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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 Seventeen—The Haste of His Temper

            “What?”

            Draco’s hand was so painful on his arm that Harry made an attempt to pull away from him. But then he realized that about half that pain came from the bond, poking sharp and thorny in the back of his mind—and the eyes Draco turned on him were brilliant with outrage.

            “You want to go with him so he can kill you right now, I suppose?” Draco stepped towards him, and Harry winced. Not only was the anger in the back of his mind even sharper, but he could only imagine how fierce the rage was, that Draco didn’t feel Harry’s true emotions down the bond. “Just lie back and bare your throat like a good little sacrifice? Well, I’m not a good little sacrifice. And you’re mine.”

            Harry saw Dumbledore’s and Snape’s faces, and briefly closed his eyes. Dumbledore seemed to blame him for letting Draco grow this close to him. Snape probably blamed him for “corrupting” Draco and making him care about someone with the last name Potter. He probably thought the soul-bond shouldn’t have been created at all.

            Don’t I, too?

            But he couldn’t, Harry thought. Even if it hadn’t worked the way it was supposed to, and Draco shouldn’t have been dragged into this with him. He couldn’t regret it, not when it felt so wonderful. And nothing Harry had done could have affected the main motivation for this, the death of Draco’s mother. Voldemort would still have killed her no matter Harry’s promises or temptations or opinions on the matter.

            “Mr. Malfoy does have a point, Harry,” Dumbledore said, and Harry opened his eyes, hoping that meant he was wrong about how bad this was and something different would happen. But instead, Dumbledore just watched him with uncomfortable pity. “We will have to make sure that the soul-bond is dissolved first. Otherwise, there is the chance that your death could pull Mr. Malfoy into death with you.”

            And at that point, not only Draco’s father but Snape looked bleak. Harry swallowed. It seemed like a loud sound, but that might just have been the silence that had fallen over the little garden in front of the house.

            “I understand, sir—”

            “I don’t.”



            Draco’s voice was so loud that Harry winced again, and his emotions dug in like barbed arrows. He grabbed Harry’s arm, gave everyone a poisonous little smile, said, “Excuse us,” and then dragged Harry behind the house.

            Harry turned around the minute Draco stopped dragging him and said, “You know that they’ll just—”

            “Shut up. You were ready to die.”

            Harry decided the smartest thing he could do when Draco sounded like that was to shut up. Draco was glaring at him from less than two centimeters away, and Harry could feel his breath on his cheeks. Draco shook his head, but didn’t move back.

            “You were ready to go with Dumbledore,” he said, his voice softer now but no less ugly. “I felt it. You were ready to die.”

            Harry closed his eyes. “I’ve known for more than a year now that Voldemort might kill me,” he whispered. “That’s what the prophecy says. I don’t want to die. There’s a difference between what I feel and wanting to die.”

            “Then explain it for me? Because somehow I’m not getting all the nuances, even though we have a bloody soul-bond.”

            Harry sighed and opened his eyes. This was one time he longed for Ron and Hermione. Ron would have understood without Harry having to say the words, and Hermione could have found the ones that would let Harry explain this to Draco.

            Not that either of them would be any happier that Harry might have to die. But they had different kinds of sensibilities about it than Draco. Draco sounded upset because of the way it pertained to him. He wasn’t thinking about the wider picture.

            “On second thought, don’t explain it to me if your explanation’s going to be as stupid as what I’m getting through the bond.”

            Harry folded his arms and threw his head back. It landed with a thump that was more like a crack against the wall of the house, but at the moment, that was satisfying. “I can’t explain if you won’t understand,” he growled.

            “I can’t save you if you won’t cooperate.”

            Harry closed his eyes again. “I don’t want to die. If only because it would mean that you died with me. What would happen to you? Death like Dumbledore says?”

            “I think the better question to ask is,” Draco said, catching his hand with nails that cut into his palm, “what happens when a bond becomes as close as this is. And what are the ways to keep one end of the soul-bond alive when he’s determined to die?”

            Harry threw up his free hand. “I don’t want to die! I want to live! And be with you!”

            “Good,” Draco breathed unexpectedly, his voice sounded calmer, and Harry hadn’t even opened his eyes to ask why when Draco’s lips clamped on his.

            It was the missing piece Harry had sought without knowing it, he thought dimly even as he curled one arm around Draco’s neck and dragged him down and down, until Draco’s forehead almost slammed into his. This was the kind of joke he had been afraid to make the other day when Draco sat on him. This was the edge to Draco’s remarks, and his smiles, and the way that Harry had thought vaguely they were more than friends without having words for what they were.

            Now he did.

            He slid his hand up beneath Draco’s shirt, and felt him arch in surprise and grunt a moment before the bond’s emotions slammed into his mind. God, they were wild. Draco wanted to devour him and sweep him away and hold him safe like a shell on the edge of the sea. Harry sagged against him for a second, almost drunk on them.

            Draco’s hands were the ones urging him back up and into the conflict of their mouths. Harry kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until his throat was dry, and sighed out when Draco finally pulled his head back for a desperate breath. His own lips tingled. Harry ran his tongue over them and winced a little at the pain.

            “It’s all right,” Draco whispered, sliding his hand along Harry’s chin. “I know a spell that makes them hurt less.”

            Harry took a breath that filled his lungs, let it out, and said, “Let’s not use it yet. I want to look like this when we go back around the house to confront Dumbledore.”

            Draco’s eyes bulged for a second, and the bond rippled as if starting back. Harry blinked. He had thought part of the reason Draco wanted to kiss him was to convince Dumbledore he couldn’t just march in here and take Harry away.

            But then Draco whispered, “And in front of my father and Professor Snape?” and Harry understood his reluctance.

            He grinned and studied Draco for a second. His hair was pretty frantic, and his lips were roughed up, although maybe not as badly as Harry’s; Harry couldn’t tell that without a mirror. And he looked as though he didn’t know whether to be pale or red, the way the bond couldn’t tell whether to be in motion or still.

            “In front of all of them,” Harry said, and slung his arm around Draco’s waist, and led him around the corner of the house again.

*

            Severus closed his eyes when the two of them appeared. Two boys, Albus persisted in calling them, or at least he did until the time he slipped up and started talking about how mature Potter would need to be to save the world.

            Except that Potter was strutting now, his eyes as wide and wise as if he were an ordinary boy, and his arm was tight around Draco’s waist. And Draco was leaning against him and looking at Potter in the kind of adoration that Severus had never thought to see him look at anyone with. Or to see anyone look at Potter, he had to admit. The Weasley chit was stupid for admiring him.

            As if he had heard the thoughts, Draco’s eyes turned towards him. Severus winced. The outrage in them was all too clear. Draco blamed him for being part of this, for trying to end the war with Potter’s life.

            Severus himself did not much like it, given the vow he had sworn to take care of Lily’s son. But on the other hand, Albus had told him what the boy would become if he did not die. A captured prisoner, probably kept in a box for the rest of his life—which would be forever, because he was part of what kept the Dark Lord immortal, and the Dark Lord would certainly not want to destroy him, once he knew the truth.

            This way was still better, no matter what Draco thought at the moment. Severus wondered if there was a chance of getting Draco alone and explaining that.

            The two halted in front of him, leaning on each other in a way that stirred up disturbing memories in Severus. He had once gone on a full-moon search of the Forbidden Forest for certain ingredients that needed to be harvested then, and stumbled across a pair of unicorns standing with their necks entwined and their horns leaning across each other’s foreheads.

            They cannot have become like that.

            But they had, and the soul-bond had had effects Albus had not foreseen, because of course it had. Severus held back a sigh of disgust and sat down in an abandoned chair at the table. He would have no chance to talk to Draco alone any time soon. Among other things, he didn’t seem to want to let go of Potter.

            “You can’t destroy him, that’s all.”

            Draco was speaking to Albus in an adult but condescending tone, as if that was what it would take. Severus checked another sigh. He had taught Draco better than that. Always show respect to people who had power over you, even if you didn’t respect them.

            That way, you had the better chance to overpower and destroy them later.

            Perhaps Draco thinks that chance will never come, or at least that he isn’t risking it now.

            Albus gave Draco a wan smile. “I know what you would like to think, Mr. Malfoy. But there are larger matters at stake than the survival of a single individual. I think Harry knows that,” he added pointedly, leaning to the side as if he would see something different in Potter’s eyes. “After all, he nearly sacrificed himself once to save young Miss Weasley when a Horcrux might have killed her. And he might have died last year when he went to rescue his godfather in the Ministry. Or in the Triwizard Tournament. Or during your first year when he rescued the Philosopher’s Stone.”

            With the litany, Draco was growing more and more rigid, and now seemed more inclined to loom over Potter like a dragon over her eggs, instead of a unicorn with its mate. Severus caught his breath in a groan.

            “So you say that you consider his life of less value because it’s nearly been lost so many times?” Draco demanded in hushed tones. “Wow.” He sounded a little dazed, and he laughed suddenly. “I thought it would be the other way around, that his life would become more valuable because he had shown how strong and brave he could be, but you…you assign the exact opposite meaning to it. Wow.” He laughed again.

            Then he moved in front of Potter and held up his wand towards Albus. “This is the end of all those sacrifices,” he said. “I’m coming with you, and I’m going to research Harry’s condition. There must be something out there on living Horcruxes you haven’t found. Don’t try to stop me,” he added flatly, and Severus was not sure whether the words were for Albus or Potter.

            Useless, if they are for the former. For Potter…

            Severus looked at Potter, and then hastily away again. He realized that he had never considered what would happen, where his loyalty would lie, if Potter did not agree with the Headmaster and wanted to live.

            I shouldn’t have to be in this situation. Bloody soul-bond.

*

            Draco was enjoying himself.

            For a certain value of “enjoy,” of course. The emotions rattled around in his head like stones, and he didn’t enjoy that. But for once, he was in the right, and he knew it, and he didn’t have to stand around smiling and being grateful and humble that someone like him was allowed to exist at all. He had the right to have a say and defend his life.

            Which was bound up with Harry’s life. Draco knew that would have annoyed his Father, and would have annoyed a certain past reflection of himself, who had never wanted to be bound to Potter in the first place. But now it was nice to both be in the right and protect someone he had come to care for.

            “I have done enough research to be sure there is no other cure,” said Dumbledore. He looked remarkably mild and soft and grandfatherly. Draco was sure it was a ruse, and ignored it. “I did that research during the last few months. I cast the spells that told me Harry’s Horcrux had not really changed during the months when he was at Hogwarts and separated from you.” He looked at Draco with eyes that seemed to beg—what? Well, forgiveness was the least of it. “There is no time to do years of research in the middle of a war.”

            “So he should die because it’s convenient?” Draco demanded.

            Harry’s emotions were doing strange things inside his head, rolling and wavering back and forth as if Harry had boulders on a cloth he was bouncing up and down in a windstorm. Draco ignored that, too. Harry could be influenced by whoever was speaking to him at the time. Dumbledore’s mild act worked on him. Well, it was just a good thing that he had Draco with him to watch out for his interests.

            “I never said that.”

            “You didn’t have to,” Draco told him, a little smugly. “You implied it.”

            Dumbledore let out a loud whistling sigh and turned to Harry. “Can I speak with you alone for a few minutes, Harry?”

            “No,” Draco pointed out.

            “Draco,” said Harry softly. The bond had turned so that it was flowing like clear water towards Draco again, and Draco snorted a little as he imagined what Harry was feeling beneath that. Like a martyr, probably.

            “No,” Draco repeated. “He only wants to get you alone so he can convince you, and he wants to convince you to die. So you’re not going with him.”

            “Is that not what you did when you took him behind the house, Mr. Malfoy?” Dumbledore asked, his voice heavy and soft. “I would not believe that you would insist on exposing Harry to a tactic that only you could use, while forbidding me the chance.”

            “Well, if you put it like that,” Draco said, and waited until Dumbledore smiled at him, because he thought Draco was yielding. Draco finished triumphantly, “No. Because I also kissed him. And I don’t think you’d be willing to.”

            Dumbledore’s face looked like chalk. Father growled something wordless off to the side. Professor Snape opened his mouth with the same expression that he wore when forced to take points from Slytherin, and then put his head in his hands.

            “Well?” Draco demanded, turning back towards Dumbledore.

            “You are right,” said Dumbledore, and there was a faint twinkle in his eyes after all, which Draco instantly distrusted. “I would not kiss Harry. But I do need to speak to him.”

            “No.”

            “You can speak to me here, can’t you?” Harry asked, and stirred away from Draco’s side, which displeased Draco until he saw the way Harry frowned at Dumbledore. At least he isn’t giving in and going along just because someone speaks nicely to him. Not anymore. “Everyone here already knows about Horcruxes and the soul-bond Draco and I have and all the other secrets that you might want to keep.”

            “There are things I think only you should know about, Harry.”

            “I really can’t think of what they are. And if you can’t give me an example in front of Draco, maybe they’re not all that important.”

            Harry’s voice was implacable, his face calm and smooth. Draco wanted to hug him in sheer exhilaration, and he only held back because he thought it might make them seem less serious to Dumbledore.

            At least he could send his emotions ricocheting down the bond in a sort of hug, and Harry caught the edge of the tidal wave and winked at him.

            “Very well,” said Dumbledore, giving in so suddenly that Draco was suspicious again. But all he did was look at the house and assume an expression of bland patience. “Your soul is so tightly entwined with Voldemort’s Horcrux, Harry, that I think now I could never have moved it far enough to get it out of you. The shard can’t be changed or soothed. It must be killed.”

            Harry shuddered a little, and disgust filmed the bond like oil floating on top of water. Draco flung an arm around his shoulders and led him towards the table, shaking his head a little when Harry glanced at him. No, nothing could make him pull back from touching Harry or make him think Harry was evil. Not even the soul-shard that apparently competed with the tie to Draco’s own soul to influence Harry.

            He’s mine. That’s not going to change.

            “But,” Dumbledore continued, and his voice was sharper than before, “I think there’s a chance that you might survive the removal of the Horcrux, Harry. At least if it’s taken care of in a particular way and at a particular time.”

*

            Why did he want to tell me that by myself? Harry immediately thought. It’s nothing that he couldn’t say in front of Draco! It’s the most hopeful thing he could have said!

            But he thought a second later that he knew why. Dumbledore had said he wanted to spare Draco anguish, that he had actually thought Draco might forget about the bond and Harry if they were separated for long enough. Dumbledore had only said there was a chance Harry could survive. He might be afraid Draco would take it as a certainty.

            Or rightly judge that he should just act as if it’s a certainty and take me away.

            Honestly, if Draco asked him to run from Dumbledore right now, Harry thought he might agree.

            “What do I have to do?” Harry asked. He would have gone towards Dumbledore, but Draco held him tight at his side. Probably for the best, Harry considered a second later. He wouldn’t want to deal with a hysterical Draco.

            “It is more what Voldemort has to do.” Dumbledore was so tightly focused on him that Harry thought he didn’t even noticing the others flinching at the name. “And that is cast a certain spell at you that he thinks would eliminate you. If I’m correct, the spell would kill the shard of soul instead. You essentially have two souls. The Horcrux could take the place of yours, could die so you wouldn’t have to.”

            “What spell?” Draco demanded.

            “The Killing Curse.”

            “No.”

            Draco was yanking Harry around by his arm again, as if trying to pull him backwards would make Harry more inclined to listen to him. But Harry was already inclined to listen to him, and this was just annoying. He stiffened his legs against the pull and told Dumbledore, “You sound certain about that. How can you be when this has never happened before?”

            Draco tried to yank him again. Harry sent a flood of warning down the bond, and Draco stopped, sulkily. But he still hovered, as if he thought Dumbledore was going to cast the Killing Curse at Harry any moment and he would have to jump forwards and in between them.

            “Because the Killing Curse is the same spell that failed to kill you before,” said Dumbledore, and his voice was so weary that Harry shivered, thinking of carrying that weight of weariness around. “Because it is indirectly responsible for you becoming a Horcrux, when it rebounded on Tom and tore loose a piece of his soul. Because it is the spell that he likes to use most of all to kill—I think Voldemort values the terror that comes from seeing unmarked bodies as much as he values torture—and it makes sense that he would use that when he had finally captured you.”

            “Ah,” said Draco, and his voice was high and shrill with anger, while his emotions howled down the bond like a winter wind. “So you don’t just want Harry to stand there and let someone kill him, you want him to walk up to the Dark Lord and do it.”

            “There is a chance that the Killing Curse cast by someone else might have the same effect,” Dumbledore said quietly. “But I am not certain. It seems to me that we should do the best we can to tilt the odds in our favor, and part of that is letting the one who first created the Horcrux get rid of it.”

            “You don’t know it’ll work at all,” Draco snarled at him. “You don’t know if it’ll just result in Harry’s death or not. You can’t expect him to try just in case it will!”

            “In the end,” said Dumbledore, and his voice was mild, “Harry is the one who must make that decision, and not you, and not me. I came to ask him, only. To tell him the truth and ask him to choose.”

            He turned to Harry.

            Harry closed his eyes. He could feel the weight of all the arguments he’d had with Draco pressing on him. There were things larger than him. And sometimes he was the only person who could do those things. Who would have saved Ginny, if he hadn’t gone into the Chamber of Secrets? He was the only one who stood a chance of opening it with Parseltongue, and the only one who stood a chance of understanding what was happening once he was there, since Ron didn’t know about Tom and the diary.

            And this, too—maybe even more so—was something only he could do.

            But he had obligations. What would his death do to Draco? Seeing Voldemort torture and kill people in visions was bad enough. Harry couldn’t imagine what it would be like to feel someone dying down a soul-bond. And Draco had already endured that once when Harry’s soul was wandering free of its body.

            What would his death do to his friends? They might reconcile themselves to it, especially if Dumbledore explained to them what he was going to have Harry do, but it would still hurt.

            And he’d like…

            It sounded selfish, but he’d like to live for himself, too. He’d like to enjoy the sunlight on his face and the taste of treacle tart and the sight of the Snitch clenched tightly in his hand as he won a game.

            And Draco’s kisses. He’d like more of them, too.

            Harry looked up. “I’d only be willing to try this if you were sure there was a chance I could come back,” he told Dumbledore. “If there was a way to set it up so it would work, not just a half-mad plan where I go stalking up to Voldemort the minute we’ve destroyed all the other Horcruxes and ask him to kill me. I’m not willing to risk my life for anything less.”

            “But you’re still willing to risk your life,” Draco said, while the bond sang like a siren of all the deep hurt that his voice wouldn’t allow him to express.

            Harry turned his head and touched him. Draco closed his eyes a second. Harry let himself forget about the other people there and the way they were staring, and told him, “Only because Voldemort is going to hunt you and me forever if I don’t do something. But I’m not going to do something that doesn’t work, either.”

            The rest of them were silent. Maybe they didn’t know what to say.

            Draco opened his eyes, and even though the bond couldn’t convey words, what he wanted to say was written well enough in them.

*

            Severus sighed out slowly. For now, Potter would go along with Dumbledore. And Draco was borne along with both of them.

            His allegiance and his promises weren’t going to be tested.

            Not yet.



*

            SP777: He really, really didn’t mean to. He just thought he couldn’t hide the bad news any longer.
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The Serenity of His Rage