Celandine's Chronicle (celandineb) wrote in cels_fic_haven, @ 2007-08-08 20:31:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | hp fic better than revenge, hp fic draco/harry |
HP fic: Better Than Revenge, ch. 2: In Harry's Room [Harry/Draco, general]
Title: Better Than Revenge
chapter 2, "In Harry's Room"
Author: celandineb
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: general
Summary: After a month of hiding, Draco is relieved when Harry decides to help him.
If Draco had had any clear expectation of what might happen once he finally managed to track Potter down, he was due to be disappointed. He had believed, from bits and pieces he had gleaned from overhearing Professor Snape, that Potter was a Legilimens, that he would be able to take advantage of that skill to prove to the other boy that he had been genuinely unwilling to kill the Headmaster. After that, he hoped, Potter's hatred for Lord Voldemort would convince him to help Draco.
When he had first learned that Lord Voldemort had chosen him for the task, he had been proud to accept the Dark Mark, confident that he could redeem the Malfoy family honor. Using the pair of Vanishing Cabinets had seemed a brilliant idea, but mending the one in the Room of Requirement had taken him far longer than he had anticipated. He had had to rely on an increasingly reluctant Crabbe and Goyle to keep a lookout as he worked, and even to plead illness so that he could use the time of Slytherin's Quidditch matches to continue his efforts. As the weeks went by without noticeable progress, he had been forced to try hastily-improvised alternative plans so that he could report he had done something, but he never thought that either the cursed necklace or the poisoned mead were likely to work, and did not much care when they did not. Each day that passed, each day that he again spent every spare moment working out how he could achieve Dumbledore's elimination, he grew a little sicker at the thought of actually being responsible for another wizard's death. But if he did not succeed, he would leave not only himself but his parents vulnerable to Lord Voldemort's wrath. Though he had never been close to either his mother or his father, still the family loyalty that they had taught him to consider the highest virtue held strong.
In the end it had all gone for nothing. He had screwed up his nerve to bring the Death Eaters through to Hogwarts, gotten Dumbledore to the top of the Astronomy Tower and at his mercy, and yet, when it came to the point, he could not do it. Professor Snape had stepped forward with the Killing Curse, and afterward dragged Draco out of the school grounds, Disapparating with him to his own dilapidated home at Spinner's End, so different from anything Draco was used to. Days later when he was able to get a glimpse of a copy of the Daily Prophet, Draco had been relieved to learn that none of the other students or teachers had been too seriously injured: the only Hogwarts casualty was Dumbledore.
By then Professor Snape had already warned him that he was in mortal danger; his failure would not be ignored even though Dumbledore's death had been accomplished. Snape had warned Draco to hide, and to keep moving, because if he stayed in one place too long, the Dark Mark on his arm would almost certainly draw Lord Voldemort's attention.
Draco had been astonished that Professor Snape would encourage him to evade Lord Voldemort, and his surprise doubled when his teacher further suggested he should seek Potter's assistance.
"He'll never help me," Draco had protested.
"Know him so well, do we, Mister Malfoy?" Professor Snape had said in his most sarcastic voice. "If you can convince him that it's the honorable and courageous" – he almost spat the words – "thing to do, he just might. Potter sets great store by his honor and courage, as he sees them. Luck, I would say, but it hardly matters. In any case there's no one else to whom you can safely go. Your mother's house will be watched, naturally, along with that of every other relation or friend you're known to have, but the Dark Lord would never expect you to turn to Potter, even in desperation. So go, find him, and quickly. You can stay here for tonight, but then you must leave; remember I can't conceal your escape for long."
And Draco had gone the following morning, fleeing for his very life. After nearly four weeks of trying he had at last found Potter, and now here he was, sitting in a grubby Muggle room, trying to convince a boy who had been his enemy for six years to help save him.
Potter's persistent question – why had Draco come to him for help? – was Draco's undoing. He could not possibly admit that Professor Snape had suggested it; Snape had killed Dumbledore. Instead he found himself telling a truth that he had tried to conceal, even from his own awareness, from the first time that they had met at Madam Malkin's. Potter might be a half-blood, he might be the reason why Draco's father was now imprisoned in Azkaban, but there was something remarkably appealing about him. If family loyalty and pride had not forbidden it, Draco would have sought his friendship. Potter was marked for power, anyone could see that, but he was the sort who would not begrudge sharing it with his friends – he would not advance himself by putting them down. A novel idea, to one raised by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, but Draco had a strange certainty not only that it was true, but that it was right for Potter to act so, and nothing he had ever seen him do contradicted that.
So much might have been safe to confess, that he had hidden a desire for Potter's friendship. It might even have flattered the other boy. But in his exhaustion and fear Draco let slip three words more than he intended: "I've wanted to..." and Potter pounced on them, demanding that Draco explain.
Draco's first impulse was to run, but Potter had grabbed both his own wand and Draco's. If Draco left without his wand, he doubted he would last another forty-eight hours, and besides, Potter might tell the Ministry that he had seen the fugitive. He did not think so, but he could not be sure, and dared not run the risk. Once again he had no choice, just as he had had no choice about following Lord Voldemort's orders to kill Dumbledore. Too tired to concoct a lie that might convince, he admitted what he was certain would ensure that Potter would not only refuse any help, but would probably throw Draco down the stairs to boot. If he was lucky.
"All right, Potter," Draco said. "You asked what I've wanted; I've wanted to kiss you." He paused for a look at the boy who had been the unacknowledged focus of his attention for six years, and added, "And more."
Potter repeated, "You wanted to kiss me?" He looked shocked.
"Yes, I-wanted-to-kiss-you," Draco imitated him instinctively, as he would have done with Crabbe or Goyle, then bit his lip to try to keep from saying anything to make this worse than it already was. The pain was no help. He was babbling again, pleading with Potter to give back his wand, to let him go, to forget this had ever happened.
"Draco." The sound of his name interrupted him. He could not remember that Potter had ever before called him anything but Malfoy, and that in cold or sneering tones. This time he sounded almost kind.
"...what?" he broke off the torrent of apologetic words. "What is it, Pot... Harry?" If the other boy used his first name, he would do the same.
"Shut up and kiss me," Harry said.
Draco looked at him carefully. Did he mean it? Harry still had both their wands. Was he intending to hex Draco, to take revenge for all the times Draco had insulted and tormented him and his friends? There was a strange, nervous grin on Harry's face, and he nodded. Slowly, giving Harry time to stop him if he wanted, Draco moved over to Harry's chair and knelt down next to it.
Their heads were at nearly the same height and Draco could see the lightning-bolt scar on Harry's forehead, half-hidden under unruly black hair. Green eyes first met his own, then closed as Draco leaned forward. He only intended to brush his lips against Harry's, but Harry's hand came around his neck and kept him from drawing back in confusion as Harry's tongue insinuated itself into his mouth. Draco responded in kind, and it was several moments before they broke apart.
Harry half-lifted his hand as if to wipe off his mouth, but seemed to think better of it and instead shoved his glasses back up his nose. Draco swallowed hard; he had a queer fluttering in his own stomach and was not sure what to say, but Harry spoke first.
"That what you wanted? Going to calm down now?"
Draco could only nod. He was still dizzied by the notion that he had kissed Harry Potter. Or rather, that Harry had kissed him. Voluntarily. With evidence of enjoyment.
"Right." Harry cocked his head and looked at Draco appraisingly. "I'll help you, Draco, but it'll have to be on my terms. Agreed?"
Again, Draco nodded. If Harry could help him, he was willing to accept whatever conditions were necessary, at least for now.
"First things first then. Did you take a room here?"
"No," Draco answered. "I was only asking if you were here. I don't have the money for a room." On seeing Harry's expression, he added defensively, "Not any Muggle money. I have quite a few Galleons though." Silently he thanked his younger self for having buried one year's Christmas and birthday money on the north side of the henge at Malfoy Manor; he had not dared to go to the house, but a brief trip to the far edge of the estate had seemed worth the risk.
"No problem," Harry said absently, "it's better that you should stay in my room anyway. The bed's big enough for two and you don't want to be signing your name on a register, do you?"
Which made sense, although the notion of sharing a bed with Harry made Draco uncomfortable in several ways that he wanted not to think about just now. "Yeah. Thanks," he said.
"I was going to stay for two nights," continued Harry, "and Ron and Hermione were supposed to meet me here the day after tomorrow. I'll have to let them know there's a change of plan. Oh, bugger it, no Hedwig. My owl, sorry, you wouldn't know, and I left her at the Burrow with Ginny, couldn't bring her along. How am I going to tell Ron?" He scowled in obvious consternation, rumpling his already-messy hair.
Draco was not sure how Harry would take a suggestion from him, but tentatively said, "Couldn't you use those spelled coins?"
"The DA coins? I think I have mine somewhere in my case, but Hermione was always the one who did that bit. I'm not sure I could get it to change; besides, anyone who has one of the coins could see the message."
"We could think of something that the two of them should understand, but no one else would. I might be able to get it to work, I've always had high marks in Charms," Draco said.
"It would be worth a try, I can't think of anything else except to leave a message here, and I'd rather not make them travel more than necessary. Good idea," said Harry, and smiled at Draco.
Draco's heart pounded as he smiled back.
"So tomorrow morning I'll, well, I'll do what I came here to do, then we can leave," said Harry. Draco had wondered what had brought Harry here, but he did not like to ask. "I'm not sure yet where would be best to go, but we can each think it over before tomorrow, and make a decision then. How did you get here to Godric's Hollow, anyhow?"
"Apparated," said Draco. "Broom's too easy to spot." He had not exactly had time to fetch it when he left Hogwarts, anyhow, but he thought it prudent not to remind Harry about that night. It was remarkable enough that Harry was willing to ignore the past for the moment, no need to bring it up unnecessarily.
Harry's eyebrows went up. "Apparated? I know you don't have your license yet, you were in Professor Slughorn's class with Ernie Macmillan and me when everyone else was in Hogsmeade to take their tests."
"What, do you think I wouldn't Apparate anyway?" Draco was miffed. "You would."
"So I would," Harry said. "So we will. That's settled then, we know how, just not where. Tomorrow. If we can get hold of Hermione and Ron, they might have some ideas. It's not that late yet but you look completely done in, you should get some sleep. Or – wait – have you eaten any dinner?"
"No," Draco said. Nor any meal that day, actually, and now that Harry had mentioned food he realized that he was starving; but he said, "Don't worry about it, I'll be fine until breakfast."
"If you're just on the other side of the bed with your stomach growling, you'll keep me awake," pointed out Harry. "We'd better go down to the bar and get you something to eat, and I'll tell them my cousin is staying too. Don't worry about the money," he added irritably as Draco started to fish in his pockets. "You said you don't have any Muggle money, and I do. Galleons won't be any good to me here."
Draco was startled and a little annoyed at the idea of being called Harry's cousin, but he had agreed to let Harry call the shots. Downstairs, he ate his way through a huge dinner, rather to his embarrassment as Harry sat there watching him. "Sorry," he mumbled around a mouthful of peas. "Haven't exactly had regular meals for a while."
"No, I suppose not." Harry looked thoughtful. He had ordered a coffee and was blowing on it before each sip, then licking the corners of his mouth afterward. Draco found the habit extremely distracting. He tore his eyes away and forced himself to concentrate on cutting off another bite of chicken.
Back up in Harry's room afterward, for the first time in weeks Draco did not feel the gnawing of an underlying panic; instead he wavered between mania and utter collapse.
Harry pointed at the doorway to the left of the bedside table. "The room's ensuite. Toilet's through there, and what I think may be the world's smallest shower, afraid no tub."
A shower sounded wonderful. Draco tried to recall when he had last had a chance to wash; four days, he thought it was, and that had been in some Muggle's birdbath.
The warm water calmed and relaxed him. Drying off, he looked with distaste at his dirty clothes, and came back into the room carrying them, with his damp towel wrapped around his hips.
"Oh, yeah. Give those here," Harry said.
Draco handed them over and watched as Harry bespelled them clean with a variation on a Scouring Charm. "Where did you learn that?"
"Staying at the Weasleys'," said Harry, shrugging. "If you don't have a house-elf to do your laundry, you learn to manage. Here you go." He disappeared to take his own shower, leaving Draco alone.
Pulling on his now-clean boxers, Draco considered and discarded the notion of sleeping in anything else. He hung trousers and shirt neatly over the back of the chair and looked around the room. Harry had left his toothbrush and comb sitting by the basin. Draco tapped on the door.
"Harry?"
The sound of running water stopped. "What now?"
"Sorry. Would you mind if I used your comb?"
A pause. Was Harry laughing in there?
"Yeah, sure, go ahead. Use the toothbrush too," came Harry's somewhat muffled response, and the water started up again.
Draco was still yanking the comb through the tangles of his hair when Harry emerged in a gust of soap-scented steam and a towel to rummage through his case for a pair of pyjamas. Draco watched out of the corner of his eye as Harry let the towel drop and put the pyjamas on. The other boy was more muscular than he had realized, having nearly always seen him in school robes. When Harry glanced over at him Draco hastily busied himself setting down the comb and unscrewing the cap of the toothpaste.
Harry came over to comb his hair as well, but stopped with his hand hovering above the comb. Draco had reached to put the toothbrush back, and Harry caught hold of his left elbow, turning Draco's arm to expose the Dark Mark. He began to trace the outline with a fingertip, but Draco jerked away.
"Don't." He put his arm behind his back.
"Does it hurt?" Harry's voice was soft.
"What, now? No. It did when I got it." Draco shook his head. "I'd rather not talk about it if you don't mind." He turned his back and climbed into the bed, where he lay, stiff and unmoving, as Harry finished getting ready and slid under the sheets on the other side. He could hear Harry's breath slow as the other boy fell asleep; then at last he was able to do so as well.
ch. 1 / ch. 2 / ch. 3 / ch. 4 / ch. 5 / ch. 6 / ch. 7 / ch. 8 / ch. 9 / ch. 10 / ch. 11 / ch. 12 / ch. 13 / ch. 14 / ch. 15 / ch. 16 / ch. 17 / ch. 18 / ch. 19 / ch. 20 / ch. 21 / ch. 22 / ch. 23 / ch. 24 / ch. 25 / ch. 26 / ch. 27 / ch. 28 / ch. 29 / ch. 30 / ch. 31 / ch. 32 / ch. 33 / ch. 34 / ch. 35 / ch. 36 / ch. 37 / ch. 38 / ch. 39 / ch. 40