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Bard of Morning's Hope	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9573 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Twenty—In Silence
            “I’ve never heard of the Bloody Baron doing anything like that.” McGonagall’s eyes were shadowed as she stood looking at the Pensieve on her desk, where Harry had put his memories of the battle. He had thought it was only fair to let the Headmistress look, just in case the Baron became a threat to her school later. “Perhaps Dumbledore had a different working relationship with him. I don’t know.”
            Harry kept diplomatically silent. He had escorted Narcissa and Draco back to Grimmauld Place, called on Hermione to watch over them, and then come back to Hogwarts. His back was aching where it pressed against the chair, and his hand felt chilled. He squeezed it between his knees and grimaced a little.
            McGonagall seemed to come abruptly back to remembering him. “Mr. Potter! I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
            “Aftereffects from the battle with the Baron.” Harry gave her a tired smile. “I’ll get over it.”
            He had never used those powers before. And while everything seemed to have worked out and he thought he had used them correctly, it was still staggering. He could feel aftershocks and shudders working their way through his blood, as though he had dropped a hammer on a metal floor and he was still hearing the echoes.
            “Yes. Well.” McGonagall sighed as she sat down behind her desk. “I’m sorry this happened. We’ve always been able to trust the Bloody Baron to handle Peeves and other troublesome ghosts before. I don’t know why he changed his mind.”
            Harry was quiet, thinking. Then he said, “I don’t really know, either. I’m not an expert on ghosts, and I’m a dangerously inexpert Master of Death. But I can tell you what I think happened.”
            “What?” McGonagall leaned forwards eagerly.
            Harry blinked for a moment, until he remembered that she still had to run a school with the Bloody Baron in it. It wasn’t surprising that she wanted a way to try and clear up the possible danger. “He bound Colin—the Bard of Morning’s Hope. He mingled with him for a while. I saw—it was strange, but it looked like he surrounded him. At least some of his ghosts contained some of Colin’s ghosts.”
            “Yes? And?” McGonagall looked like someone still waiting for the punchline of a joke.
            “The ghosts that mingled with Colin’s spirit drove him insane,” Harry said softly. “He became vengeful and determined to take down even Death Eaters who hadn’t killed him, in a way he never would have been in life. I think it’s possible that the Bloody Baron picked up some of those motives from Colin. Maybe he didn’t let the one ghost who tried to kill Draco go deliberately, but he might have done it because he was so influenced, at the moment, by the thought of letting Death Eaters die.”
            McGonagall hesitated once. Then she nodded. “That’s entirely possible. Like you, I don’t want to say that it was definitely the answer, but it might be.”
            Harry smiled tiredly. “It might be.” He closed his eyes. “If the Bloody Baron starts doing something that concerns you, you’ll call me right away?”
            “We will.” There was the sound of her footsteps coming around the desk, and Harry blinked open his eyes to find her right in front of him. “And now, Auror Potter, I think you ought to go home before you fall asleep.”
            Harry laughed and got to his feet. He didn’t waver, but he thought that might only be true because his hand was locked firmly on the arm of the chair. “You’re right. Thanks for listening to me, Professor McGonagall.”
            “I told you to call me Minerva.” For a moment, she stood looking at him in a way that Harry wanted to point out wasn’t very helpful in getting Harry to call her by her first name, and then she nodded. “I think you should make a point to find out what it really means to be Master of Death, as soon as possible.”
            “How?” Harry asked, a little exasperated. That was the same thing Hermione had told him after hearing how he’d held the Baron back, and Harry had the same answer now. “There’s not exactly books on it. Supposedly, no one has ever held all three Deathly Hallows before.”
            “I suggest you learn by practicing,” said McGonagall calmly. “Go out into a place strong with the presence of death, perhaps a graveyard, and see what happens when you attempt to call upon your power.”
            “That could cause some kind of an explosion or something, too.”
            “Then a graveyard a long distance away from everyone else.”
            Harry snorted. At least she was doing a good job of making him feel better, and he suspected that was what she wanted. “Thanks, M—Minerva.” He clasped her hand and turned for the door.
            “If you’d prefer to use my Floo connection, then you may.”
            Harry hesitated, testing the wobble of his muscles in his own mind, and how much his head was starting ache, as though someone had driven a spike of ice into his skull above his eyebrow, and how much he wanted to get back and see Draco. He ended up nodding. “Thanks.”
*
            “I just don’t understand how that could have happened,” Granger was saying for the fortieth time. “Colin was such a nice boy.”
            Draco lounged in his chair with a blanket under his back, the blanket heated with a Warming Charm, and didn’t say anything. He had told her what the Bloody Baron had said about various ghosts blending with Creevey’s and changing his nature, and Granger still acted as though no one else could offer a theory because she hadn’t come up with that one.
            “But I suppose death changes us all,” Granger finally mused, and Draco opened his eyes, startled. She was standing near the mantel in the drawing room, running one hand over it and frowning to herself. It seemed that what she need was to be left alone until she could talk herself into believing the idea.
            “I’m just sorry it was Colin who paid that price,” Granger finished, and turned around and gave Draco an uncomfortably piercing glance. “And you.”
            Draco shrugged, awkward in his silence. He hadn’t expected Granger to offer any sympathy at all, which meant he didn’t know how to deal with it.
            “Thank you, Miss Granger.” Narcissa was sitting upright in front of the fire, Transfiguring another blanket she could attach a Warming Charm to from one of the ragged old curtains in their upstairs bedroom. She still sounded as though she was hosting the perfect dinner party at the Manor. “Of course I would prefer to have my husband alive, but knowing we have justice for him will help us in healing.”
            Granger smiled as if those commonplaces relaxed her, too. “I can understand that.”
            She might have spoken further, but the fire flared, and she had to move abruptly away from it as someone Flooed through. That turned out to be Harry, who caught himself with a neat little spin when he would have tumbled on the hearth. Granger smiled at him and dropped her reaching hand.
            “Everything all right here?” Harry looked around as though he thought the ceiling might have fallen in on them without him there to catch it.
            “Everything is fine, Auror Potter.” Narcissa looked up. Draco watched her for a moment. It was too much to say that there was warmth in her face when she looked at Harry, but that was okay, as far as Draco was concerned. His mother rarely showed warmth to anyone. And if she could muster courtesy for their Muggleborn baby-sitter, she could do more than that for someone who had avenged Lucius’s murder and saved Draco’s life and hers. “I appreciate what you’ve done.”
            “Is everything settled at Hogwarts?” Granger asked, immediately, before Draco could say anything. “The Bloody Baron is under control again? And what about Colin?”
            “He still has Colin imprisoned, as far as I can tell,” said Harry, so quietly that Granger looked at him in concern. Draco, thinking he knew more about where the quietness came from, waited. “I don’t know for sure. But I do think that imprisoning Colin’s multiple ghosts might have influenced him, and that might have been why he let the ghost through that attacked you, Draco.”
            Draco nodded. He found that he didn’t want to say anything at the moment, that he couldn’t even remember what it would have been. He just admired Harry’s face and the rough way he combed his hair back from his ears instead.
            “Well, as long as Colin’s ghost is somewhat laid.” Granger’s face was full of sadness. “I wish there was something else we could have done for him.”
            Draco held back his own commentary, only reaching out to adjust the blanket behind his shoulders, but he did think that Granger was always wasting compassion on anyone but living wizards. First house-elves, and then murderous ghosts. She didn’t seem to care much that “Colin” had been behind numerous deaths, and had tried to be behind more.
            “So do I,” said Harry, but shook his head. “If the Bloody Baron could hardly contain him, I wouldn’t have wanted to try. I would either have ended up letting someone else get hurt, or I would have had to destroy him.”
            “That’s what the Master of Death does?” Granger sounded horrified.
            “It’s one thing I can do. I need to practice to learn about other things.” Harry grinned suddenly. “McGonagall was suggesting a graveyard a long way from anything else.”
            Granger raised her eyebrows. “That might be a good attitude, actually.” She glanced with a smile at Harry. “Is there anything else you need me to do here? I don’t think anyone will try to attack you lot now, but I can send some of the Unspeakables with some of the new spells to guard you if you want. They’re anxious to try those spells out.”
            Draco flinched. He could just imagine what it would be like to be surrounded by trainee Unspeakables. Probably less hostile, but no less dangerous, than being surrounded by Aurors who had agreed with the Bard.
            Harry seemed to pick up on Draco’s horror. He coughed lightly. “Thanks, Hermione, but like you say, we’re all right now.”
            “Good.” Granger hugged Harry once, nodded at Draco and Narcissa, and went through the Floo.
            Harry turned to Draco. “How are you feeling?”
            “Still cold,” said Narcissa, which again spared Draco from answering. He was getting more to the point where he didn’t want to respond, only wait for the moments when they could be alone. “I am making sure he stays warm and receives warm meals. Ghostly cold is partially symbolic, as we saw with the ice that the Bard inflicted on my husband.” For a moment only, her eyes closed. “If we counter it with warmth, then my son should be fine.”
            Draco leaned his head back on the chair and looked up at Harry.
            Amazingly, Harry seemed to have read from his gaze what he wanted. He caught Draco’s arm and said gently, “I think Draco’s tired, Mrs. Malfoy. Can I take him upstairs? I’ll make sure he rests.” He looked at Draco again. “And stays warm.”
            After we do some other things first, Draco thought, his heartbeat picking up. And during those other things, I’ll be warm.
            Draco couldn’t believe his mother was unaware of what Harry meant, but perhaps she kept her head bowed partially so she wouldn’t need to acknowledge it. “Yes. As long as he rests afterwards.”
            Harry smiled at Narcissa and turned to look up the stairs. Draco moved to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder that made Harry tilt his head in silent invitation. Draco smiled as they climbed up the stairs.
            His back was warm again.
*
            Harry had invited this knowing what would happen, but it was still a shock when Draco turned to him the minute they were up the stairs, clasped his shoulders, and slammed him back against the wall, kissing him hard enough to numb Harry’s lips.
            But it only took that moment before Harry was kissing back, and slipping his hands around Draco’s waist, caressing his ribs. He thought of how easily that skin could have torn, how easily he could have lost Draco to a ghost’s attack, either the last ghost’s or the Bard’s before they had figured out he was Colin.
            All of that made him kiss still harder.
            Draco pulled away from him before things could go much further, and flashed him a sharp smile as he pulled his shirt over his head. Harry discovered he was shivering, as if being starved of Draco’s body warmth for even a second was the equivalent of being stabbed by a cold ghost. He reached out and gathered Draco close, kissing him again, but let Draco pull his shirt off in turn, so their bare chests were touching.
            It was the best thing Harry had ever felt. He ran one hand over the curve of Draco’s shoulder blade, and thought again how it might have ended, and tugged Draco against him until he lost his footing and flailed at Harry’s shoulders in turn to stand upright. And Harry still kissed him, and eased him back, and kissed him again, and reached for his cock.
            Draco let out a breathy groan. He was almost silent, really, and Harry would have found that creepy, except that he was sure it was deliberate. Draco pressed into his hand and found Harry’s cock with the head of his.
            That was deliberate, too. Had to be.
            Harry tilted his head back and worked his throat to get some air in. He wasn’t destined to get much, as Draco immediately kissed him again, and then sucked on his neck.
            Harry adjusted his grip on Draco so their cocks were touching once more. That was good. He was going to get some more of that.
            And counter thoughts about how he had almost lost Draco forever with the fact of his hips and warmth and thrusting erection, and replace memories of Draco lying lonely and cold, ghosts filling the air around him, with memories of pleasure.
            Draco smiled at him before his mouth fell slightly open and he grunted, banging enthusiastically enough into Harry that Harry’s head flew backwards and hit the door. Harry made an indignant noise.
            “Sorry,” Draco gasped, before he began sucking on Harry’s neck again. Harry turned him slightly so that they could both have what they wanted, Draco soft skin beneath his lips and tongue, and Harry their cocks rubbing together.
            “Not a p-problem,” Harry said, and it wasn’t, although his muscles were straining and his head hurt from being banged into the doorway. He would have stopped already if it was really a problem. His fingers curled into Draco’s shoulders and down his back, and his head ached more and his sight blurred.
            The moment of orgasm had always been a surprise for him, a sharp spike of pleasure and excitement that then dropped him. This time, he felt it building, probably because Draco was there, and Harry had had to—
            Had had to know where Draco was at all times in the past few days, had had to know where he stood and how he breathed and whether he would panic when the Bard suddenly attacked—
            Had had to know some things about him that might not be important to some people, but were to Harry.
            And on that thought, he came, and Draco followed him after a few more seconds of sucking and thrusting. He was the one who swayed, and Harry was careful to hold him up. He had the doorframe behind him. He was steadier than Draco.
            He was Draco’s guardian, he thought. That was something he could do, and happily. He had promised Draco’s mother that he would keep Draco warm and rested, after all. He smiled and urged Draco into the bedroom.
            Draco stopped swaying and stood inconveniently straight a few seconds later, nearly making Harry stumble as he tried to escort him. Then he turned his head. “I’m not tired, you know,” he announced, his voice sounding creaky. “I’m also not as cold as my mother thinks I am. I was earlier, but I’m not now. And—”
            He yawned in a way that nearly broke his jaw. Harry shook his head and settled Draco on the bed. “You’re not as cold as she thought, but you are more tired,” he said. “And I’m the one who tired you out. I’m the one who should make sure that you’re rested.” He waved his wand to clean up the wetness in Draco’s trousers, and slid a pillow behind him.
            Draco looked uncertain, but then his face took on a stubborn look that was almost familiar. “I’m doing this to oblige you,” he said, as he leaned back. “Not my mother.”
            “Of course.”
            “You could sound as if you believed me,” Draco said, and closed his eyes, and almost passed out.
            Harry stood there for a second, smiling at him. Then he let the smile go, and watched Draco breathing, and thought again about how easily that breathing could have stopped.
            Yes, it was the sort of thought he had had before about the victims he was guarding and how easily they could have died if he’d misstepped. But with Draco, it was different.
            And he knew exactly why.
            I never want that to happen again. I’ll need to find some private time and space to practice my powers as Master of Death, just like McGonagall suggested.
            He curled up behind Draco, more than willing to both share his warmth and share Draco’s rest. He would think about it, but not for right now.
*
Christopher: Harry is not the only one in canon who could do that. The criminals in Azkaban were subjected to it on a regular basis, and it happened, for example, to Barty Crouch, Jr. While it is indeed an evil thing to do, I don’t think the wizarding world regards it exactly the same way.
And it’s better for Harry to figure out what he can do to control his powers instead of simply sitting there feeling horrified.
SP777: Maybe Harry will do that later. He has no intention of approaching the Baron right now.
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Bard of Morning's Hope