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Reap the Hurricane	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11499 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Eleven—Confrontations



            “Here it is.”

            Harry hardly needed the call from Malfoy to know where he was. The way his broom hovered above a niche carved into the side of the mountain—and this was more worthy of being called a mountain than the high hills they were sheltering under—had already marked the place, and Harry was speeding towards him.

            There was more, too, if he wanted to acknowledge it, the bond that stretched between them like folded paper or crumpled lace, the one that pulled if Harry was too far from Malfoy and made him relax when he was near him. But Harry didn’t intend to think about that. It would make things uncomfortable with Malfoy and the Weasleys, and it might prevent Harry from caring for Teddy as much as he wanted to.

            The nest turned out to be a shallow dip that the bird had scratched into the side of the mountain the way a quail might build one on the ground. It was filled with long strips of white wool that Harry was sure had come from creatures like the one that had tried to communicate with him and Malfoy. Inside it lay a storm-colored orb that Harry’s eyes almost skipped over at first; it was white on the bottom, to blend with the wool, and blue on the top, making it reflect the sky.

            Then he stared. Malfoy crowded closer to his side at the same time, as if wanting to share the moment of revelation, even though he must have realized what was going on before Harry did.

            “No nestlings,” Harry whispered. “An egg.”

            Malfoy tipped his head down, not saying all the things he could have about how long it had taken Harry to notice the obvious.

            Harry took a deep breath and extended his hand to run his fingertips over the shell. It felt far warmer than he had believed it would, with no bird here to incubate it, and the flexibility of the shell beneath his fingers surprised him, too. It was like touching a coiled-up snake.

            Malfoy was waiting when Harry turned his head. Harry nodded. He understood the impulse that passed back and forth between them, and he agreed. They would have slaughtered nestlings, both for the meat and because there was no way to leave them to starve or—if the other parent bird survived—to grow up to become menaces the way their parents were. But an egg…

            They might try taking it back to their camp. They might try seeing if they could hatch and rear it.

            “A net,” Malfoy murmured. “That would probably be the easiest way to transport it, if that’s what we’re going to do.” He looked at the wool in the nest and cocked his head, as if wondering how sturdy a net it would make.

            Harry laughed. “Why do we have to?” he asked, and waved a hand. The egg drifted into the air, borne on the winds that he called up and commanded to do the job. In instants, it was wobbling in midair just behind the bristles of his broom, and he looked at Malfoy and smiled.

            Malfoy didn’t smile. “You’ve used a lot of magic today, more than I have,” he said. “What happens if you lose control suddenly and the egg falls?”

            “It never happens that suddenly,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I feel tired first, and I don’t feel that way.” He felt, in fact, as if he could have jumped off his broom and flown another hundred miles. Maybe the wild magic in the winds of Hurricane, whispering past him as he battled the bird, had renewed his; he didn’t know. “I can sleep on my broom if I really get tired. But we should get back soon anyway. The others will be wondering what happened to us.”

            Malfoy nodded. “And how are you going to keep the egg warm on the flight back? If it’s exposed to the cold in the heights we fly at, then we might arrive back home with nothing except the means to make a giant omelet.”

            Harry hesitated. He had to admit that he didn’t know. He could perhaps warm a wind with his breath if he tried hard enough, but he’d never done that before, and the egg and the worry of the others wouldn’t permit him to wait.

            Malfoy sighed and took out his wand. The murmur of a Warming Charm seemed like the most foreign sound Harry had ever heard, and he watched, blinking, as the shell glowed red for a moment. They could both see a tightly-curled shadow inside it, and Harry swallowed. “Is this a good idea?” he whispered.

            “For you to become so dependent on your wild magic that you forget to use your wand?” Malfoy tucked the hawthorn wand away. “Of course not.”

            Harry rolled his eyes. “I knew you would say that,” he said.

            “Because it’s true.” Malfoy shouldered his way through the wind towards Harry, and his eyes were as hot as stars, as the shell had briefly become. “Why would you do that? Give up options, lean so much on a power that’s unreliable in the first place and tires you out faster than ordinary magic?”

            Harry held Malfoy’s eyes, and smiled slightly. “I meant that it might not be a good idea to try to take that bird back and rear it,” he said, “because of the food it probably eats. But we were willing to kill helpless nestlings in the first place. If we can’t rear it, it’ll be easy to kill it later.”

            Malfoy was silent, waiting. Harry spread his hands. “The power of Hurricane is something I understand, something I’m akin to, something that I can fight or control with wild magic,” he said. “The dangers in the wizarding world were different. Political ones, ones that people wanted to impose on me and demand the answers to even when I didn’t have them. There, I might need mind-control spells and all the rest of it. Here, it’s wilder and rawer, and I can get by with my wind.”

*

            Draco put a hand over his eyes, and took a moment to check through his fingers that the egg hadn’t fallen. He had little faith that they would be able to rear the bird inside, but after going through what they had to win it, he didn’t want to see it simply tumble uselessly to the ground, either.

            “You think you’re immune to politics because you’re here?” he murmured. “You should have paid more attention to what the Weasleys are asking of you, and thought—you should have thought.”

            “I didn’t mean that I’m immune,” Potter said, although it had sounded like he meant it to Draco. Potter’s voice sharpened. “Would you please take your bloody hand down so that I can see the eyes of the person I’m talking to?”

            Draco dropped his hand smartly, and leaned forwards to loom in Potter’s face. Even though he had so nicely done what Potter asked, Potter snarled a little before he continued. “I mean that these are smaller politics. I didn’t understand the whole wizarding world, I couldn’t control it, but people expected me to. And I’m not a hero to all the people here. I’m a brother and a friend and a family member.”

            “You’re becoming less a hero with every day,” Draco murmured.

            “I welcome that.”

            Draco shook his head. “It’s good for you that I came along, Potter,” he said, trying to think of what would have happened had he pursued his original plan, to make his way across Hurricane to a place where no one could see him, change his appearance with glamours, and then join one of the other groups. Potter would have fallen from his position of leadership before he even became aware there was a struggle, and then everyone would have perished. “You don’t know what it means to the Weasleys to lose their hero as they settle in a place where they want heroics.”

            Potter sat still. When Draco looked back up at him, he was smoothing his hand along the shaft of the broom, his head lowered and his eyelashes falling on his cheeks in a pattern that looked like a puzzle.

            “I think I might, hearing it reflected through you,” Potter muttered.

            Draco nodded. “That’s what I meant. I’m your political eyes, and you’re the wild magic and the protection for us. But it’s only a partnership that works if we work together in the first place.”

            “Of course,” Potter said, looking up abruptly. “I know that I only survived the bird and managed to kill it because you were there.”

            Draco let the smile spill across his face instead of biting it back, and nodded. “And now we have to go and tell our companions what happened,” he said. “Warm the egg, or hide it. And tell them about the meat.”

            “Bill will be happy,” Potter said, and wheeled his broom. The less he had to talk about things that mattered, Draco reflected as he followed him, the happier he was.

            His gaze lingered on the egg that bobbed along in a net of wind.

            Well. Sometimes Potter would talk about important things. He still didn’t seem to see them in the same way normal people did, though.

*

            The first thing that happened when Harry’s broom landed was Ron running forwards and hugging him, followed by Hermione. “We were so worried,” she whispered into his ear, and hugged Harry until he gasped a little. He heard the egg settle gently into the grass and the shouts begin, but neither of his friends seemed to have noticed.

            “The minute you left,” Ron said, tightening his hug, too, “we decided that we’d made a mistake. I mean, you and Malfoy probably could handle the bird best, but, mate, we were always there for you. We wanted to come.”

            “The next time there’s something important to be done,” Harry said, spreading his arms as wide as he could and gathering in as much of them as he could, “you can.”

            A moment later, he jerked, as though a noise had spiked through him. He looked frantically around, but Teddy was waving at him from Andromeda’s arms, and everyone else, as he could see by a quick count, was there. There was even the timid shape of Primrose peering from around Molly.

            No, the noise had come—or would have come, if there was really a noise—from behind him. Harry turned his head and saw Malfoy standing there with his arms folded, his gaze so steady that Harry flinched a little from it. He raised an eyebrow, and Malfoy jerked his head in a nod and then turned to face the egg.

            Oh.

            Harry had said that he wanted Ron and Hermione to come, and Malfoy seemed to assume that that meant Harry wanted them to play the role that Malfoy had played this time. That they were important in the same way, or could wield magic as strong. And of course that wasn’t true. That, Harry thought, would sting all the more for Malfoy. He seemed offended when Harry ignored what he saw as reality.

            Before he could work his way free of his friends and go to Malfoy, though, Bill stepped up, his scars gleaming like teeth. “Did you kill the bird?” he demanded. “Where is it?”

            “Lying in a bunch of shredded pieces on the grass a few miles from here,” Malfoy drawled without turning his gaze from the egg. Charlie had stopped near it and was gazing at it greedily, but from the way Malfoy’s fingers moved, Harry knew that he was thinking of conjuring a whirling series of blades to hold him back. “Potter came up with the plan to push it with wind, and it landed on some of the weapons I can imagine.” He turned his head and smiled sweetly. “I think the appropriate analogy would be cheese put through a grater.”

            Hermione made a disgusted noise; so did Ginny. Bill only stalked closer, with his head moving as though he assumed that there was meat dangling on invisible strings in front of his nose. “And why didn’t you bring any of it back with you? Why did you bring this egg with you instead?”

            “We thought that you could go and take all of it you wanted,” Harry intervened. He wasn’t about to have Bill blame Malfoy. From the way that Malfoy had changed color, it wasn’t safe for either of them. “Not that we know even now whether it’s safe to eat, you know. You have to consider that before you take a bite.”

            “I know what it’ll taste like,” Bill whispered. “Red.”

            He turned back as Fleur called sharply to him, and left a clear path for Harry to see Malfoy’s face. Malfoy relaxed a little as Bill got further from him, but his nostrils were still flared and his face was still a shade that Harry didn’t like much. Ron and Hermione were involved in a debate with Arthur, now, about whether there was any way to determine that the meat was safe; Arthur had brought along a Muggle tool that he claimed would tell, but neither Ron nor Hermione wanted him to use it.

            That left Harry free to step up to Malfoy.

            Malfoy waited until Harry was at his shoulder, and then turned his head away. Harry exhaled hard enough to flutter Malfoy’s hair, but the git still didn’t turn around.

            “Look,” Harry said, voice hard, eyes fixed on the egg and the way that Charlie couldn’t stop hovering around it. “I would rather have you beside me on a hunt than anyone else in the world.” It was the best he could say. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, apologize for wanting to be with his friends, but it was also true that he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, say that they were more skilled in the necessary magic than Malfoy.

            “I’m touched,” Malfoy said.

            “Take it or leave it, it’s true,” Harry said, and walked away from him. Teddy stretched out his arms and almost crooned to be taken, and Harry plucked him from Andromeda and held him close, rubbing his cheek against the little boy’s hair, listening and nodding along to his chatter about his fish-creatures.

            He could feel the fierce flush that had touched his cheeks when he was talking to Malfoy dying, and he reminded himself to remember that. He shouldn’t ever have tried to talk to him like that in the first place; he shouldn’t have assumed that just because he and Malfoy understood each other when they hunted that they could be friends. Malfoy needed to be by himself, and he could rescue himself, and Harry still didn’t understand him well enough not to cause offense even when he tried.

            This was real. Teddy, and the way that Harry held him, and the way that Teddy squirmed and laughed and wanted his attention.

            This was the closest bond in his life.

*

            “You should have brought some of the meat back.”

            Draco straightened slowly. He had buried the egg in the earth with the help of Charlie, the Weasley who seemed most sensible right now, and who definitely had the highest hope for the bird that might hatch from the egg. Draco had answered his questions about the fight, and had simply remained silent when Charlie had mourned the necessity of destroying the parent bird. That was the best way to get along with these Weasleys, Draco thought, to make them think that you believed what they did.

            But now Charlie had gone, and the werewolf was behind him again, with his words more than slightly touched with a growl.

            Draco turned. He was surprised to realize that his slowness came from one thing, and one thing only: not wanting to set off a struggle in which the other Weasels might feel they needed to take sides. He was not afraid. Not at all. Not of the werewolf, not of the birds, not of the disapproval that he knew he still faced.

            Afraid of nothing at all. His magic guarded him from that.

            What he was, was impatient. With Potter, with the others who looked at both of them with wide eyes and then backed away, with the sickness that had shown on some of their faces when he had described how he and Potter had killed the bird. With the sheer fact that the wild magic was changing some of them into something better and how Potter had trouble accepting that.

            Next to that, the werewolf was a small concern.

            When he completed his turn, he could see the man standing near him, in a patch of shadow, the scars on his face still brilliant in the moonlight. Draco smiled at him and cocked his head. “They went to get the meat, I know,” he answered, gently. “Why didn’t they take you with them? Were they afraid that you would pounce on it the minute you saw it and start devouring bloody corners, without even waiting to see if it was safe? I think that’s selfish, not to care about anything but your appetites when you have a child to support.”

            The werewolf trembled closer, and then made himself stop and show his teeth instead of lunging. Draco waited. He had weapons on his hands, without moving, that could open the werewolf’s belly and throat.

            It shocked Draco how tempting that thought was, and that what kept him from it was more the thought of what Potter’s face would look like than anything else.

            “You don’t belong here,” the werewolf said, softly enough that no one else could hear, violently enough that Draco nearly gestured with his weapons anyway. “Some people have noticed. And some of them have noticed what’s on your face when you look at Harry. I wanted to tell you that.” He turned away with his shoulders high enough that they were probably brushing his ears, and stalked away towards the part of the camp where Draco had last seen his wife and daughter.

            Draco rather thoughtfully returned to building walls of earth around the egg, so that it could be warmed in the absence of the sun. What did the werewolf see, then? That Draco wanted to hunt with Potter? That both of them were affected by the wild magic, and that they were more powerful than they had let the others know as yet? (Though Draco suspected any chance of keeping that secret would be out the moment the others saw the shredded bird).

            Or did he have some inkling of the connection the wild magic had forged between them?

            Either way, it seemed like something Draco should talk to Potter about. When he had finished covering up the egg completely, he went in search of him.

*

            “…And the mermaid went back home, and swam through the gates of the seashell palace, and danced with the rest of the flounders all night long,” Harry finished, and leaned down to kiss Teddy on the forehead. He had already been up later than he should be, but Andromeda hadn’t wanted him to put to sleep when he started whining for Harry.

            Teddy grabbed hold of Harry’s hair now, and held his head there while staring pathetically up into his face. “But the princess?” he demanded. “The swans?” He frowned, as though trying to remember some other aspect of the story to be concerned about, and then finished with, “The princess.”

            “I’ll tell you all about that tomorrow,” Harry said, and gently separated Teddy’s fingers from his hair. “I told you about not pulling, right?”

            Teddy nodded, and then yawned, hard enough to make his jaw pop. Harry smiled a little and stepped back from his bed, which was in the center of the earth-house. Harry’s wand, always glowing with Lumos now since he used it for so little, lay beside the grass-stuffed pallet, and Teddy turned over and grabbed it, stretching.

            “Princess tomorrow,” he said, paused, and gave Harry a quick look from under his eyelids. “Good night.”

            “Good night, Teddy,” Harry told him, and gave him a grave little bow, and retreated to the entrance of the house. His steps were smooth and quiet now, he found, his muscles much looser. Being around Teddy always relaxed him.

            He enjoyed about a moment of that before Malfoy stepped up to him.

            Harry chained the first sixteen responses he wanted to make. Malfoy was in a dangerous mood, and that meant Harry was, too, his reactions and emotions rising automatically along with Malfoy’s.

            Which was not the way it should have worked, and one of the reasons that Harry had distanced himself from Malfoy for the last few hours, staying only with Teddy. He didn’t want to be this—this responsible to someone. He loved his family and friends, and he had become their leader of his own free will, but that was being responsible for them.

            Malfoy could save himself, he was as strong as Harry was, but somehow Harry still owed him explanations and a sensitivity that he thought was impossible, since Malfoy had got angry at a casual, intimate thing Harry said to his friends. He didn’t know what to say or do next around Malfoy except when they were killing things or using their magic in concert. There couldn’t be any chance for either, here on the ground in the midst of—

            Peasants.

            Harry’s skin broke out in cold sweat. He could feel the pressure of Malfoy’s gaze on his face like steel claws, and Malfoy’s mind pouring into his like fresh water mingling with salt. He didn’t know which of them had had the thought, but either way, it was equally wrong. He turned and began to walk towards the hills with strong, springing steps.

            “Potter.”

            Malfoy’s voice was everywhere, and Harry had no choice but to turn and face him. It wasn’t compulsion. Not exactly. Only that he had to, that he owed Malfoy something in the same way he owed his breathing to his lungs.

            Harry hated the sense of constraint bearing down on him, the way he’d always hated rules, and he shaped his voice to sharpness as he said, “What, Malfoy? Only I didn’t actually have something to eat after we landed.”

            Malfoy drifted closer. “You know this isn’t about that,” he said. “You know that you can’t lie your way free.”

            Harry ground his teeth. He wanted to scratch the crawling restlessness out of his face and hair, but there was the chance someone would see, so he said, “Fine. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

*

            This close to Potter, Draco badly wanted to say, Nothing. Only we need to go flying again, and I want to race you to the ground.

            There was a quivering, pacing beast in him, that was it, Draco thought. Not himself, not exactly the magic, although he could feel it better when he was closer to Potter and their magic was flowing into one another’s. It was more as though the magic had somehow become loose in him, wild and prowling, and the only thing that would calm it was the proximity of the beast that Draco recognized as lurking in Potter.

            He wanted, he wanted, he wanted, and he couldn’t even say what it was he wanted, other than blood and flying and killing.

            He closed his eyes, snapped them open, and then remembered.

            “The werewolf warned me against becoming too friendly with you,” he said, working his tongue around his teeth. “It seems that he thinks I’m trying to corrupt you somehow. That could be a concern. He might know that we’re linked by the wild magic, too.”

            “His name is Bill, not werewolf,” Potter said, staring over Draco’s shoulder. “I’ll talk to him in the morning about what he does and doesn’t know, and try to explain—try to explain what kinds of things connect us, anyhow.” He sighed, and his gaze came back to Draco’s face. “Thanks for letting me know.”

            Draco nodded. He could go now. What he had come to say was said.

            But he couldn’t. The beast was still there, straining and pacing, and he needed release. He was tired, so it couldn’t be use of the magic and it couldn’t be flying, but he couldn’t make himself move a step away from Potter, either.

            Potter stirred as though he would be the one to walk away, but it was plain that he couldn’t, either. So they stood there in the almost-faded twilight of Hurricane, staring at each other.

            And Potter was the one who broke first, springing at Draco, attacking him with his forehead to Draco’s forehead and his lips and teeth to Draco’s lips and teeth at the same time.

            Yes. This. If nothing else, this. Draco raised his head, and kissed Potter back, beast touching beast—

            And the night rent apart between them, with furious gladness.

*

            unneeded: Hopefully this is the last of the rush. Because, yes, this does disrupt Harry’s life in some ways.

            They need fuel, but less than they do. As Draco said, the magic of Hurricane is altering them to be less than human.

            RRose: Harry would always come back no matter what, but Draco is pulling him powerfully in a new direction now. He’ll probably have to integrate those two pulls to really stay around.

            SP777: Thank you! And yes, this link is probably unique because of their history and the fact that both of them are adults and not bonded to anyone else already as in marriage.

            English was my major, but I concentrated on literature since I attended a school without a creative writing major. I wrote in my spare time.
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Reap the Hurricane