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Building With Worn-Out Tools	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 54266 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter Twenty-Six—Harry and Draco

            Harry woke so slowly that it felt as if he were climbing some enormous staircase out of the darkness. He panted as he dragged himself up, and only realized the panting was literal when he could open his eyes and look about. His sight was fogged with blurry streams of white and silver sleep, but he thought that was only a problem of missing his glasses. When someone returned them to him, he could see again.

            And then he realized, in wonder and confusion, Wait. I don’t think I’m supposed to be alive at all. How did I survive the fight with Lucius?

            “Harry,” Draco’s voice said off to the side.

            Relief washed over Harry, even as he suspected that Draco was the answer to his question. He could not have been seriously hurt, or he would be in a bed of his own, not sitting beside Harry’s. He turned his head, and a hand cupped his cheek and slipped his glasses over his face.

            His eyes focused again. He could see Draco—Draco sitting much too close, his gaze keen, his head bowed, staring at him.

            Harry blinked and tried to shift backwards. Something gripped his shoulders, though, and wouldn’t let him. He tried to turn his head, and found the motion arrested, though he’d gone far enough to catch a glimpse of leather and metal.

            “What is this thing?” he asked, tugging against it.

            When he looked back, Draco had a faint smile on his lips, as if he thought it an essential component of who Harry was that he would dislike and resist the instruments in hospital. He reached out over Harry’s head and apparently ran his fingers down it, though Harry couldn’t feel anything. “This is keeping you alive right now,” he murmured. “They cast several Stasis Spells over several days, so that they could gradually infuse you with healing magic. This is keeping you still so that your wounds don’t tear open if you move suddenly.”

            Harry jerked in spite of Draco’s warning glare. “Several days? Do you mean we’ve missed dates in the courtroom? Or have you gone yourself? I trust you to act for me, you know that. What’s happened? Is your mother all right? Do you—“

            “Hush, Harry.” Draco restrained him effortlessly simply by putting one hand on his shoulder. “No one is in condition to reach the courtroom right now, since Weasley’s still walled up in your house, you’ve been hurt, and Blaise is—well.” Dark mischief flamed in his smile for a moment. “Rather occupied. Witherbone has agreed to postpone the proceedings until everyone can attend again, or at least send her word that they aren’t attending of their own free will. And yes, my mother is fine. That bubble you cast protected her from any further injuries, and the Healers were able to dissipate it when we arrived at St. Mungo’s.”

            Harry relaxed, leaning back a little on the contraption behind his head, though it was uncomfortable even with pillows splayed over it. “And what happened to Lucius? I thought I saw him die, but—“

            “He’s gone, yes. Your magic consumed him.” Draco’s hand turned sideways and cupped his cheek once more. His eyes were too intense, and far too close. He didn’t have something restraining his head, as Harry saw it, so he didn’t need to be this close. Of course, the device that restrained him prevented Harry from pulling further away. “And you very nearly died.”

            “Well, I knew that.” Harry tried to force bravado into his voice. It wasn’t easy. “I think you must have saved my life. With a Stasis Spell, correct? I could feel myself dying, the magic draining out of me. I don’t think a lesser spell could have saved me.”

            “A Stasis Spell, yes.” Draco grimaced. “Mediwizard Goode tells me that I cast it a few moments ahead of the time you would have perished.”

            Harry relaxed. This seemed to put their relationship back on a more even footing. “Then I owe you a life-debt.”

            “Even if that were true,” Draco said softly, “it would only cancel out the one I owe you, for saving my life when Lucius appeared outside the Manor.” He leaned in again, until Harry could feel his breath on his lips. “And I do not intend to make this a matter of debts between us,” he whispered. “It is more than that, Harry. Deny it now, and I will make you sorry.”

            Harry might have tried to laugh, but Draco wasn’t smiling. He shifted uneasily, arching his shoulders and twisting his spine. That hurt, and he yelped as a flash of pain seemed to shoot down the middle of his back and take root in his feet.

            “Lie still, for God’s sake.” Draco’s hand pressed heavily on his shoulder for a moment, and his voice lifted in irritation, but that passed. And then he was back to the staring again. Harry closed his eyes, feeling his cheeks heat rapidly; there was no way he could match that stare.

            “Harry,” Draco continued, his voice slow and soft and hypnotic, like a snowfall. “What do you think your feelings are for me?”

            Dread surged up inside Harry. He hated being the vulnerable one. And he knew that, even if their emotions seemed matched now, he would go on feeling deeply about Draco long after Draco returned to feeling casually about him. Why wouldn’t it happen that way? His admiration had more of a basis. Draco’s was based on the reflection of his own virtues that he might see in Harry. Draco was something special, and he—wasn’t.

            Of course, saying that aloud would make him sound pathetic, and Harry knew full well that Draco’s mockery could hurt him now. It was his own damn fault that it could; he should have held back, not jumped into bed and into—well, deep liking—with his Arguer. But he still didn’t want to face it.

            “Harry?” The hand on his cheek curved sideways, sliding so that the side of it rested near his lips. “I’m waiting.”

            Harry took a deep breath, and reminded himself that he could only suffer pain like this once. He would accept the mockery, and then it would be done. He didn’t need to associate with Draco any longer once the divorce case was over. He could make his life elsewhere, and he would still have Ron and Hermione as friends—and as many of the rest of the Weasley family as he could persuade to listen to him.

            Fear shouldn’t stop you from doing what you know is right.

            “They’re deeper than they were,” he said, his eyes half-slitted and looking straight ahead, so that he stood less chance of meeting Draco’s gaze. “Seeing what you were willing to go through and suffer and dare to get your mother back—that completed it.”

            “Completed what?” Draco’s breath traveled in soft puffs over his ear, and really, did he have to do that?

            “Completed the process of liking you,” Harry said reluctantly. “I wouldn’t call it love yet,” he added, since that might delay Draco’s laughter a little. “But it’s deeper than just wanting to have casual sex, and it’s deeper than what I felt when this whole mess began. That’s why the sex didn’t work. Even then, I wanted something—else.” Something deeper and something more both sounded too soppy to his mental ears. “And now I know you’re not only powerful and clever and skilled in the courtroom, but you can want to keep other people safe, and you have compassion, and you have absolute ruthlessness in protecting your own. That’s more than just a skilled automaton could ever be. I want you safe, and I want you happy, and I want you to have what you need and deserve.” God, he thought his cheeks actually hurt now from the blush. “And I know that’s ridiculous and stupid and not something I should feel, particularly so quickly and for a man when I’ve never even been attracted to men before, and I promise I won’t trouble you with it after the trial is over, and God, Draco, do I have to talk any more? That’s what you came to hear, isn’t it?”

            He shut his eyes tightly. Draco’s hand nudged his cheek, but Harry refused to look. He’d done his duty, bared his heart like a fool just because Draco had asked, and the laughter was about to start any moment.

*

            Draco understood things much better now.

            No matter what Harry was feeling, deep attraction or casual attraction, he didn’t think he was right to feel it. So he’d tried to mask it under things that were acceptable to him—first a simple desire for sex, then a client-Arguer relationship, and then what he would probably say was a duty he owed Draco because his mother had been kidnapped because of Draco taking Harry’s case. And now he’d finally shown what he really did feel, and he expected to be punished for it.

            Why wouldn’t he be? Weasley punished him horribly both for showing honest anger and then in spite of what he felt for her.

            No matter how he softly urged Harry with his hand, though, Harry wouldn’t look at him. It would have to be words.

            “Harry,” he said again. “Why do you think—“ he nearly said Ginny, but held himself back “—Ron and Hermione love you?”

            Harry’s eyes fluttered open then, but he was still squinting straight ahead, as if that would somehow make Draco vanish. His answer came from between tightly closed teeth.

            “We’ve been friends for ages. We’ve saved each other’s lives again and again. We don’t need a reason to be loyal to each other by now, other than just our wanting to be that way.” His hand, resting on the blankets, clenched briefly. “If you think that you’re as dear a friend to me as Ron and Hermione—“

            “Relax,” Draco said, mildly amused, though the emotion felt far off under the intensity of the need to make Harry understand. “What I feel for you is rather different. For one thing, I don’t think you’ve ever slept with them.”

            Harry gave a minute shake of his head and tried to close his eyes again. Draco moved a thumb to stroke his lips.

            “It was the experiences that you shared with them which made you friends,” Draco said. “Am I right?”

            Green eyes shifted warily towards him. After a long moment, as though pondering whether it would be worth his while to answer, Harry nodded.

            “Well,” Draco said. “Why would you assume that the experiences we have shared are less special? Why would you assume that they couldn’t forge a bond of the same depth between us, if not the same kind?” He leaned forwards until there was no chance of Harry missing a word he said, no matter how hard he concentrated to avoid it. “If you want me to be happy, why would you assume that you aren’t necessary to my happiness?”

            Harry exhaled sharply, his nostrils quivering. Then his jaw relaxed against Draco’s hand for a moment as he let out a bitter chuckle.

            “Harry?” Draco persisted.

            “Because of what I am, Malfoy,” Harry said. “And I’m not talking about the Hogwarts rivalry, either. I know we’ve both changed since then. I’m talking about the fact that I’m oblivious, don’t react the way you want me to, put your life and your mother’s life in danger, and have nothing to offer you beyond the opportunity to bask in powerful magic. You might think you need me to be happy now because I’m a novelty. The first client you’ve ever slept with, you said. But the newness will wear off, and what’s left then?”

            Draco had to fight to keep his fingers from tightening, because he knew that would hurt Harry. He turned his face towards him. Harry kept his eyes open this time, glaring defiantly, as if to say that Draco could hurt him but he would force himself to face it.

            “You are an idiot,” Draco said, keeping his voice hard in tone but soft in volume, so it came across as a rather sharp whisper. “It’s not just your magic. I stopped being drunk on that after the first day in your presence. It’s not just the chance to sleep with a client. The experience was rather unsatisfactory, and I’m glad you put a stop to it, since you weren’t participating with your whole heart.” Harry’s eyes flashed with outrage, but Draco pushed ahead. “It’s what we’ve shared. You saved my life, you fought with me, you made speeches I never thought to hear out of your mouth, you defended me to your friends, you said you trusted me, and you took enormous risks to save someone I love without even considering that you could have done something else. I want to go on sharing those kinds of experiences with you, Harry. I have no idea what you’ll do next, and I love it. And I would rather like you to give me a fucking chance to share more of them, rather than dismiss my affection out of hand by saying you’re nothing special. Malfoys never prefer something perfectly ordinary. You’re insulting my taste and my bloodline all at one go by insisting I do.”

*

            Harry just stared at him for long moments. Then he had to close his eyes, this time to stop stupid tears from welling. He hoped—he hoped fervently—that they simply came from the fact that he was wounded, and therefore didn’t have as much control of his emotions as he’d like.

            He had been so sure that he would only ever fall in love once, and that was with Ginny; if he lost her, he didn’t deserve another chance, and no one would give him one anyway, since he was just himself. What Draco’s words opened to him wasn’t so much love—Harry didn’t know that he felt that yet, and Draco himself had avoided the word—as the possibility of more. It could happen. It might happen. That was no guarantee it would, but the chance was enough, opening parts of Harry’s soul that he hadn’t looked into in a long time, sweeping like a morning breeze through them.

            “So,” he whispered, turning one of his own hands so that it clasped the one with which Draco gripped his chin, “you’re saying that, after the divorce case is settled, you’d quite like to try something more?”

            “Harry.” There was a wealth of smiles behind that word, though Harry couldn’t open his eyes to see the one he was certain was on Draco’s face yet. “Yes.”

            Harry tilted back his head, and this time, the kiss that fell on his lips was of surpassing sweetness. He felt nothing like the degrading passion he had when Draco last kissed him. This was different, this was promising, and it met and matched what he had to offer instead of disdaining it.

            He had been so sure Draco would disdain it.

            Maybe there were things he had to learn about Draco, yet.

            He felt a great weariness come over him immediately after that, and Draco didn’t help keep him awake, since he was easing him back against the pillows and whispering instructions to rest. Harry went down into a blackness that seemed spangled with stars and sparks, though they burned out when he looked directly at them.

            What he felt might not be right, but he was sure now that it was what he wanted.

*

            Draco let his hand linger on Harry’s cheek for a long moment as he leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t persuade himself to let go. It felt as if he had achieved a great victory, even though he had only convinced someone who should have known the truth long ago of that truth.

            He had gained unusually from this divorce case, he mused. He had thought only of the Galleons, as the prize he would ever receive no matter what, but there was more to it than that. In the passage of a few weeks, his safety had increased, he had seen the defeat of a friend who might have betrayed him in the future without his looking for it, he had had a chance to humiliate the Weasleys, and—

            And he had someone to spend a good portion of his life with.

            Draco looked at Harry, and now, when Harry couldn’t see, he permitted himself a long, lazy smile, and didn’t care how predatory it looked.

            He may finally have seen sense. Of course, not everyone will have. His friends will probably try to convince him to drop me. I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if his wife even made a play to win him back, since she must know now that her future with Blaise doesn’t look entirely bright.

            It doesn’t matter. We’re with each other now, unless one of us gets tired—which I doubt he will, since Gryffindors give their hearts—and which he would have to cease to be himself to make me do.

            For the moment, I am in want of nothing.

*

            Hilda Malfoy: Thank you! I have tried to make the character seem as realistic as possible.

            GrimWriter: No. Draco would never have left himself open to vulnerability like that. If Blaise is harmed, nothing happens to Draco.

            Berkie88: You’re not the only one who might. Let’s just say it’s an awfully good thing Draco performed those spells on Blaise when Harry was not in the way to object.
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