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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.

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Chapter Thirteen—Recovery

            The first thing Harry noticed when he came out of the Apparition with Lucius Malfoy was how much better he could feel Draco’s emotions. He turned unerringly to the front door of the little cottage, a house so unassuming that Harry was surprised the Malfoys could live there.

            Then the door opened, and Draco stood there, staring at him.

            He looked as if he’d grown taller since the last time Harry had seen him, but then, he’d had a birthday, too. For a second, Harry wondered where the Potions book he’d sent Draco for a gift was.

            Then Draco started running towards him, and Harry realized that was a stupid thing to wonder when he could be looking at Draco instead. And he’d broken free from Mr. Malfoy’s hold without even realizing, and he was running, too.

            Mr. Malfoy made a faint exasperated noise. It wasn’t half as bad as the similar noises the Dursleys made.

            Harry was busy grabbing Draco’s shoulders, anyway, and laughing straight into his face. Draco stared back, looked offended for the bare second it took him to get over himself, and laughed back. Then he hugged Harry as hard as he had when Harry last saw him in Dumbledore’s office. The bond was jumping up and down between them like a bed with two huge dogs on it.

            “You’re here now,” said Draco, with a satisfaction as strong as his Occlumency barriers used to be.

            “Yes,” Harry said, and then he slung an arm around Draco’s waist and led him towards the house. “I think I owe you an explanation for the emotions you probably felt yesterday.”

            “Yes, you damn well do.”

            “Draco. Language.”

            Draco gave a nod and a “Sorry, Father,” over his shoulder that Harry could tell he didn’t mean at all. He led Harry into a fairly neat kitchen and asked, “Do you want some tea? I don’t know what you’ve had to eat lately.”

            “A sandwich yesterday and some soup this morning,” said Harry. “Tea would be wonderful.” He ignored the scowling presence of Mr. Malfoy, sitting in the chair at the head of the table. Well, maybe he wouldn’t be scowling. Maybe he would be carefully sitting there with his mouth pursued and not saying anything.

            That would almost be worse, but Harry could solve the problem by not looking at him, by looking at Draco bustling around with the tea things instead, and he could laugh. “You’ve become a regular house-elf.”

            “No,” said Draco, swinging his wand through some domestic charms Harry would have been prepared to bet his Firebolt Draco didn’t know. “I’m doing things because otherwise Father and I don’t eat. Not having to labor for other people.” He gave Harry a heavy glance.

            Harry gave one right back. Lucius Malfoy didn’t know about Harry’s past as a slave for the Dursleys, and Harry didn’t want Draco to tell him, either. It would probably only make Mr. Malfoy decide Harry was even more unfit company for his son than he thought now.

            “It’s still amazing you can do it,” Harry said, as he watched tea and scones and a huge pile of sugar cubes and butter appear to the side of the plate. He ate two scones before he drank his tea, aware that Draco was watching him critically.

            “How much was it?” Draco asked, softly.

            Mr. Malfoy seemed to sit up, as if more alert in the presence of a question he couldn’t identify, but Harry didn’t look at him. He looked Draco in the eye and said calmly, “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

            “I’m waiting for that explanation you said you’d give me.”

            “My uncle and I had a disagreement over how much food I was going to eat. He got angry and started yelling at me. I yelled back, which is something I don’t do often. Then he tried to hit me. He ended up on the floor.”

            “Accidental magic?” Mr. Malfoy asked, breaking into the conversation for the first time.

            Harry gave Mr. Malfoy a smile that he knew might not improve the man’s opinion of him. Well, that was hard. Harry still wanted to give it. “No. Because I grabbed his arm when he tried to hit me and tugged him off-balance.”

            “Was he wounded?”

            Harry wasn’t sure why Mr. Malfoy would want to ask that question, unless he thought Harry was going to be a danger to himself or Draco. Harry took a large gulp of the tea and shrugged. “I don’t know. My cousin went over to tend to him. I made it clear to my aunt how it was going to be.”

            “Which was?” Draco again, leaning in as if he was addicted to the clear, freshwater emotions washing down the bond. Well, Harry was. Why not Draco?

            “They would bring up food to me—well, my cousin—and stay out of your father’s way when he came. That was all.”

            Draco shook his head. “I don’t think I could have handled them that calmly.” And the curling wave of rage, about to break down the bond, made Harry nod.

            “It wasn’t calm.” Harry drank again from his cup and ignored the way Mr. Malfoy had sat back from the table, one hand gliding down the shaft of his wand. “It was just very matter-of-fact. My cousin is a lot better than he used to be--”

            “I hope so.”

            Harry paused, his eyes darting up to Draco’s face. Draco nodded to him, pleasant and firm, while the wave curled around above Harry’s head, broke, and felt as if it drenched him with stinging foam. “He is. I think he accepts that I saved his life from Dementors last summer, better than my uncle can. Anyway, he told me that he would bring up the food and keep his parents away from me. And that’s what he did.”

            “I cannot understand,” said Mr. Malfoy, his voice as pure as though he was considering a theory in Defense, “why Dumbledore would have left you with Muggles like that instead of with wizarding adoptive parents.”

            Like you, you mean? Harry thought he hid his expression sufficiently behind his cup, although by the glance Draco gave him, nothing could hide it from the bond. “I don’t really know. Something about blood protection, though. My mum sacrificed her life to save me. My aunt is my mum’s sister. Something about that worked to keep me safe.”

            “Blood protections can exist,” said Mr. Malfoy, and his frown came and went. “I sensed none there when I came to collect you.”

            “Interesting,” Draco breathed, and his eyes came back to Harry. The emotions had turned thorny with his interest. “And you don’t know when Dumbledore was going to explain to you why you had to stay there?”

“For a long time he was reluctant to explain things to me because he thought Voldemort would pick up on it thanks to the soul-bond we had.” Harry noted that Mr. Malfoy still flinched from the name, but he didn’t care to pursue it. “Now, I don’t know what the reason is.”

“The excuse,” Draco corrected, meeting Harry’s eyes with bright, clear ones. “You know that’s what it is for Dumbledore at this point, don’t you?”

“I suspect. The very fact that he hasn’t explained things to me means I don’t know.”

Draco snorted, quietly, but said, “Now that you’re here, we can do something I know you’ve been dying to do.”

Harry grinned and grabbed a last scone. “Fly?”

“You know me so well,” Draco said, with a smile that made Harry want to dance.

He didn’t, because he was in front of Mr. Malfoy and it would be stranger than just being happy to be in Draco’s presence again, but he knew Draco knew exactly what he was feeling, and he was fine with that. More than fine, really, when it meant Draco darted upstairs, grabbed his own broom, and ran down to unshrink Harry’s so they could go outside.

*

            Harry was meant to be on a broom.

            Draco felt breathless as he watched Harry spiral and swoop and shoot up and down after small golden stars Draco had conjured, substitutes for the Snitch he hadn’t managed to bring with him. Harry’s bond emotions had changed into pure, lightly pulsing waves, a perfect lagoon to lie beside. And Draco felt lighter and happier than he had since he and Harry had separated in the spring.

            With a start, he realized Harry was chasing one of the golden lights towards him and had almost reached him. Draco dived and came up beneath the light, snatching at it even though he knew perfectly well the light would only dissolve. He knew another thing, and rejoiced in it: the sound of Harry’s laughter.

            “It’s not a real Snitch, you know,” Harry teased him, hair blown back from his scar and care blown from his face.

            “I know that,” Draco said. “You would think you were the one who didn’t, from the way you went after it.”

            In response, Harry turned and tore after another globe of golden light. Draco followed him more slowly, and shook his head in disbelief as he watched the way Harry angled his body to the side and turned in a complete circle when he got on an angle that should have crashed him into the ground.

            Harry had to be using magic as he flew. He linked more completely with the charms on a broom than anyone Draco had seen before, and Draco thought he was manipulating them silently.

            “What’s the curdled emotions for?”

            Draco smoothed his expression out before he remembered why that didn’t work. He sighed and zoomed towards the ground. Harry caught up with him, but luckily didn’t pass him. He just flew next to Draco and studied him, while worry lapped up the bond.

            Draco landed and got off to stretch his legs. Harry hovered in front of him, carelessly graceful as a hummingbird, and watched him some more.

            “You’re so good that it distracts me,” Draco said. “I just don’t know how you can do half the things you do. That kind of innate talent—”

            “Is the kind you have at potions,” Harry interrupted him suddenly. His eyes were narrow and his chin so set that Draco thought rocks would break on it. “I don’t understand them, and you don’t understand the way I fly. That’s fair. If anyone, you’re better off, because you’re still really good at flying, while I can’t do any work at all on Potions.”

            The bond was wavering and snapping around him. Draco paused, then said slowly, “Just because we’re both good at things doesn’t mean that I can’t admire your talent.”

            “And I admire yours.”

            “You had a funny way of showing it before we bonded,” Draco muttered. He was still trying to figure out why saying something he thought was obvious—that Harry was just enormously good at flying—had got him this reaction.

            Harry rolled his eyes and landed with a motion that made his feet jab into the grass of the pitch. Still, the bond was calming, and Draco no longer felt as if he was about to be flayed by Harry’s emotions. “And your way of showing your admiration was apparently to weave all sorts of crazy patterns around me while shouting at me.”

            “There’s that,” Draco admitted. He decided he would worry about the way Harry had reacted later. They still had ten days together, after all. “What do you think is going to happen on the Horcrux hunt?”

            Harry sighed and rubbed his legs for a second. Then he stood up and said, “I want some sweets if we’re going to have that discussion.” He paused, then added, “Do you think I would risk revealing your location if I called Dobby?”

            “Dobby?” Draco blinked. “The house-elf Father used to own?”

            Harry gave him a level look, and a single wave of exasperation skimmed over the surface of the bond, although it calmed quickly. “You can’t own them,” he said. “But yes, that’s him.”

            “Then I think you could call him,” said Draco. “I mean, most of the time no one pays attention to the way house-elves come and go anyway, and it’ll take even less time than it took Father to Apparate to Britain.”

            Harry nodded and turned around and called, “Dobby!”

            Draco narrowed his eyes as he watched Dobby appear immediately. He’d given Harry permission because he believed what he was saying, but he’d also thought it unlikely that any house-elf could get through the Fidelius. That they could made him wonder how many other things or people could sneak through that they simply weren’t taking account of.

            “How can Dobby be helping—” the elf, who wore a huge pile of hats and at least three pairs of socks, began. Then he saw Draco and immediately squealed, pulling back and reaching for Harry’s hand. “Master Harry Potter must be getting away from evil Malfoys!”

            “No, no, Dobby, it’s okay,” said Harry, shaking his head a little at Draco. Draco took his hand off his wand again. He would attack anyone who tried to take Harry away so soon after he’d arrived. “I’m soul-bonded to Draco now.”

            Dobby’s ears came up. He gave Draco the most intelligent, considering look he’d ever seen on a house-elf, and then turned and studied Harry. Then he nodded. “It is being true. What does Master Harry Potter be needing?”

            Are all house-elves this changeable? Draco tried to mouth at Harry, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t choose to respond. He smiled at Dobby and said, “I’d like some biscuits and some chocolate cake, Dobby.”

            “Dobby is bringing chocolate cake and biscuits from Hogwarts!” Dobby squeaked, and immediately disappeared.

            “That was—strange,” said Draco, as diplomatically as he could.

            Harry eyed him for a second as though waiting for more, then nodded. “Dobby is a little strange even for a house-elf, but he’s a good friend. I didn’t think so second year, when he was trying to prevent me from coming back to Hogwarts, but now he is.”

            “He thought you were going to be unsafe at Hogwarts?” Since Harry was sitting on the grass with no care for whether it might stain his Muggle clothes, Draco decided he could do the same with his robes. After all, he could actually use his wand to clean his clothes, which Harry couldn’t do while he was still subject to the Trace.

            “Yes. Because of your father, actually, and the plan to open the Chamber of Secrets. Although I didn’t know that at the time.”

            Draco cautiously turned his head. Harry lay on his back with his eyes closed and no emotion except enjoyment on his face. “Um. You’ve forgiven Father for that now, right?”

            “Yes.” Harry opened his right eye. “I mean, maybe Ginny won’t, but she doesn’t have to come here and forgive him. And as long as he doesn’t bring it up and gloat about how he wished the diary would have killed her, that’s fine.”

            Draco nodded slowly. He would have said something else, but Dobby popped back then, clutching the trays of sweets and beaming in a way that told Draco further conversation would be impossible.

            “Dobby is bringing chocolate cake with three layers of chocolate for Master Harry Potter! And biscuits, and chocolate milk, and apple pie, and…”

            At least Draco could admit it was better cooking than he’d had since they went under the Fidelius.

*

            Harry licked chocolate from his fingers and grinned a little at the emotions coming through the bond. Draco was looking pointedly in the opposite direction. “Sorry if I grew up not wanting to waste anything sweet.”

            That was probably the wrong thing to say, Harry reflected as Draco spun around with a sharp exclamation. “No! I didn’t mean—I mean, I think it’s fine, Harry.” He seemed to calm down and then shook his head. “And we were going to talk about something more important when you decided to ask Dobby for food.”

            “Yes.” Harry sighed and lowered his face against his knees. Now that he wasn’t flying or plotting to escape his relatives’ home or eating, the worries had come back. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when we hunt Horcruxes. Dumbledore doesn’t know much about where they are, or he didn’t at the end of term. Maybe he does now.”

            “He’s had a month? And how many years before that?”

            Harry frowned at him. “He didn’t know that Voldemort had any Horcruxes for a long time.”

            “He’s had since our second year to figure it out.” Draco leaned forwards and studied Harry closely. The bond had calmed again, but it rippled, and Harry felt the curiosity even before it came out in Draco’s words. “Why do you still obey and trust him, Harry? You know that he didn’t care that much about me and my father.”

            Harry paused. Then he said, “I told you already. I don’t think he’s the greatest person ever, but he’s the one who’s conducting this war. If he decides that he has to make sacrifices, then he will.”

            “You didn’t defend him making a sacrifice of us before.”

            “No. And I won’t. But I understand why he felt that way about me. Until he came up with the plan to soul-bond me to you, he probably thought that I’d have to die to get the Horcrux out of me. When he could, he chose to spare me.”

            Draco abruptly stood up and stalked over to him. Harry sat up to meet him. Draco reached out and put a hand lightly on Harry’s throat. Harry felt the bond roaring around him like a waterfall.

            “Talk like that again, with that level of disregard for your own life,” Draco whispered, “and I’ll get Professor Snape to make a Draught of Living Death and I’ll keep you here until the end of the war, when the Dark Lord is gone.” He shook Harry’s neck a little. “No one I’m soul-bonded to should sit there and discuss getting killed so casually.”

            Harry reached up and pried Draco’s fingers off his throat, one-by-one. “Careful,” he told Draco. “That’s the kind of thing that could make Dobby come back and whisk me away from the evil Malfoys.”

            Draco folded his arms and glared at him. “Enough with the casualness, Potter,” he said, while his fury whipped up around him. “Tell me the truth.”

            Harry sighed. “I have. It’s not casual. It’s just what I think might have happened. Dumbledore started suspecting the truth about me, didn’t want to kill me, but also didn’t think of any other way to remove the Horcrux. You have to destroy the container to get rid of the Horcrux. Always. The shard of soul in the diary would have survived if I hadn’t destroyed the diary. But when Dumbledore saw some way to spare me, he took it. Doesn’t that make him good?”

            “No.”

            “Forget what he did to your dad and you for a second,” Harry implored. “Think about it from his point of view.”

            “No.”

            Harry rolled his eyes. “Now you’re being childish and sulky for no real reason. I know perfectly well that you wouldn’t feel this way about what Dumbledore was doing if it wasn’t about you or your father or me, someone who’s soul-bonded to you.”

            Draco looked at him with an ivory face. But Harry no longer thought he was good at controlling his emotions, just his expressions. The bond showed the grinding, roaring blocks of ice he really felt.

            “You wouldn’t be this calm about it if it was someone other than you, either,” Draco whispered. “As proved by the fact that you came with me to rescue Father and you insisted on saying farewell to us no matter what Dumbledore wanted. You can sacrifice yourself all you like, but you feel differently about other people. Don’t tell me that I can’t feel about you that way.”

            Harry rubbed his forehead. Draco was right, and it wasn’t just the pressure of the emotions along the bond telling him so. Harry would have been upset if someone else had told him Draco had to be sacrificed and that was just the way it was.

            “What made you so casual about your own life?”

            Harry lifted his shoulders. “Do you want the tiresome answer or the real one?”

            “The real one.” Draco kept studying his face as if he had no idea what Harry meant and no idea why he would make a distinction.

            “All right.” Harry rubbed his hand across his face this time. “I think I just—there was always something more important, you know? You probably saw some of the risks I took in Quidditch games. Well, catching the Snitch was important.”

            “So you could defeat Slytherin.” Draco didn’t sound accusing, though. His emotions were all poised, waiting.

            “Exactly. And defeating the basilisk was important. And I tried to get people to believe me when I thought Snape was after the Stone, and it turned out to be Quirrell, but—when they didn’t believe me it was more important for Ron and Hermione and me to go after it ourselves.”

            “You always take the chance and leave your life to take care of itself,” Draco said. His emotions were trembling again.

            “Not always. But there are things more important.” Harry hesitated. “Saving my godfather, last year. Battling Bellatrix, when we went into Malfoy Manor, and then making sure that I could break you and your father free so he could Apparate us. I came closer to dying from the effort it took me to destroy the anti-Apparition spells than anything Bellatrix or Voldemort did to me.”

            “I know.”

            Draco stared down at him for a second, then abruptly sat and leaned in towards him. Harry almost scrambled away, he was so startled, but instead, Draco picked up his hand and squeezed it hard.

            “Maybe I was one of the people who encouraged you to risk your life, so I’m guilty. But I want you to stop now.”

            “A little late for that, isn’t it? I mean, the Horcrux hunt is going to be inherently risky. And Voldemort is going to be trying to kill me all the time.”

            “There’s a difference between doing something important that you think is going to succeed and might hurt you, and doing it without thinking.”

            Harry paused. “I was thinking. That’s why I did things like try to find someone to tell about the Stone and Sirius. And I did take some time to think before I went with you, you know. Not just jump into it.”

            “Then also think that your life is more important to someone than what you might achieve by dying,” Draco said, his voice pitched so low that Harry squirmed before he thought about why. Draco paused and studied him, then smiled faintly. The bond was tranquil for once, making it actually harder for Harry to tell what Draco was thinking. “Think about that.”

            “But if I don’t destroy Voldemort, then you don’t have a future, either.”

            “I would rather have a future with you, even if we had to run away from Britain, than one where you died.”

            Harry turned his head. His breathing was labored. He stared at the sun and the clouds until black dots swarmed in front of his eyes, and then he slowly reached out and patted Draco on the shoulder.

            “I’ll—remember that,” he said, and he knew his voice was shaky. But he couldn’t help it. What Draco had just revealed…

            He was going to remember that for the rest of his life. There was no way he wouldn’t.

            He shook his head and jumped to his feet. They hadn’t come together to talk about the Horcrux hunt and remember the war. Harry, at least, had wanted to come be with Draco for different reasons.

            “Race you to the house,” he snapped, and took off while Draco was still protesting about the unfairness of the challenge.

            Draco drew level with him, and caught his eye. Harry had to swallow and look away again.

            He still won. But it took some effort.

*

            SP777: I wonder if you’ll feel the same way about this one?
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The Serenity of His Rage