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
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“He won’t tell me who did it!” Harry shouted in response to McGonagall’s questioning. They were joined by the four heads of houses. “All he would tell me is that three students ganged up on him for being a Death Eater. He says he doesn’t plan to press charges and he thinks he deserved it.”

He glared at the professors’ expressions, as if challenging them to contradict him.

“Nobody deserves to be beaten half to death three to one. And the fact that they think he can’t talk makes it ten times worse. I’m sick to death of all this hate! It’s all Voldemort’s fault. He fucked Malfoy up, brainwashed him, and it doesn’t seem to fucking matter that he’s gone! Every time a shred of happiness shines my way, it gets snuffed out and stolen before I can even breathe! I hate it!”

Harry was so angry and overcome, he was shaking. He felt like he couldn’t stop his limbs from trembling, like the shock was stealing back over him, breaking his defences.

Molly Weasley bustled over to Harry’s chair and brought her hands down on his shoulders, gripping him tightly. “We’ll beat it, Harry. Don’t even doubt that for a moment.”

He felt the emotion choking him up as a sob stuck in the back of his throat threatened to overwhelm him.

“Give us a mo’, would you lot?” Molly said to the rest of the room, her voice sharp and commanding.

The tears began to fall despite Harry’s efforts, and he shut his eyes tightly against them, hearing the other professors leave the room.

He turned in his chair to hug Mrs. Weasley tightly, burying his face in her neck, breathing in the sweet scent of flowers and baked goods he associated with what a mother should smell like, allowing it to comfort him.

She rocked him, smoothing his hair back. “That’s it, dear. Let it out. You’ve fought too long and too hard for one so young. It’s good to step away and let yourself recover before charging into the next battle.”

Eventually, the tears stopped. He felt weary, but the thought of Malfoy recovering alone in the hospital wing gave him the strength to lift his head and let go of Mrs. Weasley.

She wiped the tear tracks off his cheeks, looking down at him with a face full of thoughtful affection. “I know what love looks like, Harry,” she said a bit wistfully. “I always hoped that you and Ginny would grow closer and that you’d eventually become the son I’ve always seen you as, but it’s really not necessary, is it?”

Harry wiped his nose on his sleeve, blinking in confusion. “What isn’t?”

Molly smiled down at him, holding his chin up to look her in the face. “That young man needs you as much as you need him. I have you in my heart as my son already and don’t need a piece of paper to tell me it’s true. Go on and tell him how you feel, Harry. I give you my blessing.”

Harry flushed, pulling away. “Er … That is … I’m still not …” he stammered.

“Go on,” she said, still smiling.

He wiped his face with his hand and left. He didn’t see any sense in protesting.

~x~

Harry settled into his bed in the infirmary after Madam Pomfrey insisted he stay. He felt much better after his cry, but he thought she likely was using his shock as an excuse to make sure Malfoy wasn’t left alone, and that was fine by him.

In the morning he woke up to the sensation of being watched. He opened his eyes and reached for his glasses, slipping them into place absently.

Malfoy looked ten times better than he had the previous night. He was lying on his side, propped up on an elbow, eyes trained on Harry.

“Mornin’,” Harry said, yawning.

Malfoy hummed in response.

“Are you still not going to talk to me?” Harry asked, sitting up. “Who put the curse on you anyway? Do you know?”

Harry watched Malfoy’s eyes flit from him to the door.

He followed, turning to look, and then turned back, curious. “Are you expecting them to walk through the door?”

Malfoy focused on Harry once more and shook his head. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the high ceiling.

“I thought I was going to die there,” he said so quietly, Harry had to strain his ears to hear. “I thought it was just as I deserved.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Harry protested.

“Why not?” Malfoy shrugged. “It’s the truth. I don’t deserve to be saved.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said softly. “You were a kid. He was a megalomaniac and you did what you needed to do to stay alive and to keep your family safe. Dumbledore forgave you, and I forgive you.”

Malfoy turned back to look at Harry again, still resting against his pillow. “What’s the point?” he demanded. “It’s not like I’ll be able to function in the wizarding world. I’m cast out. The fact I even survived is more due to the fact that I was too cowardly to do the right thing and face death. I’m not you, Potter. I’m weak.”

Harry frowned. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me!”

“It doesn’t fucking matter!” Draco hissed so loudly he was spitting. “There isn’t a damn thing you can do about it and I’m doomed whether I can speak or not! It’s probably better that I don’t speak, in fact. It will keep me out of more trouble. It seems I always end up fucking myself with everything I say anyway.”

“Tell me!” Harry insisted.

Malfoy glared furiously at Harry. “Fine! You really want to know? My father cursed me, Potter. My own fucking father!” He held up his right hand, brandishing the Malfoy ring before Harry’s eyes. “He cursed me so this would happen if I ever crossed the line. I was ready to testify against him before the Wizengamot, and the moment I started to speak, my tongue was tied like the snake I am! Happy now? What are you going to do about it? There’s nothing you can do, so drop it!”

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond. He wished he could find it shocking, but when he considered the Lucius Malfoy he had come to know, it really wasn’t. Lucius always had seemed to make an exception in his inhumanity when it came to Draco, but Harry supposed that to the Malfoys and probably other pure-blood supremacists like them, turning on their own was the highest level of treason.

He remembered how Lucius and Narcissa had, uncaring for whether their side won or not, frantically sought Malfoy during the battle at Hogwarts. He remembered seeing them afterwards, huddled together in the Great Hall, holding Malfoy like the precious son he was to them before the Aurors finally escorted them to the Ministry. They had gone without argument. He couldn’t imagine how badly Malfoy must feel having been cursed by his own father.

“I’m sorry,” Harry finally said. “Thank you for telling me.” He was certain his words fell short, but couldn’t think of what else to say.

Malfoy chuckled dryly. “Like I had a choice with you badgering me.”

Silence descended upon them like an invisible quilt.

It was suffocating for Harry to not talk about all the things he needed answers to. The kiss they had shared lingered in the back of his mind. His fingers twitched, longing to touch and comfort, but fear and trepidation held him back, as did Malfoy’s cool attitude. And then the assault Malfoy had suffered the previous day. It bothered him most of all to think that there were three students present in the school at that very moment, going about their business as if all was well in the world after nearly murdering a classmate.

He couldn’t keep the question in any longer, though he sensed he was pressing his luck getting anything else out of Malfoy.

“And, yesterday?” he asked. “Who were they?”

Malfoy threw Harry another glare, and rolled over in bed facing away from him, shutting him out.

Harry’s heart felt tight, as if when Malfoy rolled over, an invisible thread connecting them stretched near to breaking. He wanted nothing more than to cross the few feet separating them and to… what? Kiss him? Hug him? Pet his hair? He wondered if the pull he was feeling really was all on his side and the electric rush, the magnetism he had felt when they had kissed was just side-effect of too much Firewhisky.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as the privacy curtain sectioning them off from the other beds was pulled back suddenly and Madam Pomfrey stepped forwards in her blue and grey striped dress covered with a freshly-pressed white apron.

She bustled to Malfoy’s side, wand drawn and held like a conductor’s baton.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she said briskly. “I’d like to have a look at your injuries, to make certain you’re mending well. Is that all right with you?”

Malfoy rolled onto his back and lowered his sheet to his waist. He unbuttoned his pyjama top, looking as if he was still angry, but trying not to take it out on her, and Harry appreciated the fact he was able to show that much care for somebody other than himself.

Madam Pomfrey looked up at Harry and then to Malfoy. “Shall I draw the curtain?” she asked.

Harry was surprised when Malfoy shook his head and looked to Harry to see if he would mind.

“Uh, I’m fine if he is,” Harry told her.

He watched, relieved to be allowed to see for himself that Malfoy was healing. He watched the wand tip hover over Malfoy’s bare chest, a blue light forming at the end and glowing against Malfoy’s pale skin.

It didn’t help Harry’s growing infatuation that Malfoy had somehow become incredibly fit since the last time Harry had seen his chest. His heart clenched when he saw the faint web of scars crisscrossing the expanse of exposed skin and realised that the last time he had seen Malfoy’s chest was the day he had nearly killed him.

Harry must have made some sort of sound, because Malfoy turned to look at him.

“I’m … I’m so sorry,” he started, but Malfoy furrowed his eyebrows and held up a hand signalling Harry to shut up.

A few minutes later, Madam Pomfrey handed Malfoy the hem of his sheet, allowing him to cover himself again. “You’re very lucky, young man, that you were brought to me when you were. The Skele-Gro appears to have worked its magic and your ribs are mended. I think another couple of days will allow your body to heal itself the rest of the way.”

Malfoy closed his eyes, nodding his head in thanks, though Harry could tell he wasn’t thrilled by the news that he would fully recover.

Madam Pomfrey came round to Harry’s bed. “Mr. Potter. How are you feeling this morning?” she asked.

“I’m well enough.”

“And, has he said anything more as to who attacked him?” she asked, throwing a fretful look at Malfoy, though Malfoy was pretending not to notice.

Harry shook his head, watching Madam Pomfrey stiffen, her face drawn. “I never thought I’d see the day when students would resort to such brutality,” she said, frowning. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay here with him. I understand if you’d rather get back to your friends and studies, but I would like to have you present for …” she paused, looking at Malfoy again. “… communication purposes.”

Harry heard an indignant huff come from Malfoy, but ignored it. He could see in her face that Madam Pomfrey wanted him present to keep Malfoy safe, perhaps even from himself, without having to resort to supervising him directly at all times.

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed at once. “Could you have Ron and Hermione bring us our coursework? I think we left it in the library.”

After she had left, Harry turned to talk to Malfoy, but Malfoy had turned onto his side again, his back to Harry.

Their breakfast trays appeared on their bedside tables shortly afterwards, and Harry, deciding he wouldn’t be able to get any more information out of Malfoy, sat up and served himself.
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Let Me Be Your Voice