Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Let Me Be Your Voice	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8661 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers: Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Warner Bros. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
The next day, Harry sat in the library, diligently transcribing Malfoy’s assignments through his pounding headache.

Malfoy was seated on the opposite side of the table, marking Harry’s recent essays with corrections and notes in the margin, as they had come to an unspoken agreement that Malfoy wouldn’t be in Harry’s debt if he did his part and helped Harry with his assignments. Malfoy seemed to be pretending that nothing had changed between them.

Harry’s stomach gave a lurch, and he shut his eyes tight against the wave of nausea, making Malfoy look up at him, an eyebrow arched.

He opened his eyes, shuddering shakily and met the cool grey stare.

His mouth was dry.

He hesitated, wondering if Malfoy was thinking about the kiss they had shared at the party. It was playing back through Harry’s thoughts, taking his mind miles away from the task at hand. “Umm, are you hungry?” he asked, though the idea of eating made his stomach churn even worse. He hated feeling so awkward.

Malfoy shook his head and went back to his marking.

“I think I need a break,” Harry said, when he realised he was being ignored.

Malfoy gestured with his hand that Harry was perfectly welcome to take off, though he kept his eyes on his scroll.

Harry sighed and stood up, stretching. He lifted his arms high over his head, feeling his T-shirt rise a few inches above his waistband, but having been in the same position for two hours straight, it felt fantastic to move.

He relaxed, rolling his shoulders, noticing Malfoy looking hastily back at his paper, as if he didn’t want Harry to know he’d been looking.

The idea that Malfoy had been watching him made Harry’s heart race. He had never in his life felt more connected with another person as he had when they had kissed, and he was certain it wasn’t the alcohol that had made him imagine it. It made him hopeful that his crush may not be as one-sided as he had previously thought.

“I’m going to take a walk,” Harry said at last. “You want to join me?”

Malfoy shook his head, deliberately not looking up.

“Right then,” Harry said, unsurprised. He’d have to work on tearing down Malfoy’s defences more slowly. “You’ll be all right?”

Malfoy looked at him finally, his expression haughty and offended. It made Harry smile as if he’d just told him off for being a mother hen.

“I’ll catch you later then,” Harry said, and left Malfoy at the table.

~x~

He walked out over the grounds and spotted Ron, Hermione and Ginny down by the lake. He changed direction to join them, feeling better as the crisp air hit his face.

Ginny walked up to meet him under the beech tree, while Ron showed Hermione how to skip stones across the lake’s surface.

“I see you’re making progress,” Ginny said as he approached, her voice teasing.

He stopped, confused. “What?”

Ginny gave him a look that told him he was being dense, and he realised she was talking about the kiss with Malfoy. He felt his ears grow hot.

“Well, I saw you were making progress too,” he retorted. “When are you planning to hook up with Zabini?”

Ginny’s face flushed, though she grinned. “I thought you were too drunk to notice, or at least too distracted by a certain …”

“Oi —” Ron shouted from the shore. “Harry, come and show Hermione how far you can skip one. She doesn’t believe me that you’ve got one to ten jumps before.”

Harry waved back at them. “That’s because I haven’t,” he called back.

Ron returned to Hermione as if he hadn’t heard.

Ginny looked down at Ron and Hermione as they bickered playfully.

“You’re getting on better with them,” she said, turning to Harry again. “Did you tell them?”

“Tell them what?” Harry asked, confused.

Ginny raised her eyebrows, making Harry feel like he was being an idiot.

“Oh that,” he said. “Um … No. We had a chat, though, and they’ve sussed out a bit.”

Ginny nodded. “You realise Ron won’t figure it out until you bang him over the head with the evidence and hammer it into his brain. His skull’s as thick as a troll’s.”

Harry chuckled despite his embarrassment, as he saw Ron grinning up at the sight of him and Ginny getting along.

“Well, he has a big heart.”

The foursome sat outside for a couple of hours, eating sandwiches Hermione had packed and enjoying the laziness of the Sunday afternoon.

As they headed down the first-floor corridor, past the Divination classrooms, Harry stopped, thinking he’d heard his name.

“You go on, I’ll catch you up,” he called to the other three and turned back, listening.

He heard it again, a quiet “Potter,” sounding barely more than an exhale. He doubled back and froze as he saw a hand dangling from the alcove behind a suit of armour. He moved the suit aside with a flick of his wand and spotted the pale blond hair of Draco Malfoy.

“Malfoy?” he asked, his heart in his throat.

Malfoy was crammed into the alcove as if he’d been stuffed into position with a battering ram; his eyes were bruised and swollen shut, and his face marred with the reddened imprint of a boot.

“Ron! Hermione! Ginny!” Harry shouted down the hall. “Help!”

He wasn’t sure how best to get Malfoy out without causing further injury. He took hold of Malfoy’s hand, which dangled at an unnatural angle. It was cold to the touch, and looked blue against the silver band of his ring.

Malfoy groaned and one eye opened a sliver, though it was unfocused, staring straight ahead as if he couldn’t see.

“Potter,” he wheezed, making Harry wonder if his ribs had punctured a lung. “Am I dead yet?”

Dead! “God no, not dead,” Harry said, his stomach sinking as if he’d swallowed a bludger.

Hermione’s voice shrieked as their rushed footsteps stopped at the alcove. One of them conjured a stretcher, and Harry felt like time had slowed and he was moving as if wading through a vat of jelly.

With the help of his friends, Harry managed to get Malfoy onto the stretcher, though he’d fallen unconscious.

Half an hour later, he found himself sitting in the hospital wing, waiting to hear if Malfoy would be all right. Ginny patted his shoulder consolingly, her arm around his back, while Ron and Hermione explained what they could to Professor McGonagall.

Harry felt ill. His mind was full of chaotic thoughts, chasing each other around so fast that he couldn’t form a sentence. If Malfoy died, it would be as if Voldemort had won another battle from beyond the grave. He wondered who could have been responsible for such brutality. His heart was like ice, and the words being spoken to him shattered it as if it were dropped from a height to a waiting rock below.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, her voice sharp as though she had called his name more than once.

He turned to meet her concerned eyes, which were looking more aged and careworn than he had ever seen.

The hospital matron bustled over then and picked up his hand, checking his pulse at his wrist.

“He’s in shock, Minerva,” Madam Pomfrey announced crisply. “Help me get him to a bed.”

“No,” Harry said, determined. “I have to see him. Is he alive?”

He felt outside of himself again, looking in, half in this world, half in the next, groping blindly for Malfoy to take his hand and pull him one way or the other, never letting go.

“You three will come with me.” Harry heard McGonagall say to his friends, while Madam Pomfrey pushed a glass phial into his hand.

“Drink this potion, Harry.” Pomfrey’s voice was direct, but kind.

He obeyed without thought, and a relieving warmth flooded his veins as the potion did its work.

His fingers were stiff and ached as if he’d been holding them clenched for hours without realising. He flexed them a few times to regain feeling.

“I need you at his bedside, Harry,” Madam Pomfrey explained slowly. “I can’t understand what he’s trying to tell me.”

Harry followed Madam Pomfrey into the infirmary, past the empty beds to the one at the end which was sectioned off with a curtain on a brass stand.

He stepped around the curtain and looked down at Malfoy’s face. Madam Pomfrey had put a pink salve on his bruises and it covered his eyes and the side of his face that had been stamped on like a half-mask.

Harry swallowed hard, as if he had a burr in his throat.

“Potter,” Malfoy whispered. “I need…”

“I’m here,” Harry answered. He stepped close to Malfoy’s bed and put his hand on Malfoy’s hand. “What do you need?”

Malfoy’s eyes opened a crack and fixed on Harry. “I need the loo,” he said, somehow managing to smirk.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I can help you with that.”

“What is it, Potter?” Madam Pomfrey asked. “Is he in pain?”

Harry shook his head. “He just needs the loo. I can help him.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Wait right there,” she said, and swept away.

Harry watched Malfoy as he closed his eyes, resting.

“It not like I don’t deserve it,” Malfoy said softly.

Harry started. “Don’t even start talking like that …” he began, but Madam Pomfrey came back around the curtain holding a bedpan and a jar.

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“He’s not getting out of that bed until the Skele-Gro has had a chance to work,” she said flatly. “Mr. Malfoy, would you rather I help you, or Mr. Potter?”

“Potter, you do it,” Malfoy hissed lowly. “I don’t want to owe anybody else anything, but I’m already so far in your debt, having you hold a jar for me to piss in is nothing.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Malfoy,” Harry answered, then turned to Madam Pomfrey. “I’ll help him,” he said, and took the jar from her.

After she left them alone, Harry grew serious. “You just promise me to hang on and pull through or I’ll kill you myself.”

Malfoy let out a dry chuckle before grimacing in pain. “Wanker.”

Afterwards, Harry made himself comfortable in the bed next to Malfoy’s when Madam Pomfrey insisted he rest.

Malfoy laid back with his eyes closed, though he wasn’t sleeping.

“Who did this to you?” Harry asked after a while, feeling like the weight of all the unspoken words between him might crush him.

Malfoy opened an eye a crack and looked at Harry with curiosity. He said nothing.

Harry frowned. “You know it would be tons easier to help you if you’d just talk to me. Tell me who did this!”

Malfoy gave a mirthless chuckle. “You know it doesn’t really matter, Potter,” he said dryly. “I got what I deserved.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at Malfoy’s limp body. “I don’t even know why I give a damn,” he said shortly. “You’re just as much of a prat as ever, lying there and taking it like a fucking martyr. It reminds me of the time you played up your injured arm in order to get Hagrid fired.”

Malfoy’s head lolled to the side and he glared at Harry. “My arm really was injured, Potter,” he hissed. “Dumbledore was extremely irresponsible in allowing that oaf to teach lessons. He doesn’t have an ounce of common sense.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Malfoy rushed on. “Don’t deny it. I know you’re loyal to your friends, but honestly. Bringing Hippogriffs out for third-years, Blast-Ended Skrewts; he’s lucky nobody was killed or seriously injured for his inability to see monsters as more than fluffy bunnies.”

Harry wanted to disagree, but Malfoy made a point that Harry happened to agree with. Hagrid had got better at teaching after choosing to follow Grubbly-Plank’s lesson plans, but his history with endangering himself and others wasn’t in his favour. He scowled and let the subject drop.

Malfoy went back to resting his eyes while Harry lay back down and stared up at the flying buttresses supporting the high domed ceiling. He couldn’t stay silent any longer. He rolled onto his side, facing Malfoy. “Who did it?” he repeated, watching Malfoy’s chest rise and fall with a sigh.

Malfoy didn’t open his eyes, but continued resting as he answered. “It was three students, but that is all I’m telling you, so stop asking.”

Harry felt the fear that had built inside him when he had found Malfoy nearly dead morph into anger. He was fuming. “This is all about you being a Death Eater?” he demanded.

Malfoy cringed at the bite in Harry’s words, but recovered himself well enough to answer. “Mostly. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not planning to press charges.”

“The hell you’re not!” Harry exploded, sitting up as he felt his anger flare with the fuel of Malfoy’s defeatist attitude. “This sort of behaviour can’t be tolerated. People have to face the fact that they can’t just kill each other to solve their problems. That’s not how it should work. It’s like Voldemort has poisoned the peace that should have followed his death. I can’t let this go unpunished.”

Malfoy was watching him, an eyebrow raised in a sort of amusement. “Do you actually hear yourself, Potter? The shit that’s coming out of your mouth? You can’t change people. People are who they are. They are who they are raised to be.”

Harry glared back at Malfoy. “Don’t start on that. Look at you,” Harry argued.

Malfoy shrugged and held up his left arm gingerly. “Yes. Death Eater, hello?” he said bluntly.

“You are not your father,” Harry insisted.

“You don’t know me.”

Harry was silent a moment. He gathered his wits and tried to calm himself. “I know you,” he said at last. “I was there that night … On the Astronomy Tower …”

“I know, Potter,” Malfoy said dryly. “I was present at my hearing.”

Harry ignored this. “Dumbledore saw there was more to you than your father and so do I. I saw …” He hesitated before pushing on. “I saw what Hemade you do.”

Malfoy stiffened. “What are you babbling about?” he demanded, eyes narrowed into slits.

“Voldemort,” Harry said clearly. “I saw him force you to torture for him. I saw him threaten to torture you if you didn’t obey. I saw what he made you do.”

“Potter,” Malfoy said in a clipped voice. “I don’t want to talk to you any more. Go and be a hero to somebody else. You can’t fix everything. There are some things that don’t mend after they’ve been broken.”

Harry started to protest, but Malfoy sat up furiously. “Leave me alone!” he yelled, and fell back grimacing in pain.

He started towards Malfoy, but stopped at the daggers being glared at him. “I’ll get Pomfrey,” he said lowly and left to fetch the matron.

When he reached Madam Pomfrey’s office, Professor McGonagall was waiting for him.

“Potter, I need you to accompany me to my office,” Professor McGonagall said at once, though Harry noticed the matron frowning her disapproval.

“Minerva, he may go, but you must bring him back straight afterwards,” she said firmly. “The potion I’ve given him for shock is a temporary fix. He needs rest to fully recover.”

Harry spoke then. “Malfoy is in pain,” he said. “He got a bit upset at me asking him questions.”

Both women frowned at Harry with worried looks in their eyes.

“Very well, Poppy,” McGonagall said. “I won’t keep him long. Come with me, Potter.”
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Let Me Be Your Voice