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Bard of Morning's Hope	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9573 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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Chapter Eleven—Effectiveness
            "I hope Harry comes back soon," Weasley said, in such a low mutter that Draco probably wasn't supposed to hear it, and could ignore it if he wanted.
            Draco considered that, but honestly, he was as bored as Weasley with their mutual fencing. Each of them had said all the clever things they could possibly say, and he was considering calling on his mother, who was in the kitchen reading the Daily Prophet, to see whether she could play the perfect society hostess and make it better.
            Then he heard the scream. It brought him up off the couch and whipping around in seconds, his wand aimed into the kitchen, where he could see his mother rising to her feet with her hand pressed over her heart. But Draco, who'd been sitting as far into the drawing room and away from Weasley as he could get, couldn't see what she was staring at from this angle.
            He started to shout for Weasley to do something, but then realized he had. He hadn't even seen Weasley leap up from his own couch and run into the kitchen, but the ginger was there now, speaking softly and urgently to Draco's mother, one hand on her shoulder and the other aiming his wand ahead of him.
            I suppose Weasley is a trained Auror, Draco decided slowly, and ran around the couch. He doubted Weasley would be standing there and acting so calm if the Bard of Morning's Hope was actually in the kitchen. He seemed, rather, to be trying to get Narcissa to describe exactly what she had seen.
            "Did it come through the wards?" Weasley was asking. "Or between them?"
            What wards? Draco was generally unfamiliar with wards that could be seen from inside the house, unless they surrounded a safe or other place where one was keeping a precious object. By squinting at the wall, though, he made out one of the flickering leaps of silver fire that Potter had wound about Draco during the attack in Madam Royal's shop.
            "From between the strands." His mother's voice was calm and firm, something that impressed Draco. He turned around and found her tracing one finger in the air, outlining the small space where the flickers cut against each other. "It looked as if it was trying to form into a ball of ice, but it faded when I shouted."
            Screamed, Draco thought despite himself, and when he caught Weasley's eye, he was sure that the other man was thinking the same thing.
            Disconcerted to find himself sharing so much with Weasley, Draco asked, "Did it look as though someone was trying to Apparate in?" Sure, it should have been impossible to Apparate anywhere inside a house so strongly warded, never mind right through the wards, but much the same thing had happened in Madam Royal's shop. Draco wasn't going to start thinking that things like that were impossible, because the Bard seemed to take the impossible and bend it sideways on a regular basis.
            "No," said Narcissa slowly. "I could see the ball of ice, but nothing else. It was as if there was a small gate there that could send through the spell, instead of a person behind it."
            Draco hesitated. Gates were legend, but so were wizards that could leap through wards, attack in the middle of invisibility that no other spells could pierce, and turn their victims' bodies to ice.
            Father.
            Draco winced at the thought, but asked, "Do you think it could be a hostile spell, then, the way Potter was theorizing?"
            "A free-floating spell? Perhaps." Narcissa was speaking softly, eyes locked on the wards in the corner as though she was reliving what had happened in a sort of dream or trance. "There was a sense of hostility, too, as though someone was glaring at me through a window. It reminded me of--of things I haven't felt since the war."
            Draco nodded, knowing what she meant. Since the days when the Dark Lord had ruled the Manor, and hostile eyes had watched the progress of every Malfoy in case they got too close to the Dark Lord and earned his favor. For her to compare it to that must mean it had been hostility indeed.
            "Yes, that would fit with a free-floating spell or curse, too, the way my wife theorized," Weasley said, enunciating each word and glaring at Draco as if he thought Draco was trying to take the credit away from Granger by mentioning Potter. Draco stared back, bored. If he was trying to take the credit from Granger, he would have mentioned her as being wrong.
            "It would. And we might have to pursue that angle, now that we've had to give up on Dennis."
            Potter's voice came from the door that led outside. Draco drew his head back and let his arms fall limp with relief when he saw Potter shaking wetness from his cloak. "Why can't we get anything from Creevey?" he asked, because he wanted to conceal the limpness that was a disgrace to his independence.
            Potter strode into the kitchen, all active impatience and motion. Draco found himself watching from the corner of one eye, enjoying it far more than he should. Yes, Weasley was a trained Auror and had the speed to deal with something like this, had even established a rapport of sorts with Draco and Narcissa, and Draco was grateful for that.
            But Potter was the one who had done all sorts of other things, and if someone could prevail against the Bard--which Draco was beginning to wonder about--then it would probably be Potter.
            "Because I questioned him under Veritaserum, and he said that he wasn't the Bard, didn't know who was, and didn't know any of the magic that makes the Bard so dangerous," said Potter in disgust, and flung himself down in a kitchen chair hard enough to make it scrape across the floor. Draco heard the little cluck of Narcissa's tongue that she probably couldn't make herself suppress for any reason. "I don't know what else to do."
            "Well, what did the other Auror present during the interrogation say?" Weasley asked, logically enough, Draco thought.
            But Potter's face blushed a bright and searing red, and he muttered, "Dennis would only talk to me alone. On the condition that I could show Pensieve memories to everyone else, I agreed."
            "Harry," said Weasley, and sat up, laying his hands flat on the table. "You know that rule is there for a reason. I mean, some of the others are pretty stupid, I'll grant you, but that one--"
            "I know, Ron," said Potter, and sighed out. "Listen. If I fucked up, we'll know when I show you the memories, right? Or whoever else is going to look at them. I still don't know what Kingsley's official position is on having us both assigned to this case."
            "Mr. Potter," said Draco's mother, at her most frigid.
            Potter actually looked at her with a blank expression that Draco would have found amusing under other circumstances. Then he shrugged and said, "Right. I apologize for my language, Mrs. Malfoy."
            "Did you know there was another attack here a minute ago?" Draco interrupted, deciding that no matter how interesting this was, Weasley could wait until later to scold Potter, and so could his mum. And his interruption had the added delightful effect of making Weasley look disgruntled, since he'd had his mouth open to say something at the time. He closed it and shot a sideways look at Draco, who pretended not to notice.
            "There was?" Potter sat bolt upright as if throwing an extra garment off that he didn't need. "Why did no one tell me?" He turned and stared at Weasley in a way that made Draco sigh longingly. He would have given a lot, once, to turn Potter and Weasley against each other like that and make Potter stop defending a lot of worthless gingers.
            But he said, "My mother saw something like a ball of ice coming through the wards. It faded when she shouted and Weasley charged in here." See, I can be gracious, too, he thought, as Potter's eyes came towards him with an expression of slight amazement in them. "That adds to your theory that it's a hostile spell, I think."
            "Unless gates exist." His mother was calm again, Draco saw, sitting with her arms folded and her shawl draped neatly over her shoulders. "And I did feel a wave of hostile intent, which could have come from either a spell or a powerful Dark wizard."
            Potter abruptly sat up, his eyes widening and his fingers reaching out as if he was going to scoop something from the air. Draco narrowed his eyes at him. He understood gestures, he thought, and while he hadn't spent that much time around Potter since Hogwarts, this reminded him of a Seeker's gesture that he did understand. Potter was reaching for a Snitch.
            "What did that remind you of?" he asked quietly.
            Potter had slumped back in his seat, though, his mouth twisting. He looked at Draco and shook his head. Draco would remember that later, that Draco was the one he had looked at first, and not even Weasley, who he had been friends with for so long.
            "I don't know," Potter whispered. "I had it, for a second. But then I thought of something else, and by the time I came back to the first thought, it was gone."
            Draco grunted. He was about to offer to try Legilimency on Potter to bring back the first thought when Potter added, "But I suppose that it'll occur to me again," and turned to Draco's mother, asking, "Was the ball of ice real, or just an image? Or did it seem like it was becoming real as it moved through the wards?"
            "Real as it moved through the wards," Narcissa answered without hesitation. "How did you know enough to ask that question, Mr. Potter?"
            "It was connected with the second thought I had," Potter answered, sounding a little embarrassed. "About gates. I've heard that part of the reason gates don't exist or are assumed not to exist is because no one can figure out how things would move through them. There's magical theory behind Apparating and how a Portkey works, but nothing about that. But I thought...well, what if the object passing through it temporarily becomes an image, like an illusion, and then becomes real again on the other side? There are objects like that in the Department of Mysteries that we learned about in our Auror training. Prototypes of gates. Maybe this is something similar."
            His mother appeared interested in the idea, and she and Potter went on to discuss it. Draco only listened with half an ear, his eyes on Potter. He was sure that first, half-formed thought was important.
            He still intended to make the offer of Legilimency when he and Potter were alone, no matter how long he had to wait.
*
            "You know that I know Legilimency, Potter?"
            Harry spluttered, looking up from the sink. He had gone into the bathroom to wash his face. He could still use magic to stay awake and shield the Malfoys for another few nights, but it left his eyes feeling as gritty, as though his body was complaining about the lack of real sleep.
            Malfoy was leaning against the bathroom door, his pale eyes fixed challengingly on Harry's face in the mirror. Harry shrugged, blinked away some water, and groped for the cloth that he'd put right there to dry his face, and which now unaccountably seemed to be missing. "Yes, I know. So what?"
            There was a slight brush of cloth against his arm. Harry jumped. Then he realized Malfoy had put the dry cloth in his hand, and was still watching his face through the glass.
            "I wanted to offer you the chance to recall that thought that you had this morning, the one you forgot," said Malfoy. He continued with barely a pause, although Harry was well-aware of the significance of that little beat of silence. "Of course, if you don't want me in your mind, I totally understand. Legilimency is a very intimate procedure."
            Harry turned around against the mirror and looked at Malfoy. He continued to meet Harry's eyes without flinching, which meant he probably wasn't making the offer just in order to humiliate Harry with something he found.
            Of course, Harry didn't think Malfoy would do that while he was grieving for his father and depending on Harry for protection anyway. He still thought Malfoy was petty and arrogant in some ways--witness the expedition he had insisted on making to the robe shop--but that level of pettiness was probably beyond him.
            "I'm not so reluctant to have you do that because of who you are," Harry answered, and gave one final swipe with the cloth at his face, hoping it didn't look as if he was wiping away tears. "But Legilimency hurt like a bitch the other times that I had it performed on me, and I don't really want to have that kind of headache if the Bard shows up tonight."
            Malfoy stared at him, seeming at a loss. "Who else did Legilimency on you?"
            "Snape, of course," Harry said dryly. "I mean, he was trying to teach me at the time, and I was being a stubborn little prat. But it still hurt a lot. And then Voldemort did it, and that was even worse."
            Malfoy snorted a little. "Intention matters to Legilimency even more than other types of magic. If they wanted to hurt you or hated you, then it would hurt." He took another long step forwards, and his gaze didn't waver from Harry's. "I don't hate you and the last thing I want right now is to hurt you."
            Harry considered him one more time, and then nodded. "Yeah, I can see that." He would never say that Malfoy's motives for wanting him alive were noble, but hell, Harry's motives weren't noble half the time, either. He was just better about concealing them and doing the right thing anyway than most people. He moved a step forwards. "How should we do this? Do you just need to see my eyes?"
            "You should sit down," Malfoy said, and gestured back into the bedroom.
            Harry stiffened a little. "I thought you said it wouldn't hurt. Snape's used to knock me down." The memories of falling to the floor in Snape's office and panting there like some torture victim were all floating near the top of his brain, which meant they were probably the first ones Malfoy would see when he peered into Harry's mind.
            Wonderful.
            "It's just unsettling, sometimes," Malfoy said gently. "You lose your sense of the world around you. And sometimes the Legilimens does, too. Or the memories might be shocking, even though I don't think this one will be. You could fall over."
            Harry pondered, for a moment, whether Malfoy's Legilimency would be that much different from Snape's after all. But he had already taken the chance to come this far, and it would be harder than steel to turn his back on Malfoy.
            "Yeah," he said. "All right." He settled himself against some pillows at the head of the bed, so at least he wouldn't fall far, and looked up into Malfoy's eyes.
*
            Draco swallowed a little, astonished by the amount of trust Potter was showing him. He had thought Potter would let him use Legilimency, but not this willingly, not this easily. He had all sorts of persuasive arguments prepared about why it was the right thing to do. And then Potter just walked up and said, "All right."
            Potter's like that. Draco wasn't sure that Potter would be the one most thrown off-balance by this Legilimency, after all.
            He gently knelt down beside Potter and arranged a few pillows, just in case. Then he put his hand under Potter's chin and turned his face towards the light. Potter squinted a little, then nodded.
            Draco held his wand up. "Legilimens," he murmured, never taking his gaze away from that rich green one.
            He dived in surprisingly easily, although he thought that might be because Potter had opened his barriers to Draco rather than because he didn't have any. He brushed through memories that involved a fat boy shouting at Potter, and grueling Auror training that made Potter's muscles burn, and a small, cramped place that blared so strongly of both punishment and bedroom that Draco was confused, and memories of the last time Snape had used Legilimency on Potter.
            Draco turned his back on those. He wanted to show Potter that he wasn't deliberately seeking out experiences that would humiliate him on his venture into his head.
            And then he found it, what he was thinking for. The familiar colors of the kitchen and the dining room were around him for a second, and then he reached out and touched the soft, shining bubble that marked recent thoughts.
            He darted into Potter's memory of his mind, and as it had been the few other times Draco had done this, it was an exhilarating experience, bounding along a road of connecting thoughts that worked a little like his own did, but not exactly. And then he touched the thought that Potter had had, and gasped as it seemed to whip across his face.
            "...Malfoy. Malfoy! Are you all right?"
            He was the one who had fallen, as Draco had thought might happen. He opened his eyes to find himself lying on the bed and Potter practically having a heart attack above him. He stopped when he saw Draco looking at him, though, and rubbed a hand through his hair in embarrassment.
            "Sorry about that," he muttered. "Of course you wouldn't have done it if you didn't have some idea of what to do." He cleared his throat and straightened. "So. Um. What was the thought?"
            Draco sat up, using a hand on Potter's forearm to lift himself up. Potter didn't seem to find anything strange about that, although Weasley, if he was still around, might have. Potter simply watched him intently.
            Draco had to smile. Concerned for me. He let me into his mind. He lets me touch him.
            It was soothing to the small part of him, at least, that had never ceased to regret a moment of lost friendship.
            But he was able to say, "You thought that something that was half-real might be able to get past the wards. I say we pursue that thought and see where it takes us."
*
Severus1snape: Thank you!
Kain: Yes, Dennis learned about Harry’s trick when he came to the house and Harry was weaving the wards outside.
Dennis is actually sad about this, as well. But there’s no way that he will betray what he knows. When the identity of the Bard is revealed, I think you’ll see why.
Draco and Ron getting along actually freaked themselves out!
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Bard of Morning's Hope