Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Name I'll Give to Thee	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 42129 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

Chapter List
- 24
- 25
- 26
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Twenty-Five—Outside the Walls

            “I really need to spend some time with Ron and Hermione.”

            Draco kept his eyes fastened on the plate in front of him. It contained yet another delicious breakfast the house-elves, specifically Ossy, had prepared. The more slowly he swallowed thick, warm scones, and the more slowly butter slid down his throat, the better he could deal with what Harry was saying.

            “They know how you’re doing, surely?” Draco murmured, when the silence from the other side of the table grew oppressive. “I haven’t forbidden you to communicate with them or anything like that.”

            “I know, Draco.” There was the clink of a teacup as it was set in its saucer, which was better than Draco would have expected. He leaned back and met Harry’s eyes, finally. Harry looked at him in turn, his fingers playing idly with the edge of the saucer now. “But I haven’t even asked after George, and although he’d decided to live, he was still in pretty bad shape. I haven’t helped rebuild the Burrow other than one day. I’ve told them about my problems, but—I haven’t treated them the same way.”

            Draco grimaced, but nodded. The way that Harry described his relationship with the Terrible Two, it did seem like they would expect some kind of return for the thought that they poured into their feelings for Harry. “I just get nervous at the thought of you leaving the Manor. You know that.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows. “And why don’t you come with me?”

            Draco did some more staring, but this time, it had nothing to do with a silent challenge to Harry’s plans. Harry cocked his head mulishly. “Well, why? In the end, you know, you’re going to have to face the fact that you’re married to me and I’m still friends with them. They’ll have to face it, too,” he added, cutting off the retort Draco had been about to add. “But it’s different for them. They’ll deal with it, sure. But they have each other, and I didn’t become part of their family in the same way.”

            “They would have been thrilled if you had,” Draco muttered, looking down at his hands.

            “No, they wouldn’t have, because they never would have coerced me,” Harry said. “Stop flinching. I’m getting used to it, but you have to admit those first days weren’t exactly good.”

            And they nearly became bad again yesterday, Draco heard the unspoken reminder. He tightened his lips, but nodded and waved his hand. “Someday, I’ll come with you and be properly introduced. But in the meantime, Affy has been watching my mother with almost no letup. I should spend time with her, really, seeing as she is my mother.” Maybe in the peace of her room, he could decide what he should do.

            Harry’s face softened, and he stood up and walked around the table, laying his hand for a moment on Draco’s shoulder. “They’ll be honored to meet you as my husband,” he said quietly, ignoring the way that Draco eyed him. “I’m sure they will.”

            And he left it there, turning and leaving as though he considered everything settled between them.

            It has to be, Draco thought, staring into the saucer in front of him and ignoring the temptation to follow Harry out of the room and ask when he would return. They had to have some time apart, and independence. The threats that had attacked them so far, the enemies that Blaise had hinted he knew about, wouldn’t attack them the instant they were apart. In fact, being together so far hadn’t stopped them.

            But he wanted Harry here.

            Draco blinked and rose to his feet. I need to go see my mother. But I might—

            I might think about what I just decided, and think about revealing it to Harry, too, and what he might say about it.

*

            “Harry.”

            Ron’s voice was so deep and relieved that Harry immediately moved towards him, reaching out one hand so that Ron could rise and clasp it. “What is it? Has something happened that would make it harder for George to live? Or something with your mum and the Burrow?”

            Ron shook his head. But he kept his head bowed, and didn’t reject Harry’s hand or move away from it, so Harry stood there, holding him, letting strength flow from him into Ron the way he would have offered it to Draco.

            No. It’s different. Because you don’t resent giving it to Ron, or Hermione, or any of the Weasleys, but you have resented it when you had to give to Draco.

            Harry cocked his head. A revelation that he would have to think about, but he would have to do it later. From the way Ron was bringing his head up, he was ready to talk about what had bothered him, and after that, Harry might have to act quickly.

            “I’m all right, now,” Ron said, with a sharp bob of his head. He sat down on the chair, and Harry knelt beside him in silence. Ron stared at his hands for a minute, then wrenched his head up and said, “It’s the Ministry.”

            Harry blinked. “Hermione is running into more opposition on that house-elf rights law than she counted on?” Given how much she had talked about the opposition, Harry found it hard to think she’d underestimated them.

            “Not her,” Ron said grimly. “Me.”

            Harry nodded. “You’re catching some of the backlash for being her husband?”

            Ron gave him a faint, old smile. Harry relaxed. No matter what, when Ron smiled like that, it was going to be all right, though he also knew from the twist along the side of Ron’s mouth that he wasn’t particularly going to like what Ron had to say.

            “Sometimes your tendency to think of yourself last is just as infuriating as it ever was,” Ron muttered. “No. You, Harry. I’m catching backlash for being your partner, and apparently the one who should have prevented you from marrying ‘that faithless Malfoy.’”

            Harry stood up. He paced back and forth a minute, and then said, “Should I be happy that they at least know good French?”

            Ron smiled, but said nothing. He watched Harry, and Harry shook his head.

            “I’m sorry, mate,” he said at last. “I knew it had got bad, but not how bad.”

            “There was no telling how bad it had got.” Ron leaned back in his chair. “No one will talk to me as though I’m just myself, Ron Weasley, who they all know. They twitter on and on about how it might affect them, and how you might turn against them.” He twitched open one eye to watch Harry. “I think that’s what scares them most, the uncertainty. If you would just go ahead and declare that you’re evil and start laughing on top of buildings already, then they might treat you better.”

            Harry didn’t smile. “And you.” He prowled back and forth, and then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ron. I don’t know what to say. Draco and I are dealing with other enemies, too, and these rumors could be spread by the same ones, or more of them. But I’m sorry you’re dealing with that as my partner.”

            Ron reached out and gripped his arm. “If you’re going to say that you’re sorry you saved the world, or sorry for being my partner,” he said fiercely, “then don’t. I wanted you to know, and I want your help in dealing with it. But I never wanted to make you feel guilt.”

            “Because I feel too much already, right?” Harry said, grinning at Ron, and thinking a little about how Draco’s grip on his arm felt different than Ron’s. Well, Draco was his husband and Ron was his friend. It made sense that it would be a little different.

            Not this different.

            Harry ignored the idea with an effort. He had done what he could to repair things with Draco right now, and it was his friend who needed his help.

            “I want to help the situation,” he said, “but in the meantime, you’re going to have to tell me what would do that. What do you think would?”

            Ron pondered for a while with his head down. Harry took a seat across from him and waited with his hands folded on the table. He could feel his pulse pounding steadily in him, with the same kind of trust that he would have shown Ron when they were waiting to launch a raid together.

            Not the same as the confidence and trust he was developing around Draco, now. But the difference was, he knew this feeling better, and trusted it more.

            Finally, Ron lifted his head and said, “You’re going to leave your job in the Aurors? That’s certain?”

            Harry gave him a hard little smile. “Draco thought it was certain, and I was almost prepared to yield in despair, because I thought I would never convince him. But one of the house-elves convinced me to try again, and reminded me that I have equal rights to the Malfoy property as Draco’s heir.”

            Ron stared. “One of the house-elves? I thought none of them ever went against their masters. Well, none of them but Dobby, anyway.”

            Harry shook his head. “So did I, but I’m one of his masters, now. That makes a difference in the way he treats me.” He remembered the hostility in Ossy’s eyes when he’d first come to the Manor, and had to smile when he compared it to the solicitousness that he showed Harry now.

            “Well, all right,” Ron said, still sounding a bit blank. “If you’re not leaving your job, then I think the best thing you could do would be…” He let his voice trail off, and sat there so long that Harry finally reached across the table and waved his hand up and down in front of Ron’s face. Then Ron cleared his throat and blinked sheepishly.

            “I think I know it,” he said, “but I’m not sure if it actually would be, or if I’m just envisioning what I want to see, instead.”

            “What you want to see?” Harry scowled. Ron had been a good Auror, steadier and more willing to follow the rules than Harry had been, and sometimes so quiet that most of their enemies would forget about him and talk freely in front of him—something that had proven useful more than once. Now, though, he leaned forwards with a gleam in his eyes like the fireworks George sold.

            “I want to see you tell the bastards off,” Ron said. “I’ve wanted that for a long time. I’d watch you bite your tongue over something stupid and unfair that someone else had said, and bow your head, and nothing would change, except that whoever challenged you would have got their way. And I’d steam and think about what would have happened if you’d claimed your rights after the war—all the things they wanted to give you. But maybe that wouldn’t be the best thing,” he added thoughtfully.

            “Er,” Harry said helplessly. He’d never known Ron felt that way. “But if I’d claimed my rights, as you call it, I would have been evil. Or at least someone spoiled by taking advantage of my fame.”

            Ron stared at him. “What? No. You’re not going to become evil because you accept a few Orders of Merlin and some money.”

            “Really?” Harry scratched the back of his head. It sounded like something Draco would have said, sure, but Harry had never had the slightest idea that Ron wanted him to get more praise and fame than he did. Of course Ron and Hermione deserved more credit for the help they’d given Harry during the war than they’d received; it was only natural for Harry to feel that way when so many refused even to acknowledge them as war heroes. But this was the opposite of that.

            “Thinking of yourself last, as usual,” Ron muttered, but less indulgently this time. He shook his head at Harry. “You’ve started believing too many of the rumors they’ve tried to spread about you, if you think of yourself as that corruptible.”

            Harry bit his lip. “Well, maybe. But why would now be a good time to tell everyone off? I ought to be concentrating on reassuring them, showing them that marriage to Draco won’t change me and I’m still as good an Auror as I ever was.”

            Ron snorted and rolled his eyes. “Because that’s worked so well in the past. No, you ought to do it now because you have them by the balls, not the other way around. You’re married to someone who doesn’t give a fuck what the Ministry thinks, and in fact would prefer that you not work there. He’s someone whose name has a pull with people, too. He’s not been your friend for a long time, so people aren’t used to thinking about him at your side and ignoring them, the way they do with me. And he’s independently wealthy—well, the two of you are together, anyway. You don’t need the Ministry pay to survive. Your reputation will take damage if you quit, sure, but it takes damage with you staying there, too. For once, you have someplace to go if you quit.”

            “They know I don’t want to,” Harry said, but his voice was slow, as he thought of the faces he would like to make twist with surprise.

            “Do they?” Ron tilted his chair back and forth. “I don’t know about that. They believe a whole mass of contradictory things about you anyway, that you’re a hero and a villain, selfless and selfish, that you need to behave perfectly but you go out at night and murder people and sleep around. This is only one more to add to the mix. And there are plenty of people who wouldn’t want to take the chance.”

            Harry grimaced. “I hate to put Kingsley in that position.”

            Ron looked at him, gaze keen as a blade. “Frankly, Kingsley should have done something a long time ago to quash these ridiculous rumors and reassure the other Aurors that they could trust you. I understand why he didn’t, because he wanted to maintain his distance from accusations of favoritism, but that means your defection should hurt him less, too.”

Harry hesitated. "That's tempting," he said softly. "To think of it that way, I mean. You have no idea how tempting that is."

"Your life would be improved if you gave into temptation more often," Ron said, shaking his head. "You're not going to become suddenly evil if you make a bold move like that. The worst thing that could happen is that it makes no difference, and everyone keeps thinking you're evil. In which case, fuck them."

Harry laughed, feeling his heart rising clean and free, like a seagull above the waves. Ron was right. All those years of playing complacent Golden Boy and Ministry spokesman hadn't changed their minds about him, or eased their fear--although he hadn't realized how much he had gone along to get along until he spoke about those years to Draco. He might as well do what he wanted for once.

And, astonishingly, this was what he wanted.

"Ron," he said, lifting his hand in a salute that made Ron start to grin from what looked like the very bottom of his heart, "my friend, you're going to get what you were hoping for."

*

Draco sat in silence by his mother's bedside, and thought.

Narcissa lay still in the bed, her eyes shut, the unaccustomed wrinkles cutting across her skin. She looked as if she was made of crumpled parchment. Draco was grateful for Healer Bowman's demand that he watch her heartbeat and breathing every moment, as that was the most effective way for Draco himself to know that she was still alive.

"Things have changed, Mother," he whispered. "I wonder if you would be proud of the son-in-law I chose for you?"

No answer. Still she lay, chest rising and falling, peaceful as death.

Draco sighed and touched his fingers to his forehead for a moment. He could feel a headache coming on. And he didn't want to spend lots of time brooding about something he couldn't change, the way he knew he would if he thought more about Narcissa's situation at the moment. Instead, he took the basilisk wand from his pocket and turned it over, fingers sliding up and down the smooth wood.

Such a difference from my first wand. The hawthorn wand had been rougher than this one, but Draco had known those particular warps and ridges and deformities the way he knew the small cuts and bumps and scrapes on his own hands. The basilisk wand gleamed like a treasure chest, and like the lid of any treasure chest worth its price, it was shut and locked against him.

He hadn't practiced much with the wand lately. Of course, he'd had other things to think of, and it had become usual and comfortable for him to step back and wait for Harry to cast the spells.

That's another thing that will have to stop. Relying on Harry so much to solve each and every problem.

Draco scowled down at the basilisk wand and flipped it over in his fingers. "Fat lot of good you do me," he muttered at it. "Didn't Ollivander promise that you were something special and you could perform all kinds of special spells? Well, so far I don't see much sign if it."

The wand sent a sharp, tingling spark up his arm.

Draco dropped it to the floor with a curse, and then sent a guilty look at his mother. The chances that she would wake up from the sound, when she hadn't woken up for anything so far, were remote, but that didn't salve his conscience.

            No, she hadn’t woken. Draco stooped down and picked up the wand using only two fingers, watching it with his head cocked so that it wouldn’t change size or shape without his seeing it.

            The wand didn’t change. Draco had the sense of a coiled power watching him nonetheless, waiting for him to do something the wand didn’t approve of so it could turn on him.

            “We’re stuck together, you and I,” Draco told it. “I’m the wizard you chose, and if you didn’t like the choice, then you shouldn’t have made it.”

            The wand sat still in his palm, but Draco could imagine what it would say about the narrowness of its options if it could speak. Draco sneered at it.

            “You’ll never be the wand I had,” he said. “I’ll never be the wizard I was.” He paused, and hoped that whatever strange intelligence lay behind the wand was listening. He had to put away the feeling that he was foolish for taking this seriously at all. Nothing else had worked with the wand, so he might as well try talking to it. “If we don’t practice. That’s the only way to serve a master you’d find worthy of you, a powerful wizard. Work with me. Serve me. Practice until the spells are instinctive.”

            Nothing happened, again, but at least no other spark zipped up Draco’s arm when he gingerly slid the wand back into its holster. He took a deep breath and focused on his mother again.

            Her eyes were open.

            Draco started to his feet with tears in his eyes. He tried to breathe, then tried to speak, and was equally unsuccessful at both. He shook his head and reached out towards his mother with his hand seeming to barely move, covering the distance between them at the slowest rate he’d ever seen anything travel.

            His mother stared back and forth between him and his hand, and then raised her own arm to meet his, or tried. Her hand only rose a short distance before it fell back against the pillow. Narcissa turned her head slowly, blinking her eyes in an effort, it seemed, to make them refocus.

            When she saw the lines and wrinkles on her skin, she shut her eyes and did not open them again.

            “No, Mother,” Draco whispered, kneeling down beside the bed and crowding close. If she fell back into that coma-like sleep, he wasn’t sure what he would do. “It’s all right, it’s okay, it’s magical aging and Healer Bowman thinks we may be able to reverse it. If you just open your eyes and talk to me—it’s been more than a week, it’s been more than a fortnight, Harry Potter is here now and defending us, can you talk to me?”

            His words made her open her eyes again, though this time a film covered them and she looked more like an old woman than Draco had known she could look. She licked her lips slowly. Draco at once reached for the tumbler of water that stood on the nearby table and held the whole thing to her lips, not caring about the glass. This was the first sign of thirst or hunger she’d shown since the original blow had struck her down.

            “Draco?” she said at last, and though her voice was still fragile, a reed rubbing against a piece of paper, Draco was glad that she had said that much. He took her hand and held it as tightly as he dared without breaking anything.

            “Yes,” he whispered. “Harry Potter cast a spell to defeat the Dementor ghosts, and he pulled on the strength of those who were joined to him. He pulled the most on us because—”

            “The life-debts,” Narcissa said, and closed her eyes again, though her fingers moved restlessly inside Draco’s, so at least he knew she wasn’t drifting away from him again. “And I was so proud that our family was bound to him with those debts. Perhaps I should have known it could never work out that way.”

            Draco nuzzled his cheek against her hand. “He aged you, and broke my wand and the wards,” he said, words tumbling now, because he never knew the moment when she might fall back into that coma. “But he agreed to pay the old price for it. He’s my demi-husband now, Mother, and he’s taken the name Malfoy. And he helped set up new wards, and I have a new wand.” He held it up for her to see if she wanted.

            When Narcissa dragged her eyes open again, though, it was on his face she focused, not the wand. “Harry Malfoy?” she whispered.

            Draco nodded. “He’s been better about it than I could have dreamed, Mother. He’s taken care of you, and of me when someone attacked me at the first party we went to. There are problems, but I’m not alone. We’re not alone.” He hesitated, then added, “He’s done things I never imagined he could.”

            “That is Harry Potter, then,” his mother said, shaking her head again. She hesitated, then reached up and drew her fingers through Draco’s hair, smoothing it back from his face. “I’m only sorry that you need to suffer alone,” she whispered.

            “He shares the suffering, even,” Draco said, and met and held her eyes.

            After a moment, Narcissa smiled and nodded, and although she returned to sleep very soon after, Draco was confident that he had given her some peace, and she would return.

            And maybe that means I can have some peace, too.

*

            SP777: Now that the argument is settled, that hopefully won’t have to happen.

            delia cerrano: At least both of them are hoping for that now.

            unneeded: Harry does think that way, yes. Draco talks so much about being a “true Malfoy” that Harry thought his name had changed, but not his residence or property, if that makes sense.

            And yes, Harry may have to live with not being ordinary.

            Diana: Here you go!

            jujukitty: Thank you!

            Nightlo: He has to figure out who he really is, first.
- 24
- 25
- 26
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Name I'll Give to Thee