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All the Proud Shall Be	By : ladycat Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 5061 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Of all the possible repercussions, Harry never dreams that
he'll give Malfoy back his fire.

It isn't his first thought, or even his third�but by lunch time, it's all Harry
can think about. He spends his morning in a daze, ignoring Hermione's repeated
queries as to where he'd been the night before. He can't tell her, not when
morning's light brings a host of doubts and uncertainties. This is Draco
Malfoy, the boy who'd spent the last five years making Harry's life
miserable in ways adults couldn't. The son of Voldemort's most powerful
supporter, put into Azkaban by Harry himself. Even if it's believable that he'd
switched sides�and now that the moonlight is gone, it isn't�Harry is the last
person he'd tell. Malfoy is too prideful to allow his rival such power over
him, so it has to be something else. It has to be. Filled with doubts and
second-guesses, Harry enters the Great Hall certain that Malfoy will do something
to make Harry hurt.

He doesn't.

Instead, he does something much worse.

Harry watches, wide-eyed and stunned, as the true Draco Malfoy
reappears. No mention is made of last night's conversation and Harry himself is
never a target�but everyone else is. Malfoy is effervescent in his cruelty, the
sincerity missing all term now dripping from each hateful taunt. No one is
safe, not even the Slytherin first years who are reprimanded for not doing
their part. He attacks until finally McGonagall orders him to stop, and then
Malfoy aims sneers and glaring, silent smirks until a first year Hufflepuff looks
as though she's about to cry. It's breathtaking, really, the differences Harry
has noted now glaringly obvious for everyone to see. All of Hogwarts seems
stunned, even the Gryffindors unable to defend themselves as the rug beneath
their collective feet is yanked out.

Harry isn't stunned. Harry is hurt. He shouldn't be, but no matter how
he tries to convince himself that last night was a fluke or a trick, a
traitorous part of him still wants friendship. He doesn't want to be hated or
called a rival, particularly from someone who'd made that decision without ever
really knowing who Harry is. To be offered a chance to at least put the enmity
behind them�Harry wants that, and to have it be so utterly denied hurts
him.

As they leave for their afternoon classes, Malfoy meets Harry's eyes for the
first time�and that's when Harry starts believing that he is responsible
for Malfoy's returned fervor. There's something inside Draco's cold grey eyes
that says You. You did this. It's your fault. Hermione would say this is
nonsense and Harry takes on too much guilt over things he cannot control. But
Harry does not tell Hermione anything as she speculates over Malfoy's
performance. He only thinks it, hating that he's caused his friends yet more
pain.

Malfoy loses none of his momentum throughout the day. He's vicious again,
terrorizing the first years, while that familiar drawl sends the older students
into tense rages. His pranks, never as effective as the rest of the Slytherins
have always prided themselves for, become down right devious. Even Snape seems
to despair of ever teaching a lesson without interruption, though he takes
barely ten points off Slytherin during the whole week, while docking Harry
fifteen his first day back.

This is what he gets, Harry tells himself bitterly, staring at carvings not
quite removed from his desk. This is what happens whenever he tries to touch
someone. Either he hurts them, and the list of those Harry's hurt or worse
flows through his mind with practiced self-loathing�or they hurt him. Because
Harry liked touching Malfoy like that, enjoying the way his hand had
been so limp in Harry's, trusting that Harry wouldn't hurt him. It hadn't been
sexual, then. Harry doesn't have a word for what it was, outside where Malfoy's
voice had been soft and free of arrogance. At night, though, that casual
exploration becomes something different, bleeding into dreams of locks
burnished silver by moonlight, rings that seem to glow when he touches them,
and Harry almost always wakes up sticky.

For one day, he sulks, hurt and trying not to feel betrayed that a Malfoy has
been a Malfoy, like the scorpion who can't help but sting his ride, even when
he's in the middle of a river and will certainly drown. He should knowbetter�and
actually, he does know better. That thought pulls him up short, breaking his
upset to trigger habits he spent a great deal of time forming over the summer.
He starts thinking again, realizing that of all people, Malfoy is the least
trustworthy of any Harry's ever met. Yet Harry had trusted him that
night. He'd ...felt something. A sense of connection that Harry realizes he craves,
desperately. He wants that Draco, who is not an enemy and might be a friend.
The one that understands certain things, breaking through Harry's self-imposed
isolation so effortlessly.

The one whose skin felt warm and smooth against Harry's fingers.

Harry knows his sanity is less than steady, but he doesn't think he
hallucinated everything. There has to be a reason for it�and another reason as
to why it's helped Malfoy revert back to type so soon afterward. So he stops.
He stops simply feeling�betrayal and lost and hurt so deep he can't
sense the bottom of it---and starts looking. Watching. Listening. Not making
assumptions. He keeps his mind blank for two solid days, spending every moment
he can watching Draco Malfoy�and comes to two very startling conclusions.

The first is that, again, Malfoy only plays when there are others to watch,
particularly members of his own house. He is clearly posturing for his housemates,
but more subtly than before. He isn't going through the motions. This is Malfoy
at his most winning, as far as the Slytherins are concerned. Which is why
whenever things are peaceful�or as peaceful as a school full of noisy,
boisterous children ever really can be�Malfoy is aloof and arrogant in his
reserve.

The second thing Harry notices is that Malfoy's jabs and pranks are always
timed very, very carefully. Almost surgically precise, really, and so
calculated that Harry wonders why no one else�not even the professors�sees it.

Hogwarts isn't really under siege, but sometimes it feels that way. On
Saturday, two days after his conversation with Draco, it's leaked that there's
been a major attack. It's probably the first open attack of the War, though not
the first blood spilled. The victims are three muggle families�parents and
young children and even a grandmother�their bloodless bodies laid out in arcane
symbols. Hermione says the muggle press is calling it Satanic, the skin around
her mouth tight and tinged with green for days. She studies book after book and
repeatedly asks him if Dumbledore has said anything, but Harry has no
information for her. Dumbledore probably does know what the killings mean,
which spells Voldemort has used�but Harry doesn't ask. He hates being in the
dark, especially when his ignorance is due to adults who want to �protect' him,
but he doesn't want to know this. He doesn't want Hermione to know, either.
She's already frightened enough.

The rumors over the weekend and then the Daily Prophet's reluctant confirmation
on Monday send a shockwave through the school. For all that they all believed
that Voldemort is back, badder than ever, this is the first time it's real.
Not just whispers from their parents or unconfirmed rumors that every knows are
always an exaggeration. This is bodies lying cold on a slab somewhere. Muggle
bodies, yes, and many of purebloods�from all four houses, interestingly
enough�are disdainful because of it. But there are too many children of muggles
in Hogwarts for it to be dismissed. To many children worried that their
parents might be next.

The professors do what they can to help, but most students don't know how to
handle themselves. Many become despondent, locked in their own fearful world
and violently shunning any attempts to draw them out. Girls tend to burst into
tears at random moments, while the boys, those not curled into turtle-like
denial, snap and snarl at each other uselessly. Adrenaline is pumping hard
through all of them, and only a few�Harry and his friends in particular�know
how to channel that energy before it drives them mad.

D.A practices continue. Meetings are usually silent and grim, spells flaring in
truer, more brilliant colors as their fear gives them strength.

Harry's never been particularly anonymous at Hogwarts. He's been loathed and
loved, sneered at and honored, but he's never really been wanted before.
Not with the anxious, childlike desperation for the Boy Who Lived, the Savior
of the Wizarding World, who has to do so again. It's horrible. Half the
school watches him anxiously, afraid to come near him, but afraid to go for too
long without confirming that he's still there. Sometimes students run up to him
and touch him�for luck, a few tell him, blushing. Others approach with offers
of advise or, worse, requests for reassurance. It's particularly bad with the
first years, who walk around in a wide-eyed state of perpetual fear. They look
to him for safety. Not their professors, but Harry Potter.

The mountain of mail he gets and refuses to read only makes it worse.

Harry ignores it as best he can, but it's hard. He's not a savior or a hero,
though telling people that is futile. He's just a boy who has a little bit of
Fate mucking up his life, and parents who were willing to die for him. It's not
a prize every kid should beg their mum for, really.

He stops responding to almost everyone except his Gryffindor mates and his
teachers. It's easier being thought of as an arsehole, either annoying or
disappointing his public, rather than the triumphant hero just biding his time,
promising that everything will be fine. It isn't fine, and it won't be.
People are going to die, people are going to get hurt, and there's nothing
anyone can do about it�that's what war means. So Harry finds corners to
sit in, staring pointedly at people who get too close�and thinks that maybe
he's starting to understand the method to Draco Malfoy's madness.

It isn't a particularly nice method, Harry acknowledges. Some moderation
or more careful choosing of targets couldn't hurt, but Harry's fairly certain
that Draco�and it's Draco again�can't use moderation or subtlety at the moment.
He's too terrified. The difference between Draco and the rest of the students,
however, is that Draco knows what he's frightened of. Like Harry, he's
not afraid of You-Know-Who, the nameless specter that's treated like some kind
of ultimate boggart.

Draco is scared of Voldemort.

It's an odd feeling, knowing that not even Ron and Hermione truly understand
the way Draco does.

They have Care of Magical Creatures that morning, held near the front doors of
the castle in a tacit effort to reassure the students that they're still safe.
Harry is leaning against the wall, his expression sullen and forbidding to keep
anyone but Ron or Hermione away, and he avidly watches as Draco works. He's a
master at provocation and cruelty�although Harry doesn't think going after
Parvati is a wise choice. She's the worst of the criers, and has only stopped
hiccuping an hour before. Harry doesn't understand how she has any tears left,
after silently crying for days on end, but each day dawns with reddened eyes
that are glassy and thick with yet more.

But she doesn't start weeping again, this time, and neither do any of the other
girls. Draco needles and insults, careful to keep to just-this-side of
reasonable, until the girls are so angry that there are no tears in their eyes
at all, too busy glaring at Draco and the Slytherins following his lead.
Parvati starts snapping back, the bite in her voice a welcome change from the
whimpering quaver it's been, and a few of the other girls join her after a
moment. Their cheeks are all red, now, their spines straight again�Lavender
even begins surreptitiously straightening her hair, finger-combing lanks of it
that haven't been brushed in at least two days.

When he's gotten the Gryffindor girls out of their slump, all of them now
trading jabs with an eager Pansy, Draco turns his attentions onto the boys.
Harry is very impressed when he bypasses Ron and Seamus. They make much
easier targets, both so full of frustration and fear and a burning need to act
that they're moments from pummeling anyone unlucky enough to be in their way.
They're also the more dangerous targets, as either could start the kind
of brawl Harry is fairly certain that Draco is working to avoid. So Draco eyes
them both, smirking, until they're bristling and growling�and then turns his
attention to Neville Longbottom.

Neville is another that's changed a lot over the past summer. He still doesn't
like fighting at all, but he's practiced until he's scarily good at it. The
increased appreciation and praise�Harry lavishes it on him during D.A.
meetings�has given Neville a boost of confidence and poise that makes most of
Draco's taunting roll right off his back. Not all of it, of course. That
doesn't suit Draco's purpose. But Draco has chosen Neville for a reason, and by
the time Neville starts defending himself, all the Gryffindor boys have rallied
around him as their leader�and Neville, who hates bullies almost as much as he
hates being the center of attention, keeps them reigned in. He won't allow them
to fight for him, something Draco has obviously banked on: just when it looks
like Neville's losing control, Draco draws Hagrid's attention, his authority enough
to quash the fight before it occurs.

By the end of Care of Magical Creatures, the sixth year Gryffindors and
Slytherins are acting almost normally. Angrily, but that's normal too. They are
talking animatedly, tossing out insults that sound relieved to Harry's ear, as
if they are grateful to be doing something that doesn't have to do with
Voldemort or death. It's astonishing. In a good way.

"Harry, why are you grinning like that?" Hermione's tone isn't as
accusatory as it probably should be, surprise adding shrillness.

He wonders just how pronounced a smirk he's currently wearing.
"Nothing," he says, and turns the conversation to the upcoming test
in Charms. Hermione isn't fooled�she knows him too well for that. But she knows
he won't explain himself, either, and sighs as she lets herself be distracted.

Harry doesn't stop smiling, not even when Hermione dashes down the hall to help
a first year pick themselves up after an instantly recognizable Malfoy Tripping
Jinx.

He knows that he has no reason to feel so proud of Draco. It's not like they've
made secret plans, working out just how annoying Draco can afford to be, and
what lines he should never cross. Draco isn't doing this for Harry,
after all. But Harry can't seem to stop himself from smiling at the oddest
times, and it takes real effort not to send those beaming, grateful smiles
Draco's way. He compensates by making sure he and Draco tussle together at
least once a day.

He isn't quite sure who starts the first fight, or which body launches itself
forward initially�just that his throat is raw from shouting and there is
suddenly a bony shoulder pressed into his chest, twisting the skin painfully,
while Draco pants into his face, eyes wild and rolling as they fall to the
floor. It's loud and messy, that first time, with arms that swing too wide and
bodies that shove together without any grace or control.

It's also magnificently fake.

"Finally," Draco whispers as they roll together, grinning as Harry
looms over him. "Thought you'd never figure it out."

That almost shocks Harry out of his desire to fight�but as aggression leaves,
something else fills its place. He doesn't understand it or recognize it, but
it fills him up so completely that he can't resist it. He wants this.
Wants the chance to press his body into Draco's, turning his laugh into a
snarl. "Well, you're not very clever," Harry whispers back as he
yanks Draco to his feet and prepares to toss him against the wall. "Or you
would've picked actual hints."

Students circle around them, hollering, which prevents Draco's reply�that time.
It becomes a game with them, how often can they sneak in bit of real
conversation underneath the insults the others expect of them. Sometimes Draco
adds instructions or warnings, but mostly they're gleefully taunting each other
even as they tumble around in a mockery of the wrestling moves Dudley loved to
watch and imitate. Harry loves it more than he thinks he probably should. It
satisfies something inside him, and from the fierce way Draco grins, everyone else
sure it is just another form of insult, he feels the same.

They hurt each other without meaning to, of course, but the bruises are usually
minimal�they instinctively choose the widest hallways or most uncluttered
rooms�and are useful in convincing their friends that the fights are real. Ron
is delighted with him and it takes some fast talking on Harry's part to
convince him and the other Gryffindors not to help him �give it' to
Malfoy. Hermione is thoroughly disapproving, which is useful as she stops watching
Harry quite so much.

Oddly, it's Ginny who is the most speculative about the fights. Not because she
doubts their sincerity, but because none of the teachers seem to be as upset as
they should be.

"Don't you think it's off?" Ginny asks. It's nearly ten o'clock and
the four of them plus Neville are lounging comfortably in front of the fire in
the common room, books over their laps as they pretend to study. "Snape
caught you that last time, didn't he?"

Harry nods, watching the way the flames flicker: yellow, then orange, then
yellow, with only the barest hint of true red at the base. There's a bruise on
the inside of his wrist, right where blue veins branch into three distinct
directions. Harry absently rubs it, wondering vaguely why the skin doesn't feel
soft enough or thin enough.

"Well, Snape usually bends your ears back for going after his precious
Malfoy. How come you only got ten points and another week of detentions?

Ron waves that off. He's still grinning from ear to ear, but it's lost some of
the maliciousness now that Draco isn't in front of him. "Oi, Ginny! Don't
jinx it now, or Harry'll never get the chance to pound Malfoy's face
again."

"Ron! Harry should not be fighting," Hermione says severely.

"Why, cause he could get in trouble? Ginny's right, the teachers are going
easy on him. And don't pretend you weren't cheering with the rest of us when
Harry gave him that black eye."

Ron's exuberance makes Harry feel slightly ill. He hadn't meant to hurt Draco
that much, face and elbow colliding before either of them realized just where
their limbs had landed. Next time, Harry decides, no more mud fighting, no
matter how intriguing the thought of messing Draco's hair is. He wants to go up
and see Draco in the infirmary so badly that he can hardly sit still in his
chair. His thighs tense up with the need to go, go, go.

"That's not what I mean," Ginny insists, leaning forward so her hair
tumbles down her cheeks, almost black in the firelight. "Shouldn't the
professors be more upset that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are having
fist-fights in the corridors? Just listen to it. Harry Potter caught in
a fist fight. Multiple! It even sounds wrong, and all they're doing is giving
minimum punishments and mostly ignoring it."

She's right, of course. Snape may seethe and grind his teeth when he sees
bruises on Draco's pale skin and act even more vicious to Harry during potions,
but the fights he disregards as much as possible. So does McGonagall, though
Flitwick almost levitates himself, he's so angry when they disrupt the fourth
year's charms class accidentally. His punishment is no worse than the others,
though, and Harry realizes suddenly that the next few weeks are booked solidly
with detentions.

Detentions to be administered by either Gryffindor's or Slytherin's head of
house.

With Draco. Snape in particular is very vocal in reminding them of that,
though McGonagall occasionally stresses it as well.

The fire pops, sending up a shower of sparks that makes Harry blink. He's not
entirely certain he likes the professors arranging things quite so neatly, but
he isn't disappointed by it. The dreams that started the first night after his
conversation with Draco haven't left him yet. Every night, Harry experiences
something that's disturbing because it's so very normal. Or at least as
normal as he can ever get. His subconscious comes up with all kinds of things
Harry wants to do to Draco: touch his hands again, reexamining each and every
flaw until they're memorized; his arms and legs should be subjected to the same
scrutiny and most especially his mouth. Harry wants Draco's mouth,
though whether he wants to kiss it or just study it, he's honestly not certain.

Mostly, though, he just wants to talk to Draco. He wants to know that
he's guessed right, that this really is all a plot to stop the students from
worrying themselves over things they can't affect. That Draco really is the
changed boy Harry remembers, one who understands Harry and wants to be
understood in return. And that maybe, Draco enjoyed it when Harry examined his
hands. Harry really wants to know that. He wants to know if Draco will
let him do it again.

"Harry?" Ginny asks. "Do you think something, er, important's
going on? About the detentions, I mean."

Yes, obviously, but Harry's suppositions aren't anything like what Ginny's
nervously hinting at. "They've got other things to worry about," he
says lazily. He's become a decent actor lately, something that doesn't make him
very happy. "That's all. Maybe there's a touch of relief, too, you know. So
long as Malfoy fixates on me, he's not making the other student's lives so
bad."

"Hm. That does have some merit," Hermione says. "I was talking
with Professor Vector yesterday about how the Slytherins seem to be taking a
break. I haven't had a first year come to me crying in two whole days."

Because the Slytherins�or at least the ones who look to Draco�don't need
to be so vile, not anymore. Life is resuming at Hogwarts, that first
overwhelming aura of fear dissipating into the normal mixture of chaos and
confusion. Everyone is still aware, of course, and frightened, but with
the immediacy gone, no one needs the distractions as badly as before. Draco's
plan�if it even was as thought out as Harry assumes�has worked brilliantly.

"See?" he says, faking a yawn. "That's all it is. Night, all,
I'm for bed."

The others wave or mumble good night to him and he can hear them whispering to
each other as he climbs the stairs to his dorm room. It's distressing to know
that his best mates are talking about him�and he's certain they are�but Harry
likes to think he's almost used to it by now. He can't do anything about
it, so he ignores it. Or he tries to. Fortunately, he's got the perfect
distraction as he stretches himself out on his bed, Seamus already snoring away
in his. His first detention is scheduled for the day after next, so that's just
two more days before he can finally see Draco again.
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All the Proud Shall Be