Damaged 17
Sorry for the delay, guys - won't bore you with the details, just cast your tomatoes at my sucky RL moments that seemed to constantly ambush me these last two weeks. You know what it's like, when nothing seems to go your way? But finally, I have had a decidedly good weekened so far, and you get more fic. In compensation for the long wait, a slightly longer update(a little more angst, as well) - and an unrelated, smut-filled treat later during the weekend. Possibly more than one. Don't you just love good weekends?
Previous parts
Chapter 17
"I think she's jealous."
Draco raised his head and followed Blaise's gaze; Ginny Weasley was sitting beside Harry across the room, fingers laced with Harry's as he spoke to Sirius. Maybe it was only wishful thinking on his part, but it seemed to Draco that while Ginny's freckled fingers grasped onto Harry's hand tightly, his were lax, almost indifferent. The glare she aimed at him seemed to confirm this.
"So, there's reason for it, eh?" Blaise drawled interestedly. "What have you done now, Draco?"
But Draco was barely listening to him - because Weasley and Granger had gotten up and were already halfway out the door. He got up without another word at Blaise and followed.
"Weasley," Draco said, sprinting up the stairs in the redhead's wake. "Hey, Weasley, hang on!"
Weasley and Granger paused at the end of the staircase and turned to look at Draco. "What is it?"
"We need to talk," Draco said, glancing sideways at Granger and raising an eyebrow. The crease between Weasley's eyebrows deepened, but Granger seemed to understand.
"Go on, Ron," she said, nudging her boyfriend with an elbow. "We'll wait for you in the library."
She gave Draco one last, curious glance before leaving, and Draco thanked her silently as Weasley led him into a disused, dusty den.
"What do we have to talk about?" Weasley asked as soon as they sat down, sounding both cold and curious.
"I need to know more about Harry," Draco said immediately. "I need you to tell me everything you know."
The direct approach was obviously the wrong one to take with Weasley. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "Fuck off, Malfoy. I'm not telling you anything Harry doesn't want you to know."
Draco let out a frustrated, exasperated breath. "Look," he said, forcing his voice to remain level. "I don't know enough, okay? I know Harry's personality fairly well, but I don't know why he is the way he is - or rather, why he was the way he was before all this. I can never tell if what I say or do does more damage than good, can I? I have to understand what makes him tick to help him find this balance you spoke of!"
"You don't need me to tell you anything, especially not about Harry's life," Weasley said. "Go ask him - I'm not telling you things he wants to keep from you."
"I'll try to make this simple for you, shall I?" Draco snapped angrily, not caring one whit that Weasley was bristling with anger right before him. "Harry was hurt. Those secrets you speak of were used against him to make him the way he is now. I'll never be able to tell if what I do helps stabilise him or makes him worse this way! If I don't know what his weak spots are, how can I avoid them?"
Weasley still didn't seem convinced, but his confidence was wavering. "It doesn't seem right."
"I could have found this out on my own, Weasley," Draco said frostily. "I could have gone into his mind and found out everything. Don't push me there - I don't want to do something like that to him."
Weasley really did seem at a loss, now. He obviously wanted to help his friend, but he probably had no idea where to begin, or how much Draco really needed to know.
"The only thing I know is that he had it a bit rough, growing up," Draco said, purposely underestimating the impression Sirius' information had made on him.
It seemed to work. Weasley's scowl deepened, only it wasn't directed at Draco anymore. "A bit rough?" he snorted. "You have no idea."
"What do you mean?" Draco goaded.
"What I'm going to tell you - it stays between us," Weasley said suddenly, looking grim. "I mean it, Malfoy - no one knows this but me. Maybe not even Hermione."
Draco nodded silently, and Weasley sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"I've never spoken of it to Harry, either," Weasley said warningly. "These are just observations. I mean, even the way Harry tells it doesn't quite justify all his little quirks, you know?"
"Yes," Draco agreed. "Like how reckless he can be, even though he knows how dangerous it is."
"Not the half of it," Weasley shook his head. "I'm talking about the basics. I don't... I know his relatives pretty much hate him. But I don't think they held him at all as a child - maybe only when it was completely impossible not to."
"What makes you say that?" Draco asked, even though he thought he knew the answer.
"He never used to initiate contact," Weasley said immediately. "Like he was uncomfortable with it, or unfamiliar. But Mum wouldn't have any of it, and even though he used to get awkward when someone touched him - even a pat on the back, or a hug - he seemed to like it so much."
"So you're saying he wanted it, but didn't know how to go about it?"
"Exactly," Weasley said, looking a little surprised. "But he does that all the time now. Touches others, that is."
"That's a good thing, right?" Draco said dubiously, and Weasley shrugged, looking confused.
"I dunno," he said sincerely. "I mean, it's good if it's coming from him, from how he feels about us. But..."
Draco frowned, biting his lip. He understood what Weasley meant - it could come from a good place, or a bad place, and that made all the difference.
"I don't think we should do anything about it, though," Weasley said thoughtfully. "It looks like a good thing, really. And if it isn't - well, we're not the people who can deal with it."
Draco nodded, surprised to find himself agreeing. It was best if they didn't touch such sensitive subjects - after all, none of them really had the knowledge to help Harry deal with the nightmare he's been through.
"It was like that on a lot of things," Weasley said suddenly. "He didn't know so many things that seemed to trivial. He never outright asked for help, you know. If we didn't offer it ourselves, he would just go and do the most dangerous things. Quite frustrating, really."
"I can imagine." Draco smiled slightly, unable to help himself. It was so different than his image of Harry from that time.
"I don't know if you can," Weasley said, shaking his head. "He's so headstrong, and closed-off, half the time we had to guess what he was thinking. He talked to us, sure, but he always made the dangerous decisions and we always sort of went along, because we knew he'd do it without us, and we couldn't let him go in alone."
"He felt like he had to," Draco said slowly, trying to figure it out. "Gryffindor sense of duty?"
"Hero complex," Weasley said immediately. "And it was always about someone he cared about - we had to second-guess him all the time, to keep things in perspective, but we always somehow wound up in the most ridiculously dangerous situations."
"Such as?" Draco asked, truly curious.
"Well, he and I went into the Chamber of Secrets to save Ginny, for one thing," Weasley said, and Draco shifted uncomfortably. "And it was the stupidest thing, too - two twelve year olds against a millennia-old Basilisk. And we didn't try speaking to Dumbledore, or McGonagall; we took Lockhart."
Draco snorted, and Weasley startled him with a sheepish grin. "Yeah, well. I wasn't very opposed to going down, myself, but it was stupid. His survival was a miracle, I swear. Which just proves he has no mind for strategy - he always goes with his gut instincts."
"No mind for strategy?" Draco drawled, feeling on familiar ground again. He let an amused lilt crawl in, nonetheless. "Aren't all Gryffindors like that?"
The wicked grin that spread across Weasley's face was a novelty that made it pretty clear that things would never be on such familiar ground again. "When this is over, Malfoy," he said, smiling broadly, "you and I are playing Chess."
Draco didn't know how to answer that, and the pause in the conversation seemed to convince Weasley that it was over. He got to his feet and headed for the door, seemingly fully aware that Draco was rising to follow. When they got to the library, they found Harry and Granger leaning over a sheet of parchment that on closer inspection seemed very much like an old map of wizarding Britain. Neither looked up when they entered, and Draco noticed Granger was holding a suspicious vial filled with dark red liquid, and tilting it over the very centre of the parchment with extreme care and precision.
The drop beaded slowly and landed, viscous and dark, in the very centre if the map and began to spread in spindling spidery lines. A multitude of red dots were spread across the map when it stopped, and Draco realised with a start that it was blood.
"Heirloom tracking?" he whispered, and three heads rose to look at him. "Whatever for?"
"We're looking for a cup," Harry said shortly before turning to his friends. "I think we should start right now."
"You'll never finish, if you look in all these places," Draco said pointedly.
"I agree with Malfoy," Granger nodded. "We need to make it more specific, but the book doesn't say how."
"Not more research!" Weasley groaned.
"Another drop right at the centre," Draco said immediately, pointing at the parchment. "And this time concentrate on the object you're looking for - assuming you know what that is," he added.
Weasley and Granger turned a startled glance on him before the brunette turned back to dribble the blood again. He watched the blood flow toward London, and pointed his wand at the London spot and cast a wordless Engorgio.
"The orphanage," Harry said, snapping his fingers. "God, I'm an idiot!"
"Tonight?" Weasley said quietly.
"Tonight," Harry agreed. And Draco felt left out again, but it didn't hurt so much this time. Maybe he was growing used to it.
The trio made their respective excuses and Draco was left alone to contemplate his conversation with Weasley in silence. He asked Tilly for a cup of tea and she returned with it immediately, dropping a plateful of biscuits beside it. Emperor trotted in and jumped up on the sofa, resting his head in Draco's lap. Draco petted him, absently thinking he'd missed the mutt as he ran his fingers through long black fur, pawn or no pawn.
"What do you say, Emperor?" Draco whispered softly. "Am I doing the right thing?"
Emperor huffed and Draco smiled sadly, transfiguring some of the biscuits into dog treats and feeding him. Even the hapless dog didn't think very highly on Draco's actions.
The conclusions to be drawn from the conversation were very clear. Harry's previous strength and prevalence in battle was very much due to the fact that he never stopped to question himself or show hesitation. If luck really was on his side, what he needed is his confidence back - perhaps even stronger than before. He very much needed to rebuild his self-esteem and confidence in his magical abilities, and he simply had to get rid of the submissive streak - it was what had shaken all those things loose in the first place, and it was what tied him so firmly to Draco.
Loathe as he was to admit it, Draco knew that Harry's dependency on him had to stop before the final battle - and stop completely. And Granger may be bright, but she missed a very important and plausible possibility - the way things stood now, if something happened to Draco before Harry finished off Voldemort, Harry would crumble.
Draco sighed. He's been so thrilled to be wanted back, desired, that he'd lost the main point of what he was doing for Harry. He didn't know where Harry's desire came from, but his own was negligible, and had to be put aside. Harry deserved better from him, and besides. Draco wasn't completely sure he could bear the burden of being the source of Harry's strength and his weakness at the same time, so he would have to do with neither.
~*~
Draco was, of course, wide awake when the trio came back from their mysterious excursion. Having waited in bed for the sound of the door opening, he breathed a sigh of relief. It evaporated as soon as he heard Sirius cursing, and he was out of bed in seconds.
Sirius preceded him only by a minute or so, both of them stopping at edge of the entrance hall.
Granger's hand was covered in the same dragonhide she'd coated Harry's hand with all those weeks ago. She was clutching a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles in one hand. Her other was wrapped around Harry's chest as she tried to keep him upright.
Weasley was the one carrying most of Harry's weight, both his arms wrapped around chest and waist. Harry was pale as a sheet, verging on greyish, even, and his entire body was wracked with shudders. One hand was holding his wand to his chest firmly while the other was desperately clutched in Weasley's robes.
Blaise stood in the kitchen's entryway, watching silently.
"Harry?" Sirius said tentatively, taking a step closer. "Harry, are you-"
"It was Dementors," Weasley said quietly, and Harry's trembling increased. "Sirius, I-"
At the sound of his godfather's name, Harry's head jumped up from Weasley's shoulder. Sirius stepped forward and caught Harry as he stumbled forth, gathering him in his arms. Harry's wand clattered to the floor as Sirius picked him up like a baby.
With a hurried, wordless wave of Blaise's wand, the bruises on Harry's skin vanished completely. Draco watched wounds disappear and Sirius give Blaise a grateful look before turning away from them.
"But he can cast the Patronus Charm," Draco heard himself say, his eyes following Sirius as he carried his godson upstairs. Would he know to put Harry in Draco's bed? Draco doubted it. "I - I know he can."
"He could, once. Didn't have all the memories he has now, when he did," Weasley said, running a hand over his face. Granger's hand crawled into his and Draco envied them for their comfortableness in displays of affection. "Night, Malfoy. Zabini."
"He'd wait for you, you know. Doesn't matter much if it's his bed or your own, does it?" Blaise said softly, looking after the pair before turning back toward the kitchen.
Draco made his own way upstairs and stepped into his room with a sigh. His eyes widened when he noticed Harry's trembling form already in the room, crouched in one corner. The sheets were rumpled, as if Harry had been tucked in and crawled out of them.
"Harry?" Green eyes snapped up to meet his, and Draco crouched down until he was at eye level with Harry. "Does Sirius know you're here?"
Harry shook his head vigorously. "I - I came alone."
Draco closed his eyes slowly, sadly. There it was, right before him - the answer to all his questions. Harry was not as well as he'd seemed. Harry was not getting over the experience. In fact, it was so deeply rooted in Harry that, in all likelihood, he would never be rid of it. And any misstep on Draco's part could prove to be the damaging point of no return - especially if this dependency of Harry's was anything to go by.
He tucked both his hands under Harry's elbows and coaxed the other boy to his feet. Placing a guiding hand on the small of Harry's back, he smiled down gently at the other boy. "Tuck in, shall we?"
"Please," Harry whispered, nodding, and promptly began to strip. Draco blinked as a bolt of arousal ran through him and turned his back on Harry, pretending to search the closet for Harry's pyjamas, which Tilly had obviously left in plain sight on the bed. Harry cleared his throat and Draco turned to find him fully dressed, feeling his own face flush in the process.
"Right," he said slowly, before crawling into his side of the bed. The fact that he had his own side of the bed at all baffled him, but - well, there it was. Harry was still trembling slightly as Draco drew him closer, but he slowly relaxed into the embrace, breath growing calmer.
"Tell me?" Draco whispered after awhile, when Harry showed no signs of sleep.
"I..." He felt Harry take a deep breath against him, chest pressing briefly into Draco's. "I can't. You know that."
"Not about what you were doing, Harry," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "I know you can't. I understand, I do. I meant about - about the Dementors."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, as if trying to make up his mind. Draco left him to it - pressing wasn't fair. The very point of asking was, after all, giving Harry the chance to talk about it. Harry's fingers grasped one loose edge of his collar, mulling them nervously.
"I - used to be fairly good with Dementors," Harry said finally, smiling slightly when Draco snorted. "Understatement, eh? I once drove off over a hundred of them, when they were coming after Sirius and me in third year."
"I remember," Draco said softly, remembering a silly stunt that had ended with being attacked by a Patronus.
"Yeah." Harry half-shrugged. "We didn't go far today - he grew up in a tiny orphanage on Stockwell, and that's where we were. I kind of expected protective measures, but - we ran into the Inferi first."
"Inferi," Draco repeated, shuddering despite himself. "Yuck."
"I didn't expect anything else once we burned them," Harry said, as if the burning of walking corpses was to be expected. "There was one waiting on his old bed, and - anyway. As soon as Hermione found the cup, the entire building shook, and started filling with fog. I didn't even have a chance to raise my wand before I fainted."
"But you saw things, didn't you," Draco said slowly, understandingly. Oh, what a thorough thrashing he would've given his younger self, if he could have.
"I - used to hear my parents die. At first, I didn't have any images to go with it but bright, green light," Harry confessed, and Draco shuddered. "Then there was Sirius' death, and Dumbledore. But this time - I."
Draco looked down. Harry's mouth was moving slightly, but not making any sounds. Harry snapped it shut, frowning. "Harry?"
"This time all I saw was him," Harry blurted out and bit his lip, closing his eyes.
"What did you see?" Draco asked. He felt the tremors flood Harry's body and he pulled him closer with one arm, tugging up the covers with the other. Harry shifted, burrowing into Draco's neck, eyelashes fluttering against Draco's skin as his fingers curled in Draco's shirt. "Go on," Draco urged softly. "Finish it, yeah?"
Harry's voice came over in a whisper. "I didn't see. I couldn't. But I heard them. The Death Eaters."
Draco struggled with himself, trying to remain quiet as Harry spoke haltingly. He let his fingers run soothingly through Harry's hair.
"They laughed at me. And - and touched.” The words came out small and scared, so much so that Draco wondered if he was cradling a boy of ten rather than a grown one nearly twice that. “Not much. But I couldn't see. And there was metal around my neck, and my wrists. I couldn't feel the ground under my feet and it hurt, so much, just hanging. And then they - there was a cane. I think it was."
Stomach tightening with dread, Draco suddenly got the horrible, horrible reference.
He hadn't been there, of course - aside from his distaste for such things, his father had most certainly known what was behind Draco's lasting obsession with Harry Potter, even if Draco himself hadn't. But he'd seen this before - the Dark Lord had sent a vivid flash of remembrance to Harry's brain a couple of weeks ago, after all. "And this is your worst memory."
Harry shook his head. "The moment after."
"After?" Draco whispered, already knowing what was coming. He'd seen that, too.
"I gave in," Harry said quietly enough that Draco barely heard him. "I went to him, to make it stop. I begged for him to make it stop, a-and h-he... I..."
Draco jerked in surprise when two hot splashes landed against his neck, wrapping his arm tightly around Harry to prevent him from recoiling. He ran his free hand up to Harry's face, coaxing it to look into his.
"Harry," Draco said, sounding pained even in his own ears. "Do you really believe you made a choice?"
Harry bit his lip, and more tears sprang from his eyes. He tried to turn away, but Draco wouldn't let him. Not for anything. "I did have a choice, I did! I could've-"
"What?" Draco interrupted him softly. He knew he should be listening, should let Harry say what was on his mind, but he couldn't - couldn't bring himself to listen. Silence was too much like agreement. "You could've done what, Harry? Let them torture you more?"
"I could've made him kill me," Harry whispered. Draco reached down, wiping the tears as they flowed.
"He wouldn't have killed you, Harry," he explained softly. "You know why, probably better than I do. He wouldn't risk killing you because of what it might do to him. He wouldn't have made them stop, Harry. All you would have accomplished by not surrendering would have been more of it. There was nothing you could have done."
Harry shook his head. "I-"
"Nothing," Draco said, keeping his tone light, and Harry's eyes widened. "It was not your fault, Harry. You didn't deserve any of it."
Harry's face crumpled, and the sob that escaped his throat was so deep, so raw, it seemed to bubble up from his very soul. As if years and years of abuse and hurt were finally being expressed. Draco pulled him close and kissed his temple, running his fingers slowly down the curve of Harry's back. Hitching sobs made Harry's chest tremble against Draco as he cried himself to sleep.
Draco kept petting him long after Harry's breaths had evened out.
~*~
So. What do you think?
Previous parts
Chapter 17
"I think she's jealous."
Draco raised his head and followed Blaise's gaze; Ginny Weasley was sitting beside Harry across the room, fingers laced with Harry's as he spoke to Sirius. Maybe it was only wishful thinking on his part, but it seemed to Draco that while Ginny's freckled fingers grasped onto Harry's hand tightly, his were lax, almost indifferent. The glare she aimed at him seemed to confirm this.
"So, there's reason for it, eh?" Blaise drawled interestedly. "What have you done now, Draco?"
But Draco was barely listening to him - because Weasley and Granger had gotten up and were already halfway out the door. He got up without another word at Blaise and followed.
"Weasley," Draco said, sprinting up the stairs in the redhead's wake. "Hey, Weasley, hang on!"
Weasley and Granger paused at the end of the staircase and turned to look at Draco. "What is it?"
"We need to talk," Draco said, glancing sideways at Granger and raising an eyebrow. The crease between Weasley's eyebrows deepened, but Granger seemed to understand.
"Go on, Ron," she said, nudging her boyfriend with an elbow. "We'll wait for you in the library."
She gave Draco one last, curious glance before leaving, and Draco thanked her silently as Weasley led him into a disused, dusty den.
"What do we have to talk about?" Weasley asked as soon as they sat down, sounding both cold and curious.
"I need to know more about Harry," Draco said immediately. "I need you to tell me everything you know."
The direct approach was obviously the wrong one to take with Weasley. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "Fuck off, Malfoy. I'm not telling you anything Harry doesn't want you to know."
Draco let out a frustrated, exasperated breath. "Look," he said, forcing his voice to remain level. "I don't know enough, okay? I know Harry's personality fairly well, but I don't know why he is the way he is - or rather, why he was the way he was before all this. I can never tell if what I say or do does more damage than good, can I? I have to understand what makes him tick to help him find this balance you spoke of!"
"You don't need me to tell you anything, especially not about Harry's life," Weasley said. "Go ask him - I'm not telling you things he wants to keep from you."
"I'll try to make this simple for you, shall I?" Draco snapped angrily, not caring one whit that Weasley was bristling with anger right before him. "Harry was hurt. Those secrets you speak of were used against him to make him the way he is now. I'll never be able to tell if what I do helps stabilise him or makes him worse this way! If I don't know what his weak spots are, how can I avoid them?"
Weasley still didn't seem convinced, but his confidence was wavering. "It doesn't seem right."
"I could have found this out on my own, Weasley," Draco said frostily. "I could have gone into his mind and found out everything. Don't push me there - I don't want to do something like that to him."
Weasley really did seem at a loss, now. He obviously wanted to help his friend, but he probably had no idea where to begin, or how much Draco really needed to know.
"The only thing I know is that he had it a bit rough, growing up," Draco said, purposely underestimating the impression Sirius' information had made on him.
It seemed to work. Weasley's scowl deepened, only it wasn't directed at Draco anymore. "A bit rough?" he snorted. "You have no idea."
"What do you mean?" Draco goaded.
"What I'm going to tell you - it stays between us," Weasley said suddenly, looking grim. "I mean it, Malfoy - no one knows this but me. Maybe not even Hermione."
Draco nodded silently, and Weasley sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"I've never spoken of it to Harry, either," Weasley said warningly. "These are just observations. I mean, even the way Harry tells it doesn't quite justify all his little quirks, you know?"
"Yes," Draco agreed. "Like how reckless he can be, even though he knows how dangerous it is."
"Not the half of it," Weasley shook his head. "I'm talking about the basics. I don't... I know his relatives pretty much hate him. But I don't think they held him at all as a child - maybe only when it was completely impossible not to."
"What makes you say that?" Draco asked, even though he thought he knew the answer.
"He never used to initiate contact," Weasley said immediately. "Like he was uncomfortable with it, or unfamiliar. But Mum wouldn't have any of it, and even though he used to get awkward when someone touched him - even a pat on the back, or a hug - he seemed to like it so much."
"So you're saying he wanted it, but didn't know how to go about it?"
"Exactly," Weasley said, looking a little surprised. "But he does that all the time now. Touches others, that is."
"That's a good thing, right?" Draco said dubiously, and Weasley shrugged, looking confused.
"I dunno," he said sincerely. "I mean, it's good if it's coming from him, from how he feels about us. But..."
Draco frowned, biting his lip. He understood what Weasley meant - it could come from a good place, or a bad place, and that made all the difference.
"I don't think we should do anything about it, though," Weasley said thoughtfully. "It looks like a good thing, really. And if it isn't - well, we're not the people who can deal with it."
Draco nodded, surprised to find himself agreeing. It was best if they didn't touch such sensitive subjects - after all, none of them really had the knowledge to help Harry deal with the nightmare he's been through.
"It was like that on a lot of things," Weasley said suddenly. "He didn't know so many things that seemed to trivial. He never outright asked for help, you know. If we didn't offer it ourselves, he would just go and do the most dangerous things. Quite frustrating, really."
"I can imagine." Draco smiled slightly, unable to help himself. It was so different than his image of Harry from that time.
"I don't know if you can," Weasley said, shaking his head. "He's so headstrong, and closed-off, half the time we had to guess what he was thinking. He talked to us, sure, but he always made the dangerous decisions and we always sort of went along, because we knew he'd do it without us, and we couldn't let him go in alone."
"He felt like he had to," Draco said slowly, trying to figure it out. "Gryffindor sense of duty?"
"Hero complex," Weasley said immediately. "And it was always about someone he cared about - we had to second-guess him all the time, to keep things in perspective, but we always somehow wound up in the most ridiculously dangerous situations."
"Such as?" Draco asked, truly curious.
"Well, he and I went into the Chamber of Secrets to save Ginny, for one thing," Weasley said, and Draco shifted uncomfortably. "And it was the stupidest thing, too - two twelve year olds against a millennia-old Basilisk. And we didn't try speaking to Dumbledore, or McGonagall; we took Lockhart."
Draco snorted, and Weasley startled him with a sheepish grin. "Yeah, well. I wasn't very opposed to going down, myself, but it was stupid. His survival was a miracle, I swear. Which just proves he has no mind for strategy - he always goes with his gut instincts."
"No mind for strategy?" Draco drawled, feeling on familiar ground again. He let an amused lilt crawl in, nonetheless. "Aren't all Gryffindors like that?"
The wicked grin that spread across Weasley's face was a novelty that made it pretty clear that things would never be on such familiar ground again. "When this is over, Malfoy," he said, smiling broadly, "you and I are playing Chess."
Draco didn't know how to answer that, and the pause in the conversation seemed to convince Weasley that it was over. He got to his feet and headed for the door, seemingly fully aware that Draco was rising to follow. When they got to the library, they found Harry and Granger leaning over a sheet of parchment that on closer inspection seemed very much like an old map of wizarding Britain. Neither looked up when they entered, and Draco noticed Granger was holding a suspicious vial filled with dark red liquid, and tilting it over the very centre of the parchment with extreme care and precision.
The drop beaded slowly and landed, viscous and dark, in the very centre if the map and began to spread in spindling spidery lines. A multitude of red dots were spread across the map when it stopped, and Draco realised with a start that it was blood.
"Heirloom tracking?" he whispered, and three heads rose to look at him. "Whatever for?"
"We're looking for a cup," Harry said shortly before turning to his friends. "I think we should start right now."
"You'll never finish, if you look in all these places," Draco said pointedly.
"I agree with Malfoy," Granger nodded. "We need to make it more specific, but the book doesn't say how."
"Not more research!" Weasley groaned.
"Another drop right at the centre," Draco said immediately, pointing at the parchment. "And this time concentrate on the object you're looking for - assuming you know what that is," he added.
Weasley and Granger turned a startled glance on him before the brunette turned back to dribble the blood again. He watched the blood flow toward London, and pointed his wand at the London spot and cast a wordless Engorgio.
"The orphanage," Harry said, snapping his fingers. "God, I'm an idiot!"
"Tonight?" Weasley said quietly.
"Tonight," Harry agreed. And Draco felt left out again, but it didn't hurt so much this time. Maybe he was growing used to it.
The trio made their respective excuses and Draco was left alone to contemplate his conversation with Weasley in silence. He asked Tilly for a cup of tea and she returned with it immediately, dropping a plateful of biscuits beside it. Emperor trotted in and jumped up on the sofa, resting his head in Draco's lap. Draco petted him, absently thinking he'd missed the mutt as he ran his fingers through long black fur, pawn or no pawn.
"What do you say, Emperor?" Draco whispered softly. "Am I doing the right thing?"
Emperor huffed and Draco smiled sadly, transfiguring some of the biscuits into dog treats and feeding him. Even the hapless dog didn't think very highly on Draco's actions.
The conclusions to be drawn from the conversation were very clear. Harry's previous strength and prevalence in battle was very much due to the fact that he never stopped to question himself or show hesitation. If luck really was on his side, what he needed is his confidence back - perhaps even stronger than before. He very much needed to rebuild his self-esteem and confidence in his magical abilities, and he simply had to get rid of the submissive streak - it was what had shaken all those things loose in the first place, and it was what tied him so firmly to Draco.
Loathe as he was to admit it, Draco knew that Harry's dependency on him had to stop before the final battle - and stop completely. And Granger may be bright, but she missed a very important and plausible possibility - the way things stood now, if something happened to Draco before Harry finished off Voldemort, Harry would crumble.
Draco sighed. He's been so thrilled to be wanted back, desired, that he'd lost the main point of what he was doing for Harry. He didn't know where Harry's desire came from, but his own was negligible, and had to be put aside. Harry deserved better from him, and besides. Draco wasn't completely sure he could bear the burden of being the source of Harry's strength and his weakness at the same time, so he would have to do with neither.
~*~
Draco was, of course, wide awake when the trio came back from their mysterious excursion. Having waited in bed for the sound of the door opening, he breathed a sigh of relief. It evaporated as soon as he heard Sirius cursing, and he was out of bed in seconds.
Sirius preceded him only by a minute or so, both of them stopping at edge of the entrance hall.
Granger's hand was covered in the same dragonhide she'd coated Harry's hand with all those weeks ago. She was clutching a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles in one hand. Her other was wrapped around Harry's chest as she tried to keep him upright.
Weasley was the one carrying most of Harry's weight, both his arms wrapped around chest and waist. Harry was pale as a sheet, verging on greyish, even, and his entire body was wracked with shudders. One hand was holding his wand to his chest firmly while the other was desperately clutched in Weasley's robes.
Blaise stood in the kitchen's entryway, watching silently.
"Harry?" Sirius said tentatively, taking a step closer. "Harry, are you-"
"It was Dementors," Weasley said quietly, and Harry's trembling increased. "Sirius, I-"
At the sound of his godfather's name, Harry's head jumped up from Weasley's shoulder. Sirius stepped forward and caught Harry as he stumbled forth, gathering him in his arms. Harry's wand clattered to the floor as Sirius picked him up like a baby.
With a hurried, wordless wave of Blaise's wand, the bruises on Harry's skin vanished completely. Draco watched wounds disappear and Sirius give Blaise a grateful look before turning away from them.
"But he can cast the Patronus Charm," Draco heard himself say, his eyes following Sirius as he carried his godson upstairs. Would he know to put Harry in Draco's bed? Draco doubted it. "I - I know he can."
"He could, once. Didn't have all the memories he has now, when he did," Weasley said, running a hand over his face. Granger's hand crawled into his and Draco envied them for their comfortableness in displays of affection. "Night, Malfoy. Zabini."
"He'd wait for you, you know. Doesn't matter much if it's his bed or your own, does it?" Blaise said softly, looking after the pair before turning back toward the kitchen.
Draco made his own way upstairs and stepped into his room with a sigh. His eyes widened when he noticed Harry's trembling form already in the room, crouched in one corner. The sheets were rumpled, as if Harry had been tucked in and crawled out of them.
"Harry?" Green eyes snapped up to meet his, and Draco crouched down until he was at eye level with Harry. "Does Sirius know you're here?"
Harry shook his head vigorously. "I - I came alone."
Draco closed his eyes slowly, sadly. There it was, right before him - the answer to all his questions. Harry was not as well as he'd seemed. Harry was not getting over the experience. In fact, it was so deeply rooted in Harry that, in all likelihood, he would never be rid of it. And any misstep on Draco's part could prove to be the damaging point of no return - especially if this dependency of Harry's was anything to go by.
He tucked both his hands under Harry's elbows and coaxed the other boy to his feet. Placing a guiding hand on the small of Harry's back, he smiled down gently at the other boy. "Tuck in, shall we?"
"Please," Harry whispered, nodding, and promptly began to strip. Draco blinked as a bolt of arousal ran through him and turned his back on Harry, pretending to search the closet for Harry's pyjamas, which Tilly had obviously left in plain sight on the bed. Harry cleared his throat and Draco turned to find him fully dressed, feeling his own face flush in the process.
"Right," he said slowly, before crawling into his side of the bed. The fact that he had his own side of the bed at all baffled him, but - well, there it was. Harry was still trembling slightly as Draco drew him closer, but he slowly relaxed into the embrace, breath growing calmer.
"Tell me?" Draco whispered after awhile, when Harry showed no signs of sleep.
"I..." He felt Harry take a deep breath against him, chest pressing briefly into Draco's. "I can't. You know that."
"Not about what you were doing, Harry," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "I know you can't. I understand, I do. I meant about - about the Dementors."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, as if trying to make up his mind. Draco left him to it - pressing wasn't fair. The very point of asking was, after all, giving Harry the chance to talk about it. Harry's fingers grasped one loose edge of his collar, mulling them nervously.
"I - used to be fairly good with Dementors," Harry said finally, smiling slightly when Draco snorted. "Understatement, eh? I once drove off over a hundred of them, when they were coming after Sirius and me in third year."
"I remember," Draco said softly, remembering a silly stunt that had ended with being attacked by a Patronus.
"Yeah." Harry half-shrugged. "We didn't go far today - he grew up in a tiny orphanage on Stockwell, and that's where we were. I kind of expected protective measures, but - we ran into the Inferi first."
"Inferi," Draco repeated, shuddering despite himself. "Yuck."
"I didn't expect anything else once we burned them," Harry said, as if the burning of walking corpses was to be expected. "There was one waiting on his old bed, and - anyway. As soon as Hermione found the cup, the entire building shook, and started filling with fog. I didn't even have a chance to raise my wand before I fainted."
"But you saw things, didn't you," Draco said slowly, understandingly. Oh, what a thorough thrashing he would've given his younger self, if he could have.
"I - used to hear my parents die. At first, I didn't have any images to go with it but bright, green light," Harry confessed, and Draco shuddered. "Then there was Sirius' death, and Dumbledore. But this time - I."
Draco looked down. Harry's mouth was moving slightly, but not making any sounds. Harry snapped it shut, frowning. "Harry?"
"This time all I saw was him," Harry blurted out and bit his lip, closing his eyes.
"What did you see?" Draco asked. He felt the tremors flood Harry's body and he pulled him closer with one arm, tugging up the covers with the other. Harry shifted, burrowing into Draco's neck, eyelashes fluttering against Draco's skin as his fingers curled in Draco's shirt. "Go on," Draco urged softly. "Finish it, yeah?"
Harry's voice came over in a whisper. "I didn't see. I couldn't. But I heard them. The Death Eaters."
Draco struggled with himself, trying to remain quiet as Harry spoke haltingly. He let his fingers run soothingly through Harry's hair.
"They laughed at me. And - and touched.” The words came out small and scared, so much so that Draco wondered if he was cradling a boy of ten rather than a grown one nearly twice that. “Not much. But I couldn't see. And there was metal around my neck, and my wrists. I couldn't feel the ground under my feet and it hurt, so much, just hanging. And then they - there was a cane. I think it was."
Stomach tightening with dread, Draco suddenly got the horrible, horrible reference.
He hadn't been there, of course - aside from his distaste for such things, his father had most certainly known what was behind Draco's lasting obsession with Harry Potter, even if Draco himself hadn't. But he'd seen this before - the Dark Lord had sent a vivid flash of remembrance to Harry's brain a couple of weeks ago, after all. "And this is your worst memory."
Harry shook his head. "The moment after."
"After?" Draco whispered, already knowing what was coming. He'd seen that, too.
"I gave in," Harry said quietly enough that Draco barely heard him. "I went to him, to make it stop. I begged for him to make it stop, a-and h-he... I..."
Draco jerked in surprise when two hot splashes landed against his neck, wrapping his arm tightly around Harry to prevent him from recoiling. He ran his free hand up to Harry's face, coaxing it to look into his.
"Harry," Draco said, sounding pained even in his own ears. "Do you really believe you made a choice?"
Harry bit his lip, and more tears sprang from his eyes. He tried to turn away, but Draco wouldn't let him. Not for anything. "I did have a choice, I did! I could've-"
"What?" Draco interrupted him softly. He knew he should be listening, should let Harry say what was on his mind, but he couldn't - couldn't bring himself to listen. Silence was too much like agreement. "You could've done what, Harry? Let them torture you more?"
"I could've made him kill me," Harry whispered. Draco reached down, wiping the tears as they flowed.
"He wouldn't have killed you, Harry," he explained softly. "You know why, probably better than I do. He wouldn't risk killing you because of what it might do to him. He wouldn't have made them stop, Harry. All you would have accomplished by not surrendering would have been more of it. There was nothing you could have done."
Harry shook his head. "I-"
"Nothing," Draco said, keeping his tone light, and Harry's eyes widened. "It was not your fault, Harry. You didn't deserve any of it."
Harry's face crumpled, and the sob that escaped his throat was so deep, so raw, it seemed to bubble up from his very soul. As if years and years of abuse and hurt were finally being expressed. Draco pulled him close and kissed his temple, running his fingers slowly down the curve of Harry's back. Hitching sobs made Harry's chest tremble against Draco as he cried himself to sleep.
Draco kept petting him long after Harry's breaths had evened out.
~*~
So. What do you think?