(no subject)
Title: A Splinter
Pairing: HP/DM
Genre/Rating: PG-13; Angst; Unspoken feelings
Warnings: Don't run with scissors
Length: 1, 300 (ish) words
Summary: Drabble (which of course, is a bit longer than a drabble) for lilian_cho, in return for recs. She requested a fic where Draco has a splinter, and Harry removes it for him. I thought about making that porny, but melancholy came out by accident.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!”
The war had been over for nearly twelve months. Voldemort was gone, just a bad dream, half-forgotten by most in this new era of peace. But for some, it wasn’t nearly over. Trials were still held daily for war crimes, and sentences were being carried out all over the country.
Including by Draco Malfoy at Hogwarts School, Scotland.
“What the hell happened Malfoy?”
Harry Potter jogged lightly around the old gamekeeper’s hut. Hagrid was gone now, but Harry had difficulty thinking of the little house as belonging to anyone other than his old friend. An angry, pointed face glared at him from the wood pile, one hand clutching the opposite wrist, a palm being examined furiously.
“A fucking, goddamn splinter, that’s what.”
Malfoy had received…unusual sentencing. To say the least. Rather than a term in Azkaban, the Wizengamot had seen fit to saddle him with a five year term as gamekeeper at Hogwarts. And the added clause that he was only allowed to use magic when dealing specifically with magical creatures - meaning, that all the grunt work was to be done by hand. The muggle way.
Which meant cooking the muggle way, and cleaning the hut by hand, and washing his clothes in a tub, by hand. It meant digging the pumpkin patch using a real pick and elbow grease, and shovelling real manure around as required. Repairing the fences and scarecrows by hand. Cutting the grass surrounding the hut with a scythe when it got too tall. Keeping the fire lit using a tinderbox and logs, and chopping said logs with the heavy, old axe. And collecting those logs from the perimeter of the forest.
The latter seemed to be the cause of the injury Malfoy was currently suffering. By hand, as it were.
“Let me see it.”
Harry crossed the garden to the woodpile, where Malfoy had been stacking log after retrieved log.
“What’s the point? I can’t get the damned thing out by myself, I don’t know how. And I can’t go to the infirmary for treatment until it gets infected and swollen and they have to lop off my whole arm. What’s the good of you looking at it Potter? Gonna report back to the Ministry about how fabulously unprepared I am for muggle living, and how much of a wonderful punishment this is for me? Just add it to your regular weekly report card Potter - Detainee Malfoy impaled his hand on a twig on Tuesday, had no idea of how to treat it. Gangrene should set in sometime next week, here’s hoping. Too bad it wasn’t a rusty nail. Signed H. Potter. They’ll probably give you another Order of Merlin for your contribution to society. Hell, they’ll probably give you twelve!”
The words stung, and Malfoy knew they did. Harry could tell by the angry flush crawling up his neck, and the way that he made his outburst without ever looking Harry in the face. He’d spent enough time in close quarters with Malfoy during the war, to know the telltale signs of his humiliation. Among other things.
“You know I didn’t want you to be sentenced, don’t you.”
He said it quietly, barely audible over the rustle of the trees in the wind, and the nearby snuffling from the pen of Crup’s a few feet away.
“You certainly jumped at the chance to be my warden though, didn’t you Potter?”
He watched him, as Malfoy continued to stare at his hand, his cheeks burning red now. Harry stepped a little closer, and Malfoy’s posture stiffened even further.
“You know that’s not true. I didn’t jump at the chance to be your warden, watch your suffering. I did it because if you have any chance of getting out of this sooner, it’s probably going to have to be because of me. I intend to vouch for you. Your first appeal should be approaching in around a month.”
“Why would you bother? There’s little point to it. If the Ministry were reasonable, I’d never have been convicted. I fought beside you, for fucks sake! I lost my whole family, I lost my home, I lost every solid reminder of my past. All I have left are my memories and two blocks of marble with my parents names on them. If the Ministry couldn’t appreciate that at trial, what the hell good do you think you’re going to do?”
Harry tried to catch his eye, but Malfoy was stubbornly keeping his focus on his injured hand.
“Hermione says that the fact that you’re cooperating, not fighting this at all, is in your favour. And my opinion does count for something around here, you know.”
“Your opinion means more than my two years of sweat and blood and sacrifice. I should have known it would be this way before I ever came to your stupid Order for help. What was it worth? Not a thing, not even my freedom. Everything I’ve done has been for nothing.”
Harry grabbed his wrist, jerking his arm and forcing Draco to look at him.
“Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that!”
Malfoy’s eyes were brighter than they should have been.
“I don’t deserve this Potter!”
“I know that! The Order knows it, we all know it! You sacrificed more than most, and you fought relentlessly. We couldn’t have done it without you-”
“Then tell me, why am I here? Why the hell am I being forced into manual labour, allowed my magic only when my life may be threatened by my work? Why am I confined to the school grounds, chaperoned at all times, why was my apparition license taken away, why is it illegal for me to get within forty feet of the castle? Where is my Order of Merlin, my parade, my fucking statue in the Ministry of Magic? Why am I being punished?”
Harry’s stomach hurt.
“You let Death Eater’s into the school. You let a werewolf, known to be dangerous, especially to children, into the school. It was a sanctuary, and you let them inside. Thousands of children could have died that day. Thankfully, only one person did. It was a mistake Malfoy. I know it was. And I know you’ve paid for it dearly. But the Ministry is making a point. They could have sent you to Azkaban for it. They could have had you Kissed. Instead, they chose a symbolic punishment, one that would satisfy the hundreds upon hundreds of parents who were calling for action.”
He could feel the pounding of Malfoy’s pulse under his fingertips. They didn’t speak for several minutes, the silence stretching out between them.
“It’s going to work out Malfoy. I’ll make sure that it does.”
He was looking away again, focusing on the pen of Crups. And if his cheeks were a little wet, well, Harry sure wasn’t going to say anything about it.
“I have to get back to work.”
It was said with careful flatness. Draco tried to pull his hand away, but Harry held fast.
“Hold on, your splinter…”
He lifted Malfoy’s palm to his face, his lips almost brushing the skin. Draco’s eyes were wide and scared, and…and maybe a little hopeful. Maybe a little longing. Harry whispered the healing spell against his palm, and the splinter was gone, the flesh repaired. They were so close, he could feel every puff of air as Malfoy breathed in and out - they were sharing the same air, again and again.
“Why did you do that?” It was hardly a whisper, more like an exhalation of words.
“Because…because you were hurt.” It was a feeble answer, but Malfoy nodded anyway.
“You shouldn’t have. You aren’t supposed to. We could get into trouble.”
“Who’s going to tell?” Harry asked, still gripping Malfoy’s hand, still staring at him, so close. Malfoy shrugged again. He didn’t try to move, or retrieve his hand. Eventually Harry let him go, and stepped towards the wood pile.
“I’ll help you with this,” he stated. There was another pause. They seemed unsure of what to say to one another, now.
“Later,” Draco finally decided, inclining his head towards the hut. “Right now, I’d like some tea.”
Harry stood by the wood pile, waiting, until Draco was almost at the door.
“Coming?”
Pairing: HP/DM
Genre/Rating: PG-13; Angst; Unspoken feelings
Warnings: Don't run with scissors
Length: 1, 300 (ish) words
Summary: Drabble (which of course, is a bit longer than a drabble) for lilian_cho, in return for recs. She requested a fic where Draco has a splinter, and Harry removes it for him. I thought about making that porny, but melancholy came out by accident.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!”
The war had been over for nearly twelve months. Voldemort was gone, just a bad dream, half-forgotten by most in this new era of peace. But for some, it wasn’t nearly over. Trials were still held daily for war crimes, and sentences were being carried out all over the country.
Including by Draco Malfoy at Hogwarts School, Scotland.
“What the hell happened Malfoy?”
Harry Potter jogged lightly around the old gamekeeper’s hut. Hagrid was gone now, but Harry had difficulty thinking of the little house as belonging to anyone other than his old friend. An angry, pointed face glared at him from the wood pile, one hand clutching the opposite wrist, a palm being examined furiously.
“A fucking, goddamn splinter, that’s what.”
Malfoy had received…unusual sentencing. To say the least. Rather than a term in Azkaban, the Wizengamot had seen fit to saddle him with a five year term as gamekeeper at Hogwarts. And the added clause that he was only allowed to use magic when dealing specifically with magical creatures - meaning, that all the grunt work was to be done by hand. The muggle way.
Which meant cooking the muggle way, and cleaning the hut by hand, and washing his clothes in a tub, by hand. It meant digging the pumpkin patch using a real pick and elbow grease, and shovelling real manure around as required. Repairing the fences and scarecrows by hand. Cutting the grass surrounding the hut with a scythe when it got too tall. Keeping the fire lit using a tinderbox and logs, and chopping said logs with the heavy, old axe. And collecting those logs from the perimeter of the forest.
The latter seemed to be the cause of the injury Malfoy was currently suffering. By hand, as it were.
“Let me see it.”
Harry crossed the garden to the woodpile, where Malfoy had been stacking log after retrieved log.
“What’s the point? I can’t get the damned thing out by myself, I don’t know how. And I can’t go to the infirmary for treatment until it gets infected and swollen and they have to lop off my whole arm. What’s the good of you looking at it Potter? Gonna report back to the Ministry about how fabulously unprepared I am for muggle living, and how much of a wonderful punishment this is for me? Just add it to your regular weekly report card Potter - Detainee Malfoy impaled his hand on a twig on Tuesday, had no idea of how to treat it. Gangrene should set in sometime next week, here’s hoping. Too bad it wasn’t a rusty nail. Signed H. Potter. They’ll probably give you another Order of Merlin for your contribution to society. Hell, they’ll probably give you twelve!”
The words stung, and Malfoy knew they did. Harry could tell by the angry flush crawling up his neck, and the way that he made his outburst without ever looking Harry in the face. He’d spent enough time in close quarters with Malfoy during the war, to know the telltale signs of his humiliation. Among other things.
“You know I didn’t want you to be sentenced, don’t you.”
He said it quietly, barely audible over the rustle of the trees in the wind, and the nearby snuffling from the pen of Crup’s a few feet away.
“You certainly jumped at the chance to be my warden though, didn’t you Potter?”
He watched him, as Malfoy continued to stare at his hand, his cheeks burning red now. Harry stepped a little closer, and Malfoy’s posture stiffened even further.
“You know that’s not true. I didn’t jump at the chance to be your warden, watch your suffering. I did it because if you have any chance of getting out of this sooner, it’s probably going to have to be because of me. I intend to vouch for you. Your first appeal should be approaching in around a month.”
“Why would you bother? There’s little point to it. If the Ministry were reasonable, I’d never have been convicted. I fought beside you, for fucks sake! I lost my whole family, I lost my home, I lost every solid reminder of my past. All I have left are my memories and two blocks of marble with my parents names on them. If the Ministry couldn’t appreciate that at trial, what the hell good do you think you’re going to do?”
Harry tried to catch his eye, but Malfoy was stubbornly keeping his focus on his injured hand.
“Hermione says that the fact that you’re cooperating, not fighting this at all, is in your favour. And my opinion does count for something around here, you know.”
“Your opinion means more than my two years of sweat and blood and sacrifice. I should have known it would be this way before I ever came to your stupid Order for help. What was it worth? Not a thing, not even my freedom. Everything I’ve done has been for nothing.”
Harry grabbed his wrist, jerking his arm and forcing Draco to look at him.
“Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that!”
Malfoy’s eyes were brighter than they should have been.
“I don’t deserve this Potter!”
“I know that! The Order knows it, we all know it! You sacrificed more than most, and you fought relentlessly. We couldn’t have done it without you-”
“Then tell me, why am I here? Why the hell am I being forced into manual labour, allowed my magic only when my life may be threatened by my work? Why am I confined to the school grounds, chaperoned at all times, why was my apparition license taken away, why is it illegal for me to get within forty feet of the castle? Where is my Order of Merlin, my parade, my fucking statue in the Ministry of Magic? Why am I being punished?”
Harry’s stomach hurt.
“You let Death Eater’s into the school. You let a werewolf, known to be dangerous, especially to children, into the school. It was a sanctuary, and you let them inside. Thousands of children could have died that day. Thankfully, only one person did. It was a mistake Malfoy. I know it was. And I know you’ve paid for it dearly. But the Ministry is making a point. They could have sent you to Azkaban for it. They could have had you Kissed. Instead, they chose a symbolic punishment, one that would satisfy the hundreds upon hundreds of parents who were calling for action.”
He could feel the pounding of Malfoy’s pulse under his fingertips. They didn’t speak for several minutes, the silence stretching out between them.
“It’s going to work out Malfoy. I’ll make sure that it does.”
He was looking away again, focusing on the pen of Crups. And if his cheeks were a little wet, well, Harry sure wasn’t going to say anything about it.
“I have to get back to work.”
It was said with careful flatness. Draco tried to pull his hand away, but Harry held fast.
“Hold on, your splinter…”
He lifted Malfoy’s palm to his face, his lips almost brushing the skin. Draco’s eyes were wide and scared, and…and maybe a little hopeful. Maybe a little longing. Harry whispered the healing spell against his palm, and the splinter was gone, the flesh repaired. They were so close, he could feel every puff of air as Malfoy breathed in and out - they were sharing the same air, again and again.
“Why did you do that?” It was hardly a whisper, more like an exhalation of words.
“Because…because you were hurt.” It was a feeble answer, but Malfoy nodded anyway.
“You shouldn’t have. You aren’t supposed to. We could get into trouble.”
“Who’s going to tell?” Harry asked, still gripping Malfoy’s hand, still staring at him, so close. Malfoy shrugged again. He didn’t try to move, or retrieve his hand. Eventually Harry let him go, and stepped towards the wood pile.
“I’ll help you with this,” he stated. There was another pause. They seemed unsure of what to say to one another, now.
“Later,” Draco finally decided, inclining his head towards the hut. “Right now, I’d like some tea.”
Harry stood by the wood pile, waiting, until Draco was almost at the door.
“Coming?”