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The Marriage of True Minds	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 55083 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Twenty-One—With the Same Strength

            To Harry, the process of getting him back to Malfoy Manor was a series of questions.

            “Can you stand? Can you walk? Can you lean on me? Can you ignore what you’ll see in the other room? Do you need more light? Can you hang on while we Apparate? Can you step up here? Do you want to talk to anyone?”

            Harry managed to shake or bob his head each time, and Draco’s arm would curve around him more powerfully when he did, as though he saw something in the gestures to make him think Harry was more fragile than he really was. Harry did what he could to smile reassuringly. But the smile made Draco look more worried than ever, so in the end Harry settled for keeping his gaze fixed on the path ahead and trying to worry about the immediate future, not the distant one.

            He couldn’t help, though, reaching out to catch hold of Draco when he realized that they were really in the Manor and Draco was assisting him gently up the stairs. “Did you contact Ron and Hermione yet?” he asked. He coughed. His throat was raw as though he’d gone without water for hours. It took him longer than it should have to remember that that came from his screaming.

            “No,” Draco said, staring at him without apology in his eyes. “I thought getting you to safety was the most important thing.”

            “They’ll—be worried,” Harry said, and fell painfully as they came to the top of the stairs, banging his knee on the step. He hissed. Draco tapped his shoulder with his wand, casting a spell that Harry didn’t recognize, and then scooped him up. It must have been a Lightening Charm, Harry thought, moments before he tensed because Draco’s arms were near the scars.

            “Don’t,” he whispered.

            “I have no intention of it.” Draco’s voice was keenly gentle as he carried Harry towards the bedroom, his steps light and brisk. Harry realized then that he had one arm under Harry’s arse and the other around his shoulders, above the scars, not touching them. It was an awkward position, but since Harry seemed to weigh as much as wind at the moment, probably not as much as it looked. Harry closed his eyes and let his head droop onto Draco’s shoulder. “That’s it,” Draco whispered. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

            “Not used to it,” Harry murmured in answer, although it hadn’t really been a question. “Just—because I’m an Auror, you know. I save everyone. I don’t get saved.”

            “Sometimes you need to be.” Harry thought he felt Draco’s chest flex as though he was breathing in and would say more, but he didn’t. They got to the bedroom then, and he nudged the door open with his foot. Harry blinked. For some reason, he had thought they were going to his rooms, which meant he would have needed to lift the wards on the door.

            But no, they were back in Draco’s rooms, back in the place where Harry had slept so safely, so trustingly, two times already. He swallowed and cast a glance around, wondering if it would seem less safe now. But no, it just looked as it always had, and he had to close his eyes against an overwhelming rush of tears. He suspected he’d be shaky and emotional for a long time. His mind still felt shredded.

            “Hush,” Draco said into his ear. “I’m here.” He laid Harry on the bed and pulled his hands carefully away so that they didn’t touch the scars. Then he helped Harry pull his shirt off so the cloth wouldn’t touch them, either, and rested his hand in the center of Harry’s chest, above his heart, watching his eyes.

            Harry blinked. He was half-naked in front of Draco Malfoy, and he shouldn’t have been. All he knew about the way he lived his life said he shouldn’t have been. He was supposed to recoil, spitting and hissing, and try to protect his virtue and his loyalty to Ginny.

            But he thought he had never felt calmer than he did at that moment, his heartbeat and his breath slowing, his eyes catching and holding Draco’s.

            Never felt safer.

            He grimaced. That’s probably a side-effect of the marriage bond, and who knows when I’m going to get out of it, now? Nothing he had read or heard from Hermione said if there was a cutoff point. Did adding three bands to the rings mean that they now had no hope of breaking free, or only a smaller hope?

            “What is it?” Draco lifted a hand to his cheek, and Harry blinked. He didn’t think Draco would have done that yesterday. Or had Harry moving back into his hands in that dark room

            (Don’t think of it)

            now given Draco permission, or confidence, to touch him everywhere?

            “I was thinking about what my friends would think of this,” Harry said, because even though it might hurt Draco, he didn’t seem able to keep the truth from him right now.

            “And I told you to let me take care of that,” Draco said. He put a knee on the bed and urged Harry backwards, gently, against the pillows, which were piled so that they would cradle his neck and his head without touching the middle of his back. “Are you going to let me take care of it?” Draco continued, his voice soft as ashes. “Or are you going to insist on doing it yourself?”

            Harry closed his eyes. He knew the truth—both parts of the truth. The first was that he was simply too weak right now to send owls to his friends and start thinking about the future outside the marriage bond.

            The second part was that he trusted Draco more than anyone else he could remember, and he wanted to let him handle it.

            “No,” he said. “I’ll let you.”

            The satisfaction in Draco’s eyes was as thick as smoke. He pressed a hand to Harry’s forehead, as if feeling for a fever, and moved back. “Good. I’ll make a firecall first, and get through to the Ministry. Then I’ll send owls.” He paused, standing near the door now. Harry blinked. He hadn’t seen him move, or at least his blurry sight had warped the motion so that he couldn’t remember seeing it. “To Granger, to the Weasleys—who else? To the Head Auror?”

            “Yes, that’s a good idea.” Harry swallowed. His throat was dry and bitter, and he hated to ask what was bubbling behind his lips, but he had no choice. “But could you have the house-elves bring you the ink and parchment? Can you stay here while you write the letters and make the firecall?”

            “Of course,” Draco said, his eyebrows shooting up. “But I thought you wanted to be alone for a little while.”

            “I should,” Harry said miserably, but he was feeling so miserable about more important things at the moment that it was difficult to care about what he knew he should care about. “But—I feel safe with you. Not because of the house, not because of the wards. Because of you. Can you please stay with me?”

*

            Draco’s hand was shaking when he reached out and smoothed Harry’s hair back from his forehead, from the lightning-shaped scar that was no longer the most important one he bore.

            How many other people had Harry Potter ever said those words to? Not many, Draco thought. He would be surprised if it was to his Weasleys, in fact, since from what Draco had seen of Harry’s friendship with Ron, he didn’t think they exchanged words like that, they just silently did things for each other. And no matter what Harry thought, he wasn’t in love with the female one and wouldn’t say things like that to her.

            Then Draco shook his head. He could savor the granted gift later. What mattered right now was that he could stay in the room while he did those things. He had only volunteered to leave in the first place because he thought Harry would want to pull his shattered self back together.

            “Of course I can,” he said. “And I will,” he added swiftly, because Harry’s eyes had only darkened at his answer, as if he was used to hearing people say that they could do things and then leaving.

            Where did that wariness come from? I don’t think it’s something he learned at Hogwarts.

            But as curious as he was, Draco knew what came first, so he ignored the questions he wanted to ask and sat down on the bed beside Harry, writing the letters and giving them to house-elves to take to the Owlery. Harry rolled his head towards him at first, eyes blinking slowly open and shut, and then reached out and held Draco’s left wrist. Draco shifted so that he could still brace the small ivory lapdesk that he used to write the letters and went on composing.

            He could see the bronze gleaming in the rings whenever he looked at them from the corner of his eye, another reminder of what had happened.

            He didn’t try to be elaborate in the letters, but told the simple facts about what had happened, as clearly as possible. Then he reached down and gently nudged Harry’s hand off him, so that he could put ink on Harry’s fingers. Harry blinked at him, saying nothing, subdued as a child who had been told it was bad, and Draco smiled gently at him.

            “Make a mark on the letters,” he said. “Just pressing your fingers into the parchment next to my name should be enough. I thought I’d give your friends a bit of your magical signature to cling to, so they wouldn’t assume that I was making it all up.”

            “Oh.” Harry looked impossibly embarrassed, his skin flushing as though he assumed that he should have thought of this and done something about it already. “I didn’t—I didn’t think they would disbelieve you. But of course they might.”

            Draco cocked his head. “Why didn’t you think of it?” He had expected Harry to raise a protest all the time that he was writing, to offer a suggestion that he should be the one to do it or at least insist on checking the words so that he would know Draco wasn’t writing anything too insulting. But Harry had only lain there and watched him with those wide, bright eyes that made protectiveness run through Draco like quicksilver.

            “I….” Harry exhaled the word hard, on a gust of sweet breath, and shook his head. “I trust you so much I forgot some people might not.” He smiled without humor, and some of the softness left his face. “I reckon that’s pretty stupid, right?”

            “Not at all,” Draco said, and he couldn’t prevent his voice from going soft, as if to make up for the way that Harry was retreating from him. He let his fingers spread along Harry’s shoulder and play with the curls of his hair. “Not at all. I think that’s what you need right now, someone you can trust to defend you and never back away.”

            “But that’s stupid.” Harry stirred restlessly, reaching back as if he would prop himself further up on the pillows and then pulling his hand down again before he could touch his scars. “I mean—Ron’s saved my life plenty of times. So has Hermione. And it’s not like I’m a baby. Why should I want someone to protect me so much right now? Why does it have to be you?”

            Draco took a deep, slow breath. He could understand the tone of Harry’s question, and it was frustration, not resentment, which made it hurt less. “Because you want it to be,” he said. “Because I was the one there. Because of this.” He turned the ring again so that the bronze flashed into Harry’s eyes.

            Harry closed his eyes, and his face flushed. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Someone taking care of me sounds…really good right now. But I don’t want it to. I thought I outgrew those fantasies about the time I stopped dreaming of my parents coming to take me away.”

            Where were you, Harry, that you had to have those fantasies?

            But once again, Draco knew that this wasn’t the time to ask. He nodded instead, as if the statement made sense to him, and said, “Well, what happened to you in the darkness changed you. Perhaps you wouldn’t need me if you hadn’t been through that. But you have, and what you need is here.” Simple words, small words. He would make them as small and simple as they needed to be, until Harry saw and accepted.

            Harry lay silent, gaze fastened on him. Draco shifted uneasily. No matter what Harry had been through, there was nothing that could dim or dull the light in his eyes, and Draco was as nervous about being judged by them as he had been when he was eleven years old.

            Then Harry turned his head away and closed his eyes. Draco saw the shadow of tears around the edges of them.

            “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you. That’s what I had to hear from you.”

            Draco reached out and put a tentative hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry rubbed his cheek against Draco’s hand without speaking.

            “I’m glad,” Draco said, because all other words seemed inadequate, and watched the bronze band burning in the ring until he had recovered his voice and thought he could make the firecall to Weasley.

*

            “No, he’s not coming back to the Burrow right now.” Draco’s voice was calm and inflexible. “He needs to be at home.”

            “That’s why we want him back here, you arse!”

            Harry winced. He could hear the catch in Ron’s voice, and he imagined what it must have been like for Ron to see Harry disappearing right in front of him, behind the Ministry’s wards, where they should be able to think that they were safe if anywhere was. It made him wince again.

            For Ron’s sake, he could try to still the trembling in his hands and the way that he just wanted to lie there and look at Draco, and lean forwards instead, pitching his voice to carry. Draco’s fireplace was to one side of the bed, and big enough to qualify as a small alcove in and of itself, so Harry didn’t know how well Ron could see him. Hearing him would have to be enough. “Ron, you’re the arse. Do you really think he would have brought me back to the Manor if I’d had strong objections to it?”

            Of course, the state he was in, Draco might have managed to do that exactly that. But Harry wasn’t going to say that, even to someone he trusted as much as his best friend. This was—difficult. Different from anything he had ever felt before, this strange dependence on Draco. Until he figured it out for himself, and then shared the truth with Draco, who he owed the debt to, then he didn’t think he could expect Ron to understand completely.

            “Harry?” Ron stared in his direction, squinting, and then shook his head. “I know, mate. You feel like you need to stay there because of the marriage bond. But we have to see that you’re all right before we can believe it.”

            Harry sighed and started to plant his hands on the bed. It hurt to heave himself out of his nest of pillows, especially with his arms still so weak, but he knew that he would have to make the effort. He didn’t need Ron and Hermione storming the Manor in the morning, especially because it would probably annoy Narcissa.

            Draco leaned towards him, not quite touching, and shook his head. “You told me that he was your best friend,” he murmured.

            “He is,” Harry snapped, ready to bristle if Draco said something that insulted Ron.

            “Then he can deal with just seeing a glimpse of your face instead of having a lengthy conversation.” Draco stared down his nose at Harry when Harry looked at him blankly. “He cares about you. If you tell him that you need to rest more than you need to talk to him, then he’ll let it go. The problem is that you’ll never tell him that on your own, because you’re convinced that you need to be stronger than anyone else.”

            “Harry?” Ron asked impatiently.

            Harry stared at Draco, shook his head, and then said, because he couldn’t help himself, “When did you become so wise?”

            “Being in close quarters with you is good for more than one thing,” Draco said softly, and smiled at him.

            The smile convinced Harry that, at the very least, Draco didn’t have any bad intentions towards Ron and Hermione. So he sighed, crawled across the bed with Draco’s hands supporting his hips and shoulders—anywhere they wouldn’t touch the scars—and smiled at Ron from the very edge, as close as he could come to the fireplace without leaving the bed. “Hey,” he said.

            Ron stared at him, mouth falling open. “What happened?” he whispered. “Merlin, mate, you look awful.”

            Harry nodded and started to answer, but Draco touched one knob of his spine that the scars didn’t cross, and gave him a significant look when Harry glanced at him.

            Right. Draco had already explained the outline of the situation to Ron, without mentioning the beast that had emerged from the scars. He was telling Harry that he didn’t need to exhaust himself with another explanation or with figuring out the right lies, because Ron was his friend. He would put up with not hearing everything right now in exchange for assurances that Harry was going to recover.

            “What Draco told you,” Harry chose to say. “Those wizards who use decay magic captured me and brought me to—some place.” He didn’t want to think too closely about the dark room, because he knew he would throw up if he did. “They shut me up in darkness, and they would have tortured me, I think. But we managed to get away and kill the wizards before that happened.”

            “Where was this?” Ron asked. Harry recognized the set to his jaw now; he was shifting into Auror mode. “What happened when you killed the wizards? You’ll need to come in and talk under Veritaserum—”

            “No,” Harry said.

            “No?” Ron echoed blankly.

            “I can’t do that right now,” Harry said. “I’m too tired, and I need to recover. What Draco told you is the truth. You can question him over the fire if you want. He might even let you come to the house and serve him Veritaserum.” A tightening of Draco’s hand on his hip suggested that wasn’t going to happen, but Harry ignored it for the moment. He could feel weariness sweeping over him like the crest of a wave, and had to fight to keep his eyes from simply drooping shut. “Ron,” he added softly, when he saw his friend open his mouth. “I know. I know that you want to investigate this, and I hope that you’ll find out how they managed to break into the Ministry and snatch me there. But for right now, the only question I can really answer is that I’m all right. Later, okay?”

            “But, mate—with Malfoy? You’re in bed with Malfoy?” Ron had his wand in now, and his tight grip on it looked as if it would crack the wood.

            “Resting,” Harry said. “He rescued me, and I feel safe with him.” He sighed again, and irritation joined the weariness when he saw Ron open his mouth to ask another bloody question. “Ron. Can you just let it go for now? I’m really not up to defending myself, or talking about the marriage bond, or coming to the Burrow, or—any of the rest of it.”

            Ron blushed and lowered his eyes, chastened. “‘Course, mate,” he muttered. “Sorry. I’m just glad that you’re alive.”

            Harry smiled back. “Me, too,” he said. “But I’ll talk to you later, all right?” He was aching all over now. He didn’t know if that was a side-effect of the beast-magic he’d used, or something else, but he knew that his eyelids were drooping and he was yawning and that Draco’s hand on his hip was warm. He wanted to curl up against Draco—and only against Draco, not just pillows, not anyone else—and close his eyes.

            “Yeah, mate,” Ron said, his voice and face both soft now. Harry thought he might have looked a threat at Draco when Harry’s eyelids were drooping, but if so, Harry didn’t think Draco minded, or at least he understood. “Keep safe.”

            The Floo connection shut. Harry sighed and began to move backwards, to arrange himself in the comfortable nest of pillows once again.

            “Here, let me,” Draco whispered into his ear, and he lifted and moved Harry. If he had cast the Lightening Charm on Harry again, which he might have, Harry hadn’t felt it. Then again, with the state he was in at the moment, there was a lot he might miss.

            “Let me,” Draco whispered again, and since he was already lying back against the pillows in the right position, cupped but not cradled so that nothing touched his back, Harry didn’t understand what he meant. He opened his eyes to see that Draco’s hand was hovering above his mouth, and that Draco’s eyes were dark with yearning.

            “Will you let me take care of you in the morning?” Draco whispered.

            Harry sighed. The morning seemed so far away, and he wanted to go to sleep.

            But the question was important, so he forced his sluggish mind to work, and nodded finally. “As long as I need it,” he said. He looked again at the bronze band in the ring from the corner of his eye. “S’pose I owe you for saving my sanity.”

            Draco blinked slowly. “You think it was that, rather than the other way around?”

            Harry snorted. “Of course. I wasn’t in much condition to do anything but pull myself back. I didn’t actively save you.”

            “It was still remarkable,” Draco said, but his cheeks were bright pink, and he glanced away from Harry as though he was ashamed to let Harry see his eyes shine.

            Harry reached up a hand that felt as though it was made of iron and turned Draco’s head back before he thought about it. “Don’t do that,” he whispered. “Like to look in your eyes. They’re my light.”

            Draco reached out and touched Harry’s arm, then his shoulder, then his forehead, quick, feather-like touches that Harry suspected substituted for the embrace he wanted to give Harry and held himself back from, because of the scars. Harry closed his eyes and lay there, feeling the sleep creep up on him.

            It was better this way. This way, he got what he needed, and he would recover faster, and he could give Draco some of what he had wanted when he spoke to Harry about staying in the marriage bond.

            But…

            Harry knew that it couldn’t be more than that, no matter how much Draco might want it to be. Harry suspected that his feeling of safety around Draco came from the bronze in the ring, just another example of how the marriage bond had changed him. And he wasn’t going to yield to that. He wouldn’t let the bond dictate how he felt, who he chose to spend his life with.

            But he would think about that in the morning.

            He fell asleep to Draco stroking his lightning scar, gentle as a kiss.

*

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The Marriage of True Minds