted to run away. Draco didn’t care, didn’t feel the slightest stirring of sympathy. If Harry had done something for years besides abuse his body and his common sense and his sanity, then perhaps he would have.
“Listen,” Harry said, “you can’t-you can’t set a bedtime for me, as if I were a little kid, or force food down my throat.”
“Why would I?” Draco asked calmly. “That would make you angry with me, be a time-consuming and disgusting task, and accomplish nothing. And besides, there’s a limit to how far family members can force each other.”
Harry relaxed. Draco did so enjoy when his victims did that.
“So I’ll have Rogers do it,” Draco said, and snapped his fingers. Rogers appeared and bowed, his eyes intently fixed on Draco’s face. Draco enjoyed every word he spoke then, knowing that Rogers would remember them all. “Rogers, from this moment on and until we tell you otherwise, you’re Master Harry’s house-elf. You’re to make sure he balances his studying and his working with attending to the basic necessities of life. You’ll give him basic instruction in being a Malfoy, too. Obey his orders, but only within reason.”
Rogers turned his head with impressive, terrifying slowness and fixed Harry with his large eyes. The bow he gave was probably part of Harry’s nightmares, considering his friendship with Granger and her horror of elf servitude. “It shall be as you say, Master Draco Malfoy.”
“If I’m a Malfoy, too,” Harry said quickly, “I ought to be able to countermand those orders. Rogers, leave me alone.”
“That order is not being within reason,” Rogers said. “Master Harry Potter will swiftly learn reason, with Rogers as his house-elf.”
Harry snarled and turned on Draco. Draco wanted to laugh at the expression on his face. Harry was just too nice to do rage properly. Draco knew for certain that if he cut his finger open right now, Harry would put him to bed in turn and cast numerous healing spells on the wound whilst asking professional questions and lecturing him about the dangers of the Cutting Curse. “You can’t do this to me,” he said.
Draco raised his hands in mock fear. “I’m not doing anything to you,” he said. “Rogers is doing it.”
“You know very well what I mean, and this is ludicrous!” Harry snapped. “Do you want your father healed or not? I have to be free to work, and-“
Anger snapped in Draco like a banner. He leaned in until his nose touched Harry’s. Harry stiffened and swallowed. Good. Draco would have hated to think that he’d lost his touch in intimidation.
“Of course I want my father healed,” Draco whispered. “Never dare to ask me that again. And what’s ludicrous is your insistence on acting like a child. Any halfway sensible person can keep himself fed and rested, even if he doesn’t have all the advantages we have here.” He slid out of the bed in one swift movement, but he never looked away; he knew Harry would doubt his seriousness if he did. “You’re part of the family,” he said, “and I want you rather badly. Neither of those means you can get away with everything.”
He strode to the door and started to open it, but by that time, Harry had managed to find his voice. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Draco didn’t need to ask which part of it he was sorry for. He glanced back with a faint smile. “I know you are,” he said. “And maybe when you’ve worked out why you ought to be sorry for everything, I’ll be ready to accept the apology.”
He shut the door. He thought he heard Harry catch his breath once before he did, as if he were about to say something else, but in the end, he stayed silent.
Draco was glad of that. He couldn’t have borne another confrontation right now.
He paced towards his rooms, his head lowered, his heart thunderous in his ears. Every time he forced himself back towards calm, another of Harry’s remembered words would gallop through his mind and laugh in his ears, and he landed in rage again. He had to pause outside his door and thump a hand into the wall; there were delicate instruments of silver and crystal that vibrated to his mood in his rooms, and he would shatter them if he went in as angry as this.
Why couldn’t things be more normal? Why did Harry have to be as stubborn and stupid and heroic as he was? Draco wondered for a moment if he really wanted to be in love with someone like Harry. God knew it would have been simpler if he’d chosen a woman or man who was of pure-blood family, someone who could accept the codes of his family without such fuss, and someone who wasn’t likely to die before the age of thirty.
But you know very well that no one of pure-blood family would have performed the same heroic actions Harry did. A sacrifice of blood would have to be repaid in Galleons. Or fame, or prestige. Instead, Harry is the one who will bring prestige to the Malfoys. And you know that he’ll demand little of you in return.
Draco should have been ecstatic at the news that he could find a partner without endless complicated negotiations to settle the power dynamics between the families. Things would have been different if Harry’s parents were alive, but they weren’t, so even that barrier was removed. The Malfoys were justified in accepting gifts without giving them in return. They had secured a coup.
But Draco was not happy, because he had been raised with the idea that gifts were best repaid with gifts. To be in debt was not a matter of joy. He wanted to give Harry something in return for many reasons. To settle the debt was only one of them. He wanted to see Harry’s eyes widen with pleasure and know it had come about because of him.
He had to use Rogers to give the gifts of food and rest and serious attention, because he was inadequate in persuading Harry to accept them. And the thought of his own inadequacy galled him.
Then his head came up, and his eyes focused down the intense, glittering dark blue corridor outside his rooms, though he saw the glitter for only a moment before his thoughts consumed him.
There is something I can do for him. I can learn to understand him, well enough that he’ll eventually accept the gifts because they’ll be things he actually wants. Not crystal pendants, no; nothing so useless, as he would say. I wanted to do research on his Muggle family anyway. And if they were good to him, and his peculiarities spring from something else, then I’ll reward them. That would content Harry.
If they weren’t good to him…
Draco gave a faint smile that he knew was hard, and opened the door to his rooms. The instruments of silver and crystal, shining on their shelves, didn’t vibrate even when he shut the door behind him. Why should they? He was calm and focused now, ablaze with intensity and purpose, but they weren’t tuned to pick up an intellectual passion, only an emotional one.
If they weren’t good to him, then I’ll find a way to make them suffer for that. I don’t think he would accept the revenge as a gift, but the knowledge will let me decide what he will.
Draco set his teeth in a faint grin and went to send the proper owls, ignoring the faint nagging in the back of his mind that told him he was acting out of pain as much as common sense and that he hadn’t followed Narcissa’s advice to show his own vulnerabilities to Harry.
Maybe it would have helped if I’d shown him I was angry, and why.
But it wouldn’t have helped if I’d shaken his teeth out of his head because I was frustrated, Draco retorted to that part of his mind, and with that indubitable logic, the dissenting corner of his brain fell silent and left him to write his letters.
Chapter 17.