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The Serenity of His Rage	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16982 -:- 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 Sixteen—Birthday

            Harry paused when he woke up on his seventeenth birthday and found the bed beside his empty. He turned his head and reached along the bond, and discovered that Draco was outside. Not moving, either, the way he would have been if he was flying. And Harry could feel how hard Draco was struggling to mute his emotions, without raising the Occlumency barriers.

            Harry blinked and touched his hair slowly. It was as messy as ever. He wondered for a second if he should shower and dress and cast a charm to try and make himself look respectable. Draco seemed to be acting almost as if he was having an argument with his father. Harry didn’t want to show up looking “disreputable,” as Mr. Malfoy sometimes said of his hair, and make it worse.

            But Draco’s part of the bond also pulsed with impatience, as regular and strong as the tide. In the end, Harry reckoned that Draco could put up with his messy appearance as long as Harry did whatever Draco wanted him to do.

            And he had no idea what that was yet.

            Harry took a deep breath and swung his legs out of bed. No, he didn’t know what he was going down to face, and he half-thought it was pretty serious, but at the same time, anticipation filled him like a rising sun, and Draco would know that.

            Time to go down and face the day.

*

            Here he comes.

            Draco knew it by the way the bond grew stronger as Harry walked towards him, of course, but more than that, he knew it by the way his own head felt filled and flowing with emotion. He smiled a little. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be alone in his own mind—something Professor Snape would probably glare at him for admitting.

            But Draco preferred the sensation of walking along a flowing stream to standing alone in the middle of a barren field, especially since he’d felt so barren after his mother died.

            “Will he understand the significance of the celebration?” Father asked from the head of the table he and Draco had placed outdoors. That was the only contribution Father had made to the preparations. He had sat and watched, face expressionless, as Draco strung the red and gold banners and set up a single thorny, flowering branch in the middle of the table and placed a single treacle tart on the plate. Draco had had to ask Dobby for that.

            Dobby had actually come when Draco asked, and peered at him unblinking for long moments. But he had agreed to bring Harry’s favorite dessert, something Draco didn’t think he could make on his own. And then he had looked around at the table and banners and nodded before he vanished, so at least he didn’t disapprove.

            “He won’t,” Draco said. “Until I explain it to him. It’s more important that he have it.”

            Father shifted in his chair, an eloquent complaint to anyone who knew him.

            Draco ignored that. His whole, quivering being was focused on the doorway Harry would walk through any second. The bond surged closer, but Harry seemed to be walking slower than normal. Probably on purpose to irritate me, Draco thought, although he knew that Harry had no idea why this birthday was so special and traditionally important. He only thought he did.

            Harry stepped outside and stared at the banners that Draco had floated on pure air as well as strung through the trees and on the house. Then he looked at Draco, and the bewilderment gave way to a bemused smile.

            He’ll always smile for me, even when he’s utterly puzzled, Draco thought, and the bond surged.

            “I reckon you wanted to celebrate my birthday?” Harry asked, and looked at the floating banners again.

            Father sniffed. Draco ignored him. “Yes,” he said. “Since this is the birthday you come of age, and that’s always a special one.” He paused, and asked a question he very well knew the answer to. “No one explained to you the ceremony that’s usually done on this day?”

            “No. Ceremony?”

            Draco nodded solemnly and indicated the flowering branch. “This signifies that you’re entering both the pleasures and the perils of adulthood.” He felt the bond jump at the same time as Harry bit his lip. Draco ignored that regally. Harry could laugh at the phrasing later. “The banners always have your House colors, because by this point, you’ll have spent six years with them, and they deserve to be acknowledged.” He nodded towards the plate. “And you always have one of your favorite sweets, because adults can eat sweet things and be trusted not to eat too much the way children might.”

            Father, looking intensely at the sky, twitched a little at that. Draco knew why.

            “Wow,” Harry breathed. His eyes were bright as he walked over and sat down in front of the plate of treacle tart. “No one ever explained that to me. Thank you.” Then he glanced suddenly at Draco. “Did you make this?”

            Draco grinned. He’d been surprised that Harry hadn’t asked the question earlier. “No. Dobby did.”

            “Oh, good.” Then Harry seemed to realize what he’d admitted with that little sigh, and flushed. “I mean—not that you can’t do exactly as you want, of course—not that you shouldn’t do exactly as you want—”

            Draco laughed, partially to end the rambling speech and partially because he didn’t like the emotions coming along with them. Harry convinced he was being ungrateful was like a shot of bitter water into a clear stream. Draco had sometimes felt echoes of that when Harry talked about the Dursleys, but he never wanted it associated with him. “Are you going to eat your treacle tart or not?”

            “Sure,” said Harry, and started, although he did look at the empty plates in front of Draco and Father first.

            Draco shook his head. “We’ll eat later. For now, everyone’s attention should be on you as you achieve your age of majority.”

            Draco hadn’t known someone who wasn’t a Weasley could get that red. But Harry gamely ate his way through the treacle tart, and made conversation with Draco about the Chudley Cannons and their chances. One of the unfortunate things Harry had picked up from his Weasley connection was a fondness for that team. Draco was trying to teach him better, but he was stubborn, as usual.

            “You’re just arguing because you like the Falcons better!” Harry exclaimed at one point.

            “Yes, and I like them because they win,” Draco retorted. “What reason can you give for liking the Cannons?”

            “Because the orange looks as though it would bother you,” Harry said at once.

            Draco laughed, and caught a strange expression on Father’s face as he did so. Father looked as if he was listening to the kind of conversation he’d never expected to hear in his life.

            Well, that could be true, Draco reflected a second later. Father could be surprised that I’m sitting here laughing and joking with Harry Potter, or someone on the opposite side of the war from us. That doesn’t mean I have to stop.

            And Draco turned back to Harry, and they continued the argument over breakfast for all of them once Harry was done with his treacle tart, and the cleaning-up, and half the broom flight that they took after that. But then Harry unfairly changed that flight into a race, so Draco could either pay attention to the broom or the words.

            He had to choose the broom, and had the joy of nearly beating Harry to the finish line on the far side of the front garden before Harry curved back, laughing, and held up a fist in triumph to the sun.

            Draco’s breath was raspy and hot when he watched him, a little like his sweat-streaked face as they landed near the table again. Father had remained outside. Draco thought that was unusual, but it wasn’t until Harry—even more triumphant in being able to use his wand without the Trace—conjured a stream of water to fall over Draco that Father spoke, and Draco knew why he had remained.

            “What have you considered doing with your life, Mr. Potter?”

            Harry twisted around, his wand still in his hand but not pointed at Father. Draco was glad that he didn’t have to step between them. But the question was a traditional one asked of someone on their seventeenth birthday. They didn’t have to make a decision—although it was good luck if they did—but did have to show that they’d started on the process.

            “A lot of things,” Harry said finally. His face was solemn for a second, and the bond leaped once and then was still, like a dog listening intently for some command. “I thought about becoming an Auror, but the more I think about it…that was something I said because I had to say something under the circumstances more than anything else.”

            “Circumstances?”

            “Umbridge.”

            “Ah,” Father said, and Draco opened his mouth. He wanted to know more about those “circumstances,” even if it would mean discussing some awkward things, like the way Draco had been a member of her Inquisitorial Squad. But Father got there before him. “And you no longer think that you’d like to be an Auror?”

            “Even with Draco teaching me, I’m no good at Potions,” said Harry, and grinned sideways at Draco. At least the bond leaped and swayed more happily now. Draco touched his arm. “And I know an Auror has to have a Potions NEWT. At this point, I don’t know if I’ll even be going back to take my NEWTS next year.”

            “Professor Dumbledore will not be coming to take you back to school?”

            “I think he’ll want us to hunt Horcruxes instead.”

            “Mr. Potter,” said Father in sharp agitation, “you had better not be including my son in the hunt the way it looks like you intend to do.”

            Harry turned to face him, and looked as though he could be talking to the Dark Lord himself and wouldn’t back down. Draco touched his elbow, a reminder to go gently. He cared for both of them, and didn’t want them hurt.

            Harry sent a flood of reassurance down the bond, like a sharp spring tide, and answered Lucius’s question mildly. “Well, this day is evidently a special one. And Draco’s already had his seventeenth birthday. So I don’t see why he should listen to you make his decisions for him. He’s the one who will have to tell me if he doesn’t want to go.” He turned around, caught Draco’s eye, and waited patiently.

            Draco held back the temptation to howl with laughter, and bit his lip instead. If he could act contrite, that might ease Father’s temper.

            Because he did intend to go with Harry. And from the way Father was glaring, he probably thought Draco had set up this celebration just to make Harry think of using someone’s coming-of-age as a weapon. Draco shook his head slightly at Father and said, “I didn’t think he would take it that way.”

            “Take what what way?”

            Harry still hated being left out of things. Draco faced him and held a hand out. “I didn’t set up your birthday celebration just to make you think about me being of age and able to make my own decisions. I believe Father was thinking that I manipulated the situation to my advantage.” He was a little sorry he hadn’t thought of that, actually. It would have been a brilliant move.

            Harry rolled his eyes. “Slytherins.” There was really no condemnation in his voice, though, as he looked at Draco. “What do you decide?”

            “I decide to go with you. Could you really doubt that, after what we talked about earlier?”

            Harry’s smile was slow, but it grew. That helped make up for the way Father’s face seemed to be turning to marble.

            “It will be dangerous,” Father began.

            “So was going to rescue you,” Draco said. He put Harry’s arm aside when he tried to extend it in front of Draco. Draco understood and appreciated that Harry simply wanted to prevent him from arguing with his family, but that was too bad. Some arguments were worth having.

            “This will be much more complex and dangerous, and there is no honor or family duties that mandate it.”

            “A different kind of honor and duties do,” Draco said, looking at Harry. “Those of friendship.”

            For a moment, Harry’s eyes and the bond flared the same way, and Draco knew why. Harry would be wondering if it was only friendship, after all. And Draco knew it wasn’t.

            But the last place he wanted to confront that was in front of his father, before he and Harry had had a chance to talk it out for themselves. He faced Father instead, and lowered his voice significantly, so Father would have to listen instead of shout. It was a technique Professor Snape used all the time. Draco would have to thank him for that the next time he saw him. “I can make decisions as an adult, Father. I didn’t have the chance to think about what I would like to do on my own seventeenth birthday. We were already in hiding then. And I don’t think you asked me the same question you just asked Harry.” In fact, Draco knew he hadn’t. He had waited all day in dread of the question, because he didn’t know what the answer would be.

            Perhaps Father had feared the silence, and not asked it for that reason.

            Father blinked, hard. Then he said, “You are young, Draco. You have years to make decisions. Wiser ones than I have made,” he added softly.

            Draco blinked hard for a moment, because that was true, and at the same time, it was spinning things in the way Harry had just muttered about. Father was trying to bribe him with affection. Stay here. Forget about going with Potter on his Horcrux hunt. Forgive me for not asking questions. You can find an answer here.

            It was all unspoken because it had to be, and that left Draco with an advantage. He ignored the words and continued aloud, “I wonder why you asked Harry, then. Because he’s even younger than I am.”

            “You didn’t have to point it out.”

            Draco made a swatting motion with his hand at Harry, and Harry shut up. Father, in the meanwhile, was watching him with an intense gaze that Draco understood well. Father wanted him to surrender to love and duty and their being the last Malfoys and shut up and keep safe.

            Draco refused to. He knew what Father would advocate. Hiding for a while, leaving Britain if the Dark Lord won, and finding a pure-blood girl as soon as possible, one who wouldn’t mind secrecy and diminished funds. Have children so there would be more Malfoys. Steal heirlooms from the Dark Lord when they could get them, or surrender and present themselves as victims to Harry’s side if they won, so they could keep what mattered. Not try to grow the family wealth or prestige in this generation. Leave that promise for future ones to fulfill.

            And perhaps Draco would have managed to agree to that without the same pride Father had taken so much time to encourage in him. Draco didn’t want his children to be the only ones who achieved something. He wanted to do something now.

            “Mr. Potter has something he cannot escape waiting for him,” Father said. “A trap, if you will. I know that you can escape it.”

            “You assume I would want to,” Draco said softly, while his chest ached. He had never seen as much open emotion in Father’s eyes as he wore now. “I understand all the arguments, Father. But I am going with Harry to fight this war.”

            Father leaned back slowly. “Then I suppose I will be left alone to mourn the death of my family,” he said, and his voice was ancient in a way Draco had never heard it. “Because you will die in this war, Draco.”

            Draco shook his head as confidently as he could, and then faltered when his father glared at him. “All right, I can’t be sure,” he conceded. “But I really don’t think you need to glare at me as if you’re sure.”

            “I am,” Father whispered.

            “You can’t be—”

            A shimmer at the edge of the field made Draco turn his head. He would almost be grateful for Harry’s friends charging into the argument at the moment and trying to insist that Harry needed to come with them to hunt Horcruxes right now. It would at least be something different.

            But it was worse. Professor Snape came walking towards him, his cloak flapping behind him, his face wrought with gloom.

            And behind him came Dumbledore.

*

            Harry hadn’t realized how much he was dreading Dumbledore’s appearance until he felt the adrenaline that flooded his body. He tensed. He had meant—he really had meant to write some sort of reassuring letter, and he hadn’t.

            But that didn’t mean he thought the Headmaster had the right to level him with the disappointed look he did. Harry stood his ground, and felt the bond move around him as if Draco was building a steel wall with his emotions. Harry didn’t flash him a grateful smile, because it would probably just upset Dumbledore further, but at least he knew someone who cared for him was there.

            “Harry.” Dumbledore nodded to him, not smiling as he usually did, but with the feeling that he could. “Many happy returns of the day.”

            “Thank you,” Harry said warily. He could see Snape glaring at him for his level of disrespect, but to be frank, Harry didn’t give a shit. He was going to handle this his own way, which included demanding some answers and not trusting blindly.

            “Do you know why I asked you not to come here, but instead to stay with your relatives?”

            And Harry found that he could be angry, after all. He deliberately took a step towards the Headmaster that put Draco behind him. He arranged the words in his mouth so he wouldn’t shout them when he did begin to speak, and demanded quietly, “When did you make it a choice between coming here and staying at Privet Drive? You never offered me a choice. You told me I had to stay with my relatives until my birthday. You didn’t say why. We never even told you we were communicating, because you would have tried to stop it. So why would you act now like I should have stayed one place instead of the other place?”

            Dumbledore watched him intently. Not sadly or angrily, either of which would have set Harry off further. He had the impression that the Headmaster was trying to figure him out.

            “I hoped, by separating you, to somewhat lessen the intensity of the soul-bond,” Dumbledore said. “You told me before that you once lost yourself in Nagini when she was biting Arthur, and the same thing happened with Tom before Mr. Malfoy taught you Occlumency.” He gave a bow to Draco that made the bond thrum. Harry was fairly sure Draco thought it was condescending. “I did not want you to lose yourself in the bond with Mr. Malfoy.” He sighed. “Which seems to have happened.”

            “I know exactly who I am, and who Harry is. This ‘losing’ that you talked about hasn’t happened.” Draco pronounced Dumbledore’s word as if it was a worm in his soup.

            “That is not the only definition of losing,” said Dumbledore. He hesitated once, then seemed to brace himself. “If Harry cannot put the war above you—”

            “Why should he have to?” Draco asked, and his voice was as quiet as Voldemort’s in some of the visions Harry had had of him. “I’ll be going with him, helping to fight the war. It can only help to have the person who taught him Occlumency and who has a soul-bond with him at his side. Don’t you agree, Headmaster?”

            Dumbledore looked at both of them in silence. Harry saw the way his eyes flickered and knew the moment when Dumbledore might have told them the truth had passed. He still wanted to hide why he’d required Harry to stay on Privet Drive and why he didn’t want Draco to go with him.

            Or maybe he wants to hide the reason that he dislikes the soul-bond.

            Harry waited, and Dumbledore was still silent. Finally Harry said, “These are reasonable questions. Why wouldn’t you answer them?”

            “How dare you ask such things of the Headmaster,” Snape snarled quietly.

            Harry ignored him. He no longer thought Snape would curse him for disrespect, and he had to know Dumbledore’s reasons. “Listen, sir,” he said, putting in the word “sir” only to stop Snape from ranting, “the soul-bond’s a fact. And I stayed here with Draco and his father for almost a fortnight and nothing bad happened. I don’t even think anything bad happened to the Dursleys, or you would have told me. So what is it that you don’t like? Me not doing what you say? Me being with my soul-bond? What?”

            Draco shifted behind him in extreme smugness while the bond rippled and flowed like water in sunlight. Harry didn’t know exactly which words of his had made Draco that happy, and he didn’t care. He just stood with his eyes fixed on Dumbledore and waited for the answer.

            Dumbledore finally sighed hugely and admitted, “I thought things might go wrong, but they did not. That doesn’t make it safe for you to leave the sanctuary of the blood protections on the Dursleys, my boy.”

            “How strong were those blood protections?” Draco asked instantly. “Professor Snape couldn’t sense them, and neither could my father. Would he have been safe there? Or were you thinking more of the safety of the Muggles?”

            “Do you even know why I left?” Harry added. “Did Professor Snape tell you? What did you think of it?”

            Dumbledore remained silent. Then he said, “I would prefer to explain this to you in private, Harry.”

            Draco’s hand clamped on Harry’s arm instantly, and he leaned in to hiss into his ear, “Don’t you dare.”

            “I wasn’t intending to,” Harry reassured him, before he looked at Dumbledore again. “I think you can say it in front of Draco and his father or not at all, sir. And I won’t fight the war under you if you think you have to keep it private.”

            Dumbledore closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. For the first time, the coldness of fear touched Harry. He had thought Dumbledore was being stubborn and wanting to have everything his own way, but how he acted now…

            Maybe there’s something real here. Maybe there’s something that he’s afraid of.

            Dumbledore sighed one more time and said, “As little as you will believe me, my dear boy, I did try to spare both you and Mr. Malfoy anguish. The soul-bond…did not work as I hoped. I planned to attach your soul to Mr. Malfoy’s to lessen its dependence on the shard of Tom’s inside you. At that point, with the shard so clearly separated, I thought it would be easy to destroy. You would essentially stop being a Horcrux.”

            Harry nodded. He remembered Dumbledore saying that. “What do you mean, it didn’t go as planned?”

            Dumbledore looked at him with eyes like changing light. “The soul-bond has tied you harder to life without changing the positioning of your own soul or Tom’s shard. You are still a Horcrux. And there is no destruction for a living Horcrux but death.” He sighed and shivered. “I thought, by keeping you separate from Mr. Malfoy, I would at least spare him some anguish and immerse you further in the war so your own inevitable sacrifice would be less painful for you. I am sorry, my dear boy.”

*

            Jan: Well, this might provide another incentive.

            SP777: Well, at the moment Harry has had no reason to think he might be attracted to a boy before this, and Draco hasn’t had time to feel much of anything except outrage and determination to keep his family and Harry safe. Give it time.
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The Serenity of His Rage