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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
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 15
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- 17
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Sixteen—Awakening Answers
            “I never would have suspected something like this.” Kingsley’s voice was numb, and from the awkward gesture he made to take up a piece of paper a second later, so were his hands. He dropped the parchment, and swore.
            Harry winced a little, but held his wince in, and leaned forwards to pick up the parchment for Kingsley. “You never thought that Dennis had anything to do with it, did you, sir?” he asked quietly. “Even when he came to us with that nonsense story about Tatyana Kingston.” That was something else he was angry about, he thought, something else he should have taxed Dennis with. Dennis had either given Kingston’s name up because she was a criminal—which meant he had sheltered her until then—or because he wanted to use her as a distraction and she was innocent—which meant he was sacrificing one of his own people to protect the Bard.
            “I never did,” said Kingsley, and sighed. “To be honest, Harry, I thought maybe you were jumping at shadows in your frustration that you couldn’t arrest Dennis for smuggling.”
            Harry rose slowly to his feet, holding Kingsley’s eyes. “If you try to release him now, I’ll walk away from the Aurors,” he said.
            Kingsley shook his head at once. “Of course I know we can’t release him now, Harry. Merlin. He held back information related to a murder investigation.” He closed his eyes. “And perhaps passed it on, if your speculations about his visit to your house are correct.”
            Harry nodded silently. He thought Dennis had come only to see his wards, and perhaps the silver fire he was adding to them, and might have passed word on to Colin if he had ever come into direct contact with his brother’s ghost.
            Malfoy was behind him, along with his mother, watching silently. Kingsley had wanted to have them stand out in the corridor while he and Harry spoke. Harry could understand the impulse, but he had still refused. He wasn’t about to subject Malfoy and his mum to attacks from Colin, who was probably inside the Ministry as well. And so far, it seemed that only Harry’s presence had really held Colin back.
            “So,” said Kingsley, opening his eyes. “You need to speak to experts on ghosts and figure out how they’re bound, or exorcised, or not.”
            “Yes,” said Harry. “And I need permission to take the Malfoys with me, to keep them safe.”
            He started a second later. Something that felt like a light touch of fingers on his back slid along and up into his hair, on the nape of his neck, where they clenched for a moment. He wondered briefly if Colin had come into the room and was taunting him before the next attack.
            But he understood then, and relaxed. Malfoy was touching him, the way he seemed to like to do to Harry, without the notice of Kingsley. Harry had to admit that the touch, even if it was mostly in gratitude because of his commitment to keeping the Malfoys safe, relaxed him.
            He smiled at Kingsley, who was seriously considering the request. He said somberly, “The last two times you took them out, attacks happened.”
            “Attacks have happened at Grimmauld Place, too,” Harry pointed out. “No place is truly safe unless it’s never had a photograph in it. And I’m afraid that Colin can attach himself to our wands. So we need to figure out how to stop him, and I’d like to keep Draco and Narcissa close to me until then.” He thought referring to them by their first names might make Kingsley see how seriously he took this.
            It certainly made the hand brushing his back tighten for a second. Harry didn’t look back at Malfoy, as much as he wanted to. He had to keep his focus on impressing and convincing Kingsley, for now.
            Kingsley sighed deeply enough to make it sound as though his lungs would float out of his chest. “Yes. All right.” He waved a hand at Harry. “You have my permission to do what you need to do to track the ghost down and stop him.”
            Harry nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He had won a victory, and he was going to show Kingsley that he could be gracious in that victory. No need to hold it over his boss’s head.
            As he turned towards the door, Kingsley muttered something behind them that sounded like, “I just don’t know what you can do to stop a murderous ghost.”
            Harry couldn’t help smiling, serious situation and all, as he opened the door. “Well, sir, that’s what we’re going to find out.”
*
            We.
            That word, as much as Potter’s words so far and the way he walked carefully enough that Draco could keep a hand on his back, convinced Draco that Potter was worth working with.
            And when the case was over and they had stopped the Bard and Draco and his mother were safe once more…
            We’ll just have to see, won’t we?
            Narcissa spoke from beside Draco, startling him badly enough that he let his hand fall from Potter’s back. “Where you do intend to get information on the Bard, Mr. Potter? I do not think any of his former victims are alive enough to talk to you and tell you about him, are they?”
            Potter turned around, walking backwards, and shook his head somberly. “No. Until you, no one had ever survived a Bard attack.”
            Draco preened a little, despite knowing it had been Potter’s presence and good luck that had let them survive, rather than any inherent virtue of their own. It seemed that Potter understood why he might want to preen, though, because his glance at Draco and his small smile were fond.
            “We’re going to Hogwarts,” Potter continued, and stole Draco’s smile. “I hope we can talk to Myrtle and find out what keeps her in the school. We need to choose a place to bind Colin, but I can’t do that until I know more about the binding.”
            “I would think Hogwarts would be the most dangerous place you could bring us, given that the Bard died there.” Narcisa’s voice was cold, and she gripped one corner of her shawl tightly. Draco thought he was the only one who saw the way her hand trembled, and he was certainly the only one who knew what it meant.
            “He doesn’t haunt the scene of his death, though,” said Potter, shaking his head. He had wild hair even at his most serious, Draco noted irrelevantly, spilling down the side of his temples and framing his lips in a bewildering way. “I don’t think we need to worry about him following us there more than we have to somewhere else.” He turned and gave Draco a measuring glance. “But I want to make sure you’re comfortable with going there.”
            “I believe that I have already voiced my discomfort,” said Narcissa, in a chilly voice. She was staring off into the distance. Draco choked back a sigh. His mother was difficult, when she got like this. He hoped that Potter wouldn’t take too much offense.
            “Draco?”
            Draco jerked and gasped a little, because he hadn’t known Potter was going to use his first name like that, even if he’d used it in front of his boss. He met Potter’s eyes, and found them as sincere as always. Potter really did want to know if he was comfortable. And he might agree to cancel the journey to Hogwarts if Draco told him not to do it.
            Draco reveled in the notion of that power—that he could tell Harry Potter what to do—for a moment before he regretfully shook his head. “I think we have to go,” he said. “But I hope that you have plans on how to protect us, Potter. And plans on how to ultimately deal with the Bard.” It was something he hadn’t wanted to broach until they’d seen Creevey, because there was always the hope he would tell them something important, and planning ahead of that would be silly.
            “I might have something, yes.”
            Potter’s voice had become reticent again. Draco squinted at him. “What?” He was astonished, but now that he thought about it, he shouldn’t have been. Potter always knew all sorts of magic and secrets that no one else did, and now he stood with his hands clamped on the sides of his robe as though he was thinking hard.
            Potter hesitated, then jerked his head a little and said, “I don’t want to talk about it in the Ministry.”
            Draco nodded, understanding that, and continued walking down the corridor. People watched him and his mother pass and muttered. They seemed to not take much notice of Potter. Draco resisted the urge to shake his head in bafflement. It must simply be that they were used to him, he supposed. He couldn’t imagine becoming used to him the same way, but Potter probably hadn’t saved the lives of most of the people in here.
            Potter popped into the office he shared with Weasley and said something about Hogwarts to him that made Weasley’s mouth tighten. “It’s late enough now that there won’t be many people up to receive you,” he said. With a start, Draco cast a Tempus Charm and blinked when he realized it was nearly nine at night; he hadn’t realized how much time had passed when they were fighting the Bard, and realizing things, and talking to Weasley, Creevey, and Shacklebolt. “Why don’t you go home and wait until morning?”
            Potter turned his head and looked at Draco and his mother. Draco saw the hard glitter of his eyes, and wasn’t at all surprised about the answer he gave.
            “I don’t want to go back to a house haunted by Colin Creevey, and risk putting them in more danger.”
            Weasley started a little, as if he had forgotten about the presence of living people the Bard might threaten, and then sighed and said, “Fine. But at least let me call ahead to McGonagall for you.”
            “Oh, yeah, I suppose you could do that,” said Potter, and turned back to his friend with a faint smile. “Thanks.”
            Draco bit his lip savagely to hold in the chuckle that wanted to escape. Potter had been so intent, so determined to save him, so focused on him, that he had neglected to think of something as simple as informing the Headmistress of Hogwarts that they were coming.
            Well, all right, focused on both him and his mother. But it would be hard for Draco to be jealous of his own mother. He smiled at Potter, and Potter gave him a tired smile back, then made a motion towards the Ministry’s entrance.
            He didn’t have to do it, it would probably be of absolutely no survival advantage in another attack by the Bard, but Draco did stay within touching distance as he and Potter moved down the corridor with his mother slightly behind. And that was simply because he wanted to.
            Nor did Potter move away.
*
            Harry stuck his hands deep into his pockets to keep them from trembling as he and the Malfoys marched up the road from Hogsmeade towards the castle. He could see the dying if he looked, or the delusions of the dying, the images of the people who had died in various places on the grounds. He could even see, as if it was before his eyes, Hagrid walking with Harry’s “body” in his arms and bawling as he did so.
            He wouldn’t say that he saw their ghosts. Not now.
            He knew what he could do to bind Colin, yes—what he would probably have to do, if their attempt to question Moaning Myrtle failed. But he hated thinking about it. Not least because if he did do it, then he might find himself tempted to do it again someday, and that would break a promise he had made himself, one that he considered as binding as ones that he had sometimes made to Dumbledore.
            “Harry?”
            That was—Draco, Harry supposed he should really call him, walking up beside Harry and giving him an intent look, one hand reaching out to tap his hand. Harry nodded to him. His first name was like a caress over his arm still, but he supposed Draco couldn’t see it the same way, or he would have stopped using it by now.
            “I think I know what you mean to do.” Draco’s voice was soft, musing, and his glance at Harry was sharp for only a second before he looked away and drew in a deep breath. “It wouldn’t have to do with the wand that you used to master the Dark Lord, would it?”
            Harry frowned. “Not exactly that. But—the other thing that gets implied and comes with that wand, yes.”
            Draco nodded slowly. “And you don’t want to do this.”
            Harry said nothing. His hands still ached sometimes, when he wasn’t thinking about it, for the shape of a wand made of elder wood and a small stone.
            Draco touched his shoulder one more time, then moved away. “Maybe there’s something else we can do to make sure that Creevey doesn’t attack people.”
            Harry hoped so. He didn’t want to hurt Colin in the sense of destroying him—although he would if there was no other solution to make him stop attacking people. But even more than that, he didn’t want to take up the power of the Master of Death. He didn’t know if he would find the wand and the stone so easy to put down this time if he did.
*
            “Draco.”
            Draco caught his breath as he looked up at Moaning Myrtle. She looked exactly the same, of course. He’d changed enough that he thought she might not have recognized him, and he had been prepared to smile and make a personal plea for the knowledge she might otherwise deny them.
            But Myrtle was floating towards him with a misty smile and large tears in her eyes that made it perfectly clear she remembered him. For a second, a cold hand rested on his forehead.
            “You’re such a big boy now,” said Myrtle, and sniffled. “You p-probably didn’t even remember ugly Myrtle until you decided to come back here for something else—”
            “You were never ugly to me,” said Draco quietly, and reached up a hand. He had thought he might be a little afraid of her, knowing that a different ghost was trying so hard to end his life, but now that he saw her again, that seemed strange to him. Of course he wasn’t afraid of Myrtle. He wondered now why he had thought he would be.
            Myrtle flushed bright silver and gave a little wriggle in the air. Then she turned and stared at Harry. “But you want some help, don’t you?”
            Harry just gave her a sad stare. “There’s a ghost that’s killing people,” he said quietly. “We wanted to talk to you and find out what kept you here, and if it’s something that we could use on him.”
            Draco winced. He thought that saying it like that would make Myrtle wail and refuse to help them.
            But Myrtle only seemed fascinated instead. “Whose ghost is it?” she demanded, and then let out a gleeful little shriek and clapped her hands. “It’s not the Bloody Baron, is it? I knew he would start killing people someday!”
            “No,” said Harry. Draco could tell by the way he stood that he had his hand on his wand in his sleeve, and blinked, wondering when he had become familiar enough with Harry’s body language to tell that. “Someone who died here during the Battle of Hogwarts. Colin Creevey.”
            Myrtle pulled herself up as if she was about to order troops into battle. Draco blinked. He hadn’t thought the identity of the ghost would mean much to her, because it seemed to him that Creevey had probably gone out and started killing people as soon as he could form into a proper vengeful spirit, instead of haunting Hogwarts. But Myrtle was staring steadily from one of them to another now, and she had an expression on her face that Draco had never seen there.
            “No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “I won’t help you enslave him and bring him down.”
            Harry’s expression was also strange. “Binding him is the best option, Myrtle,” he said. “Exorcising him and tying him some place where he would be helpless. Otherwise, I’m going to have to destroy him.” He hesitated for a second, then pulled out something silvery and shimmering from his pocket. It was the Invisibility Cloak. Draco blinked, understanding now why they had made a short detour to Grimmauld Place before coming here.
            Myrtle understood what Harry was saying, and her shriek was dreadful. Draco felt his mother, who had been standing behind them, too well-bred to voice her dismay at the dirty bathroom, recoil. Myrtle rose straight up in the air, still shrieking and shaking her head.
            “You can’t bind him here!” she shouted. “He’s too scary!”

            Harry took a step forwards, and Draco knew he was seeing the hunting Auror in the intense way that Harry’s face flushed, how he extended one hand as if he would hold Myrtle there. “What do you mean?” he whispered. “Why does he scare you?”
            Myrtle only shrieked again and dived into her toilet. Draco opened his mouth to call to her. It was possible she would come out and talk to him where she wouldn’t for Harry.
            And then another voice, one that Draco knew well from the dungeons, said, “Perhaps I would be a better source of information.”
            Draco turned around and said hollowly, “Bloody Baron. Sir.”
*
Severus1snape: Thanks! And no, Harry isn’t happy at all. He still remembers the little boy with a camera who used to follow him around.
SP777: They pretty much are.
You can give me an idea, although it’s nice to have them all collected in one place. Just make sure that it has all the details you want to put in it!
Kain: That’s exactly what Dennis isn’t considering (another is what effect supporting his brother is going to have on the rest of his people, as Harry thinks here). In his eagerness to give his brother “peace,” he hasn’t considered that it might not be peace he’s earning for himself.
You’ll hear a little more from people who sympathize with the Bard, to a certain extent, and from the Muggleborn Legion.
Harry is really upset about it being Dennis. But he will absolutely try to make sure that Dennis stays under arrest, because it sickens him, too.
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Bard of Morning's Hope