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The Serenity of His Rage	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16981 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Twenty-Four—Destruction

            “What a place.”

            Harry could hear Draco’s voice and feel the bond, but even so, it was hard to tell what he was feeling. There was too much there, Harry thought, all mixed together like the small stones and pieces of glass that made a mosaic. He laid a hand gently on Draco’s wrist and pulled him forwards into the Chamber of Secrets.

            They’d come here, the six of them—Fawkes had jumped up and joined them as soon as they entered the school—and Harry found it more overwhelming than he had when he was twelve and here alone. He’d been focused solely on finding Ginny then, and getting help from Tom. He hadn’t realized how large it was, how dark, and how much it stank.

            Of course, that was probably the basilisk corpse, which sprawled along the floor a short distance away from them. Its fanged jaws were parted, its eyes still ruined messes of fluid and gore. Harry turned his attention away from it and back to Draco.

            Draco was staring at the Slytherin statue, and sometimes at the carved snakes on the walls. He turned back to Harry and shook his head, looking overwhelmed. “I can’t imagine how you fought a snake that large alone,” he whispered.

            Harry smiled. He thought he knew what one of the confusing emotions was now: worry, with Draco a little disgusted at himself for worrying when Harry was right there and not hurt. “I know,” he said, and tilted his head at Fawkes. “But I wasn’t alone, you know, not at the end. I had Fawkes, and the Sorting Hat.”

            The phoenix gave a sudden trill, surprising Harry. Harry looked up as the bird left Dumbledore’s shoulder and flew over, hovering above Harry. He shed a few tears that fell on Harry’s scar.

            There had been a throbbing pain there that Harry hadn’t even noticed until it stopped, as it did suddenly now. He reached up and touched his forehead, blinking, turning his fingers in several directions.

            “So that was where so much of my pain came from. You really have to notice things like that more, Harry.”

            Harry rolled his eyes at Draco. “If neither of us could even really feel it or tell where it was coming from, why is it just my responsibility?”

            Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Fawkes began to sing. Harry went immediately silent as he listened to it. There was something here, something beyond Fawkes just singing to soothe their anger, but he couldn’t tell what it was.

            Fawkes landed on Harry’s shoulder and rubbed his head against Harry’s cheek. Then he turned and flew over to Draco, of all people, and landed on his shoulder, too, rubbing his head up and down on Draco’s cheek until Draco relaxed.

            Only then did Fawkes launch himself again, flying up and perching on the Slytherin statue. He sat right on the nose, which made Harry give a little laugh. Fawkes sang for a minute more, trills fading into a small chirp, before he closed his eyes and appeared to go to sleep.

            “Do you know why he did that, sir?” Harry asked, turning to look at Dumbledore.

            The Headmaster looked just as surprised as the rest of them, though, staring up at the phoenix for a few seconds before he shook his head and turned back to Harry. “No idea, Harry,” he admitted easily. “Perhaps we’ll find out if we spend a little more time in the Chamber, yes?”

            Harry just nodded. He couldn’t imagine what else he could say or do. Dumbledore was quiet this morning, looking around as if he wanted to surprise some shadow he thought he saw lurking in the corners of the Chamber. He then shook his head and moved towards the basilisk corpse.

            Harry did the same thing, aware of Hermione and Ron spreading out. Hermione was looking around the Chamber with fascinated little murmurs, while Ron studied the snakes carved on the walls with a dubious expression.

            “Can we handle the fangs safely?” Draco asked abruptly. “Or are we going to be poisoned by them when we pick them up?”

            “If there were such danger in the Chamber, then Fawkes wouldn’t be so relaxed.”

            Dumbledore spoke in a voice of absolute authority, and Harry saw Draco’s lip curling in response. He spoke hastily before Draco could say something unfortunate. “I think we can probably handle them. The one I used to destroy the diary didn’t poison me where I was holding onto it. I was already poisoned by that point.”

            Draco turned around and stared, and the confusing surface of the bond settled into one overflowing, overpowering flow of cool water. “What?”

            Harry held his eyes and frowned. “You knew about that, didn’t you? That the basilisk bit me before I could destroy the diary? I only lived because Fawkes healed me with his tears.”

            Draco stood there as if Stupefied for a second, and then reached out and yanked back Harry’s sleeve. He was staring down at the scar on Harry’s arm from the fang with a more than slightly appalled expression.

            “I did hear that part of the story,” he finally acknowledged, tilting his head back and meeting Harry’s eyes with a faint frown. “But I never knew…I suppose I never thought about what it meant.”

            Harry was glad that Snape wasn’t with them at the moment. Even with the man’s confession the other day, he would still have made a sarcastic remark at Draco’s expense. Harry settled for putting his hand over Draco’s and squeezing.

            “I know. But I’m here now.”

            Draco opened his mouth to answer, and then Dumbledore said abruptly, “Get behind me!”

            Harry turned around hastily. The basilisk’s corpse was moving, or at least there was a stirring and fluttering in the scales near its throat. Harry conjured a mirror immediately and turned so that he was standing between the movement and Draco.

            “Stop being so ridiculous,” Draco said at once, and pivoted Harry around with a grip on his arm so they were standing side-by-side.

            Harry didn’t get the chance to argue. For one thing, the movement was much faster now, as something purple and silver shot out of the basilisk’s decaying scales at them. Dumbledore intercepted it first, though, swinging his wand around and down. “Petrificus Totalus!”

            Harry thought the thing was going too fast to be hit by the spell. But a second later, it stopped, tottering, and fell over. Harry stared down at it and wrinkled his nose. It stank like the basilisk, and there was a suggestion of snake about this thing, too, with its low body and long tail and scales.

            But most of it was just a four-legged thing. A large lizard? Maybe. It had a long neck, and sharp teeth that gleamed like the poison Harry remembered staining his arm where the fang had gone in.

            “That’s a creature I don’t recognize,” Hermione whispered, stepping up behind him.

            Draco muttered something, but Harry ignored him. Hermione was clever with magical creatures, even though she’d dropped Hagrid’s NEWT class like everyone else. She was the one who’d figured out Slytherin’s monster was a basilisk, after all. “Does it look like anything else you recognize?” he asked.

            Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but Dumbledore got there first. “It’s a moonborn lizard,” he said gently. “I’m afraid this is bad news.”

            “What’s a moonborn lizard, Professor Dumbledore?”

            Draco rolled his eyes again, probably at Hermione’s painfully earnest tone, but Harry saw the shadow that covered Dumbledore’s face in the moment before he chuckled it away and began to wrap thick chains around the motionless lizard. Chains, Harry saw. Not ropes. He wondered, uneasily, if that was because the lizard could chew through ropes.

            “Moonborn lizards are unnatural magical creatures,” Dumbledore said. “Rather like basilisks. But even rarer, because they can only be made from the corpse of a dangerous, Dark beast with the application of Dark magic. Most experimental breeders aren’t willing to spend their time and money on creating one beast, and then killing it just to raise moonborn lizards.”

            Draco caught on before Harry did. “That means someone has been here performing Dark magic since Harry killed the basilisk?”

            “Five points to Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy.” Dumbledore looked tired, and Harry caught him glancing at his blackened hand, too. “And I fear it means that Voldemort has been here, and he may now know that we killed the basilisk.”

            “Harry did, you mean,” Draco said, but Harry touched his arm to calm him and asked the next question.

            “Do you think he would have been able to sense that the diary Horcrux was destroyed here, too?”

            “I fear it may mean that,” said Dumbledore, with a slow nod. He was turning in several different directions as if trying to figure out what spell he could cast that would identify Voldemort’s presence. “But we cannot know for sure.” He turned to Harry and gave him a gentle smile. “I think you should most definitely proceed with the destruction of the locket now, though.”

            Harry blinked, because he’d thought Dumbledore would want to do that himself, and had only brought along the others because they insisted. But then he shrugged and moved forwards. He’d handled a basilisk fang before. He knew how to make sure it wouldn’t hurt him.

*

            Draco trusted nothing about the situation, including the way Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed as he watched Harry.

            What does he want? To see how the basilisk fang affects Harry when he’s holding it? To see if it’s different now that Harry knows about the Horcrux inside him?

            That seemed to be it, from the way Dumbledore leaned forwards a little when Harry grasped the fang. But if he was waiting for something incriminating, he had to be disappointed. The fang didn’t smoke or glow or make any noise when Harry took hold of it. Then he turned to Draco, and Draco took out the locket.

            “Put it on the floor,” said Harry, without even glancing at Dumbledore. His emotions in the bond were vibrating, but calm.

            “Why should I?” Draco asked, and fluttered his eyes at Harry, who looked absolutely stunned in response. Draco held back a chuckle and said in a pouting voice, “There’s no law that says I can’t be holding it when you destroy it, is there?”

            “I’m worried about harming you with the fang,” said Harry, which was true enough, if Draco could trust the bond. His policy was to trust the bond unless there was a good reason not to, so he nodded and put the locket on the floor of the Chamber.

            “You might want to step back, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore murmured, “just in case Harry misses.”

            Draco refused to pay attention to that, his gaze locked on Harry and remaining there even when Harry hesitated. “I trust you,” he murmured.

            Harry finally nodded and leveled the fang again. Then he stabbed down.

            Draco jumped when he saw the locket flip open just before the fang could reach it. Dark smoke poured out and assumed the form of a boy who stood with his back to Draco. However, from the way the image’s hair gleamed blond, Draco was fairly sure it was meant to be him.

            “How could you kill me?” the false Draco whispered. “How could you try to destroy me?” Then he paused and laughed softly, but the sound was full of despair, the way Draco had laughed right after his mother died. “Oh, I forgot. You destroy everyone and everything you come into contact with anyway. I shouldn’t be surprised this happened to me!” His voice rose to a shriek that made a dark wind rip around the Chamber.

            Draco stepped back and moved to the side. Harry had actually frozen with the tip of the basilisk fang buried inside the smoke flowing from the locket. His eyes were so wide and the bond thrumming so hard that Draco couldn’t even feel his pain, just a numb panic.

            “It’s not me,” said Draco. “It’s not real. I’m here.” He reached out and shoved as many of his emotions as he could through the bond at Harry, forcing him to wake up and realize he had no bond to the figure in front of him.

            Meanwhile, that figure was laughing again, the kind of hard, cackling choke Draco had heard Pansy use when she wanted to be sophisticated. “You can’t even do it, can you?” the fake Draco asked, shaking his head. “You can’t kill me when you know you’re going to have to anyway. Everything you earn, you have to give up. No one can spare you from that fate. Not when you’re a Horcrux.”

            Harry’s hand twitched for a second, and then, as Draco fed him more strength and anger, he reared back and roared, “That’s not all I am!”

            The fang surged forwards again, and this time, it struck the locket lying behind the smoke. Draco heard a rusty shriek. It rang like metal dropped on stone, only on and on. Draco finally gave up the pretense of caring for his dignity, and clapped his hands over his ears.

            Of course, a second after he did that, the noise faded away. Draco blinked and lifted his hands. Then he looked down at his feet.

            There lay the shattered halves of the locket, with a dark stain on the floor beneath them that was probably from the basilisk poison. And Harry stood in front of him with wild eyes and his hand trembling on the fang.

            “I knew it couldn’t be you,” he whispered. “But that was only with my heart. My mind thought…I couldn’t strike because I thought I would hurt you.”

            He dropped the fang, which made a softer and, luckily, shorter rusty noise on the stone than the locket had, and grabbed Draco in his arms. Draco hugged him back, and laid his head on Harry’s shoulder. He could feel the bond throbbing between them like a cat picked up and held.

            And he was in the perfect position to watch Dumbledore, at last.

            Dumbledore studied them with a thoughtful expression, and nodded, as if he was meeting someone’s eyes other than Draco’s. Then he turned calmly away and began to speak to Weasley and Granger.

            Draco didn’t bother to listen to the nonsense he was saying. Something about courage and strength and Gryffindor tenacity and all that rot. Of course he would never give the soul-bond he was angry he’d lost control of credit for saving Harry.

            But it had, just the way it had managed to pull Harry back into his body when his soul was wandering.

            I’m responsible for that, Draco thought in perfect happiness, and tilted his head back to let Harry’s mouth fasten on his.

*

            “I witnessed something disturbing in the Chamber of Secrets tonight, Severus.”

            I can imagine little that would not be disturbing about the Chamber, if it is what legends have always painted it, Severus thought, but he was wise enough not to voice that thought in front of Albus.

            Albus took another sip of the tea he had offered Severus; Severus had refused. Then Albus sighed deeply and leaned forwards. Severus’s expert eye took in the lines of pain and worry on Albus’s face, and he thought they were real. Then again, those lines hadn’t appeared recently.

            “The Horcrux we were destroying created a defense in the form of young Mr. Malfoy when Harry tried to stab it with a basilisk fang. It was speaking taunts about how Harry destroys everything he cares for, and was fated to lose young Mr. Malfoy as well.”

            Severus only nodded, not sure what so disturbed Albus about that, or what he was expected to do about it. It was to be expected—for a moment, his eyes fell on Albus’s blackened hand—that the Horcruxes would have formidable defenses. The form of this one might have surprised Albus, but its existence should not.

            Albus sighed again and contemplated the wall from some grey void that he was the only one to see, and then leaned back and considered Severus closely. “Perhaps you will tell me that I am overreacting.”

            Very likely, if I am permitted to give my honest opinion. But Albus wasn’t inclined to listen to Severus’s honesty except when it came to reports on the Dark Lord. Severus contented himself with looking inquiring instead, and Albus sighed again and murmured, “I have come to think that Harry cares for Mr. Malfoy more than for the quest to destroy Horcruxes.”

            Of course he does. Otherwise Draco could never have persuaded him to refrain from marching to his death when you asked him to. Looking back, Severus supposed he could admit to his own blindness at that point: he should have seen the side he would have to choose right then.

            If Potter wanted to live, then Severus would have to help him live. His promise to Lily required no less.

            “And perhaps more for Mr. Malfoy than for his friends.”

            “Do you think this because you believe the Horcrux should have manifested images of his friends instead?”

            Albus sat up and nodded. “You have a way of putting things I am thinking about into clearer words than I could manage, Severus. That is exactly it. Harry has always been devoted to Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. The Horcrux should have taken their form if it really meant to defend itself.”

            Time to play my part. Severus had had time during the last few days to think about this, though, ever since he had confirmed to Albus that he’d spoken to Potter about Lily. He pursed his lips and looked deeply inquiring.

            “You have something to say, Severus?”

            “Nothing you will like, I fear,” said Severus, and rolled his eyes a little. That would reassure Albus; it would make his dislike of Harry seem to be continuing, and lull him into thinking all that was normal. “Given your usual reaction to negative remarks about Mr. Potter.”

            “Do remember that Harry is involved in a war, Severus, and having to make some very difficult and highly charged decisions.” Albus steepled his fingers together the way he did when he wanted to look like a wise old sage. “Still, I would be interested in your thoughts.”

            Of course you would. I am a tool to you, as all the others are, But I am more shaped to your hand, and you do not expect me to cut.

            Severus chased the thoughts from the surface of his mind. Even though he trusted his Occlumency walls to hold out against Albus’s probing—they always had against the Dark Lord’s, and Severus knew the Dark Lord a stronger master Legilimens in terms of sheer power—they might influence his posture or the tone of his voice without his meaning them to.

            “I suspect that Potter is in love with Draco,” he said, and knew he had adopted the right tone of voice, truth struggling with disdain, when he saw the way Albus’s head lifted. “Or infatuated. That makes it less surprising that the Horcrux’s defense should have taken Draco’s form.”

            “But isn’t that bad news, Severus? It means the soul-bond has twisted into something we never intended.”

            Don’t include me with your high-handedness, old man.

            Severus chased those thoughts away, too, and gave Albus a pretense of serious, respectful attention. “Infatuations never last long. Certainly a soul-bond that has lasted five months is nothing against the years of friendship Potter has with Granger and Weasley.”

            “They don’t have soul-bonds with him, though. Miss Granger said something about that to me today. She’s afraid she and Mr. Weasley might not have as much to offer Harry, without that…connection.”

            I wish Granger had come to me with that nonsensical concern. Severus kept his face smooth as he shrugged. “From what I know of the interactions of adolescents—more than I wish to know, I confess—”

            “Severus,” chided Albus, but his eyes were twinkling in that familiar way. Severus judged he had thrown him off the track from Severus’s real motives, at least for now.

            Severus gave him a single look, and pressed on. “Jealousy over intense relationships and friendships is as common among them as are infatuations. Presumably Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley will overcome it.”

            “That is not, truly, what I called you here to discuss. I wished to ask you what you thought about the wisdom of a soul-bond connecting Harry to Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley.”

            Severus nearly wanted to vomit when he thought about it, about the intense preparations he would have to go through to perform the ritual again, and the way their uncontrolled emotions would slop into each other without the Occlumency that Draco had learned. Granger could perhaps make rapid advancement in the art, but that would only lead to the connections being blocked from one side alone.

            And that would lead to Potter becoming less stable, and thus more likely to lose the war as well as being less of the support Draco needed.

            “I think it would be an idea undertaken only for the gratification of a Gryffindor’s ridiculous fears,” he said. “The ritual that we used before is adapted to two people, remember, and even that one required some modification as we did not wish to promote the physical safety of the people in question. Finding one that would bind three, and one that would not influence Granger and Weasley with the bit of the Dark Lord’s soul still in Potter, is too difficult and time-consuming for me to recommend.”

            In truth, Severus knew mentioning the Horcrux in Potter was his strongest argument. Where he had not cared for a Slytherin’s safety, Albus cared strongly for those students of his old House. His face paled slightly.

            “No. Letting Tom gain Miss Granger’s knowledge and experience with spells, or influence Mr. Weasley when he is Harry’s best friend, is not to be thought of.”

            Severus hid his own appraisal of two sixth-year Gryffindors’ abilities with a short nod. He started to stand, but Albus stretched out a hand to detain him. It was the blackened one, making Severus pause.

            Albus caught his eye, and Severus strengthened his Occlumency walls without even thinking about it. “Do you think, Severus,” Albus whispered, “that since your attempts to persuade Harry seem to have failed, we should approach Mr. Malfoy?”

            Severus didn’t have to feign his next words, or his derisive laugh. “If you believe that Mr. Malfoy will ever cooperate in driving someone he is also in—infatuated with to death, I think you have become delusional, Albus.”

            “I see.” Albus sank back and looked thoughtful.

            Severus shook his head as he let himself out of the Headmaster’s office. He had almost said Draco was in love with Potter, but in truth, Severus did not know that. He had no desire to spend time looking at teenagers’ emotions unless they were about crimes and errors committed with his Potions supplies.

            And besides, his instincts whispered to him, the less Albus knew about the soul-bond between Draco and Potter, the better.

*

            SP777: But I already did one! Practicing Liars.
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The Serenity of His Rage