Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Marathon	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 52456 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Two—First Contact

            Harry sighed as he sat at his desk, and sighed as he sorted through his paperwork, and sighed as he noted the enormous amount of new paperwork waiting on the edge of his desk, along with files from cases that other Aurors were currently working but which his superiors thought Harry might like to “take a look at.”

            Then Harry dug into the paperwork, because sighing didn’t get it done, and if he didn’t want this much, then he shouldn’t have been as successful an Auror.

            About ten-o’clock, two hours or so after getting into his rhythm, an owl fluttered silently down on the edge of his desk and sat regarding him. Impressed that any bird, even one only a little bigger than Pig, could find a spot free of clutter on the desk, Harry dug into a drawer for a bag of treats and held it out.

            After a close examination of the treats that included twisting its neck at angles that looked like they should have broken it, the owl graciously condescended to accept a few crumbs from Harry’s fingers. That told Harry who it belonged to even before he noted the gratuitous red wax seal on the letter.

            He only rolled his eyes a little, though, because it wasn’t like he hadn’t known this was coming.

            Auror Potter,

            It has come to my attention that you are the one most likely responsible for saving my son Scorpius Malfoy’s life at a Quidditch game at Hogwarts yesterday. I recognized two of three spells used, and must argue that the combination of a Cushioning Charm and Feather-Fall Spell is overkill.

            Harry grinned. He’d thought the same thing, after all. Maybe he and Malfoy would get along better than Harry had feared they would.

            I am assuming the life-debt as Scorpius will not be of age to claim it for five years, and I refuse to have him burdened by it when he does come of age. We ignored the debts we had between us from the war, to our mutual benefit, but this is one that I am unwilling to let hang over my head. I would like to offer you the sum of six thousand Galleons in order to be quit of the debt. Please let me know within an hour of your receipt of this owl if the sum is acceptable.

            Draco, Lord Malfoy.

            Harry snorted. He happened to personally know, thanks to being involved in the Death Eater trials, that the Malfoys hadn’t been “Lords” for generations.

            But let it stand. It was a harmless thing. And so was the offer of the Galleons, which Harry had to admit tempted him. He wouldn’t have to work for a few years if he accepted that, and he could spend more time with his children, try to ease Lily’s transition into a child shuffled between different houses and then going to Hogwarts…

            But Harry had to sigh when he thought of the cases that would go unsolved and the victims unrescued if he quit the Aurors. No, he had to remain, and the Galleons would just make him uneasy if he accepted them. Another bloody fortune to sit in his vaults with the Black one and be maneuvered around instead of spent.

            He wrote his letter as quickly as he could, without actually spattering the whole parchment with ink droplets. That would just make Malfoy think worse of him, and while Harry could normally give a fuck what Malfoy thought, he wanted to make sure that he stayed on good terms with the git because Al was friends with Scorpius.

            Lord Malfoy,

            I’m sorry, but I can’t accept the Galleons. I would have no use for them, and I don’t have any projects that are just waiting for money to complete. Why don’t we forgive this life-debt the way we have all the others? I don’t mind.

            Thanks, but my main concern is the fact that Scorpius is all right, and it sounds like he is.

            Harry Potter.

            He gave the letter to the owl, who stared at him for a long second before it accepted the envelope. Harry tried to shake off the idea that the owl knew exactly what Harry had written and disapproved.

            He held out another treat, and the owl took off from his desk, letter in one foot and treat in the other, just as Ron rounded the corner. He raised his eyebrows as the owl swerved past his head and set down the steaming cup he’d brought Harry on the corner of his desk.

            “What was that all about, mate?”

            Harry glanced around and lowered his voice. It was less consideration for Malfoy’s pride and more for the fact that no one was supposed to know who had really saved Scorpius yesterday. “I saved Malfoy’s son’s life at the Quidditch game yesterday. Now he’s talking about taking over the life-debt because Scorpius is only twelve and can’t pay me, and he offered me money.”

            “You didn’t take it?” Ron gaped at him a little. “But you can’t live on the Potter fortune.”

            Harry shrugged, uncomfortable, not knowing, as always, how to talk to Ron about money. He hadn’t been much better at it when it came to Ginny, and that was only another one of the many mistakes Harry had made in his marriage. “I know, but I’d rather have what I can earn on my own and retain my independence.”

            Ron snorted and kicked out his legs as he flopped down in his own chair. “I can understand that. Don’t know why Malfoy thinks he can buy everyone, anyway. Did I tell you about Rudderly and the offer Malfoy made to him a few months ago? He said…”

            Harry listened and nodded along, laughing in the right places, while he completed some more paperwork. He found his mind lingering more on Malfoy’s letter than it should, though. He didn’t think Malfoy believed that he could buy everyone, just that money was the best means of negotiating with people, and the only thing most people would want from him—which might not be all that far from thinking he could buy politicians and Aurors, admittedly.

            He might be lonely. I know that he divorced his wife a few years ago.

            But an owl arrived from Ginny then, and reminded Harry that he had more than enough people to worry about and matters to arrange without taking up Malfoy’s cause.

*

            “It’s all right.”

            Harry relaxed and smiled, although he took care to wipe it from his face by the time Lily turned around. She had made it clear that she didn’t want much emotion from him, and thought the smile and hug he’d greeted her with when she tumbled through the Floo were about the absolute limit of cheerfulness.

            “Good,” Harry said, and nodded to the kitchen table. He’d had Kreacher make some food for them, since his cooking was mostly limited to things that Lily didn’t like or was allergic to. “Shall we?”

            Lily floated into the kitchen and took the chair in front of the nearest plate, stolidly and silently reaching for the potatoes and corn and peas and steak Kreacher had made them. Harry studied her from the corner of his eye. His daughter had always puzzled him. Jamie was such an easy baby, and Al was a much tougher one, but once Harry understood the silent rules that governed most interaction with Al, then he got along with him fine.

            But Lily didn’t want much except to be given what she did want, and to be left alone. Sometimes she wanted company, but Harry never seemed to know when that was in time to give it to her; she would have gone back to wanting to be alone when he joined her, and her responses would be polite but sullen. Ginny had always been more in tune with her.

            “Stop looking at me that way,” Lily said, without turning to him. “You look as though you were a Muggle scientist getting ready to cut me up.”

            Harry flushed and cleared his throat. “Sorry.” He reached for the potatoes to put them on his own plate.

            Lily turned and stared at him. “Maybe you wouldn’t look at me that way if you were ever around,” she said.

            “Sorry,” Harry repeated, a little helpless. There had been other reasons, but the main one for his and Ginny’s divorce was that he spent too much time on the job. Harry made sure that he had most weekends off, and a lot of evenings and holidays, and of course there would be the odd day or week here and there when he was recuperating from wounds or curses, but that wasn’t the same as Ginny’s much more regular schedule as a Quidditch reporter for Witch Weekly. And it had meant that Harry didn’t get to know his children as well.

            “You say sorry all the time.” Lily’s voice rose, and she put her spoon down. “But everyone else has a dad who can be with them all the time, like Uncle Ron. And no one else has reporters come up and besiege them when they go to Diagon Alley. And Rose and Hugo don’t have wards on their houses as thick as iron walls!”

            “That’s because of the reporters,” Harry began.

            He should have known it was a mistake to try and explain, because Lily was too angry to listen to explanations. She stood up and folded her arms. “And that’s the same thing you say all the time,” she snapped, “but if they really adored you, they would listen when you told them to leave you alone!”

            Harry sighed. He wished he could talk about Rita Skeeter, and the generation of new reporters who seemed to have picked up on her ethics and taken her for a role model when Skeeter herself realized that she could make more money writing biographies and retired to do that. He wished he could hint at the more bitter enemies who might be out there, and the way the wards helped him accept that his children could still be safe.

            But he hadn’t talked about that often, because whenever he thought he did hear a rumor or see something that reminded him of an enemy, it always turned out to be only a rumor. After a few embarrassing incidents, he and Ginny had had a Discussion, and Harry had done his best to promise that he wouldn’t be paranoid any longer, and also that he wouldn’t drag the children into it.

            So he sat back down and said quietly, “I’m sorry. Is there something I can do to make it up to you?”

            “No.” Lily dashed her hand across her eyes, removing some of the angry tears that Harry knew were building up. He winced. Just like her mother, Lily hated to have anyone see her cry, and if she was on the verge of doing so, then she was really hurt. “You say that all the time. What I want is for you to stop fucking up, not do it and then ask me if you can make it up to me!”

            She ran out of the dining room, heading for the bedroom she slept in here. Harry sighed again. He supposed he could have scolded her for language, but it wouldn’t have done any good, and their problems ran far deeper than that.

            The sound of the Floo flaring open made him stand and walk into the drawing room. He wondered who would be calling this late, since the bell on his wrist hadn’t rung, but maybe it was the Minister, or someone else who wanted to keep the communication more private than it would be if it went out to all the Aurors’ wrist-bells.

            The face floating there, though, was Malfoy’s. At least, it was what had to be Draco Malfoy’s, pointy and pale and with that settled sneer on his lips. Harry didn’t really recognize him anymore. He recognized Scorpius, but Malfoy was a distant, drifting face, one of a scatter of glimpses at King’s Cross Station and across the Quidditch pitch.

            Harry blinked, surprised Malfoy could have brought himself to contact Harry after his dismay when Al told him the truth, but then reminded himself that Malfoy loved his son more than he hated Harry. Especially now. “Yes?” he asked.

            “You refused my Galleons.”

            Harry cast a small Privacy Charm around the door to ensure that Lily, if she came out of her room, couldn’t hear. He didn’t want her or Ginny finding out about what he had done at the Quidditch game. “I don’t need them,” he said. “And I wouldn’t feel comfortable spending them.”

            “Everyone who works for a living needs more money.” Malfoy’s eyes flicked down to Harry’s trousers as though counting the holes in them. Harry opened his mouth to defend the fact that these were trousers he had had for years and found comfortable to walk in, but then shut it. Why should Malfoy have to hear that? Why should Harry need to say it? “That can’t be the reason.”

            “It is,” Harry said firmly. “Besides, I have the Black fortunes if I really felt the need for more money. I would use it in an emergency.”

            Malfoy regarded him fixedly for a long moment. That seemed to be one of a limited number of expressions he had, Harry decided. The other ones were concern for Scorpius and the expression he would have worn when he learned he now owed a new life-debt to Harry. Harry wondered which one he wore when he was by himself.

            “Then use the Black fortune,” Malfoy said, with hardly any breath behind the words, “and keep this money for an emergency. As long as you take it, and cancel the life-debt with it.”

            “I don’t need money,” Harry said. “I can perform some special ceremony to release Scorpius from the life-debt, if you want. I don’t want anyone to owe me anything.”

            Malfoy’s head rose with the same chilly pride that Harry had seen in his father right after Harry released Dobby. “This is different,” Malfoy said. “Because he is young, and because there are no parallel life-debts. I owed you two in the past; you owed me one and my mother one. We were adults, and fighting in a war, and the special circumstances made forgiveness without discussion possible. But not now.”

            Harry started to ask why, then gave up. Malfoy had just told him, and if Harry asked for more of an explanation, his fixed expression might strain his face to the point where it would crack. Harry could just picture trying to explain to Scorpius how Harry had given his father broken cheeks.

            “I don’t need the money,” Harry muttered, remembering something Hermione had told him about life-debts once. “And they have to be repaid with something the person who saved your life needs. Isn’t that right? That was why the traditional way to pay them back was saving the other person’s life, because they would certainly need help when they were in danger.”

            Malfoy’s head went up, and up. Harry could see all the way down his nostrils, and while he kept them clean, it wasn’t so pleasant a sight that Harry wanted to prolong the conversation. “Well, Potter,” he said. “You’ve paid more attention than I thought possible to the magical theory of life-debts. For someone who doesn’t want to honor them.”

            Harry waved his hand. “I can’t keep you from paying it if you want to—”

            “No, you cannot,” Malfoy said, and looked viciously satisfied. “You cannot keep my family in debt to you.”

            Harry let that go as something not worth arguing, and continued, “But you’ll have to find something other than money. I don’t need that, and I don’t want it.”

            Malfoy fell silent, regarding him. Then he said, as slowly as though he was talking to himself rather than Harry, “I could make sure that you end up on the front page of the Prophet again. I notice they aren’t covering your cases as much lately, and seeking other targets more often than might make you comfortable. Isn’t good publicity vital to your career? I have connections—”

            He had to stop, not because he wanted to, Harry thought, but because he found Harry’s belly laugh off-putting. Harry staggered, caught his elbow a sharp rap on the mantle, and straightened up with a desperate snort, shaking his head.

            “Thank you, but no thank you,” he said. “Really, Malfoy. If you haven’t noticed by now that I hate attention and I don’t need it or want it, either, then you’re not very observant, and you’ll be plaguing me about what to pay me eighty years from now.”

            “Always assuming that you live that long,” Malfoy muttered, but he was frowning. “You don’t like being paid attention to?” The last three words were very slow.

            “No,” Harry said. “I have enough fame on my own, and all it really does is disrupt my life and the lives of my children. Go ask Albus if he wouldn’t have preferred to have a father no one knew politically.”

            Malfoy did some more haughty, frozen staring, but at least he had lowered his head so that Harry didn’t need to look up his nostrils anymore. Finally, he said, apparently to himself, “Very well. So I will make sure that you have something you need and want, and quickly.”

            Harry shrugged. “You don’t want any suggestions from me?”

            Malfoy turned to look swiftly at him. “You have one?”

            Harry opened his mouth, then sighed and shut it. “No,” he said a moment later. He didn’t, because everything he wanted—better relationships with his children, a better relationship with Ginny, a happy marriage that had never ended in divorce, a less complicated job—was something he would have to earn for himself, not something Malfoy could give him.

            “Of course not,” Malfoy said, in a voice that managed to make it sound like water pollution and distant stars going supernova was Harry’s fault. “You would not. But we will be free of this debt by the end of the month.” And he vanished before Harry could ask what was so important about the end of the month.

            Harry sighed and dropped the privacy charm, then set out to find Lily and see if he could talk to her.

            But she was silent behind the door of her bedroom when he knocked on it, and Harry didn’t think it was fair to force her to come out. He retreated to his own bedroom and lay stretched on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, until sleep took him.

            His last thought was the same last one he had every evening, at least since he began his divorce from Ginny.

            How did things get so fucked up?



*

            kit: Lily is made upset by the gift because she doesn’t think Harry listens to her. It’s not so much the gift itself as it being part of a regular pattern.

            SP777: The times he tries to take holidays always seem to involve awful things happening, which is the main reason he doesn’t take them.

            qwerty: All Harry’s kids find it hard to deal with his fame. James should appear in Chapter 3, and might be a little more tolerable. But Lily is mainly upset that her father (as she sees it) doesn’t care enough about her to listen to her and find out what she likes and doesn’t like that way.

            moodysavage: There wasn’t just one, but you see some here.

            delia cerrano: Mostly concentration on his job, but there were others, too.
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Marathon