Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Serenity of His Rage	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16981 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Twelve—Of Long Standing
            “Get to your bedroom, boy. I don’t want to see you again.”
            Harry turned his back and stomped up to his bedroom without answering Uncle Vernon. He knew what would happen if he did: Aunt Petunia screaming at him, and Dudley awkwardly trying to intervene. Harry didn’t want to do that to Dudley.
            And I don’t really want to listen to Aunt Petunia, either, he had to admit as he closed the door to his bedroom behind him. Or Uncle Vernon.
            The bedroom looked smaller and dingier than ever. Harry collapsed on his bed and sighed, watching the puff of dust that went up and plastered itself for a second against the walls before it faded into them.
            The real problem is that I miss Draco.
            It seemed a lot of color had gone out of his life when Draco and Mr. Malfoy went into hiding. Harry could still write to him, and receive letters from him. But distance did have an effect on the soul-bond. Harry still felt Draco’s emotions. It was just like seeing a view through a distant window when he’d been used to having it right in front of him, close enough to touch.
            Right now, the bond boomed and surged with something Harry thought was interest and excitement. Draco was probably flying again. He had said in his letters that he was usually doing that when Harry felt him at his happiest.
            Harry closed his eyes. What kind of things is he feeling from me, while I’m sitting here and envying him?
            Nothing good, Harry was sure. He shook his head briskly and sat up. He had to work again on the list of possible Horcrux locations and hiding places. The year had ended with Dumbledore letting Harry tell Ron and Hermione about all the Horcruxes.
            Unfortunately, Dumbledore had told Harry, Professor Snape hadn’t managed to cure the curse that had blackened Dumbledore’s hand. So Dumbledore would still die at some point soon. Harry and Ron and Hermione needed to get on with the quest before Dumbledore couldn’t help them anymore.
            But Dumbledore had also insisted that Harry go back and stay at the Dursleys’ for the first part of the summer, until his birthday.
            Harry didn’t understand. They were under a time limit! Dumbledore even thought there was more than one, because Voldemort might figure out what they were doing at any time—maybe even because he wasn’t able to get into Harry’s mind as easily anymore—and start protecting his Horcruxes or gathering them all close to him. Why didn’t they just go and fight? Why did Harry have to stay at Privet Drive?
            Dumbledore had told him gently that Harry was their best chance, the one who was destined to conquer Voldemort, so he should stay out of public awareness for right now and let Voldemort forget about him a little. Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix would work on the Horcruxes until Harry was ready to join in.
            Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead a little. He no longer got visions of Voldemort in his mind at night, but no Occlumency could completely shut out the anger or other strong emotions from Voldemort flowing along the soul-bond.
            I miss Draco.
            Harry scowled fiercely and sat up. At the moment, he wasn’t doing any good, just sitting around and letting his worries get the better of him. At the very least, he could do something productive with his time and read the books Dumbledore had piled him with when he went “home” for the summer.
            Yet even the words on the page swam in front of him, and Harry finally admitted to himself what he wanted to do most of all: write to Draco.
            He had ink and parchment with him, thanks to staging a fight with Dudley and storming upstairs with his trunk right at the beginning of summer. Harry dug them out and started writing without any pause. He didn’t have to hide his thoughts from Draco or pretend he was more cheerful than he really was, which he thought he had to do even with Ron and Hermione sometimes.
            Dear Draco,
            I hope you’re having more fun than I am…
*
            ...since I’m locked in my room and can’t really go anywhere. I have to stay with the Dursleys until I come of age. I’m not really sure what difference it makes, but on the other hand, I’ve accepted Dumbledore’s leadership since I came to tell you good-bye. I can’t just rebel and fling off his guidance now.
            I haven’t seen my friends. I can’t feel your emotions as well, either, but I think I told you that in the last letter I wrote. I’m always glad when I can feel you getting happier. Imagining you flying lets me imagine it, too.
            You have no idea how glad I’ll be to be out of here. I don’t hate my cousin anymore, he’s pretty decent now, but I don’t think we should spend the rest of our lives together, either. I’ll be so glad to step out the door for the last time and cast a spell without worrying about the Trace.
            I can’t tell you about the quest for the you-know-what’s, because it hasn’t really started yet. Ron and Hermione are only communicating with me at a very basic level. Dumbledore’s worried that Voldemort might be able to feel me as the blood protections get closer to falling, even with me using Occlumency all the time, and there could be Death Eaters waiting the minute the protections are gone. Communicating with owls all the time would definitely be strange at a Muggle house.
            I suppose there isn’t much more to say. At least I know Hedwig will be happy to take this letter to Snape, since it always gives her a chance to get out of here. She doesn’t like this room any more than I do.
            Yours,
            Harry.
            Draco ran his fingers gently along the creases of the letter for a moment before concentrating on the bond. He hadn’t identified the emotions he felt through it so well before, because he’d rarely encountered them when Harry was still at school. They smelled of dust and drifted like clouds of them, too, instead of the water that Draco had always thought would symbolize Harry’s emotions before.
            Harry was bored. Trapped. Frustrated. Trying to be patient.
            Draco narrowed his eyes and walked out of the small, book-lined bedroom that he’d established for himself in the little safehouse immediately after he and Father arrived. There were only two other rooms on the first floor, a bathroom and Father’s study. On the ground floor were the kitchen, a drawing room with a fireplace that only Severus came through, Father’s bedroom, and an unused room that Draco and Father had turned into a potions lab by mutual agreement.
            Draco could fly his broom outside. He could read. He could brew. He could continue his disastrous experiments in cooking; thanks to the Dark Lord’s enchantments on the Manor, Father had had no ability to call one of their house-elves to them.
            It always seemed like a limited range of activities. But it was at least better than what Harry had.
            Father sat in the drawing room, as he usually did this time of day, making one of his long lists of what to do when they got out of the safehouse. He sat back when Draco came in, and Draco got the impression that he was glad of any distraction.
            Strange, Draco spared a thought from his purpose. It seems strange not to know what everyone is feeling when I look at them now, just because I know what Harry is thinking.
            “I want to invite Harry to come here and be with us.”
            Only Father’s fingers curling around the edge of the parchment showed what he thought of that idea. His voice was mild. “Have you thought about how Dumbledore would react to this?”
            “Why should we care about that? In the end, we provided sanctuary for ourselves.”
            “And he has every reason to leave us alone as long as we don’t trouble his plans.” Father studied Draco as if he assumed that someone had stolen Draco’s skin and was wearing it like robes. “Do you want to stir that power from slumber?”
            Draco shook his head. The bond lay quiet and dusty in his head at the moment, making Draco picture Harry staring at the ceiling, motionless, trying to entertain himself. “I don’t care, Father. Dumbledore has never told Harry why it’s so important that he stay with his relatives. And he’ll be seventeen in a fortnight. I think we should have him here.”
            “If it’s only a fortnight, then he can endure it easily.”
            Draco ground his teeth and avoided saying what he really thought. It wouldn’t let him win. “Doesn’t it matter to you that he saved my life and yours?”
            “It matters to me,” said Father, leaning slowly back so that he was studying Draco from a different angle, “but we have paid the life-debts. If you find yourself spending more time thinking through the complications of a soul-bond now than you did before you took it up, it is only fitting punishment for you.”
            Draco stood there for a second. Then he said, “Harry wanted you to make sure that I had a good life and not only a good Malfoy life.”
            Father nodded, unblinking. “I’m confident I can provide that for you, or I wouldn’t have agreed to that price for the life-debt.”
            “You understand the difference, then?”
            “Between what?”
            “Between a good life and a good Malfoy life?”
            Father made an impatient pass with one hand. “Of course I do. A good Malfoy life is what I have always tried to give you, making sure that you enjoy the importance and power provided by our family name and money. Beyond that, you will want some enjoyments for yourself. That good life is the one I promised Potter to give you.”
            “And right now, I need Harry to be happy.”
            Father opened his mouth to answer, then paused. Draco stared back challengingly. He wasn’t surprised, although pleased, to see the way Father closed his mouth a second later and passed a hand over his eyes. His sigh came from the back of his throat, the bottom of his stomach.
            “How can I be sure you really need that and that you aren’t simply confusing the emotions coming through the soul-bond with deep desire?”
            “The same way I can be sure you only made a mistake when you bowed to the Dark Lord years ago and not deliberately sacrificed our family’s fortune and position for the fun of torturing Muggles.”
            Father cracked open an eye. “I have raised you to be perceptive. It might have been a mistake.”
            Draco smiled at him, and patiently waited for Father to decide what in the world he wanted to do.
            Father sighed and leaned back further, the most casual posture Draco had ever seen him take in a chair. “Go and invite him, then. I don’t know that he’ll have a way to get here—”
            The rest of the words faded behind him as Draco turned and galloped up the stairs.
*
            Hello Harry,
            What you said about the Muggles and the way they’re treating you sounds absolutely dreadful. And if Dumbledore won’t tell you the reason you have to stay there until your birthday, I don’t see any reason you should have to, either.
            Come to me. Please? I know there are ways to do it. For one thing, it’s extremely hard to trace Apparition because it takes such a short time. Father can Apparate to your house if you give him the coordinates and take you out of there. Or you could meet Professor Snape somewhere and do the same thing.
            Admittedly, I’d have to talk to Professor Snape to make sure he’d be willing to do it. I’ve already convinced Father, so I think we should just use him.
            Will you do it? I know you have to go on this hunt for the you-know-what’s, and there’s nothing I can do about that. But at least you can spend some time with your soul-bonded before you go, and I can ease the feeling that I’m going to lose you forever.
            Write back to me with the Apparition coordinates so Father can come and get you. Please.
            Draco.
            Harry sat there with his finger tracing the words and such a warmth in his heart that he had trouble breathing. Then he fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. His breath was coming short, and he wondered if Draco was feeling the emotions and smiling, or maybe panicking, not knowing what could have happened to make Harry feel that way.
            The thing was, Harry wanted to. He wanted to live in a wizarding house for the next twelve days before he came of age. He wanted to see the rooms that Draco had described to him in various letters, and laugh at Draco’s jokes, and enjoy the sensation of the bond pouring through him up close, instead of feeling as though he was just watching a painting.
            But he had to remember what Dumbledore had told him before he left school, something Harry hadn’t considered seriously until now because he had thought there was no way he could see Draco again before the end of the war.
            “Mr. Malfoy and young Mr. Malfoy will be in danger if anyone suspects where they are, Harry. That could include members of the Order of the Phoenix as well as Death Eaters, unfortunately, given how much personal pain Mr. Malfoy has caused some of them. I must ask you to stay away from young Mr. Malfoy during the war, and even exchange letters as little as possible.”
            Harry closed his eyes. What he wanted, he couldn’t have. That wasn’t new, but it stung nearly as much now as if it was.
            He picked up parchment and ink and started writing, ignoring the itching feeling along his nerves. Yes, he wanted to be with Draco. Yes, it would probably be safe for Mr. Malfoy to come to Britain and pick him up.
He still didn’t want to take the chance. Better to live with a distant bond than one that was gone forever.
*
“It seems your bondmate is more mature than you gave him credit for, Draco.”
            Draco laid the letter down on the table in silent rage and stared at it. Then he read it again.
            Draco,
            You don’t know how much I want to come to the safehouse and be with you. You probably don’t know even if you’re really concentrating on the bond, because that doesn’t reflect everything I feel with the same strength. And thank you for the offer.
            But even though I don’t know exactly why Dumbledore wanted me to stay here, there must be some reason, or why would I be here? He would probably have me out already hunting the you-know-what’s if it wasn’t important. I keep thinking that I might miss a letter from him if I leave, and if I was in the safehouse, the owl might follow me there and reveal where it is. I care about your life even more than about being with you. I won’t do it.
            I wish I could, though. I really want to be with you.
            Yours,
            Harry.
            “He holds your life above his own,” Father murmured, still busily reading the paper while keeping one eye on Draco in that way he always seemed to think Draco wouldn’t notice. “That’s admirable, that care and concern for you. I honor him for it.”
            Draco leaned slowly back in his chair, the way Father had the other day. He was thinking, mind whipping through patterns of persuasion he thought would work on Harry and rejecting others he was sure wouldn’t.
            Should he tell Harry again that he knew Harry would have to leave for the Horcrux quest, but he still wanted Harry with him until then? No. He’d already tried that, and too much begging would leave him looking like a fool.
            He should be able to simply ask and have Harry come. Because they were bondmates and they should be more important to each other than a whole host of other people.
            Draco felt his eyebrows rise. What would happen if he simply wrote and told Harry that? That he expected Harry to be there if he asked for it, because Harry should owe him that?
            It was at least worth a try. If it backfired, then Draco wouldn’t be in a worse position, since he still wouldn’t have Harry here.
            He’d gone upstairs and was reaching for parchment when he felt it. A storm of emotions crashed along the bond, so strong that they made Draco curl over his stomach in his chair, gasping as they punched him again and again. His face hurt and he felt his eyes burn, ready to water and then to narrow in outrage.
            “Father!”
            Father was up the stairs in a moment, springing directly to the back of the chair and grabbing Draco’s hand hard enough that it grounded Draco a little in the midst of that storm. “What’s wrong?” he demanded in a harsh whisper, crouching down and running his hands gently along Draco’s shoulders.
            “I don’t know. Something’s happened to Harry.” Draco closed his eyes and reached out along the bond, dropping the rudimentary Occlumency barriers that had guarded him up until this point. Harry! he shouted even though their bond didn’t let them speak mind-to-mind. What happened?
*
            Harry backed up, keeping a wary eye on Uncle Vernon. He wished he had his wand, but it was locked up in his room.
            That should have been enough. Harry knew carrying his wand around the Dursleys’ house was asking for trouble, which was why he didn’t do it. And Dumbledore had emphasized over and over again how Harry had to avoid antagonizing them. It was only for a few more weeks. Then he would be free.
            Harry had come downstairs today when the Dursleys were eating and gone to the counter to make himself a sandwich. Either that or the little grumble he’d given when he opened the refrigerator and saw they were out of lettuce had been too much for Uncle Vernon.
            Now he was backing Harry up against the counter and spraying him with spittle as he ranted.
            “If you think for one minute that we want you eating our ruddy food, boy, you should think again! We take you under our roof, we shelter you out of the goodness of our hearts, and then you dare to act like there’s not enough good food for you, like it matters what you stuff down your gullet…”
            Harry could feel his rage building even faster than his fear. He was a lot bigger than he’d been, and Uncle Vernon couldn’t intimidate him that much anymore. But here he still was, cowering in front of his filthy uncle as if he was a kid.
            He had to go defeat Voldemort soon. He’d broken Draco’s father out of prison. He had a piece of a monster’s soul inside him and a tie to another person’s soul who he might not even get to see again.
            It was too much for Dumbledore to tell Harry all that and then expect him to cower in front of his uncle.
            “And another thing—” Uncle Vernon was beginning to say when Harry snapped.
            “Shut up.”
            Harry’s voice was quiet, and he thought that was the whole reason Uncle Vernon shut up at all. He stared at Harry with his eyes bulging, and then he whispered back. “What did you say?”
            Dudley was standing up and moving in from the side, a look of concern on his face for the first time. Harry turned and glared at him. Dudley raised his hands and stayed where he was.
            “I told you to shut up,” Harry said, turning back to Uncle Vernon. “It’s the sort of thing someone should have told you a long time ago, but I think everyone else was always too afraid of you to do it. It’s too bad. Maybe you could have been a tolerable human being if someone had.”
            Uncle Vernon stared at him in silence. Then his hand shot out.
            He might not have intended to hit Harry. Harry would never know. He twisted to the side, out of the way, and then he turned and grabbed Uncle Vernon’s arm and hauled on it, one of the techniques he had showed the DA.
            Uncle Vernon weighed so much that ordinarily, the pull would never have worked. But he wasn’t well-balanced, either, and Harry thought he’d never fought the way Dudley had. He wavered once and then dropped straight to the floor, with a pained bellow as he measured his length on it.
            Harry leaped out of the way and stared at Dudley and Aunt Petunia. Well, mostly Aunt Petunia. She looked as white as chalk, and she was standing there with her mouth gaping open. Dudley had gone to check on his dad.
            “I’m sick of it,” Harry continued, in a precise voice that he’d never known he had in him. He sounded like Professor McGonagall, honestly. “The way you act as if it’s your right to starve me because I’m not what you wanted. Because I have magic. The way you lied to me for years, and the way you’re still talking about locking the locks on my door and feeding me through the flap at the bottom. Yes, I can hear you when you’re shouting at night,” he added, as Aunt Petunia swayed on her feet and had to grab the table for balance. “My hearing doesn’t magically stop because I’m up in my room.”
            The pitiful thing was that Aunt Petunia looked more upset at the word “magically” than anything else Harry had said. She swayed some more and finally found her voice.
            “We never asked for you. We never wanted you! If my sister hadn’t been such an idiot as to get herself killed—”
            “She died sacrificing her life so I could live. Don’t say anything else about her.”
            “She was an idiot—”
            Harry took a step forwards, his rage so black that he could barely see.
            Two things stopped him. One was Dudley calling out frantically behind him.
            The second was the bond vibrating urgently in his mind. Draco was responding to Harry’s fury with an endless, endless calling, a wash of fear and carefulness and attention.
            He must be able to feel what I’m feeling, Harry realized. He probably thinks I’m being attacked by Death Eaters or something.
            And reality crashed down on him. Harry had more important things to do than punish the Dursleys for the way they’d treated him. He had more important things to do than stay here until his birthday, too.
            He turned and grabbed his half-made sandwich, saying in the same precise voice, “I’m going to be leaving soon. I’ll go up and stay in my bedroom until I leave. Dudley can bring me food. You shouldn’t say anything else about my parents, and you should let the person who comes for me take me without antagonizing him, either. Do you understand?”
            He thought Uncle Vernon might have protested, his face was so purple, but Dudley got there first. “We understand, Harry,” he murmured. “I’ll bring the food. Just—I think this is the end.”
            “It is,” said Harry, and looked only at his cousin. “I’m sorry it had to end this way.”
            “So am I,” said Dudley. And Harry thought he might even have put out his hand if he hadn’t had to live with his parents afterwards.
            “Good-bye,” Harry added, and walked briskly up to his room again. He shut the door and reached for parchment and ink, scribbling down a few neat words. Then he woke up Hedwig to carry them.
            I believe I’ll be coming to you after all, Draco.
            Then Harry ate his sandwich and did his best to send calmness down the bond, deepness and softness like dark waters. He didn’t even know when he fell asleep, between one bite of the sandwich and another.

*
SP777: Thank you! And I believe the answer is: not well.
Jan: Thank you!
- 11
- 12
- 13
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Serenity of His Rage