Chapter Twenty-Six of 'Sleepless'- Over the Fence
Chapter Twenty-Five.
Title: Sleepless (26/30)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Harry/AU!Draco
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, sex, angst, manipulation, profanity, alternate universes. Ignores the epilogue.
Summary: Being an Auror didn’t work out, so Harry is in training to be a lawyer and actually enjoying it. Then two things happen at once: Draco Malfoy approaches Harry to help him with Quidditch, and Harry starts visiting an alternate universe in his sleep.
Author’s Notes: This is going to be a novel-length story. Other than that, I have no idea how long it will be. It could be anywhere between twenty and forty chapters.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Twenty-Six-Over the Fence
“I was right to be worried.”
It irritated Harry a moment that Hermione spoke the words right when he walked through the door, without giving him a chance to greet her or explain, but on the other hand, she was probably right. He just nodded and shut the door behind him with a hard twist, then cast a spell that would tell him if there was anyone lurking around the house, including people Transfigured into beetles.
“I haven’t seen you use that spell in years,” Hermione said, but the tone of her voice had shifted, quickening towards the interest that Harry had wanted to hear, rather than the worry that would just get in the way and mess things up. “Did someone come up to you at the office and beg for an interview?”
Harry shook his head and turned around; the spell had told him no one was nearby. “It’s not that,” he said. “But the dreams have taken a strange turn, and I want to make sure that no one hears about them so that they end up as front-page news in the Daily Prophet tomorrow.”
“If they haven’t by now, they probably aren’t going to,” Hermione said, but her face had gone pale. “What happened?”
Harry gestured towards the drawing room. After a moment, Hermione nodded and let him herd her into the room. She sat down on the chair nearest the fireplace, watching him narrowly. Ron was already there, listening to the wireless; he turned it down when he saw Harry’s expression, or perhaps Hermione’s.
Harry felt a burst of affection that made him silent for long seconds. He didn’t think he’d appreciated lately just how wonderful his friends were. Seeing their different versions in the dream world brought it home most sharply, but just seeing their eyes on him, the concern they felt for him that was miles away from everything he’d experienced with the Dursleys, was even stronger right now.
“First, I owe you an apology for snapping at you,” he told Hermione. “I’m still not happy that you didn’t tell me what the potion did, but I could have phrased it better. I don’t blame you for thinking the dreams were bad news, either.”
Hermione smiled at him. “I could have told you about the potion, too,” she murmured. “It was an old, bad habit that made me avoid it.”
“Of course the dreams are bad news,” Ron intervened, probably to prevent them from talking over his head for too long. “You’re moaning Malfoy’s name. What’s the good side to that, Harry?”
Harry shook his head. “Yeah, but I don’t know why I should have been doing that, when the dreams never contained anything sexual between me and Draco.” Ron clapped his hands over his ears, and Harry waited patiently until he lowered them. “The same way that I don’t know why I woke up choking tonight.”
“Choking?” Hermione sat up straighter. “Did it feel as though someone was strangling you?”
“A mixture of that and just not being able to breathe,” Harry said. “I finally managed to save myself because I hit the desk with my back, and that made the air go into my lungs again the way that you can knock a piece of food out of someone’s throat sometimes with an arm across their midsection.” He paused and reached back, wincing. “I bet I’m going to have a hell of a bruise tomorrow.”
“This is serious,” Hermione whispered. “We need someone who can help us go through the records on dream magic and tell us what’s normal in a situation like this.”
Harry nodded. “I know. I was thinking that one of the experts-”
“We need Malfoy.”
Harry ground his teeth down so that he wouldn’t scream at her. They’d just reconciled, and he really would hate to spoil it the moment they started trusting each other again. “Why?” he asked at last. “Sure, he has the names of dream magic experts, but he’s sent them to me. That means that we don’t need him. We can contact anyone who sounds trustworthy on our own, instead of approaching him again.”
“I’ve been thinking more about this since you stormed out earlier today,” Hermione said.
“Of course you have,” Ron said. “You think about everything.”
Hermione looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “And aren’t you glad I do?” she murmured. For some reason, Ron flushed. Hermione turned around and smiled at Harry, continuing with a flourish. “I don’t think the dreams can be accounted for by Malfoy’s original spell and the way your mind reacted to them. Yes, that might account for the peculiar idea that the Malfoys still need you to save them, because it gave you a place to belong and someone to help. But the way you moan Malfoy’s name in your sleep? The twitching hands, as if you were being stimulated?” She shook her head. “And then this. I think that Malfoy’s desire for you has a part to play in it.”
“The moaning, fine,” Harry said, when he could speak past the choking block of his sheer astonishment. “But the twitching? The choking? If Malfoy wants to fuck me-”
“Not listening!” Ron told the ceiling.
“Then he doesn’t want me dead,” Harry finished. “And I really think I would have died if I hadn’t managed to get the air flowing again. What in the world can he have to do with that?”
“His emotions are part of this,” Hermione said softly. “I’ve studied the spell he cast. He didn’t use it in a traditional way, either. While it compels the victim’s attention, most of the time it’s used by people who are expecting to persuade someone else, or trick them. It’s not used with desire foremost in the person’s mind.”
“Desire doesn’t influence spells,” Ron said. “It’s been studied. You told me that a year ago, Hermione, when I told you that I wanted to use that Feather-Tickling Charm without modifications because-”
“It wouldn’t have worked for what you wanted to use it for,” Hermione said, so repressively that Harry wondered if he would ever find out what Ron had wanted to use it for. “But when someone feels a strong enough desire, a desperate desire, it can have.” She turned to look at Harry again. “Or when someone is using a wand that someone else has earned the allegiance of at some time.”
Harry sighed and buried his head in his hands. “I should have known that stupid thing would come back to haunt us sometime,” he muttered.
“Yes, you should have.” Hermione wasn’t letting him out of this, Harry thought, half-annoyed and half-amused that she was doing it so soon after their row over whether she should have told him about the potion and whether Malfoy should be involved at all. “But I think that must be it. There’s nothing else you’ve shared that makes sense. I did research life-debts, but there’s no record that they influence spells that way. They might make them a bit more powerful if someone casts a defensive spell intended to preserve the life of someone they owe a debt too, but that’s it.”
Harry nodded, almost resigned by now. “So you’re going to ask Malfoy to join us again?”
“You’re going to.”
Harry surged to his feet. “I don’t think I should have to,” he snapped. “I just told him that I wanted him out of my life never to be heard from again, don’t you remember? He’ll take it better coming from you, and there’s no reason to force me to do it. It’s like the potion all over again, Hermione, and not telling me about it. Are you sure that your motives are pure when it comes to this?”
Hermione flushed a bright, vivid pink. “Sorry, Harry,” she murmured. “I sounded like-sorry.” Harry nodded, as mollified as he could be when their fight was still so recent. “But the truth is, I don’t think he’ll listen to me. He will listen to you.”
“Fine,” Harry muttered. “And in the meantime, I ought to take Dreamless Sleep for the next few nights, or however long it takes to persuade him. I can’t risk waking up choking like that again.”
Hermione looked at him with what seemed to be a mixture of surprise and respect. “That’s a good idea, Harry.”
“I do have them, on occasion,” Harry said in a superior tone. Hermione pursed her lips, and he could practically hear the thought that shouted across her mind: Not very often. Harry controlled his own impulse to snap back to that, and added, “Should I wait for the morning? I’d go now, but I don’t think Malfoy would take it very well if I woke him up.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea, too,” Hermione said. “I’m a bit tired myself.”
“And so am I,” Ron said. He reached out suddenly and grasped Harry’s hand, hard enough that Harry blinked at him. His friend’s eyes were suspiciously bright. “I’ve missed you, mate,” Ron whispered. “I don’t want to lose you to these bloody dreams.”
Harry touched him briefly on the shoulder, and then, because that evidently wasn’t enough, hugged him. “I don’t want to be lost,” he mouthed back, against Ron’s hair. “I’m only now realizing how much I don’t want to be.”
“Then do the smart thing and call Malfoy to help you,” Ron said. “You know. Tomorrow morning. Swallow your pride if you have to.” He shuddered a bit. “I’m going to have to do that, to actually have him here.”
Harry smiled. “I know. And I appreciate it more than I can say.”
“To bed, now,” Hermione interposed. She’d gone to the cabinet in her study that held the potions they sometimes needed and held out the vial of Dreamless Sleep to him. “You’ll probably need all your wits to face Malfoy.”
Harry accepted the vial and gulped down the potion, starting towards his room so that he would at least have the dignity of falling over on his own bed. “If he’ll even see me,” he muttered. It wouldn’t surprise him if Malfoy refused.
*
“Give me one good reason why I should come, Potter.”
Harry sighed and scratched the back of his neck. He couldn’t get angry, he reminded himself. No matter what. If Malfoy wouldn’t help, then that was one thing. He and Hermione would have to consult the dream magic experts themselves, in that case, and work from a distance on Malfoy’s stated emotions for Harry, probably with Harry’s memories of his conversations with the git in Pensieves.
But if they could get Malfoy to listen, then it was important they do so. Hermione had emphasized that with a stern stare that left Harry in no doubt about how much importance she placed on it.
Fine.
“I don’t know,” he told Malfoy’s reflected image, floating in the flames. “Except that I’m sorry for what I said to you. It’s still true that I don’t want you interfering in my life and I think you were stupid for lying to me, but I discovered-well, Hermione discovered, with facts I gave her-something about your role in the dreams and the original spell that makes it imperative we contact you.”
“How could anyone refuse an invitation like that?”
Harry sighed again and sat back. “I almost choked to death last night,” he said, playing the card he hadn’t wanted to play, although he thought Hermione had expected him to mention it first thing. It felt like confirming all Malfoy’s fears about the dreams, and-well, it felt like manipulating the prick by his concern for Harry. “Coming out of the dream. Hermione takes that more seriously than anything else that’s happened so far.”
Malfoy went still, staring at him. Then he shook his head and laughed. The sound was hollow and bitter, as though it had to travel through a long tunnel before it got to Ron and Hermione’s house via the Floo connection. “I reckon you’re going to blame me for that, too, and call me a murderer.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Harry said. “I know you’re not a killer.”
Malfoy’s nostrils flared. “So that’s the reason that you aren’t going to blame me,” he said. “Not because you trust me not to have done something like this to you.”
“You would have mocked me if that was my reason, and asked how I could trust you,” Harry said. “Anyway, we need your help. Will you come over? I can pay you for your time if you like, or compensate you in some other way.”
Malfoy’s teeth shone for a moment. He looked as though he was battling between conflicting desires. Harry sat quiet, wondering which outcome he most wanted. On the one hand, if Malfoy refused, that meant Harry wouldn’t have to deal with him and his confusing way of showing his affection again.
On the other, Harry did feel that he could have handled the situation better. So this would take away a chance to apologize.
Not necessarily, he thought then. I could still apologize to him before I shut down the Floo connection.
“Asking if I want to be paid is insulting,” Malfoy said at last in a strangled voice. “As insulting as assuming that only my lack of desire to be a killer would keep me from harming you. I want something else.”
“Yes?” Harry waited expectantly. He assumed it would be an apology, maybe a kiss, combined with some other kind of nonverbal payment.
“I want you to act differently towards me,” Malfoy said. “To give me a chance in ways that you haven’t so far. To listen when I say something, instead of hearing the words of the boy I once was, the boy who would have done something like this to you for a prank, or because you hurt his father. I’ve changed, and you only look at a mask and refuse to recognize that. These past few weeks have taught me more about what I want and what I don’t want, and I insist that you respect that.”
Harry blinked. “All right,” he said slowly. “That doesn’t mean that I can promise to date you, or find you attractive.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Malfoy’s voice cracked. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I know that,” he said more calmly. “But some of what you said to me came out of disgust that the old Draco Malfoy, the one you knew or thought you knew at Hogwarts, would want to date you. I’m not that person. I want you to acknowledge that no matter what you ultimately end up deciding.”
“Fine,” Harry said, deciding that he would make some statements of his own as long as they were here. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, and not all of it was accurate.”
Malfoy stared at him. “Not all of it?” he asked at last, in a faint voice.
“Right,” Harry said. “Some of it was. That means that, if you ever lie to me again about something you did and knew I wouldn’t like because you think it’s for my own good, our bargain ends right then and there. That was the most insulting thing, and I’m not going to put up with it again.”
“I thought I couldn’t trust you to do anything but keep on going into the dreams,” Malfoy began.
“Then why should I trust you when you couldn’t trust me enough to explain the situation and see how I responded to it?” Harry snapped. He got his breath and words back under control with an effort. “I’d appreciate apologies from you, too, but I don’t think they’re forthcoming. Fine. All right. I can deal with this. The one thing I really can’t deal with is more lying. I was serious about wanting someone who doesn’t treat me like a child.”
“What about not understanding why I’d want someone who continually rejected me?” Malfoy’s eyes glittered.
“I still don’t understand that,” Harry said. “But that’s because I’m not a person who would keep on going to someone after he did that. If you want to, if you can stand to work with me, and if you don’t change your mind after being in close contact with me, then we’ll see.”
“No promises,” Malfoy said.
“Other than the ones I’ve already made you, no,” Harry said. “But the dreams are coming to an end, or at least the plot that concerns the people I want to help is. I’ve found out information about Discipula that will make it possible to blackmail her and end the Malfoys’ trial that way. After that-well, I had fantasies of staying with Draco once, of building a family and a home. I know that’s not going to happen.”
Malfoy stared at him, a steady stare like the pressure of a diamond. “And you’re content to simply let the dreams lapse?”
“Nearly dying last night scared me,” Harry said, which was no more than the truth. “I was alone in the office, and I could have fainted from the lack of air, even though there was no physical cause of the choking. One of my friends having to find me like that-” He closed his eyes. He’d lain awake a long time last night after he took the Dreamless Sleep thinking about that, and he was certain he would have had nightmares had the potion permitted them. “I don’t want that to happen,” he finished in a whisper.
“I can deal with this,” Malfoy said, as if answering a question from someone else. “Bring me through.” He reached a hand towards the flames.
Harry blinked, startled, but he dropped another handful of Floo powder into the fire and made sure that the fireplace was open to visits from strangers. Malfoy continued to reach, and when Harry reached back towards him, his fingers were there, warm and solid and real, curled around Harry’s wrist, his palm resting against Harry’s.
Harry yanked, and Malfoy stepped out of the fireplace, looked about for a moment as though expecting lines of cheering spectators, and then nodded and fussed with his robe, settling it around him. Harry cleared his throat expectantly. Malfoy turned towards him and stared.
Harry winced. He had thought that he’d got pretty expert at enduring stares from Malfoy through the fire a few minutes ago, but now they were in the same room with no barrier separating them, and it was more overwhelming than he had expected.
“I would hate to find you like that, too,” Malfoy said, every word carefully delivered, low and precise and controlled.
Harry shook his head. “What?” Malfoy’s presence so close to him was making it hard for him to concentrate, which was stupid and shouldn’t be happening, but there you were, it was.
“I would hate to find your body in your office because you had died from the dreams. Or any other cause.” Malfoy reached out and cupped his cheek. Harry hesitated and then leaned into the touch, mostly to see what would happen. Other than feeling warm skin against his, not much, it turned out. “Don’t-don’t do that to me. I’m glad that you’ve finally seen sense and you’re going to turn to me for help. But if you throw me out again because I lied to you, promise me that you won’t give up on conquering the dreams.”
“I promise,” Harry said softly, his breath traveling in gentle puffs over Malfoy’s palm. It was strange. Being so close in company with Malfoy like this was affecting him in ways that he wouldn’t have said anyone but Draco could affect him. Malfoy knew it, if the sudden, lazy smile that grew in his eyes was any indication. He flickered his gaze down to take in the sight of Harry’s tensed muscles as if he liked them, then stepped away suddenly enough that Harry staggered.
“Believe me,” he said, “I’ve lain awake many nights wondering why I wanted you. Quite apart from your persistent rejection and the bad history we have between us that would seem to make any effort at reconciliation impossible, there was the fact that it felt like betraying my family. To associate with someone who had a Muggleborn mother, who didn’t care for the ideals that my family had always lived for, who ignored the concepts I considered most important and lived in deadly ignorance of his own heritage? I ought to have been able to find a suitable partner among those who believed in the same things I did.”
“Ought to,” Harry echoed, a little blankly. He really shouldn’t be having this reaction to Malfoy, he thought. Yes, he’d decided that his fancying of Draco was a stupid thing mixed up with other emotions, and Malfoy had kissed him once, but that wasn’t a reason to feel his heart going faster than normal and his breath catching when he saw Malfoy looking at him this way. He shook his head and said in a stronger voice, “But you’ve decided that your emotions aren’t going away.”
“No,” Malfoy said. “Which is the reason that I want you to listen to me. One last chance.” He smiled without humor. “For the both of us. Because, if you can’t respect me, then I do need to break myself loose. I can’t live with someone who won’t ever see anything but an illusion of the boy I was.”
“What a remarkable coincidence,” Harry said evenly. “Because I feel the same way.”
Malfoy frowned for a moment, tugging at his earlobe as if that might mean he’d have an answer to Harry’s statement. Then he nodded. “I did promise that I would change things.”
“If you can,” Harry said. “Once you have a habit that deeply ingrained, it can take a lifetime to change. I should know,” he added, because he felt that he owed Malfoy a concession for taking control of the conversation.
Malfoy never let Harry’s eyes go as he inclined his head. “We’ll both try,” he said. “The only thing we can do. And in the meantime, we’ll spare you from these dreams.” His hold on Harry’s wrist, which Harry had forgotten he still had, tightened crushingly. “No one will do anything stupid.”
“Except as a mistake,” Harry said. If Malfoy expected him to be perfect, then it was best that they just not work together.
And then Malfoy relaxed, and smiled, and his inhuman-looking face became just as much a human one as Draco’s was. “I always expect that, around you,” he said. “The same way that I expect dangerous good luck and equally dangerous miracles.”
“You’ve done one yourself, figuring out as much as you did about the dreams,” Harry said. “But you didn’t figure out that Discipula was a half-blood and hiding it, so there’s that.”
Malfoy stared at him. “What?”
Harry took some delight in explaining the events of the last dream, especially because after that he would have to go on to explain the choking, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. Malfoy listened with his eyes varying between wide and narrow, particularly when Harry explained how he had used silence to get the better of Snape. He snorted when Harry’s rendition of the interrogation was done and asked, “But you didn’t get as much out of him as you thought you had at first?”
“Not as much,” Harry agreed. “But only because he didn’t know the information about Discipula that Hermione managed to provide me.”
He described that conversation then, and Malfoy leaned back in his chair as he listened. Harry faltered in the middle of a few sentences, looking over at his closed eyelashes and the lines of weariness on his face. He didn’t look so different from Draco, now, and that meant Harry had to wonder whether he felt some of the same things Draco did, the feelings Harry had automatically assumed Malfoy was immune to.
He is Draco, in a way. And I need to find a way to understand both the real world and the dreams.
Chapter Twenty-Seven.
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