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Marathon	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 52456 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Twenty-Seven—Grace Under Fire
            Harry took in a breath that felt as though he was breathing smoke, against the pressure of all the interested eyes in the room. Lily had turned around and stared at him. Jamie kept up the expression of mild inquiry. He didn’t see why the question he had asked was any different than the kind of question he would ask during a Potions class, Harry knew. Jamie could be embarrassed and awkward when trying to explain his passion to other people, but most of the time, he simply accepted that other things he said would produce silence in those he asked.
            Most fragile, and brittle, and bitter, was Malfoy’s silence, beside him.
            Harry took another breath, this time of air that felt thinner and cleaner, and told the truth. “We don’t know yet,” he said. “We thought we’d talk about it and try it out.” Malfoy’s hold tightened on his hand as he spoke, but Harry didn’t turn his head and look at him. He didn’t know whether the tightness was approval or not, and at this point, he didn’t really care.
            “Oh.” Jamie blinked a little and frowned. “Were you dating him when you were with mum?”
            “No,” Harry said, and he thought the force of emotion behind it, if nothing else, was sufficient to convince his son, because Jamie nodded and turned his attention to the book that Malfoy still held.
            “I don’t think I’ve read that one,” he said, and his eyes visibly brightened as he held out his hand. “Can I see what it is, Mr. Malfoy, please?”
            Malfoy stepped forwards, and only when he did did Harry realize that he hadn’t let go of Harry’s hand, meaning he hauled Harry along. Harry could have fought and looked undignified and stupid, or he could have gone with it, which was what he chose to do. Lily watched them pass with a faint frown, but made no objections, which meant Malfoy could speak softly to Jamie on his own level.
            And that, Harry thought, was the most important thing here. He and Lily were well on their way to reconciling; Malfoy had promised to do what he could for Jamie, by providing him with someone who understood his love for Potions but disapproved of his methods of getting his ingredients. Well, let him try.
            “You didn’t date him when you were with Mum, did you?” Lily whispered urgently to Harry behind her hand.
            Harry bent down towards her. “Do you think I would lie?” he asked quietly. “To either you or Jamie?”
            Lily hesitated a second. Then she said, “I don’t believe that now. I believed it when Mum said it.” Her eyes were still fixed on him, but her hand gradually relaxed in his, and Harry nodded and smiled at her.
            “I don’t date two people at the same time,” Harry said firmly. “Never. It would be a betrayal and a violation of their trust.” He thought he heard Malfoy snort beside him, but when he looked suspiciously at him, he was still speaking to Jamie. Harry went back to Lily with a distracted mind. If Malfoy thought Harry would cheat on him, then this was never going to work out. Harry had been with one person who fundamentally distrusted him. He had no reason to take on another. “And I didn’t do it with Mr. Malfoy or your mum. If Mr. Malfoy and I do decide to date, we’ll do it now, after all the divorce is over.”
            Lily looked at him with piercing eyes so long that Harry wasn’t sure whether that would be enough to reassure her, but then she relaxed in a rush and smiled at him. “Okay,” she said.
            “Good,” Harry said, and kissed her on the forehead, and turned to listen to the conversation Malfoy was having with his son.
            “…don’t understand that experimental potions can’t be developed with a great deal of trial and error,” Malfoy was saying. Jamie’s eyes were so bright that Harry winced a little. He knew that he had never made them look like that.
            Then again, wasn’t that a natural consequence of deciding that Jamie was a genius and no one in the family could understand him? Jamie might have taken advantage of that decision to behave however he wanted, but he must also have felt isolated and lonely. Malfoy was appealing to him on his own terms.
            “But you have to respect the rights of others to construct their own potions and make their own discoveries,” Malfoy went on, with a severe look at Jamie. “That means leaving them their possessions and not stealing ingredients.”
            Jamie stirred restlessly for the first time since the conversation had begun. Harry, familiar with that movement, held his breath.
            “But they’re never going to make the same kind of potions I can,” Jamie muttered, picking at the blankets on the hospital bed. “I know they aren’t, because they told me so and they aren’t smart enough. Why can’t I take what I want in that case?”
            Malfoy’s eyebrows rose, and he darted a quick glance at Harry. Harry thought he could read it. How did this child not end up in Slytherin?
            Harry only shrugged with his hands turned up. He had one Slytherin child, and might have another when Lily went to Hogwarts. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t see the Gryffindor side of Jamie. Malfoy simply hadn’t spoken to him long enough.
            Frowning a little, Malfoy turned back to Jamie. “Is intelligence or skill in Potions the only criterion that you measure personal worth on?” he asked. “The only scale that you admit of or use?”
            Jamie frowned a minute, then said, “I don’t know what you mean.” Harry could see the incipient pout at his words, but also what he thought was a tremor of excitement. Those were words that Jamie didn’t say a lot.
            “Do you only consider people worth respecting if they’re intelligent and good at Potions?” Malfoy faced him thoughtfully. “Would you not steal from me because I am that way, but you would take from your brother or anyone else who had an artifact or ingredients you wanted without thought, if they didn’t meet your standards?”
            “I wouldn’t say they were worth less as people,” said Jamie, considering it with a depth of intelligence that made Harry feel simultaneously proud and a little scared. If Jamie had to think that much to determine whether other people merited his respect… “Just worth less as owners. I ought to own whatever they have. I would make better use of it.”
            A faint smile played across Malfoy’s mouth as his eyebrows rose. “So you always do an experimental potion perfectly the first time?”
            Jamie snorted and cuddled the book Malfoy had given him. “Of course not. Who does?”
            “But that means at least some of the ingredients you steal are wasted and mashed up for no purpose,” Malfoy pointed out sweetly. “If you don’t make the potion right and something goes awry, then they’re useless. Probably sludge in the bottom of the cauldron. Or, no, it’s explosions, isn’t it?” he added, picking up on some cue in Jamie’s posture that Harry didn’t recognize. “You can’t say that they’re worth more as useless gunk sprayed on the walls and floors than they were sitting on the shelves in their original owners’ homes or greenhouses.”
            Jamie flushed. “But they need to be used. They’re not just for admiring. And the people who had them definitely wouldn’t use them the way they were supposed to be used.”
            Malfoy watched him in silence, and Jamie’s flush grew worse. Harry was a little impressed. Jamie had sometimes pretended, he thought, to look ashamed in order to pacify him, but this was the first time Harry had ever fully believed the act wasn’t an act.
            “You don’t know what might have happened,” Malfoy observed at last, in a quiet voice. “They might have sent them to some other Potions master who could have made them the brew they desired. They might have used them for proven potions that would work better than the messes you made of them. Or they might have left them alone to admire them, which, yes, is still a legitimate use. You don’t get to decide the exact circumstances of everyone’s use of an artifact or ingredients, lad.”
            Harry nearly spat out his teeth. Hearing Malfoy call anyone—other than maybe Scorpius—“lad” was simply beyond belief.
            But Jamie was flushing more heavily than ever, and he mumbled into his arms, “But you must have seen it before. People who don’t respect the art. People that you know you can get things away from, because they don’t protect them well enough. You know.”
            Malfoy looked Jamie up and down, drawing attention to the hospital bed more than anything Jamie was holding or wearing, Harry thought. Then his eyebrows arched delicately and he said, “If you end up in a hospital bed, you didn’t do the stealing well enough.”
            Harry bit down savagely on his bottom lip, to stop the protest he wanted to give. If this was the way to appeal to Jamie, let Malfoy try it. None of the family had had any success. Beside him, Lily looked entranced, her eyes huge.
            Maybe Slytherin for her after all, Harry thought, putting a hand on her shoulder.
            “You’ll tell me how to get away with it?” Jamie asked that humbly, but looking up from under his eyelashes in a way that McGonagall had told Harry reminded her of the original James Potter. No wonder his dad got away with so much, if so, Harry sometimes thought.
            “No,” said Malfoy. “I’ll teach you other ways to acquire the ingredients and artifacts you need.” He smiled suddenly at Jamie. “You’re right that not everyone who owns them deserves to do so. But if you steal them and get caught, you’re never going to bring all those experimental potions dancing behind your eyes to life. Only if you can bring them to life and acquire your ingredients in legitimate ways that don’t hurt anyone else can you truly deserve to be called a Potions master.”
            “What would I be called otherwise?” Jamie muttered, which made Harry shake his head in astonishment. That was the kind of retort he would never have come up with.
            “A prisoner,” said Malfoy promptly. “Maybe in Azkaban, if you steal something that’s valuable enough, but at the very least a Ministry holding cell.”
            Jamie’s mouth fell open a little. Harry found himself staring at Malfoy in the same way he had stared at Jamie. He would never have come up with that particular argument either, or at least not in the way Malfoy had phrased it, which meant that Jamie seemed to be paying attention to it.
            Malfoy gazed back at him, for the first time all argument taking his eyes off Jamie for an extended moment. Harry felt himself flush as hotly as his son. Malfoy turned away after a long, slow gaze that made a small smile play along the corners of his lips.
            “You really think they would put me in prison?” Jamie squeaked. He played with the edge of the book a moment, then burst out, “But I’m a Potter!”
            Malfoy’s head reared back, and his eyes narrowed. Harry caught a dim glimpse of why Malfoy would be better at playing this role in his son’s life than he was himself.
            “I somehow doubt that you hold the same views on blood that some of the pure-bloods I know do, with a Muggleborn aunt and a family who loves and accepts Muggles,” said Malfoy, and his voice was pure winter. “So I’ll accept that your notion is your family name ought to get you out of trouble. Is that so?”
            Jamie looked back and forth between Malfoy and Harry, and his frown had grown. “I just—I just meant they would give me a bit more consideration. Because they give Dad more considerations, too.”
            Harry started to answer. He had tried to explain before that he didn’t like the extra attention and gifts people tried to shower him with, but he wasn’t sure Jamie had understood, or that he would be any more successful at explaining this time.
            Malfoy got there before he could. “Do you know what your father did to earn those considerations?” he demanded, and this time his voice was a snarl.
            "Malfoy," Harry said quietly, and caught Malfoy's eye. "He doesn't know, not in the sense that you mean."
            "Because you sheltered your children from tales of the war." Malfoy didn't sound as if he was asking a question, and his eyes were sharp enough to scrape and shovel out a lot of the secrets that Harry wished could have stayed buried.
            "I mean that he didn't live through the war, and it's twenty years gone," said Harry, staring Malfoy down. He might feel stung, but he wouldn't move away. If nothing else, that wouldn't promise well for his future with Malfoy, would it? If he retreated every time he felt a little hurt? They had hurt each other in the past, and would again. "He knows the stories, but he sees the considerations."
            "I know he saved the world, and all that," Jamie interrupted. "That means he ought to get whatever he wants."
            Malfoy turned back to him. His face was so pale and still and smooth for a second that Harry feared what he would say. But the words that came out at last were no worse than, "I quite agree." His eyes darted a little sparking spike at Harry, who winced. "But that doesn't mean that you do, for no greater achievement for being his son."
            "But that's the way it works." Jamie looked more and more bewildered. "I know that other people here have connections and get what they want because of who their parents know. Why shouldn't I rely on that, too? I just mean--if I can avoid prison because I'm a Potter, then of course I'm going to."
            Malfoy tilted his head sideways as slowly as snow falling. "How did you convince the Hat not to put you in Slytherin, Jamie Potter?" he asked.
            "If you'd seen the way I fell off that Tower wall, then you'd know the answer to your question," Jamie muttered, looking at once embarrassed and full of pride. Harry shook his head and stepped forwards. If Malfoy was dipping into House allegiances, he was neglecting the essential thing, which was that Jamie shouldn't go around thinking his name would rescue him from consequences.
            Malfoy held up a hand. Harry scowled, but stayed quiet. Malfoy had asked that Harry leave him to handle this on his own, and it was also true that nothing Harry had said to Jamie in the past had stuck in his head, about anything.
            Lily shifted next to him. Harry bent down towards her, so that she could whisper whatever she wanted into his ear without Jamie or Malfoy overhearing.
            "I never knew that Jamie was like that," Lily said, and she sounded a little sad, a little shocked.
            Harry squeezed her hand. "I knew he was sort of like that," he murmured, in an undervoice so that Jamie wouldn't be distracted. "But I didn't know it was this bad."
            And maybe I couldn't have made a difference even if I did. There was that, too. Before Malfoy had come into his life, Harry was drifting with the current, wincing at every new piece of evidence that he was a bad parent but also not trying to do anything about it because he thought that would only make it worse.
            "I think that you overestimate the pull of the Potter name with regard to you," Malfoy was telling Jamie, his tone so distant that he sounded like a Healer casting diagnostic spells on a patient. "They might be willing to do anything for your father--or they would have. But it's been twenty years since the war, as someone so eloquently reminded me, and your father hasn't tried to trade on his name. That lessens and dulls people's imaginations. He might ask for whatever he wants, but a lot of people would refuse it if they heard the favor." He turned his head a bit. "Of course, there are still people who would give him whatever he asks."
            Shit, Harry thought, as he caught the glimpse of the fire in Malfoy's eyes and his breath both at once. I didn't know... Malfoy was more gone on him than Harry had realized, than he had thought possible in such a short space of time. He wondered if it was that long since Malfoy had had someone who cared about his life, who asked him questions, who tried to be his friend.
            Malfoy turned back to the bed, maybe not quickly enough that Harry's children wouldn't have noticed, but quickly enough that no one else could say anything, and continued, "And the people who wouldn't do anything for him are especially not going to do anything for you. They'd probably enjoy the scandal of arresting and holding a Potter, anyway. Especially if he asked for any kind of special treatment."
            Jamie shook his head, his face a little grey. "I didn't know," he whispered, and lapsed into silence, staring down at the book that he held in his lap without, evidently, seeing it.
            Harry felt a little stir of hope. Yes, Jamie was far gone in thinking that "Potter privilege" would protect him, but there was a chance that he could start thinking differently. He was so young, and he was so astonished by what Malfoy had said.
            It took Harry a second to realize that Malfoy was looking at him, hooking his chin towards the bed. Harry took a step forwards and a deep breath that made Jamie look up at him. He felt Lily watching, too, but at the moment, he couldn't turn around to see what her expression was.
            "I wouldn't want you to depend on your name to rescue you," said Harry quietly. "I would want you to depend on your brains and your sense of personal worth, to keep you from stealing in the first place. We can afford most of the ingredients that you want, Jamie. As for artifacts, Mr. Malfoy is right. They deserve to remain with their current owners until you can come up with an offer they'll consider. How can anyone trust you, or the potions you make, if you have a reputation as someone reckless and stupid? I know you're not stupid," he added hastily, because Jamie was opening his mouth. "But that's the way you'll look, if you keep running around and taking these risks that you don't need to take."
            "I thought I needed to take them," Jamie whispered down to the book in his hands. "Maybe not?"
            Harry stepped forwards and clasped Jamie's shoulder. "No. We can talk about it. I know that I can't understand everything you say about Potions, and that you're smarter than me in some things, but there are still things I can tell you about the world, too. Mr. Malfoy is right. I can tell you more about the war, and how I haven't tried to use my name since then. It wouldn't protect you. Or at best, it wouldn't be anything but a paper shield."
            Jamie nodded slowly. Harry felt a little thrill of exaltation that, under Malfoy's tutelage, he might have managed to do something right with his older son.
            "I'll--at least try telling you what I need next time," said Jamie, and reached up and clasped Harry's hand. "And I'd like to hear more about the war. Thanks, Dad."
            Harry hugged him quickly, murmured that he was welcome, and turned towards the Floo. This time, he was going to firecall Ginny and tell her that their son was awake. Madam Juniper couldn't have done it yet, or she would have been here by now. Harry hadn't wanted to before, he was so caught up in what he hoped Malfoy could do for Jamie, but it was time now.
            "And I'm here to talk to about Potions," he could hear Malfoy saying to Jamie. "I'll understand the things that your father might not."
            Harry was grinning as he cast the Floo powder in.
*
            BAFan: Sorry! The chapter would probably have got too long for me to post in one piece if that was the case.
            delia cerrano: Well, his children are getting much better.
            polka dot: Jamie honestly didn't know much about what Ginny was saying; just that Harry and Draco are interacting the way a dating couple would.
            SP777: The thing is, Harry also cares about Draco now and doesn't want to disappoint him. Thus his answer.
            But I agree that he needs to think about it a lot more before he decides.
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Marathon