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Forgive Those Who Trespass	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 20650 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
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Chapter Eleven�The Reasons

�� The next
memory that arose made Harry blink in puzzlement. Draco and Richard stood in a
room Harry hadn�t seen before, lit with a kind of soft, natural golden light
that made him think it had to be on the surface. But when he turned to glance
about him, he discovered the light came from enchanted windows like the ones
the Ministry had, to show �surface� scenes even though the building was buried.
This was still the Department of Mysteries, and they were still firmly
underground.

�� The room was
different, though. The walls appeared to be made of wood, not stone, or at
least the stone had been covered with wood. Large, plush, expensive furniture
occupied every corner except for a faint trail of carpet in the center, which
Harry assumed was used to reach the bed and the chairs positioned along the
way. There didn�t seem to be a way to reach the end tables and the bookshelves
and the large table in the center of everything, however, except by leaning
over other furniture. Maybe it had been temporarily disarranged so something
could be moved through.

�� You said
you had something to show me, sir?�

�� Harry
turned back to the central players, reprimanding himself for allowing his
attention to wander. He was here for one reason, and one reason alone. He had
to understand the motives that had given Draco the inhumanity to rip
someone else apart. If this scene could help him understand that any better,
Harry was quite prepared to watch every expression and analyze every word
spoken.

�� Yes,
Draco.� Richard�s voice was bluff and hearty. He threaded expertly through the
cumbersome furniture, and Harry surmised this was probably his living quarters.
He nudged a shelf casually with one elbow, and a book fell neatly into his
hand. Harry wondered if he thought that a move more impressive than a Summoning
Charm. In one sense, it was. �I wanted to ask you if you�d ever heard of the
Remote Vision Spell, and to read you a description if you haven�t.�

�� Draco
folded his arms. Harry thought this must be a memory of a time before anything
had happened, before the violation of anything or anyone. Draco�s attitude was
puzzled, but not exactly defensive. He did watch Richard closely,
however, and move an elbow back now and then�checking the position of his wand
up a sleeve, Harry thought, who had often done the same thing himself. �I have.
You can cast it and watch your enemies�or your friends, of course�from a
distance. But the last wizard who knew how to perform it died in the fifteenth
century.�

�� Richard
laughed. �Not so! It wasn�t linked to the knowledge of one particular family
line, as the fools who put together textbooks think. There was a corruption in
the incantation instead, and so of course the spell wouldn�t work for
later wizards. Our researchers managed to correct the corruption, and now we
can perform it.� He held the book towards Draco. �The description of the spell
doesn�t tempt you at all?�

�� Draco
merely cocked his head, not exactly nodding, not exactly shaking it.

�� Perhaps
this will, then.� Richard stretched to put the book down on a table across the
chair next to him, and then lifted his wand. �Somnium devium de Draco
Malfoy!�

�� The air
between Richard and Draco flickered and then turned transparent, as though a
misty glass pane had suddenly formed there. Harry narrowed his eyes and leaned
forwards. He could see Draco doing the same thing, and felt a brief stab of
kinship with him.

�� Then he
reminded himself sternly that the Draco who had felt and done and seen these
things was probably gone forever, and retreated into neutrality as much as he
could. He would watch, and listen, and observe. Only then could he judge.

�� The
wizards who tried to use this spell in the past six centuries were using the
wrong word for �vision� and the wrong adjectival form of �remote,�� continued
Richard, as though nothing out of the ordinary were happening. �And they often
forgot to include the target of the spell, which would have caused the
incantation to fail even if they knew the proper words. No wonder they
couldn�t cast it properly!�

�� Harry
wished the cozy voice would shut up. There were figures coming to life in the
transparent pane. It resembled a Muggle movie screen far more than did anything
else Harry had seen in the wizarding world.

�� The
�screen� took on thickness and density, though, until it really did seem as
though a window had opened between the two men and given Draco a glimpse of the
outside world. Draco hissed suddenly, and Harry cocked his head to see that his
hands had gone white-knuckled. There was no doubt that he recognized the place.

�� Harry
inched to the side so he could see better. He wondered if he would recognize
the place, too.

�� It turned
out he did. Narcissa Malfoy stood in one of the rooms of Malfoy Manor that
Harry had seen on his extremely brief visit there during the war. She had her
head bowed, as though in a reverie or praying. In front of her was a portrait
of Draco, as a much younger child. He was playing with a fluffy white dog.
Harry stared. He hadn�t expected that Draco�s parents would let him have a pet,
unless it was to give him a target to practice the Unforgivable Curses on.

�� There�s
only one person in this room right now whom you know to have performed
Unforgivable Curses, and that�s not him.

�� But then
Harry remembered that wasn�t true, either; Draco had put Madam Rosmerta under
the Imperius Curse during their sixth year. He took his frustration out in an
intent stare at the scene, as if Narcissa Malfoy could feel and flinch from his
gaze.

�� Draco�s
mother turned away from his portrait and paced down the length of the room, her
head still bowed; now she seemed deeply in thought. But the perspective
changed, pulling back instead of following her. Now it clearly framed a window,
and outside the window stood a single figure under the shimmer of a powerful
Disillusionment Charm. Harry had to squint, but he thought he could make out a
dark wand as well as an ash-gray robe.

�� Draco said
nothing. His head was lifted, but his eyes were distant, focused far away.
Harry thought it was almost as though he saw nothing of the window at all, or
had reduced it to being part of an unimportant dream. When he did focus his
gaze again, it was to lean around the window and look at Richard.

�� You must
have extraordinarily good operatives, to get inside the Manor�s wards,� he said
lightly.

�� Well.�
Richard folded his arms across his chest and nodded his head a time or two, as
if they were discussing the sex habits of unicorns or something else that
couldn�t possibly threaten Draco. �Consider this. We�ve been researching
obscure magic and magical artifacts for seven generations now, and the Ministry
gives us everything that it doesn�t know how to handle or what to do with. That
might include spells or other magic that could give us an edge over even the
most impressive wards, mightn�t it?�

�� Draco once
more swayed on his heels, graceful as a blade of grass moving in the wind, to
stare at the results of the Remote Vision Spell. �And you have someone watching
her at all times, of course,� he said.

�� Of
course,� Richard murmured. �And elsewhere.� He cast the spell again, and this
time the window changed to reveal a sight Harry knew only too well: the
sea-bathed walls of Azkaban Prison. The window carried its viewers quickly
through the corridors, only to hover on a cell in which a single prisoner with
bedraggled white-blond hair crouched. The guard stooping down to hand him a
bowl of mushy food was wearing a gray robe beneath the standard-issue Auror
robes.

�� Harry
closed his hands into fists. He was now doubtful that all the Unspeakables had
been caught in the trap the Department of Mysteries had become. There were
still some out there, fulfilling the purposes of Richard, or another leader.
And they might be able to undo anything Harry came up with to challenge Draco�s
imprisonment.

��

�� It was all
so frustrating. Harry knew how he would have felt if it were Ron and
Hermione threatened like this.

�� But when he
glanced at Draco, he encountered only that imperturbable mask. Draco even
nodded, as though complimenting Richard on the neatness of the arrangements he
had made.

�� There are
others in place, I assume?� he asked.

�� Of
course,� Richard replied. �Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, and everyone else
noted as being part of your circle in school are watched. Not harmed, of
course; never that, as long as you cooperate with the task I ask of you
tomorrow.�

�� But I
don�t really know that the Remote Vision Spell tells the truth,� Draco
noted idly, �or that it shows me the present. Perhaps you�ve already harmed my
parents. Perhaps you�ll harm my friends at some point in the future, when you
ask me to die for you and I refuse.�

�� Richard
laughed. �I assure you, Draco, whatever we ask you to do for us, it will not
involve dying.�

�� Harry
shuddered, but the Draco of this memory didn�t seem to realize the implications
hidden behind the words. He looked back to the Remote Vision Spell, then
nodded. �As you say,� he said. �Perhaps someone can be bound to the maze
through his major organs, as you�ve theorized. And torturing him until he dies
should be sufficient to fulfill the spell�s requirement for immense suffering.�

�� That is
what I thought.� Richard banished the Remote Vision window with a wave of his
wand and stepped through the air where it had been, to clasp Draco�s shoulder.
�I knew I could count on you for good ideas as well as sterling common sense.
You�ve always been remarkable for both, Draco.�

�� Draco
glanced up at him with eyes that reminded Harry of a slumbering lion�s. �I like
to think so.�

�� And that
memory dropped into darkness, while Harry closed his eyes and tried to recover
before the next one approached.

�� All right.
So. Draco had been threatened by the destruction�probably the death, or
something worse than death�of the few people he genuinely cared for. Harry
himself had been witness to the closeness of the Malfoy family during the war,
as well as the way that Draco had been compelled to torture under someone
else�s command. It was hardly admirable that he could find the strength
of will to cause someone else incredible pain, whatever the reason, but it was
understandable, and a solution to the problem of his motives that Harry ought
to have thought of earlier.

�� He became
aware that he had not been pushed back into his own head yet. But one memory
had been of Draco doing something horrible, and the other vision had explained
it. What could remain?

�� Shuddering,
and wondering if he really wanted to know, he opened his eyes to see another
unfamiliar room.

�� Draco sat
on a bed in the center of it. Around him stood an array of tables and books,
the latter mostly overflowing the tables to pile on the floor; the ones
wavering on the furniture looked as if they�d topple over with a strong wind. A
single torch flickered near the head of his bed, providing the only light.

�� Draco sat
with his head bowed, his arms wrapped around it. Harry hesitated, then stepped
nearer and knelt down so he could see inside the protective circle.

�� Draco�s
face was contorted, his eyes screwed shut, tears trickling slowly from them. He
looked more in pain than sorrowful. Harry decided, based on very little
evidence except the sudden flash of intuition in his gut, that he was seeing
the moments when Draco had wrestled with his conscience, trying to decide if he
could go forwards with the torture.

�� Despite
knowing how the contest would end, Harry still watched in fascination. Draco
shook his head and muttered nonsense words now and then. Then his voice grew
stronger, and Harry could distinguish �no� and �can�t� and �Mother.�

�� At last
Draco sprang to his feet, drew his wand, and ignited one of the books. The
pages flared and vanished into a fireball, which Draco quickly caged to prevent
it from spreading to other parts of the room. But he did stand there and
watch the last bits of leather and parchment become ash, his face the same mask
Harry had seen when he lashed the pseudo-horses into motion.

�� Then he sat
down again, tilted his head back, and asked the ceiling rhetorically, �What
choice do I have? There�s no one else who knows they�re in danger. There�s no
one else who can rescue them, or who even gives a fuck about them.�

�� He rolled
over and was still.

�� And then
there was darkness, and then there was the sensation of being back in his body,
Draco still clutching at him with one mangled hand.

�� Harry
stared at him, and the brave man, the tormented man, the tormenting man, ran
through his head. He had no idea what to say or do. He had the impression that
just standing there like an idiot would hardly help, but the shock and the fear
bobbed up and down in his gut, a slick cool ball as big as the communication
sphere that hovered beside Draco. He trembled, cold sweat breaking out on his
skin, and swallowed twice.

�� Draco,
never taking his eyes from Harry�s face, summoned the communication sphere with
a twitch of his free hand, and Harry lifted his wand and floated it over for
him, in utter numbness. Draco stroked the facets meaninglessly with the nubs of
his fingers for a moment, then tapped the facet that meant What?

�� Did you
have a suspicion as to what those memories would be?� Harry whispered.

�� Draco
studied him without responding for several long moments. Then he touched the
facets to spell out, Torture. I suffered torture in the second Pensieve, did
torture in the first. This one? Doing torture.

�� That was a
reasonable guess, Harry had to allow. Reluctantly. �Well,� he said. �It�s�bad.
Worse than I could have imagined.�

�� The light
in Draco�s eyes dimmed, and he started to pull away.

�� Harry
caught his wrist to hold him there, babbling, hardly aware of what he was
saying or why he wanted Draco to stay instead of retreating. The words spilled
out of his mouth like bees desperate to escape from a burning hive.

�� No. I saw
your reasons and I�I can�t say I agreed with them completely, because in one
way it would be nobler to let your friends suffer rather than inflict pain on
someone you don�t know, and I know that Ron and Hermione would never forgive me
if they found out I made a bargain like that to ensure their safety. But your
friends are different. And who else is there to love your family? I didn�t�I
don�t know how much of the pictures were real. Does the Remote Viewing Spell
show the truth? I don�t know. But I always seem to be suspending my final
determination of your character, and I don�t even know why. It�s hard for me,
but it�s even harder for you. And I said I didn�t trust you, and I still don�t,
not really, but there�s something like pity growing in me. At least I believe
you want vengeance on the Unspeakables, or you will, when you see what�s
crouching in this Pensieve.�

�� He cut
himself off as Draco put the free hand gently but imperiously over his mouth.
Harry had to close his eyes and realize that nothing of what he said made much sense,
because Draco hadn�t yet seen the Pensieve. He nodded and stepped out of the
way, so that Draco could plunge his head into the liquid.

�� Harry held
his shoulders, vaguely aware that this was the first time Draco had put his
head into the bowl instead of simply signaling for the memories to be returned
to him. And then he hesitated, as he wondered whether there was more to that
than just fear of having those horrors contained in the confines of one�s skull
again.

�� Well, fuck
it. Even if there wasn�t an unusual significance to it, Harry could damn
well make one up.

�� He lowered
his head and pushed it into the liquid beside Draco�s, joining him. He was just
in time to catch the beginning of Draco�s torture of the nameless man�given the
state of his robes, probably an Azkaban prisoner.

�� Draco stood
by main force of will, his arms wrapped around himself, shuddering. Harry took
a step forwards and embraced him. Draco rested against him without turning
around; he seemed determined not to miss a minute of the evil happening in
front of him.

�� As Harry
had, he lost control of his stomach. The vomit flopped on the floor of the
memory and vanished. Harry supposed his own must have done that, too. He hummed
and ran a soothing hand up and down Draco�s spine, watching again as the organs
flew to the stone jars on the far side of the room.

�� It made
sense that the Unspeakables would keep them, if they really wanted to use them
as links tying their victim to the maze. They hadn�t got rid of Draco�s ribs or
fingers, either, though they had transformed them.

�� Harry�s
stroking hand paused for a moment. If everything they took had its part in
constituting the maze, what had happened to Draco�s voice?

�� He frowned
and held Draco a little more sturdily when he felt the other man shudder with a
soundless sob. Since there seemed to be only one correct path through the maze,
they�d no doubt find Draco�s voice sooner or later.

�� Draco
sagged bonelessly against Harry when the pseudo-horses were brought out and
bound to the victim. Harry supported him and forced himself to consider
different details this time, as he watched it happen all over again. No drugs
administered to the man to ensure he couldn�t scream, after all. Nothing that
would make the process a whit less horrific or more merciful.

�� There
couldn�t be. The instructions for the immortality maze had called for endless
suffering. Harry reckoned this was the way the Unspeakables had tried to
secure it in the time before they understood that their prospective victim for
the creation of the maze had to be both willing and unable to stop
suffering.

�� That memory
faded and took them into the second one. Harry kept his eyes courteously
averted from the real Draco�s face. Watching the false expressions the
memory-Draco had been forced to put on over his emotions was bad enough. He
would give Draco the ability to control who witnessed his humiliation, fear,
and wretchedness this time.

�� Instead, he
studied Richard, looking for a sign of remorse or insecurity. If Richard were
still alive, instead of caught somewhere and smothered in the trap the way the
other Unspeakables apparently had been, then they would have to face him, and
Harry preferred to understand as much about his enemy as possible before that
happened.

�� The man
displayed no sign of weakness. He kept his eyes fastened on Draco the entire
time and spoke like a cheery uncle. His gaze did burn as he watched
Draco writhe, trapped, between two equally untenable decisions, but Harry had
seen the same expression on Voldemort�s face when he looked at some of his
Death Eaters. That just meant that this was someone who had the ability to take
pleasure in other people�s pain. It didn�t mean Richard was mad. Harry didn�t
think he could be. The Unspeakable was much more dangerous than
Voldemort had ever been.

�� But wait a
moment. What had been Voldemort�s ultimate goal? Power and immortality. His
longing for both had hardened into a blind fanaticism that drove him past all
reasonable limits, past the point of sanity.

�� Could the
same thing have happened to Richard? Could Harry be dealing with someone who
was not technically mad, as had happened to Voldemort, because he hadn�t drunk
unicorns� blood or been disembodied or made Horcruxes, but someone who also was
a fanatic on the cause of immortality?

�� If that was
so, then Harry thought he might understand his opponent�s mindset after all.
And the more he watched Richard, the more subtle clues seemed to come to him
from his expression and the slow blink of his eyes and his incredibly light,
incredibly pleased voice.

�� The memory
faded into the one of Draco burning the book. And the Draco in Harry�s arms
straightened and took on an expression that Harry couldn�t remember seeing him
wear before.

�� He was
looking at his past self with longing. Even when the past-Draco incinerated the
book, a sign of temper Harry had assumed would bring on shame when it was
remembered, his Draco continued to stare, his face softened, his
fingerless hands reaching out a few inches.

�� He wanted
to be that person again, Harry thought. That person who could call without
hesitation on his own magic, even for something as small and counterproductive
as burning a book. That person who had made his own decisions, horrible as they
might be, instead of acting and reacting like a victim all the time.

�� Not a hero,
not a villain, not a victim. Harry knew now that Draco hadn�t walked into this
trap out of any ambition to match his own stature, and he hadn�t stayed because
he was so dark of heart as to love torture. And now Harry had the final
confirmation that Draco didn�t want to accept the only role apparently left to
him. Draco wanted to be a person, a normal one, free in the ordinary ways,
limited in the ordinary ways.

�� Harry�s
heart tolled like a bell, and his arms tightened around Draco.

�� It was the
same desire he had himself.

�� He wanted,
with a desire as heavy as sickness, to be up on the surface again, joking
around with Ron and Hermione, avoiding questions of his own sexual orientation
when they tried to arise, studying frantically for exams and using Cognosco
for no more important purpose than not falling asleep over his textbooks. And
he wanted to have a family and a normal love affair with a normal man�

�� Girl,
damn it.

�� --and to be
one of the faceless millions who drifted past each other every day in London�s
streets, not longed after except in small, ordinary ways, remembered fondly by
some, ignore by the vast majority, important only when he wanted to be or when
he had responsibility thrust on him that he decided to rise to.

�� Draco
wanted the same thing.

�� How could
Harry push him away to a distance that rendered him inhuman? How could he pity
him forever, or despise him forever?

�� Part of him
melted and was reforged like iron becoming steel in those instants, when for
the first time he saw Draco Malfoy with Draco Malfoy�s own eyes.

�� When they
came out of the Pensieve again, he waited for Draco�s eyes to rise to him, and
gave a smile that caused Draco to blink and step back a little.

�� Do you
want the memories back now?� Harry whispered.

�� Confused,
still blinking, Draco nodded.

�� Harry
scooped the first of them up from the Pensieve, but took the chance to trace
Draco�s temple with a finger before he planted the strand of silvery liquid.

�� I believe
in you,� he whispered. �Not in what you were when you joined the Unspeakables,
but in the man you became.�

�� Hope lit
Draco�s face like pain.

*

�� SoftObsidian74:
As you can see in this chapter, the mixture of memories is keeping Harry�s
attitude towards Draco tentative.

�� Lilith: Thanks!
I do mean this story to be increasingly visual.

�� WeasleyWench:
I suppose that you will just have to wait and see. ;)

�� XXBrokenDreamsXx:
I�m extremely flattered you�re reading this even though you�re so frightened of
horror! I hope it continues to please, in its many nasty and disturbing ways.

�� Mangacat:
Well, now Harry might be the one trusting too easily.

�� QueenBoadicea:
As you can see here, it�s likely that the Unspeakables killed the man as they
did because they believed, at the time, that it was the best way to establish
the maze.

�� Ramandu:
Harry is very strongly affected by the revelation that Draco did this for the
people he loves. After all, Harry himself is doing much the same thing by going
down into the Department of Mysteries.
- 10
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Forgive Those Who Trespass

Chapter Eleven�The Reasons