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Chapter Thirty-Speak It From Your Souls
Harry leaned something about love and forgiveness as he watched Draco stumble over his answers to Rita Skeeter’s questions.
Skeeter started with a poisoned smile and the most direct question Harry had ever heard from her the moment she understood what they were there for. “Are you saying that your previous story about Mr. Potter was all a lie, then? That you didn’t really seduce him and he wasn’t broken when you left?”
Draco’s face flushed, and Harry saw the unhappy little boy he had known in Hogwarts all over again. Then Draco swallowed. What that swallow took care of-anger, grief, bitterness, pride-Harry didn’t know, but it let Draco say in a steady voice, “Yes. Whilst we slept together, it wasn’t a seduction.” He tossed Harry a brief glance from beneath lowered eyelids, to which Harry didn’t respond. He knew Draco was asking him for permission to elaborate on exactly how much of a mutual seduction had led up to their first time together, but he didn’t care to have Skeeter know that. Draco turned back to the reporter with a new grimness etched in the lines along his face. “And he wasn’t broken.”
Skeeter hummed under her breath and scribbled something down on the parchment in front of her, then whisked another piece over it before they could see what she’d written. Her smile was professional when she looked up again, at least as much as a shark’s could be called professional. “Then you were?”
Harry had to admire the way Draco drew himself up at that and fixed her with a glare so deadly that Skeeter blinked and lifted her quill as if it were a wand. “No, I was not,” he said.
“Well…” Skeeter cocked her head as if considering whether or not to believe Draco, and then hastily nodded and scribbled something down when Draco growled. “Yes, yes, of course,” she said, and recovered herself with a small pat to her hair and a sharp little breath. “Will you retract the statements you made about Mr. Potter? I believe ‘fragile little flower’ was among them.”
Draco nodded once, tightly, and his left hand flexed in the air next to him. Whether that was meant as a grasp for help or not, Harry’s resolve to let Draco go through this completely on his own couldn’t survive it.
He cleared his throat, stepped up beside Draco, and caught his hand. He didn’t swing their hands ostentatiously in Skeeter’s face, instead smoothing his fingers over Draco’s knuckles down at his side, but he saw Skeeter’s eyes greedily fasten on them anyway. “I’m not fragile,” he said, “or not any more than we all are in moments of defeat. For example, I remember a time when I could have called you fragile, Ms. Skeeter-or at least not as strong as glass.”
Skeeter’s spine stiffened with outrage once at the reference to when Hermione had trapped her beetle form in a jar, and then folded down again. Her smile was decidedly more brittle this time when she said, “You’ve learned some wit in the last few years, Mr. Potter. Would you like to give your side of the story?”
She always did like me best as prey. It was one reason Harry had known his stepping in would help spare Draco. He managed a slight smile for Skeeter in return. “Yes, I would,” he said. “Both of the original story and what followed.”
He heard Draco gasp beside him and then catch his breath. Harry didn’t look at him-he wouldn’t give Skeeter the satisfaction, and in any case he wanted to keep her attention firmly on himself-but he knew Draco’s face would have turned to stone in the next moment.
That was still a change. In the past, Draco would have been so focused on manipulating Harry that he wouldn’t have forgotten himself enough to gasp. Harry could put up with Draco’s need for self-control in part because Draco was a little less guarded now. He had let Harry into his heart enough to make a mark there.
That’s what you’ll never understand, bitch, ask questions as you will, Harry thought contentedly in Skeeter’s direction. Maybe she had noticed the triumph in his eyes, because she paused before she asked her next one.
“How did you feel after Mr. Malfoy left you?” She suddenly made a moue and blinked innocently at him. “Forgive me, Mr. Potter, I’m presuming. Did Mr. Malfoy leave you the first time?”
“He did,” Harry said, “and it was essentially as he described it.” He saw no need to make Draco eat all his words. Some of them were true. “But his motives for that were otherwise than what he told you. Rather than trying to break me, he was trying to see how much I could stand. He never intended to abandon me permanently.”
“Really?” Skeeter was darting her gaze between him and Draco, so hungry for carrion that she reminded Harry of a vulture. He curled his lip, mentally contrasting her with the only other journalist he knew well, Luna Lovegood. People can enter this profession for more than one reason, just as they can become Aurors for more than one reason, but Merlin, what a difference. “He told a very convincing series of lies, then.”
“He did,” Harry said calmly. “But you must have seen that for yourself, Ms. Skeeter, that sometimes people create unaccountable, elaborate deceptions in order to protect their emotional truths.”
His sarcasm sailed over her head; in fact, Skeeter mistook his words for sympathy and preened a moment. “And what about your lies?” she asked.
“In this case,” Harry pointed out peacefully, “I merely said nothing to the papers. I don’t know that that counts as a lie.”
“But you vanished,” Skeeter pursued, “and the Auror Department was quick to say that you’d gone somewhere they couldn’t trace you. An owl I sent to you with a request for an interview came back baffled. Where were you, and why did you have to go there if the circumstances of your parting with Mr. Malfoy weren’t what he described?”
“I went to a private place to recover my strength,” Harry said evenly. “And no, you aren’t owed a description of that,” he added, as Skeeter’s eyes shone rapaciously and she opened her mouth to comment. “What matters is that I recovered it and thought about matters, and I decided to forgive Draco.” He turned fully towards Draco for the first time, and surprised a complex expression on his face, which of course vanished the moment Draco noticed him noticing it. “And he’ll have to be the one to tell you some more about his lies and my forgiveness.” Harry wanted to spare Draco some of the burden, but he had no intention of becoming the sole defender of Draco’s actions whilst Draco stood by dumb and watching.
*
Draco wondered absently if love was meant to be both torment and sweetness at once. He had long felt both when he looked at Harry, but the torment had come from fears of Harry’s defeating him and the sweetness from moments when he won instead. He didn’t think that was a description of it now.
I don’t know what to say. Doesn’t he see that?
But Harry did, because he’d moved in at a moment when Draco was grimly struggling and spared him. Even the way he turned towards him now, with an expectant look and a slight gesture to send Skeeter’s eyes to him, was a compliment of sorts, Draco thought. He trusted that Draco would have recovered his own strength in that short amount of time.
Draco still didn’t find it all that comforting.
He took a deep breath and said some of the hardest words of his life. “I was wrong. I went to the papers like that out of insecurity, because I didn’t know if Harry l-cared for me and I couldn’t wait to find out. I was angry and ashamed of my own vulnerability. That was one reason I lied about his.”
“Vulnerability?”
Voldemort’s snake had had more taste and tact than Skeeter did, Draco thought. “I am sure you know my reputation,” he said tightly. “Not many lovers, and the ones I entertained never stayed for long.” He winced when he saw the smugness lighting Skeeter’s face, but he knew he would have to say worse things-more bruising to his pride-before he was done. “I found myself caring too much, and-“ There were some things it was impossible he should say, especially before he had explained them to Harry, so he changed his next words to, “And this one was different. I knew from the beginning. What Harry and I have is too intense to be properly described. My revenge for feeling vulnerable was the same way. I want you to print an apology and a retraction, and then I want you to say that Harry and I are lovers now, and I’m content to have it so.”
He probably should have been more passionate on that last declaration, he thought absently. There was the chance that Skeeter wouldn’t believe him. But all the air seemed to have left his lungs, and it was a struggle not to simply bow his head between his knees and weep his way out of breath.
He glanced to the side, wondering how Harry had taken it. Probably he would encounter a frown for not being heroic in his honesty--
And instead, he found Harry’s eyes shining like leaves with the sun behind them.
Draco’s breath caught and he smiled back, even as he reflected, He admires the oddest things.
*
Harry doubted that Ron or Hermione would have found Draco’s explanation adequate. He was rather dreading the moment he faced them and defended his decision to date Draco, in fact. But for Draco to have explained so much without giving enough specifics that either of them need feel embarrassed about it-
For him to have said that he felt vulnerable after he had sex with Harry, an admission Harry had thought he would rather have died than make-
And for him to say these words to Rita Skeeter, knowing she would doubtless twist them until they broke and then print them in the Prophet for everyone to see-
Well, Harry was more than content.
He drew Draco’s hand to his lips and held it there a moment, letting his eyes say many things Skeeter would not be able to interpret. Draco flushed richly. Harry smiled and turned back to Skeeter, who, sure enough, was staring between them in confusion and frustration. None of that kept her from orienting on him the moment he spoke again. She was too much of a celebrity-worshipper, not to realize when she was being manipulated by her own fascination with someone famous.
“I feel the same,” he said simply. “Draco and I may not succeed as lovers, the same way that there was once doubt I would destroy Voldemort.” He got two things at once by pronouncing the name: the joy of seeing Skeeter flinch, and the assurance that she would probably print his words exactly as he spoke them, because they were the kind of grand, dramatic flourish she loved and thought he should always make. “But we are going to try.” He leaned towards Skeeter, never varying his polite smile or his tone as he did so. “And if you print imputations about us instead of listening to our words on the matter, then I am going to cut your fingers off and use them as toothpicks.”
Skeeter froze, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly parted. Even her terror held a kind of fascination, Harry thought, disgusted. She would let him get away with things she would have snapped at Draco for, because fame made the difference.
Somehow.
*
Draco had thought that the interview was the hardest part, that after he talked to Skeeter he would begin to feel an easing of the tight pressure around his lungs and the frozen air that had gathered in his throat.
He had been wrong, because the moment they stepped outside the Prophet’s quarters, Harry’s friends accosted them.
“Harry!” Weasley had managed to do nothing about his freckles and his violently red hair in the interval since Draco had last seen him. Not that he would have managed, probably, but it was the spirit of trying that counted. He gave Draco a pointed look of distrust, then focused on Harry. “The only thing Malfoy could tell me was that you left that house in this Malfoy’s company.” He shook his head, lips pursed. “Why would you do that?”
“I’d like to know that, too, Harry.” Granger had her arms folded, and there was a delicate chill to her voice that reminded Draco of the way his mother had sometimes sounded, when word came to her that Draco hadn’t been as graceful or gracious or conscientious as she thought proper for him. Her eyes never left Harry’s face.
Harry gave a single shiver beside Draco. Draco doubted he would have felt it if he hadn’t been standing so close. He grimaced in resignation, knowing what that meant. Harry was afraid of his friends’ opinions. He had said that he wanted his affair with Draco to be in front of all the world, but surely he wouldn’t mean in front of two people he loved who would violently disapprove.
Reluctantly, Draco started to step away from his lover’s side.
His hand was caught and held, and Harry spoke with a calm resonance that made Draco stare at him. “Ron, Hermione, I appreciate all you’ve done for me. I love you very much. There’s no one I trust as much as I trust you.”
Draco caught his breath in a jealous hitch. He could ask many other things of Harry, including a second chance, but he reckoned trust was a precious commodity right now.
“And I’ve said that first, so that you would remember it and listen to me now,” Harry said in a lower voice. “My decision to date Draco is none of your bloody business, either to interfere with or to discourage me from. If you want to offer courtesy to Draco and congratulations to me, of course I will be happy to accept it. Until you can, I won’t listen to another word on the subject. Understood?”
And of course it was not, and of course Granger and Weasley immediately began to protest, but none of that changed the way that Draco felt about Harry just then.
He’s protecting me. He’s insisting they grant me the treatment any other lover would receive.
He’s not going to hold a grudge.
Harry looked at him once, smiled, and then faced the deluge of complaints from his friends. Draco barely stopped himself from leaning against Harry’s side; he would have, if they weren’t in public and he didn’t have his (tattered, tarnished) reputation to think of.
He really does love me.
*
“But mate, he betrayed you.”
“And I forgave him,” Harry said. He raised an eyebrow when Ron continued to stare at him. “Surely it’s the forgiveness of the person affected by the betrayal who matters most, and not that person’s best friend?”
Ron huffed unhappily and crossed his arms. “I just don’t want to see you hurt,” he muttered. “And he did hurt you.”
“And it’s up to me to say when his atonement’s enough and I’m going to accept it,” Harry said. He intended to keep the fragility of his relationship with Draco right now, and the fact that he had demanded some proof of love and strength from him, from Ron and Hermione. He wanted them to be together in the sight of the world, yes. But there was a line between requiring Draco to prove that he was not ashamed of Harry and embarrassing him to death. “And you hurt him by refusing to assign Aurors to the Manor, Ron.”
“He wouldn’t accept them-“
“You could have insisted,” Harry said, moving slightly to the left to stomp on Draco’s foot; he had heard Draco draw an indignant breath, no doubt ready to protest. “You’ve insisted with other people before, because you cared more about their lives than about their protests.”
“The Aurors probably couldn’t have stopped that imposter anyway-“
“I’m an Auror. I did.”
Ron tugged his arms tighter across his chest, as if he were cold, and regarded Harry with a forlorn expression. Harry looked back, composed and determined. It was a look he knew Ron would recognize; Harry had given it to him before when he had done dangerous things that only someone with his fame or his magical power could do, and Ron had had to stay behind. It said he respected Ron, he loved Ron, but he wasn’t going to let Ron’s opinions rule his life.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said.
“Then-“ Ron’s face lit up like a firework.
“No,” Harry said firmly. “I’m sorry for causing you distress, not for loving Draco.”
Ron muttered and kicked at the ground in a way that would have been more convincing if there was slush or snow there to kick. Harry had no doubts that he would come around in the end, however. Ron’s temper burned bright and hot, but he held few grudges that lasted long. And, yes, his family’s grudge against the Malfoys had been one of those, but Ron had shown that he had more maturity and more thoughtfulness in the past few days than Harry had ever given him credit for.
Yes, he’ll come around.
Harry then turned to face his greatest challenge. Hermione’s mouth was clamped shut, and white lines surrounded her nostrils.
“You can’t fool me, Harry,” she said, and her voice was soft in a way she no doubt intended for him to interpret as deadly. “I was in your head when you were orbiting him like a comet. I know what you thought about him.”
“Thought, good choice of word,” Harry said, and let his voice become light and sarcastic. Ron blinked at him, probably surprised Harry had chosen to sound like that. But it was the only way of dealing with Hermione, Harry thought. He loved her dearly, but her biggest problem was that she didn’t admit her equals existed. Harry had to show her he was as clever and careful as she was about his own life. “As in, the past tense. Yes, you know what I thought about Draco. You don’t know how my mind has changed now.”
Hermione shot a glance at Draco that was so hostile Harry stepped in front of him. Draco promptly braced a hand in the small of his back and shoved. Harry grunted as he staggered aside, and Draco stepped up to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. He narrowed his eyes, and Harry understood.
Protect me, but don’t coddle me.
“You know what he did to you,” Hermione said, low and precise.
“Rather better than you, I imagine, since I lived through it,” Harry remarked, and rubbed the back of his neck, where tension had cramped his muscles.
“How can you forgive him, knowing that?” Hermione was usually afraid to let her temper out of control, but it shone in her eyes now. “What he did to you was insane. Unforgivable. Malicious-“
“How could you forgive Ron for some of the insults you flung at each other during your arguments?” Harry inquired.
“Ron and I didn’t mean them.” Hermione tossed her head. Her eyes held a different flash now: fear and loneliness. Harry hid his compassion. Another two things to know about Hermione: she hated change, and it was best not to show that her arguments affected you in any way or she’d try to overwhelm you.
“I don’t know about that,” Harry said. “More than once he came to me and swore he was done with you. And then he went back to you and you got on. Whether you forgave or forgot those insults, you lived with them. I’ll live with what Draco did to me.”
“You can’t accept it in the same way!” For a moment, Harry thought Hermione would fold her arms and stomp her foot on the floor the way she used to whenever Harry or Ron disobeyed some rule in Hogwarts. “It’s not just an argument!”
“No, it’s not,” Harry said. “And the row that split you and Ron up not long before your marriage wasn’t, either.”
“We settled that.” Hermione seemed to sigh the words out. Her arms had dropped to her sides and stiffened, and her eyes had taken on yet another sheen, this time of frustration. “It took hard work and time, but we settled it.”
“Then why can’t you accept that it’ll take hard work and time with Draco, and I accept that?” Harry raised an eyebrow. Hermione blinked, which made him wonder how much more pointed and disdainful his gesture had become since he’d been around Draco.
“Because-because Ron is fundamentally a good person,” Hermione said, with the air of someone breaking through a final deadlock, “and Malfoy isn’t.”
And at that point, Draco’s reserve, which had been truly heroic so far, gave way.
*
“I may not fit your definition of a good person, Granger,” Draco said, and the words weren’t hard to speak when he knew how much they would annoy her, “but I know what it is to love.”
Granger only stuck her lip out and put her head back as if she didn’t believe him. Draco wondered idly how in the world Harry put up with her. That expression made her look as if someone had slapped her in the face with a sack of wet feces.
“I love my father,” Draco said. “I loved my mother, when she was alive. I love Severus, in his own way. And I love Harry in my own way. Those are all different from your great and pure and faultless love, of course.” He had seen the way Harry looked when he was discussing the Granger-Weasley pair’s arguments; someday he would have to get Harry to tell him the story of why they had fallen in love. “But they’re mine, and they’re real, and I won’t stand by and hear you disparage them.”
“You hurt Harry.” Her voice was probably intended to make him quiver. Draco snorted. His mother had done worse when she was half out of her wits with fear.
“That I did. And he chose to try to get over it and give me a second chance. That’s his choice, not yours.”
“Harry-“ Granger spun towards him.
“No,” Harry said. He laid a hand on Draco’s arm and then leaned down as if he wanted to put his weight on it for some reason. “I know you love me and don’t want me hurt. But I was, and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. What they can try to do is make sure the rest of my life is as good and sweet as possible.” He smiled sidelong at Draco. “Draco will do that by loving me and letting me love him and doing his best to conquer his natural instincts.”
Draco felt a soft throb for a moment in his chest, rather like the beginning of arousal in his groin. It is somewhat a comfort to have a lover who knows me so well.
“And you’ll do it by becoming reconciled to Draco, or to deafening silence on the subject.” Harry sounded smug, as if he knew Granger would consent to anything rather than silence. “Now, excuse us, if you would. I need to get to the Auror Department and let them know I’m still alive. I understand there’s been a bit of doubt on the subject.”
One thing about Harry, Draco thought as he hastened after his lover down the steps: objectionable friends or not, fanaticism for martyrdom or not, he knew how to make an exit in grand style.
Chapter 31.