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Easy as Falling	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 31246 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Twenty-Nine—Comforting the Dark Lord

            “Thank you for making the journey to come here.”

            Harry heard the echo around his words as he spoke. The Great Hall didn’t hold half the people it could right now. Perhaps a quarter, he thought, with around two hundred and fifty students, and the seven new professors Harry had hired at the High Table, plus Hagrid and a few others who had come back.

            The students stared at him. There were few young faces—just five who had turned eleven since the school was closed to Sort into the various Houses. Gryffindor had taken three of them. Harry hoped that wasn’t because of him, had suspected wearily that it might be, and then had decided not to worry about it.

            As he’d told McGonagall, if he spent all his time not doing things because he was worried about what silliness they might inspire other people to get up to, then he’d never get anything done.

            “I appreciate the risk you took and the sacrifice you made,” Harry added, and met pair after pair of hard eyes in the faces of the sixth- and seventh-years. Those were Hogwarts students old enough to remember the war, although they might only have been eleven at the time, and eager to come back in spite of what the Ministry had done. Or because of it, Harry thought. They had already lost a year under the farce that the Death Eaters made of their education, one could say. The Ministry wasn’t really that threatening by comparison. “You should know that you won’t receive Howlers here, and owls or Floo calls only from your parents or other approved contacts. If you think that someone is getting through who shouldn’t, or you want someone new added to the list of people who can talk to you, then please tell me.”

            That caused a lot of people to nod. Harry wondered what else a Headmaster was supposed to say. He hadn’t banned any magical devices this year, and there was no third-floor corridor to be kept away from. Hogwarts would do exactly what he wanted, stone by stone, and that meant every student could run around the whole giant place without falling into trouble.

            But other warnings might not be out of place.

            “Please don’t go into the Forbidden Forest to see unicorns or chase Potions ingredients,” he said. “It’s not worth it.”

            There was a splutter of laughter. Harry smiled a little. He picked up his goblet of water, waved it at the rest of them, and sat down to let the new professors introduce themselves. He had hired Hellebore as Transfiguration Professor, and Hermione as History of Magic teacher, and although a few had come back—like Sinistra for Astronomy—most of them were new. He might as well let them figure out what they wanted to say.

            They spoke better than he did, he thought. Their words were well-chosen and they were pithy and didn’t have long silences between them. Maybe he had this powerful magic in part because he was so much of an idiot with words. Just keep silent and drag people out of the way, that was him.

            Except that everyone always wanted him to talk.

            Harry rolled his eyes at himself and downed half the water in his goblet. He could hear the excited squeaking of the house-elves through the cracks in Hogwarts’s walls moments before the food appeared on their plates. He smiled a little and sent a pulse of joy through the stones. He hoped the elves could understand.

            Of course, people didn’t stop watching him, even though Harry piled his plate with so many sandwiches and fruits and biscuits that it would be hard for him to see them back. They were waiting for a slip, a failure. Harry felt his shoulders hunching and tensing. Some of them were probably waiting for an excuse to attack him, the way that McGonagall had—

            Then he broke himself out of the mood, just before he felt his chair begin to curve around his back. No, he couldn’t think like that. Could not. Especially because he had the power to hurt someone if he did.

            He sat still instead, and smiled when he had to, and spoke when spoken to, and waited until the moment when the Houses filed out of the Great Hall behind their newly-assigned prefects. Then he heaved a long breath and stood up.

            “Where are you going—Headmaster?” Sinistra had perceptibly hesitated before she used the title.

            Harry turned around and gave her a weary smile. The one she gave in return was strained, but at least she seemed to be adapting better to him as an adult and an equal than McGonagall had.

            “Don’t call me that,” he said. “I have to get a proper Headmaster or Headmistress in here, but in the meantime, I’ve only claimed one title for myself. Call me Dark Lord Potter, or Harry. Either one is fine.”

            Sinistra blinked. “Such a wide disparity between them to choose from,” she murmured.

            Harry laughed. He hoped that her sign of a sense of humor was the way that the other returning professors—Hagrid and Flitwick—would manage to act around him.

            “Where is Minerva?”

            That was Filius, in fact, coming up behind him. Harry turned to face him. “She wanted to shut the school down and hand it back over to the Board of Governors,” he said quietly. “I told her that she was no longer welcome here. She also pointed her wand at me, so I had the school escort her out. I did tell her that she could owl me to have me return her things to her,” he added, because Filius studied him doubtfully.

            “Did you push her out the same way you did the Board of Governors?” Filius asked.

            “Not exactly the same way, but it wasn’t much different.”

            Filius sighed. “Let me write to her, too. Maybe I can persuade her to come back and see it’s a good thing that Hogwarts is staying open.”

            Harry hadn’t considered that option, and he nodded now. “Do that. She would probably take the reassurances of someone she’s known for decades over the reassurances of someone who pushed her out and who she thinks is too young for responsibility.”

            Flitwick gave him a hard look, but turned and walked away with a bob of his head that seemed to indicate a nod. Sinistra was the one who cleared her throat and asked, “Did she say that?”

            “She implied that I didn’t have enough experience with power,” Harry said, and then realized what he was doing. He waved an impatient hand. “Not that I want to scold or speak of her as though she hurt me. She didn’t.” I only want to tell one person in detail about what happened this afternoon.

            “I’m glad for that,” Hermione said softly, as she passed behind him.

            Harry smiled at him, and she smiled back before hurrying on past him, to Gryffindor Tower. She was Head of Gryffindor House, both because there was no way that Harry wanted that position and because he had thought McGonagall wouldn’t want it, either, even before their argument. Harry had thought Hermione might find the pressure too much, but her eyes were burning and she carried a huge stack of parchments under one arm already. Harry hoped that she wouldn’t try to give all the Gryffindors their schedules tonight, or, worse, assign them all Hogwarts, A History, as homework.

            “Mate, can I talk to you?”

            And that was Ron, waiting as patient and steady as a pillar behind him. Harry nodded to him, waved to Sinistra, and turned around to follow Ron down the corridor from the Great Hall towards the entrance, even though it was the opposite of the way he wanted to be going.

            To his own office, and the Floo there, and Malfoy Manor.

            “I heard about what happened earlier,” Ron said.

            Harry opened his mouth to ask from who, but then he closed it. The last thing he wanted was to accuse his best friend of sneaking around behind his back and lying.

            “From Dumbledore’s portrait,” Ron added, before Harry could say something.

            Harry gave a long, low sigh and spread his hands. “Yeah, that’s—I don’t know what you want me to say.”

            “I think you shouldn’t have done it.”

            “She wouldn’t accept a compromise,” Harry said, his eyes on the moon. He could see it bigger and brighter than he’d thought, floating over the top of the North Tower. Well, at least Sinistra ought to have an interesting sight for her Astronomy classes. “She told me that she wanted to turn the school back over to the Board of Governors and close it down.”

            “Maybe you shouldn’t have started this whole rebellion in the first place,” Ron said. “Maybe it was the wrong thing to do.”

            Harry sighed again and turned to face him. “Then I’ll ask you the same thing I asked her. What do you want me to do? Travel back in time and do something else?”

            Ron stared at him, freckles dark as mud in the moonlight. “What? No. I’m warning you for the future, so you can think before you do something else like this.”

            Harry had to smile. “Thank you. And you plan to stay with me?”

            Ron nodded. “I’ve already had three Howlers from various people in the Ministry, although only one of them was actually important. They say, basically, don’t expect your job back.” Ron shook his head. “I didn’t really want it to come to this, but there was no way to keep my job and support you at the same time.”

            Harry touched his shoulder for a second, letting his hand linger longer than it usually would. When he’d declared himself Dark Lord, he hadn’t thought much about the effect it would have on his friends, he had to admit. “Thank you for coming along, Ron. If you want to be my conscience…”

            Ron cocked his head. “But I don’t get paid for that. I want to be flying instructor.”

            Harry laughed. He hadn’t hired someone to teach flying; Madam Hooch had retired during the past summer, and it hadn’t seemed as urgent with only a quarter of the students coming back and so many other posts to fill. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

            “With good pay,” Ron said. “If I have any students as crazy as you and Malfoy were, I’m going to need it.”

            “It’s yours,” Harry repeated.

            Ron nodded and turned back to the school, wisely. Harry didn’t know what Ron had seen in his face, but he knew that he wouldn’t want to be in his own way right now.

            Harry hurried into the night, taking deep breaths until he felt the pressure of his connection to Hogwarts lessen a bit. Then he turned around and walked into the air. He hoped that Draco wouldn’t mind this intrusion into his wards so late at night, but Harry felt as though he had a sunburn beneath his skin, and he was certain the only cure was Draco.

*

            Draco pushed a finger into the center of the page, to hold his place, and listened. A minute later, he snorted. Yes, that was Harry, the way he had felt the wards tremble just now. Draco laid his book down and stood up to welcome him.

            Harry was in the room before Draco could leave it. Not that Draco minded, but it meant he stood there and blinked instead of having a wise and witty word ready to go, and in the meantime, Harry had grabbed him and practically stuffed his tongue down Draco’s throat.

            Draco spluttered a little, then accepted the kiss. Harry was strong and sweet and determined, and pouring so much magic into the air that Draco could taste it like syrup on his tongue. He pulled back at last, before Harry was done, shaking his head when Harry lunged for him. He liked this, but he wanted to know what had happened first.

            “Are you all right?” he asked, noting that Harry’s eyes had a vacant look and his hair was tangling down the nape of his neck like ruffled feathers.

            Harry’s gaze focused on him, and Draco shivered. “No,” Harry said, and tugged Draco close again, though this time he only rested his chin on Draco’s head and closed his eyes.

            Draco let himself be held. It was strange, he thought. His head was swimming, and he knew his father probably would have said it was from exposure to powerful magic and Draco should remember that magic could turn on him in an instant. But resting like this, he felt content, so much so that his breathing slowed down and Harry’s slowed with it. Harry ran his fingers lightly down the middle of Draco’s back, nails resting for a second on his spine.

            “Now are you all right?” Draco whispered, when they had stood like that for perhaps five minutes.

            “Closer to it,” Harry said, and pulled back, and smiled, and guided Draco to the stool in front of the fire. Draco went, although without taking his eyes from Harry. Harry’s hair had flattened, and the sensation of his magic in the air was no longer like drowning in syrup. Draco sighed. It was a sign that Harry had calmed down, yes, but he almost missed the feeling of being that close to power.

            But there was another realization waiting for him, when he checked on the shape of a thought knocking insistently on the door of his mind.

            I’m the one that he came to for comfort.

            “You’re so gentle,” Harry whispered to him as he sat beside Draco, making the stool wobble, and embraced him again. One irritated glance from Harry at the floor made the stool leg steady and become rooted. Draco hid his smile against Harry’s shoulder. At the moment, he wanted there to be no chance that Harry would think Draco was making fun of him.

            “What happened?” Draco whispered.

            Harry’s shoulders tensed and flexed, and then Harry dropped them            back and sighed. “Something stupid, really,” he mumbled into Draco’s shoulder. “McGonagall decided that she couldn’t just stand back and let me rule Hogwarts the way I wanted to. I offered her the position as Headmistress, but she wanted to arrest me and take me to the Ministry instead.”

            Draco gaped against Harry’s shoulder. “Doesn’t she know what they would do to you?”

            “She didn’t seem to trust anything I was saying, even when I told her.” Harry burrowed into Draco’s shoulder. “She thought I was too young, and I didn’t know anything about the Ministry or the Board of Governors or what they wanted, even though they told everyone. It was better for the school to be shut down than stay open, she said. And then she called in Dumbledore’s portrait, and I found out that both of them suspected the Dursleys abused me and didn’t do anything about it.”

            Draco didn’t know what to say. The silence seemed to settle around him, as heavy as snowfall, and still that wasn’t enough to change the crimes that Draco would have liked to charge McGonagall and the Headmaster with.

            Draco had never known either of them well, not the way Harry seemed to. McGonagall was fair even to Slytherin students, and a good teacher. Dumbledore had offered him sanctuary right when he was on the verge of death, and Draco had tried to kill him. That was the extent of his connection with them.

            This, though…

            “Why?” he whispered.

            Harry shook his head, hard enough that Draco could feel the prickling feathers of his hair standing up against his neck again. “Because it was convenient. Or it would have been inconvenient to intervene. They just stood there in silence when I asked them, but I know it’s that. I was always—always less important to Dumbledore than the prophecy, and I was just one of her students to McGonagall. She worried about me and she was proud of me, and she said something about suspecting the Dursleys weren’t the kindest set of Muggles in the world, but she didn’t bother to go and ask.”

            Draco’s arms tightened around Harry. “I would always ask,” he whispered into Harry’s neck. He thought he knew in detail, now, why Harry had come here instead of going somewhere else, and he was going to be worthy of that compliment. “I would always want to know what’s happening with you. I would have asked if I knew you then.”

            Harry chuckled. “Would you have, considering everything that was happening when we were in Hogwarts?”

            Draco had to laugh back. “Maybe not. But the person I am now would have asked the person you were then. And I would ask if you were going through something similar—the way I did tonight.”

            Harry started and pulled back. Draco stared at him, wondering if he regretted his openness now for some reason, and would leave.

            But instead, Harry held a trembling hand to Draco’s cheek. His eyelashes trembled, too. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I didn’t know that that—that was what I wanted. I mean, I knew I wanted comfort from you, but I thought I just wanted to talk to you and have you listen. I didn’t know what I wanted you to say. But that was it. That was perfect.”

            Draco leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder and closed his eyes. After that, they were silent for some time, in front of the fire, in the grand room, where the only noises were distant house-elf ones and the crackling of the flames.

            Draco knew they wouldn’t have a lot of peaceful moments like this one. But he had no intention of wasting what they did have.

*

            delia cerrano: Yes, it was Draco. And Minerva just can’t see that things have changed.

            SP777: Harry doesn’t much want another title, though.

            And I think the problem with having Harry fight someone magically powerful is that that’s essentially the story of the canon books, even though he didn’t beat Voldemort in the end by being magically powerful.
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