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Sleepless	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16095 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from this story.

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Chapter Twenty-Nine—Winding to the End

            “Mr. Evans.”

            Discipula’s voice still held the hatred, but buried this time beneath a tight, firm mask of goodwill. Harry looked up and smiled. She was walking down the garden path towards him with a tall woman trailing behind her who kept looking at Harry curiously. After a moment, Harry recognized her as the witch who had been in daffodil robes during the trial, and seated among the Wizengamot. She looked much more normal out of them.

            “Mr. Evans,” she said, and put out her hand for him to shake. “I’m Katherine Noonan. Estelle here said that you have a vow to make to each other?”

            It took Harry a moment to remember that “Estelle” was Discipula’s given name. When he did, then he could nod, smile blandly, and say, “Indeed. Has she asked you to be our Bonder, Wizengamot Member Noonan?” He knew that they didn’t require such formal titles—at least, the members of the Wizengamot he had met in his world didn’t—but preemptive flattery was never a bad thing.

            Noonan laughed, and the sound rang in Harry’s ears and seemed to trickle down to caress his face. He wondered if it was some sort of magical effect, and resolved to watch out for it if it was. “Yes, she has. And you can call me Katherine.” Noonan studied him for a moment with her head on one side and one eye squinted so far shut that Harry thought the rolls of skin on her face would consume it. “Which one are you, I wonder?” she asked.

            Although the question didn’t sound as though it was addressed to him, Harry had the feeling that she wanted him to ask. “What do you mean, Katherine?”

            “Are you her enemy or her ally?” Noonan asked. “Because those are the only two kinds of people I can see asking her to swear the Vow. Or, rather, the only two kinds of people I can see her agreeing to swear a Vow to.”

            “Enough, Katherine.” Discipula swept past her and took up a stance with her hand held out stiffly. “You’ll come here, Mr. Evans?”

            Harry nodded and walked over, taking Noonan’s speculative gaze on his back as another sign that Discipula wouldn’t try to rid the world of him right now. She would probably do that with no witnesses. In fact, Harry was surprised she had asked someone who was part of the Wizengamot to be their Bonder, rather than one of her flunkies, or Longbottom—

            And then Harry smiled grimly. Discipula was still trying to pretend that everything was all right. If Hermione—this world’s Hermione—was right, then the tottering structure of lies that convinced her she was doing the right thing was far more vulnerable, and far more important, to her than the idea that someone might find out the truth. She had been found out, she could do nothing about that, but she could try to assure that her response to the threat was all lawful and above-board.

            Harry waited until she turned towards him, and then smiled. Discipula stared and pointedly turned her head away. Harry reached out and clasped her hand. Her palm was covered with cold sweat, making him wish that he could wipe his hand off on his trousers. Well, for now, he would have to put up with it. He had put up with worse.

            Noonan coughed theatrically and waved her wand over their hands, murmuring something that Harry couldn’t make out. “Now,” she said, “you’ll have to tell me the promises that you want to make to each other.”

            Discipula met Harry’s eyes. “Why don’t you go first, Mr.—Evans?”

            Harry nodded. If Discipula was trying to make him afraid that she would break away before she could make her side of the Vow, then she shouldn’t have brought Noonan along. Here was someone whose testimony against her would be powerful and had the potential to be devastating. “All right. What promises do you want me to make?”

            Discipula’s jaw trembled, then clenched. “That you’ll share what’ve you discovered about me with no one else. That you’ll leave me in peace once this case is done. That you won’t—that you won’t retain the copies of the record that you said you’d made.”

            Noonan was practically buzzing with curiosity, but Harry only nodded again. He didn’t have any objection to that, since Hermione already knew and her copies of the records would be able to do harm to Discipula long after his were destroyed. “Fine. I swear that I will share what I have discovered about you with no one else.” He also didn’t think that that vow was a problem, because it said nothing about people he might already have told.

            A thin line of fire shot out from Noonan’s wand and bound their wrists together. Discipula stared at it desperately, as if it were her only hope. It might be, for all Harry knew.

            “I swear that I’ll leave you in peace once this case is done,” produced a second ring of fire. Discipula closed her eyes, the sweat Harry had felt on her hand standing out on her forehead. Strange that she would let herself go so in front of Noonan, Harry thought, but then again, perhaps the emotions were simply too strong for her to control.

            “I won’t retain the copies of the record that I said I made.”

            The third ring of fire blossomed and tied off the knot. Noonan nodded with the grave air that Harry tended to associate with McGonagall when someone had completed a task satisfactorily. “Good. Now, Mr. Evans. Your turn.”

            Harry looked up and into Discipula’s face. She returned his glance without a flinch, without a murmur. He almost could have found it in him to admire her, if he didn’t have so many reasons to despise her.

            “That you will speak to the Wizengamot about your newfound sympathy for Narcissa and Draco Malfoy,” Harry said. “That you won’t make any attempt to harass the Malfoys after their case is done. That you won’t prosecute anyone else because of me, or because of what I told you.”

            Discipula nodded. She looked sick now, and Harry wasn’t surprised when she reached out with one hand behind her to support herself on the sundial. Noonan moved around so that she could see Discipula’s face, but then Discipula turned her head away so that Noonan was staring at the back of her skull instead.

            “Very well,” Noonan said. “Will you make the first vow, please, Estelle?” She had a hurry in the back of her voice, Harry thought, as though she was getting impatient with not being able to figure out what Discipula was doing this for.

            “I will speak to the Wizengamot about my newfound sympathy for Narcissa and Draco Malfoy.” Discipula’s voice was dead. The fire that encircled their hands seemed to spark less brightly than the fire had done for Harry. He narrowed his eyes.

            “Is this going to affect it?” he asked Noonan. “That she’s making the vows in that tone of voice?”

            “It shouldn’t.” Noonan paused in pushing her hair out of her face and swiveled her head so that she was staring at Discipula full on. “Of course, it would help if anyone would tell me why these vows are being made in the first place.”

            Discipula tightened her grip on Harry’s hand until the bones under his skin creaked, and shook her head.

            “Very well.” Noonan held up her wand again, muttering something under her breath. The only word Harry could pick out was “young.”

            “I won’t make any attempt to harass the Malfoys after this case is done,” said Discipula.

            The sparks this time seemed even fainter, but Harry reminded himself that Noonan seemed to know what she was doing, and the important thing was that Discipula probably wouldn’t dare test the Vows, in case they held her after all.

            And he would be gone from the dreams after this. Draco and Narcissa would have to fight their own battles. There was only so much he could do.

            “I won’t prosecute anyone else because of you, or because of what you told me.”

            As the fire coiled around them, Discipula briefly lifted her eyes so that Harry was looking straight into them. He flinched at the venom and hatred there. It wasn’t as bad as before, when Discipula had had the chance to simply stare at him without warning, but it was bad enough. He knew that she would try to find some way around the Vows, some ambiguity in the wording, some way to attack. He wondered for a moment if he had really done all he could to protect the Malfoys, Hermione, even Ron.

            But then he reminded himself, again, that, real world he had touched in his dreams or not, there had to be a point when he backed away and left people to fight their own battles. He didn’t know what would happen, whether Ron would go to Neville with his information about the battles, whether Hermione would spread the truth if Discipula wouldn’t agree to bargain with her—although Harry thought Discipula would, her fear and hatred of the truth was so strong—whether the Malfoys would always be safe. Draco might not think Harry had done enough because he hadn’t even tried to free Lucius.

            But he had to leave it behind eventually. He had come here for a specific purpose, to defend the Malfoys, and he had done that—not fairly, not in the courtroom the way that his future barrister work would (mostly) have to be done, but in fighting against a biased opponent, he had done the best he could.

            And his best was what people sometimes had to be content with.

            Discipula stepped back from him the moment the magic would let them do so, shuddering and wringing her hand. Noonan turned her head slowly, to stare at both of them, and then gave a wistful sigh.

            “You won’t tell me what that was about?” she asked. “At all?”

            “You’ll know someday, Katherine,” Discipula said in a thick voice. She shut her eyes, as though she was afraid of Harry seeing any more of her emotions, and held out her hand. The swallow flew from the sundial back to her shoulder, still peering at Harry. Harry wondered for a moment if it was the Animagus form of one of Discipula’s friends—although he thought she would have sent it away if it was—or a familiar. The way that Discipula stroked its back and the way it looked at him said that maybe she would send it after him if she could do that without violating the oath.

            Well, it wouldn’t matter. Harry would be gone from the dreams. Strange how he had to keep reminding himself of that.

            Well, maybe it’s better than having to face Malfoy and my feelings for him.

            Noonan Apparated. Discipula opened her mouth as though she would say one thing more, and Harry braced himself for a tirade of abuse. But in the end, she chose turning her back on him and walking away as the more dramatic course.

            Harry shrugged and closed his eyes. He was strangely tired, as though the activity in his dreams was finally beginning to deprive him of real sleep. As the dream dissolved, colors running into each other like wet paint, he had time for a fleeting thought:

            Let’s hope that Malfoy does what he’s supposed to do.

*

            Harry woke with his body twitching the way it only had during battle, or in the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse.

            He gasped for air first thing, and was surprised when he found it. But he couldn’t control his muscles; his legs were jerking and flapping, and his arms reacting as though someone had run a strong electric current through them. He turned his head and saw Malfoy sitting in a chair nearby, leaning forwards to stare at him while his hands clasped each other hard enough to make grinding noises.

            Harry didn’t think he was in immediate danger of dying, unless he managed to crack his bones with his contortions. He could only stare at Malfoy, though, because he didn’t know what was happening or what would happen next.

            And Malfoy was the key to it all.

            Harry hated having to depend on him, but it was better than not knowing what was going on.

            “What’s—happening to me?” he asked. He was amazed that he could control his jaws well enough for them to work.

            Malfoy started as though Harry had woken him from deep sleep, but Harry knew he hadn’t done any such thing and ignored the implication that he had. Malfoy was trying to make him feel guilty, and Harry had had enough of that.

            “My uncertainty, I think,” Malfoy said, looking at Harry’s jerking arms with no discernible expression. Harry banged his wrist on the bedframe and winced. Malfoy tensed a little more, but didn’t look inspired to make up his mind any more quickly. “I still can’t decide what I want from you, and your body is reacting to it.”

            Harry closed his eyes in weariness. “Of course,” he said. “Of course it would bloody be that. Look, Malfoy, maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you should just make up your mind to walk away, and that would be enough for the spell.”

            “I’ll make up my mind about what I want to make it up about,” Malfoy said haughtily. Harry opened his mouth to say that he could see why Malfoy hadn’t taken up public speaking after the war, but Malfoy was continuing. “Besides, I doubt that would be enough. I have to make a final resolution. That’s what the spell wants, and the dreams desire. And that’s what’s giving me trouble. Every time I make a decision, I think of a time when it might not apply, or something I want that it doesn’t cover.”

            “And that’s your only guiding principle?” Harry asked in disbelief. “What you want?” He tried to ignore the way that even his hair seemed to stand on end, aiming away from his head like a covey of small arrows.

            Malfoy smiled, but his eyes were dark. “What else should I use?” he answered. “We’ve talked about how I never took your wants into consideration, and then misunderstood them when I did. I have as many pros as cons in my mind, as many wishes to walk away as to stay. So I’m balanced between decision and indecision, the way that your body is balanced between motion and stillness right now.”

            Harry ground his teeth. “I don’t really see the stillness.”

            Malfoy moved a step closer to the bed and stood looking down at him without answering. Harry bit his lip so that he could be quiet and stared back, wondering if it was the best course to argue with someone who held Harry’s future in his hands.

            “There’s so much to admire about you,” Malfoy murmured. “The stubbornness, the heroism, the ability to keep going through changes and challenges that would have killed anyone else.” He reached out and brushed a lock of hair back from Harry’s forehead, then reached further down and clutched one of Harry’s hands. It stilled immediately under his touch, and Harry sighed in relief, flexing his fingers. Malfoy traced his thumb over the back of the knuckles. “Those are the qualities that I keep coming back to.”

            “And on the other side?” Harry asked quietly, meeting Malfoy’s eyes. He had said there were cons, and Harry could think of plenty himself, starting with but not limited to the different Houses they’d been in, the opposite sides of the war they’d been on.

            “You didn’t notice me,” Malfoy whispered. “I was reduced to magic to attract your attention, something that wouldn’t have happened with anyone else I’ve tried to court. You make me face things about myself that I’d rather not look at.”

            Harry blinked. That was new, and not something he’d thought to hear Malfoy admit even if it was true. “What?”

            Malfoy took it as a specific question rather than a general expression of confusion, which Harry suspected was the right way to get it across, and leaned down, closer to him. Harry found his eyes unfocusing for a moment, and then reorienting on Malfoy’s face. Malfoy had the right to talk about his stubbornness, he reckoned, but it was nothing compared to the expression that Malfoy wore just then.

            “I have to admit that I made mistakes,” Malfoy said. “Casting the spell on you in the first place. Lying when I should have told the truth. I know why I did it; I was afraid that you would never listen to me or pay attention to me if I admitted that I’d cast the spell. And I honestly thought it had failed. I never anticipated that it would cause the dreams.” He was silent for a moment, finger still tracing across Harry’s hand.

            “I know,” Harry said, trying to make his voice gentle instead of impatient. “But everyone makes mistakes.”

            “Not of this magnitude,” Malfoy said. “Then I went on making them. I should have been wiser than that. I should have known how to resolve this before now.”

            Harry privately agreed, but suspected that saying so aloud right now wouldn’t be the smartest move. He remained still instead, and Malfoy surveyed his prone body with a pensive expression, now and then shaking his head as if he assumed that Harry was privy to his internal conflict.

            “It’s unchangeable,” he whispered. “That’s what I fear most. That I’ll make the wrong decision and resent it for the rest of my life.”

            “Oh, is that what you’re afraid of?” Harry asked, relieved to hear Malfoy say something he understood. “You ought to know that I thought the same thing, once.”

            Malfoy’s face went through several changes of color and expression before he shook his head. “But you were right. The war rode on your shoulders. I wasn’t carrying anything like the same burden.”

            “Yes, but I thought that way about other things, too,” Harry said. The rest of his body was almost still, he noticed. He wondered if that was because Malfoy was actually closer to making a decision, or because he was too focused on Harry’s words for his thoughts to dart around. Well, fine. Either would work, and anything that would keep his hands from banging against the bed, or his head doing the same thing to injure him, was fine with Harry. “I thought that I was making a mistake when Ginny and I broke up, even though I knew that we didn’t work together. I was afraid of alienating my friends. I was afraid when I left the Aurors, because what if I was making the wrong choice?”

            Malfoy frowned at him. “And you think you’ve learned better?” he asked skeptically. “From what I can see, you don’t know yourself very well, and you still act like that.”

            Harry shook his head impatiently. “You’re not listening. I was almost paralyzed with fear sometimes, wondering if I was making mistakes. But I learned that I had to make the decisions anyway, and then to cope with those mistakes. And—this is what I wasn’t thinking about—I could have gone back to the Aurors if it turned out that being a barrister wasn’t what I wanted, or I could have asked Ginny to get back together with me if I really did love her.” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, but Harry ignored that. “Making a mistake like that is really unforgivable only if the other people don’t forgive you for it. Not just because you feel like it is.”

            Malfoy studied him in silence, eyes so doubtful that Harry thought he would probably demand another explanation, or simply reject the one Harry had offered. Harry’s left arm was starting to tremble again. He willed it to lie as still as possible, and went on staring back at Malfoy.

            “But you never showed that,” Malfoy said at last. “You say that you were afraid, but—you always say that you don’t regret not being an Auror.”

            Harry rolled his eyes. “How would you know?”

            “That’s what you said in your interviews for the Prophet,” Malfoy said.

            Harry rolled his eyes again. He was going to hurt himself if that kept on, he thought, but then again, Malfoy should stop handing him straight lines if he didn’t want to be made fun of. “And we all know how truthful I was in those,” he said. “How truthful the Prophet always is when it’s reporting on me, besides. No, Draco, I felt the fear. But I made the decision anyway, because my courage is stronger than my fear.”

            Malfoy jerked back with a snarl. Harry wasn’t entirely sure if his words or his using Malfoy’s first name had caused that, at least until Malfoy spoke again. “Of course you would think that I was a coward.”

            “At the moment, you’re behaving like one,” Harry said, and matched him stare for stare.

            “You’ve never had to face rejection like this,” Malfoy said, but in a tone that made it sound as though he was trying to convince himself rather than anyone else. “Knowing that the man you’re obsessed with could cut you to pieces with a word.”

            “I want you to settle your feelings about me because I want to stop having these dreams, yes,” Harry said. “But I also want you to settle it for yourself. It’s not good for you to keep obsessing about me like this. It’s not good for you to keep thinking about it. I want you to move on. And you can only do that if you make a choice, whether or not you think rejection is going to happen as a result of that choice.”

            Malfoy stared at him with narrowed eyes. Then he said, “Are you going to reject me?”

            “Not right now,” Harry said cheerfully, and nearly laughed at the look on Malfoy’s face. “You could have just asked, you know, if you were that worried,” he said, and then lifted a hand that shook but remained mostly under his control as Malfoy opened his mouth to complain. “The problem is that I can’t give you exactly what you want. The perfect love affair that you were probably imagining, the perfect attention that you want all the time, the perfect forgiving of our past history. I don’t know if it’ll last.”

            Malfoy’s body gave a single, fierce spasm, and then stilled. Harry watched him, and nodded as much as he could when his head was wavering back and forth again.

            That was it. He hadn’t seen it until he started thinking, until he let himself see the similarities as well as differences between Malfoy in the real world and Draco in the dream, but it was there.

            Malfoy and Draco were both hesitant to claim what they wanted—Harry’s attention, independence from their parents—because of fear of the consequences. They both needed support. Harry hadn’t treated Draco enough like an adult to give him the level of support he wanted, and that had hurt him. And he hadn’t responded to Malfoy’s overtures, either, a different kind and level of hurt.

            But they hadn’t ever thought about trying on their own, because of those consequences. They had both wanted to plan out something that would allow them to get what they wanted without pain.

            Harry was sympathetic to that. How much time had he spent trying to avoid having people think he was crazy, or that he was dating someone he really wasn’t, or that he was a traitor to his calling as hero for not becoming an Auror? Not to mention that he’d felt stupid plenty of times when he was fighting Voldemort and when he was studying to become a barrister beside Hermione and when he’d fought with his friends.

            But feeling stupid wasn’t the end of the world. Pain wasn’t the end of the world. People could forgive the stupid things Harry had done if they wanted to.

            And he could give Malfoy a chance if he wanted. He just didn’t know if it would be a permanent chance.

            Abruptly, his body stopped moving about. Malfoy stared down at him with half-lidded eyes—Harry suffered a brief flash of irritation—and then slowly nodded.

            “Yes,” Malfoy said. “All right. I’ll risk it. Will you be with me?”

            “We can try a date,” Harry said, and saw something of Draco’s startled sweetness, just for a moment, in Malfoy’s eyes.

*

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