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Contracted	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 18657 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter Twenty-Eight--Clock Counting Down

            "Potter!"



            The loud, rude shout woke Harry the next morning. He blinked and shook his head, leaning back on the pillow for long moments until he figured out what was happening and where he was. He'd fallen asleep in Draco's bedroom, yes, he remembered that, but they'd fucked for a long time before that.

            Besides, the shout had sounded like Parkinson. Harry didn't think even Draco was in the habit of admitting his friends casually to his bedroom, whether they knew that the two of them were sleeping together by now or not.

            Then he understood. There was a fireplace in front of Draco's bed that Harry hadn't paid much attention to last night; he'd been more interested in how many pillows they could pile up and where, and how many places a tie wrapped around wrists could attach to, and whether the bed was strong enough to stand up to the more acrobatic things that Draco wanted to try. But now the fireplace glowed green, and Parkinson's face stared out from within it. She shook her head when she saw Harry looking at her.

            "Do you know what the papers are saying about you this morning?" she demanded. "If you get Draco in trouble then I'll never forgive you."

            Draco was gone, Harry noted. Probably to the bathroom; he wouldn't need to go fetch food, not when the house-elves would bring it to any room in the house. He took a few moments to yawn before he could answer Parkinson. The lines around her mouth got deeper and deeper, which made her look more like an angry squirrel, which reduced the intimidation factor somewhat.

            "He was at the press conference with me yesterday," he said at last. "If he was worried about getting in trouble, he didn't show it." He leaned forwards. "Do you have the paper there? You ought to be able to see him, and the fence around the Manor, in at least a few of the photographs."

            Parkinson sat back, and a different expression came over her face. "You're harder to intimidate than I realized," she said. "Draco should keep you around for those moments when he doesn't want to acknowledge what sins he's committed. You could be the one who answered the firecalls and explained that he's indisposed while he sneaks out the back."

            Harry snorted despite himself. "He commits sins that he's not proud of? I find that hard to believe."

            "Well, you would." Parkinson propped her chin on her hand and stared at him. "No offense, Potter, but I find it hard to believe that you're going to last long around Draco. His mode of life isn't yours, his values aren't yours, and he actually cares about his friends."

            Harry winced a little, but had to concede that he'd done things in the past seven years to deserve that blow. He sat up more than he had so far and took a deep breath. "I'm not planning to try and live with him completely on his terms. I'll set up my own, and we'll meet somewhere in the middle, probably after a lot of shouting and teasing and angry compromises."

            "Sounds good," Parkinson said. "But once again, I doubt your ability to hold your head up under the constant storm of shit that's going to descend on you from all sides. From the papers, from your friends, from the Ministry...Draco could keep going under that. You really couldn't. You've become used to being the darling of the Ministry for the last seven years."

            Harry snorted. "You know, now, what that was really based on. And if what I did yesterday doesn't convince you that I burned my bridges, then I don't know what will."

            "You've burned them," Parkinson said. "But you're still holding onto them, and you're going to have to realize that you can't take a step backwards into space and recover what you had. I don't think you realize that. I don't think the shock's hit you."

            "When it does, you'll be the first one I call," Harry told her sweetly. "Did you have a message for Draco, or should I simply tell him that you tried to talk to me when it was obvious that you had no notion what you were talking about?"

            Parkinson stared at him, her face hard, her voice silent, and Harry suddenly winced. He knew that she had driven Callia away, and although at the time he hadn't wanted Callia hurt, he knew that she was an important part of the reason that he was free from the contract--

            Parkinson burst out laughing. Harry held his cool as much as he could. He didn't know what she was doing, but he also knew that asking would probably make him look weak, at least to someone like Parkinson.

            "You're stronger than I thought," she said, and beamed at him. "Tougher. One of the reasons I decided you would fold up under negative attention was that you never said anything insulting to anyone. At least, on the record." She rattled the newspaper she was suddenly holding in one hand. "This makes it clear that you did plenty of silent cutting on behalf of Sandborn."

            Harry nodded. "Then do you want me to tell Draco that you firecalled, or not?"

            "No need to, Harry. I'm here."

            Harry started and turned his head. Draco was walking out of the bathroom, clad in nothing but a towel. He didn't seem worried or startled by Parkinson's floating head. He nodded and smiled at her as if they shared a secret, then turned and sat down on the end of the bed, beginning to pull on a pair of socks that he drew from under it. They looked perfectly clean, so Harry suspected that it must be a charmed place to store them, rather than the malignant home of dust that it looked like.

            "The bathroom's free if you want to use it, Harry," Draco said casually, and tossed his head at the further door.

            Harry could understand a dismissal when he heard it. He escaped gratefully, shutting the door behind him. He'd done well against Parkinson so far, but he didn't think that he understood her enough to keep doing so.

*

            "I like him, Draco."

            Draco raised an eyebrow and leaned back on the bed so that he could pull on his trousers. He had the towel strategically placed so Pansy wouldn't get an eyeful, though in the end it didn't matter. As she was fond of telling him the times she had caught him naked, he didn't have anything that Theo didn't have, and in a bigger size, too. "Really? Remind me never to try to distinguish what you like from what you dislike."

            "I was testing him," Pansy said, without a trace of apology. "The way you know you would have tested Theo if you didn't already know him when we got married. If he can't stand up to a few insults from me, then he'll crumple like wet paper under the assault by the press, just as I was predicting."

            Draco nodded. He knew that. He just had a better opinion of Harry's resilience than Pansy seemed to. "But he passed your test?"

            "He did." Pansy's eyes sparkled at him as she rattled the paper in her hand. "And you should hear some of what they're saying about him. As many compliments about him being noble and tragic and a martyr as you could want, although of course some of the reporters are saying different things. And there are going to be so many investigations into the Ministry, to find out who knew what at different times. That'll give me a chance to sell some of Theo's dodgier potions and pick up so much gossip, you have no idea." She stared dreamily into the distance and sighed.

            "You're forgiven," Draco said. "As long as you remember that Harry doesn't exist only to dance to your tune."

            Pansy grinned at him.

            Draco grinned back. "Getting awfully close to the boundaries of that little spell I cast on you, aren't you, Pans?"

            Pansy lowered her eyes and tried to pretend that she was scowling, but Draco could read the twitches in her face better than probably anyone else except Theo, and he knew that she was fighting down amusement. That was fine. As long as she did nothing except fight it down, and sometimes express it, and didn't say anything to Harry that would count as the kind of pointed insults that she'd applied to Callia, the spell wouldn't activate, and Draco wouldn't be forced to care.

            "You do have to decide what to do about Sandborn," Parkinson said quietly. "I know the truth, your friends know the truth, and Potter's friends might know the truth if they ever pull their heads out of their arses, but others are going to be devastated, and he'll take advantage of that pain to hurt Potter. And you, by extension," she added, with a resigned sideways look that did more to convince Draco than anything else that she'd accepted Harry as part of his life.

            Draco nodded. "Is Sandborn awake?"

            "The Healers confidently expect him to wake this morning," Pansy said, drawling the words with polished precision that he knew meant she was quoting. Probably one of the articles in the paper she was holding. "And you know that he reacts strongly and quickly to any perceived threat to his power. It's one of the reasons that he managed to stay in power for so long."

            Draco snorted. "I know, but part of that power came from Harry, and Sandborn's confidence that Harry would back him up."

            Pansy gave a small, fluid shrug. "He may attack more quickly than ever, because he knows that Potter's support being gone makes him vulnerable. And he'll certainly lash out at him, viewing it as a personal betrayal that Potter doesn't come when he's called. I don't think you can afford to hesitate."

            "Sandborn is vulnerable himself," Draco said thoughtfully. He could feel Pansy maintaining silence to see where he was going with the argument, but part of the silence was scornful. She would think that anyone could see and come to that particular conclusion. Draco held her eyes and bared his teeth. "Harry matters to him, and that means anything mentioning Harry is going to push him further off-balance than a mention of some other, random supporter of his will. I think I'll have Harry write an owl to him."

            Pansy arched her eyebrows. "Are you so sure that Potter can find the right words to hurt him?"

            "Oh, I'll help with those," Draco said, relishing the taste of the words as he said them. "I'll find the right ones."

            Pansy rolled her eyes. "And then Sandborn can talk about how likely it is that Potter would do something like that on his own, and spread stories that he's influenced by his Death Eater lover."

            Draco shrugged. "He's going to spread stories no matter what we do. He has to, if he wants to regain control of the public mess Harry stirred up by giving details of his secret snubs and attempts to influence the Ministry. We'll deal with what we need to. Besides, I think the value of a letter both of us write will outweigh the gossip that he'll circulate as a result."

            Pansy raised both eyebrows and clapped her hand to her mouth in a parody of an astonished expression. Draco patiently waited until she had had her fun, and then asked, "Yes? You were saying?"

            "Just surprised, that's all," Pansy said. "You retain your brain despite fucking someone so stupid I'm surprised his nobility doesn't slosh out his ears when he moves. I reckon that old tale about someone being what he sleeps with isn't so true after all."

            "Yes, lying down with a dog doesn't always involve rising up with fleas," Draco said brightly, and then shut the Floo connection before she could summon up the wherewithal to throw something at him. Theo had actually had fleas last year, as a result of a shipment of insects meant for Potions ingredients that hadn't been packed properly, and Pansy had attracted them before they came up with a spell to banish them.

            Sometimes, it did feel good to get one over on Pansy. Especially because, as Draco had to admit if he was honest with himself, it didn't happen that often.

*

            "Harry!"

            Hermione's voice rang around the inside of his house when Harry stepped through the Floo. He winced. He'd meant this journey to be a short one; he'd pick up some clothes and then return to the Manor where Draco was waiting. He'd already written the letter to Sandborn that Draco asked for, and accepted some of the suggestions Draco wanted to make to change the wording. (Referring to the Minister's family ancestry as plagued with sores wasn't something Harry thought necessary, really).

            But Hermione must have had a spell set up to summon her the instant he returned home. Harry made his way over to the door and opened it. She stood there with Ron behind her, eyes hot on his face.

            "Hello," Harry said. "Come in." He was astonished to realize that he was calmer than during his last conversation with Hermione, considerably calmer. Shedding that burden of secrets in the talk to the press had been the best thing he could have done, he thought. It made him less likely to conceal his guilt in the other areas of his life, and less likely to feel that it was overwhelming and could never be apologized for.

            Hermione stepped in. Ron hesitated, then followed. He gave a wary nod to Harry, one that said I still haven't forgiven you. Since Harry hadn't forgiven himself, either, that was fine with him. He waited for them to say something, and then decided that he might as well start the conversation, as they just stood there.

            "Sit down, please," he said. Hermione hesitated in turn, then sat down on the couch where she'd been once before. Ron stood behind her, folding his arms and frowning in a way that Harry had known to make hardened Dark wizards wet themselves. He kept standing, too. He didn't know what would happen next, but he wanted to keep his options open.

            "We saw the story in the papers," Hermione said. "Why did you do that?"

            "Because it was time to confess," Harry said. "And because Sandborn is asleep at the moment, although he'll be waking up soon. That means we have a short period of time to spin the story and tell the truth while he can't tell his side of the story and get listened to."

            Another stare from Hermione, another cautious nod from Ron. Then Hermione said, as if testing the waters, "Which reason was the stronger?"

            Harry thought about it, then answered, "The second one. I didn't realize how much I wanted to confess, how much I wanted to be free of the contract, until I did it."

            "Then it was Malfoy's idea," Hermione said.

            Harry snarled at her. "Look," he said, when she jumped. "You can be upset about anything I did. I did plenty. But it's actually kind of insulting to me that you keep trying to take away things I did and pin them on Draco."

            "Draco, is it now?" Ron muttered.

            Harry ignored him. If Ron wanted to speak up in this conversation, then he could. "I was the one who made the contract," he said. "I was the one who was too afraid of their fear of me to try and find some other alternative. I was the one who lied to you. I was the one who aided Sandborn in intimidating and corrupting and bribing other people. Draco didn't do anything except the few actions in the past fortnight that were necessary to free me. Stop insisting he's an evil mastermind. He's not a nice person, no. He didn't ask for my permission before he went ahead and did this, no. He doesn't have the nicest motivations, no. But stop thinking it was a story of an evil Slytherin and an innocent Gryffindor. I don't actually have that much innocence left."

            Hermione gazed steadily at him, her eyes so troubled that he thought she would continue to disagree for a moment. But Ron stepped forwards and put his arm around her. "I think he's right," he murmured. "Look at the way his face flushes when he talks about it. This is something more than Harry just trying to take on the guilt for something he did, like usual."

            "But can we trust anything he says?" Hermione snapped out, her hands closing into fists on her knees until Harry thought she would tear up her robes. "I don't think we can."

            "Then why did you come here?" Harry asked. He tamped down all the angry things he could have said, and let some of his first soul come back. "Was it to warn me about the stories in the Prophet? To question me? To justify your hatred of Draco? The last part is useless, since I don't intend to listen to you. But you can do either of the first."

            "I don't think it's wise to treat Sandborn as an enemy," Ron said. "He was--well, he fulfilled the contract, mate. He gave you everything you wanted. You should be the one trying to make up something to him."

            Harry shrugged. "He also used me as a political tool and attacked me when I told him that I was breaking free. He's an enemy because that's what he has to be, and if I don't defend myself he'll destroy me."

            "You didn't used to think like this," Hermione whispered.

            Harry nodded. "But it's the way I've thought for years now. The uncomplicated, innocent Gryffindor I was showing you was the thing that didn't exist."

            Hermione shut her eyes. Ron looked at her uncertainly for a minute, then forged ahead. "What happens if Sandborn opposes you?"

            "I fight him," Harry said. "By telling the truth, and taunting him so he can't think straight, and making sure that he can never catch me alone. I already have a resignation letter prepared. He told me that I would lose my job, so it's the best idea."

            "You can't," Ron said, and then stopped and looked immensely frustrated.

            "It's the best course," Harry said quietly. "I was never an Auror for the good reasons that you wanted to be, Ron. So much of my desire to help people was burned out of me during the war. When I saw the Wizengamot was afraid of my power, part of me just wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after me. I became an Auror because Sandborn required it of me. It's a career that really needs passion and enthusiasm, not the fakery I was bringing to it."

            "There has to be a compromise," Ron said. He was running his hand through his hair as if he would pull it out. Harry knew the feeling. "You have to be able to stay an Auror--"

            Harry shook his head. "It doesn't matter to me that much. What does is retaining some freedom, and some privacy."

            "And not having Malfoy judged," Hermione said bitterly. "Or the other Slytherins."

            "They did what they did because of what I had done," Harry said. "I told you, don't blame them for actions they took because of mine." He looked at Ron. "So. Is there anything else I can tell you?"

            "You can apologize again, and see if it sounds more sincere this time." Ron's eyes were hard.

            Harry bit the corner of his lip. He still wanted to retort, but Ron was right. They were here, talking to him. That was more than he had expected, frankly, when he realized how badly he'd hurt them.

            Hell, he might still not understand how badly he'd hurt them. There had been more injuries than he could count, more lies than he could count.

            "I'm sorry," he said. "For depriving you of your dreams and ambitions and making you doubt yourselves most of all. I was prepared to throw my own life into disarray when the Slytherins started helping me, but I didn't think of what it would do to you. I've considered my own position for so long that I forgot there was anyone else in the world."

            "Was it really just fear that made you do it?" Ron asked. There was a yearning quiver in the back of his voice, Harry thought. He really wanted to understand why this had happened, but so far the reasons weren't sufficient. "Or your martyr complex?"

            "Both of those," Harry said. "And fear of what I was supposed to do now that the war was done and I didn't have a life laid out for me. It was a relief to have Sandborn order me around, really. I could always tell myself I was doing it for someone else, that I was only suffering because it meant happiness for someone else."

            "You can do something for me," Hermione said suddenly.

            Harry nodded to her, trying not to show the hope that rose up in him. It might be insulting--or it might not. He didn't know his friends any more than they knew him. "What?"

            "Don't help me." Hermione's face was flushed, her eyes glittering like jewels. "Just don't. No matter what you think I need, no matter how much opposition I'm facing. Don't try to help me pass legislation or fight enemies in the Ministry."

            Harry nodded, swallowing the immediate lump of protest that tried to make its way up his throat. What if you're in a situation where I can save your life? Yes, it was possible that that might happen. But he was really too used to thinking of Hermione as helpless now, someone who had to be coddled into a position of power and influence and then protected as though she was a helpless chick. He had to get over that. It was his problem, not hers. "I promise."

            "The same thing for me," Ron said. "I don't know if I'll stay on as an Auror. Or Sandborn might sack me, for all I know." His slow, murderous look said that Sandborn could try, but would be better off not succeeding. "I don't want you to leap in and help me. Let us be independent."

            "Okay," Harry said. "I promise."

            Ron and Hermione looked at each other as if seeking more words in each other's faces, then nodded warily to him and started to drift towards the door. Harry understood. They had made one step, but they didn't know what the next one was yet. Hell, neither did he.

            Someone knocked on the door before they could make it out. Harry restrained the impulse to step in front of them with wand drawn, and let Hermione open it.

            Two Aurors, looking uncomfortable, stood there. The one on the left was Allen; she gave Harry a harsh, penetrating look. The other was a tall man Harry knew only vaguely as Auror Dusk, who coughed and said, "Auror Potter?"

            "Yes." Harry stepped forwards then.

            "You are under arrest for treason to Minister Sandborn." Dusk looked intensely unhappy as he said the words, but that didn't stop him from saying them.

            Harry took a breath and settled himself. He had known something like this might happen. "All right," he said, and twisted his head back to speak to his friends. "Will you let Malfoy know, please? He'd like to."

            He turned around to surrender his wand to Allen, who he suspected would take good care of it, and found that he was much calmer than he'd expected. Yes, Sandborn was going to do something like this when he found his prize tool slipping out of his possession. Of course.

            In the meantime, Harry would depend on Draco to come to him, and his own wits to guard him.

*

            polka dot: Draco feels much the same way, as far as the "finally" goes.

            SP777: If Draco thinks about it that way, I doubt he'll mind Harry's "stupidity" so much. ;)
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