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The Music of the Spheres	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2034 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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            “You do need to spend more time speaking up for yourself and not expecting me to do all the work,” Draco said shortly as he paced into the drawing room. Once again, Harry had taken refuge there after one of Granger’s letters, but this one had come when Draco was talking with his mother in the Floo and couldn’t immediately read it. Harry had also learned to control the bond a bit better, so Draco didn’t hear the echo of every word he was reading the minute he read it.
            Of course, he would use it to hide things from me right when I don’t want him to hide them.
            Harry looked up, one hand resting on the parchment. His eyes were just sad, and the hum of his voice was muted as though he had come up with a way to put a barrier on that as well. I’m sorry. But Hermione’s letter made me think a lot, and I didn’t think you would want to hear all of it.
            Draco shook his head. Not what I was talking about. What did Granger’s letter say?
            Harry looked as if he would have liked to pursue that original conversation, but Draco narrowed his eyes a little, and Harry gave in.
            She’s been besieged by people who want their grief healed, because the plague killed so many Mind-Healers and there’s not that many available for the survivors. Harry’s hands turned the parchment he held, gripping and pulling in ways that made Draco fear for the letter. On the other hand, Harry had spent enough time with it to have memorized it by now. She’s working with the public to try and get villages set up so people can move in together and no one has to be alone. You know that.
            Yes. Which makes it not the focus of this conversation.
            Harry stirred and looked at him. Hermione wants to heal the hurts of the world. His voice rebounded and twisted like an echo trapped in a chamber made of silver.
            And you would want to do the same thing. Draco didn’t have to elaborate. One of the first things he had learned about Harry was Harry’s deep desire to heal, to help, and if Draco thought some of its results were unfortunate, well, they wouldn’t have the bond if Harry’s desire didn’t exist.
            I know. But now that we can heal and we’re being begged to do it all the time and it wouldn’t be a career I could choose and sometimes leave in hospital… Harry’s hand clenched on the chair arm. She did apologize, Draco. She’s been trying so hard to think of a solution for this grief that it sort of overcame her normal perceptions. She thinks everyone should think the same way and put healing the grief at the center of their lives. She was so pleased to think we could do something about it. Not for herself, but for them.
            Draco snorted, and said nothing. Harry would know well enough from the bruise-colored tones of his mind what Draco thought of that. Turning themselves into martyrs was all well and good for Gryffindors; what Draco didn’t like was their tendency to demand the same unreasonable sacrifices from everyone else.
            Those sacrifices are ones you understand, or you wouldn’t have agreed to bond with me the way you did.
            Draco lifted his eyes to Harry. We’ve lived together this long, and you still don’t understand. I didn’t do that out of some altruistic impulse. I would have died from the Boneturn Plague as easily as anyone else if it had gone on.
            Harry hesitated, then smiled thinly. Yeah, I got that. But you still bonded with me, and you still saved them.
            Draco sighed and tried to speak like a trumpet, which was difficult when he wasn’t angry. It was more complex, the emotion that filled him, sadness and irritation and the urge to take Harry by the temples and look into his eyes and try to convey something that even the bond couldn’t. Yes. But I think we need to learn how to be extraordinary people.
            That at least reached Harry, where a lot of other things Draco had thought of couldn’t. Harry settled back, and a thoughtful frown formed on his mouth. He tapped one finger against his lips, looked at Draco, frowned again, looked away, and finally said aloud, “You want to spend more time thinking about our bond and what it means to us instead of using our bond.”
            Draco could have fainted with relief, but that would have been a bit dramatic. He settled for nodding instead.
            Harry sat back in his chair. “Okay. How do you suggest we do that?”
            Draco hesitated. Now that they had crossed the gap between their minds that he had thought it would take them ages to cross, he honestly wasn’t sure what they should do next. “What do you want to do?” he asked instead.
            Harry looked out the window, looked back down at Granger’s letter, and then firmed his mouth and stood up, throwing the letter on the low table in front of him. He crossed over to Draco, who blinked a little at the jangling tune coming down the bond. It had sounded like that sometimes when Harry was nervous, but this seemed to, honestly, be a new emotion.
            “What about what I was going to do before Hermione’s owl interrupted us the other day?” Harry asked. “But with a twist.”
            Draco lifted his head, feeling throat flush, and knowing what his mind would sound like to Harry. “I didn’t know what you wanted to do.”
            “Oh, but you guessed,” said Harry, and now he seemed delighted, and all the tones and tunes in his mind were turning to the liquid of honeyed gold. He grinned at Draco and slid to his knees. “You hoped.”
            Draco found, despite the intimacy of the bond and the sometimes unwilling sex they’d shared, he had no words at all for what was the loveliness of Harry working on his own, making his own choices. He watched with far more breathless anticipation than he had thought he would have with a regular lover as Harry undid his robes and spent a moment staring at his pants.
            “You’ve seen them before,” said Draco, to calm the pounding of dulcimer hammers in the back of his head. Or maybe that was his heart. For all that he knew, they might sound the same at the moment.
            “Not like this,” said Harry, and grinned at him again. “Or maybe what I should say is, not from this height.” And he deftly opened Draco’s pants and slid his cock out and into his mouth before Draco could say a bloody word about it.
            At least Harry choked a little, which meant he had probably learned lessons about what exactly he could stick in his mouth. But from the little taste he’d had of the warmth inside Harry’s mouth, Draco couldn’t rejoice in the choking. He gave a small sound and thrust his hips forwards.
            That was a whine, Harry told him as he leaned forwards after a cough and started sucking again.
            It was not. It was more musical than that.
            That made Harry laugh, which was an interesting experience, although Draco only enjoyed it until he felt Harry’s teeth lightly scrape along him. Then he jumped, and Harry coughed again, and if this had been less than extremely important, Draco would have suggested doing something else right now and trying this later.
            It’s important because you want your dick sucked.
            Draco tried to protest, but Harry apparently figured out what he wanted, and what he should do. Maybe some of the agitated jingling in the back of Draco’s mind helped with that. Harry relaxed his jaw and sucked him in more deeply, and Draco’s body went limp and then tense by turns against the chair with pleasure.
            He could feel and hear the way Harry was thinking, the rising music of his concentration, and the way he reached down to touch himself, and the sudden burst of flutes and drums in the back of his consciousness when he figured out that he enjoyed this, and it was all theirs, all their own, nothing to do with rituals and healing and bonds.
            It does have something to do with bonds, Harry sang into the back of his mind, sounding annoyed. I wouldn’t be doing this at all if not for the bond, and—
            Draco groaned and shook his head. Sometimes, peering into each other’s minds all the time wasn’t a blessing. Just keep doing what you’re doing!
            Mercifully, Harry fell silent except for the faint song that meant he was still conscious. He drew his head back, pushed it down again, and pulled back in a steady rhythm that reminded Draco of the most pleasant parts of their other times in bed. Draco reached down and tangled his fingers with Harry’s hair, and Harry didn’t resist them, but tilted his head back and pinned some of Draco’s fingers to the nape of his neck for a moment before he continued.
            The rhythm became a surging, pounding, relentless stream of notes that mingled until Draco was having trouble telling his body from his mind, and his mind from Harry’s. And his body from the bond, he thought, as he tensed again and felt it approaching, a rolling crescendo of notes.
            Harry.
            Harry pulled back and sucked one more time, and Draco came, his long pulsing groans mingling with everything else.
            He opened his sticky, clogged-together eyes when he felt he could peer down at Harry and know that Harry was giving him his full attention. But that sight just stirred the wish that he could get hard again at once, because Harry was wanking with his lip caught between his teeth and his eyes half-lidded and Draco’s come on his cheek.
            Maybe later, said Harry, and then arched and came into his hand. He sighed and reached out to wipe it on the carpet.
            You’re a wizard, Draco snapped. And one capable of wandless magic when you want to be, at that.
            Harry blinked at him, then focused on his hand. A soft shimmer of what appeared to be purple haze opened above his palm, and when it closed down, the wetness had disappeared. Harry shook his head and smiled up at Draco.
            I do keep forgetting that we can use that.
            Draco reached down and hauled him to his feet. Not surprising, when we keep being told we have to use our magic in one direction only.
            Harry sighed. Hermione apologized for that.
            I’m not talking about her. Draco waved his hand at the piles of letters lying in one corner of the drawing room, where they rustled and slid over each other and muttered in what seemed like low voices when a breeze of Harry or Draco’s motion disturbed them. All of these people convinced that their causes are equally as righteous, and they all deserve to be healed more than anyone else.
            Harry hesitated instead of arguing back. He wiped his face with the same wandless magic, which Draco inwardly mourned—and which made Harry give him a fleeting smile—before he buttoned himself away again and stood up.
            It’s hard to deal with watching your own sickness or pain, said Harry. Harder when it’s the sickness or pain of someone you love. I know you said that you joined in the ritual for less than altruistic reasons. Well, that’s sort of it for me, too. I could tell myself the whole wizarding world was dying and how awful that was, but the people I imagined always had my friends’ faces. Or the Weasleys’ faces.
            He turned soberly back to Draco, and the music of his mind was more subdued than Draco had ever heard it. What do you suggest, besides telling people that we’ll only heal once a week? What other measures can we take to help them but also protect ourselves?
            Draco nodded decisively back at him. Leave it to me.
            And even though Harry must have been profoundly curious, and could have pressed against the barriers they were learning to place in the bond so that he could learn Draco’s innermost thoughts, he didn’t. He just nodded, and retrieved his book, and Draco sat beside him and read some old stories of bonded wizards that had happy endings.
            It was a good afternoon.
*
            “Uh-oh.”
            Harry looked up sharply. When Draco used those particular words, Harry knew he could anticipate worse consequences than usual.
            Draco was staring out the window, and his tense, consuming mind-music, like the score in a Muggle horror film again, let Harry know what was coming their way. It would be a mass delivery of Howlers, which had happened before. Not because people were plotting with each other, but because there were a lot of people who decided all at once that Harry and Draco were being horrible and selfish for not healing them or their loved ones immediately.
            Draco met his eyes, then held out one demanding hand. Harry placed his hand in Draco’s, frowning a little. Draco had talked about putting up more spells that would defeat Howlers, but he hadn’t figured out a way to make sure that legitimate letters didn’t get caught in those barriers yet.
            We can use wandless magic when we want to, Draco said. Aim for the Howlers, not the owls. I don’t want to harm the messenger.
            Harry felt his eyes widen for a second, before he grinned. Then he turned around and faced the birds, and the hum of magic turned into the sort of breathless harmony that it always did when he and Draco were using wandless magic together, outside the purely ritual magic they used to raise healing power.
            For a moment, his mind and Draco’s flailed in different directions. Harry had been thinking of a specific spell like Incendio, while Draco was thinking more in terms of a widespread magical fire that didn’t belong to any one spell and would consume the Howlers. But in a second, they were in accord, and then the bright silver-brass notes that belonged to Harry’s mind curled around the ruby-emerald ones that made up Draco’s.
            And they were one.
            Harry gave a gasp in the moments before his thoughts were swallowed and melded. They looked at the Howlers coming closer and closer, and found the music of the magic. Every single Howler was a tense riff, played over and over, like someone untalented plucking one string of an instrument. They reached out and sang the counter to that riff, but not the counter to the music that made up the owls’ magic, which was much gentler and diffuse.
            The Howlers began to explode into dust and sparks and sharp notes. The owls hooted and broke apart from each other, soaring in crazy circles. They laughed and sang again, and the number of angry riffs grew fewer and fewer, as the destruction spread in a neat way all along the line of the music.
            In a few minutes, the Howlers were all gone, and not a single owl had been harmed. The birds circled overhead in confusion. A few perched on the roof and walls of the house; the rest finally turned and flew over the horizon. The confused ones perching on the house also left after a few minutes.
            They laughed and gamboled in place for a few minutes, shaking their souls in and out of each other’s to hear the way the notes changed. Then they parted and dissolved back into their own bodies, opening their eyes easily.
            Harry swallowed. He always forgot how overwhelming an experience that was. And how fun this one had been. Usually, he and Draco used that magic only for some super-serious healing purpose, and that meant they couldn’t think much about how fun it was.
            This had been.
            He turned around and found Draco smiling at him with his eyes shining softly. He reached out one hand. Harry clasped it without even being told to.
            Being told to? Do I tell you what to do a lot?
            Harry grinned. What, like ignore my friend’s letters and how often we’re going to heal and what to do in bed?
            You never make any decisions, Draco said, and his voice had gone back to the sulky brass tones that Harry was more used to. I have to tell you what to do because otherwise we would still be sitting there while you debate the pros and cons of various positions two hours later.
            I knew what I wanted to do yesterday, didn’t I? Harry asked smugly. The way he had made Draco come apart the minute he took his cock in his mouth was still fresh on Harry’s mind.
            Draco turned as red as some of the Howlers, and looked away for a minute. Then his mind hummed at Harry, a wealth of tumbling impressions that combined the beds they’d had sex on, and the ritual that had bonded them in the first place, and the last normal healing they had done, and the incredibly complex one that had resulted in the destruction of the Boneturn Plague.
            It didn’t come out as words. Harry didn’t really think it needed to. What mattered was that he heard, and understood, what Draco was saying, even if Draco wouldn’t have put into those terms.
            Yes. You’re right. This bond is more than some tool for healing or making the wizarding world feel better, even if it is that, too. Harry squeezed Draco’s hand and went on squeezing it until Draco looked at him, in what seemed to be sheer annoyance. And I want to learn to set limits the way you do, so you don’t always have to do it yourself and feel like the “bad one,” and I want to learn how to protect myself so you don’t always have to do it.
            Draco slowly lifted his head, and a small song of triumph began to sing within his mind, echoing what Harry felt and twining along with it. We can protect ourselves together. The magic we use together can accomplish amazing things, whether or not we can use it to heal someone at the moment.
            Exactly, Harry said.
            Draco must have felt the whole-hearted agreement that Harry wasn’t sure he could put into words, either, because he smiled back and leaned in to kiss Harry lightly on the chin. Good. I’m glad.
            The humming harmonics made “glad” a far more beautiful word than it would have been without the music, and Harry sighed and leaned his head against Draco’s. Glad for the bond, for the ritual, for all of it.
            Glad for Draco.
*
starr: I do hope the explanation for Hermione here makes sense.
SP777: I would like to have it to heal some individual people I know, but not wide-ranging powers.
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The Music of the Spheres