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The Music of the Spheres	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2034 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Thank you again for all the reviews! This is the last part of The Music of the Spheres. Thanks for reading!
            The owl that brought the letter was a plain, nondescript one, Harry thought, a brown barn owl with only the faintest touches of white on its feathers. It took the treats from Harry with a hoot of thanks and sat there, carving off delicate slices with its beak, while Harry opened the letter.
            And felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. He sat there staring at the letter even as he felt the concerned hum mounting in the back of his mind, and knew that Draco was coming downstairs specifically to see what he was upset about.
            I should calm down, Harry thought, and rubbed his scar as he thought. His brain was aching, pressing against his forehead, and he knew that he could do nothing about making this better if he panicked.
            But he was still desperately glad to turn around and grab Draco when he came to a halt beside Harry’s chair and snapped out, in staccato rhythms of mind-music that echoed the pace of his thoughts, What’s wrong?
            The letter says that Lavender Brown tried to kill herself, Harry whispered down the bond. She drank a whole batch of powdered aconite mixed with water. She probably would have died already except she tried to do something to make it more—strong. And now she’s lying in St. Mungo’s. They don’t expect her to live.
            Draco was silent next to him for a moment. Then he said, You know that we can heal the damage to her body. We can’t do anything about her mind.
            It had been the thing that Harry had been repeating to himself below the surface of his mind-music, but he hadn’t known that until Draco brought it up, and he realized Draco was right. He sat back with a gasp and nodded. All right. I was just thinking—
            That Granger was right when she asked us to heal the grief left by the Boneturn Plague? Draco huffed and rapped his fingers on Harry’s cheek. Listen. We don’t even know that Brown’s attempted suicide came out of that. It could have been for some other reason.
            You’re right. And Harry knew something else, too, something that traveled through his mind in a slow swirl of golden sound. If he went into this healing blaming himself, it would make the magic slower to work. They had proved that with one early healing where the person involved had apparently injured themselves trying to duplicate “Harry Potter moves” on a broom. Harry’s guilt had made the song slow and dragging, and it had taken them much longer to adjust the tune their minds were singing to the tune of the victim’s magic.
            You’re learning now. Draco sounded a little surprised. You didn’t need me to correct you when you thought that.
            I can think of some things on my own, said Harry with dignity, and settled back, looking him over. We haven’t done a healing in almost three weeks. Can I write back and say we’re going to do this one?

            Draco rolled his eyes. As though I would deny you permission.
            Harry could have said that Draco had denied him permission for other healings, like the one that Hermione had asked them to do, and healing for broken legs. He could have said that, but he didn’t.
            Because he knew the difference. He had learned it.
            As soon as he’d finished the letter and sent it off with the owl, Draco squeezed his hand, and drew him up to the bedroom.
*
            Draco shrugged his shirt off. He had to admit that, even knowing they were going to heal someone and so they weren’t having sex just because they wanted to have sex, a glow of excitement rose in his chest and hunting horn notes swirled in his mind. He turned around and found Harry already naked, on the bed.
            Harry smiled at him. Do you know what I’m thinking?
            Of course I do, said Draco arrogantly, although Harry had the filmy barrier that he had learned to raise when he was reading hovering between them. We’re bonded.
            Harry ignored that, and Draco had to admit that it hadn’t been the best insult he’d ever hurled. I’m thinking that this time, I want you lying on your back and your cock sticking up. I want to sit on top of you.
            Draco’s mouth watered, and he licked it away, a little embarrassed. Harry was grinning at him anyway, and Draco knew he had felt and heard. He lay back and stroked his own cock, and it was nearly as embarrassing how Draco couldn’t take his eyes away from him.
            You only had to ask, Draco croaked, in a clash of notes like hissing violins, and staggered to the bed.
            Harry fussily pulled him down so that Draco was lying with his arms dangling off to the sides, and then got next to him. His eyes shone. He used wandless magic to bring up the lube and kept it hovering in the air while he spread it on his fingers. And then he surprised Draco again—although Draco could argue that was only because the barrier was there, and he wasn’t used to trying to hear Harry’s music with it in the way.
            He didn’t reach down and smooth his hands over Draco’s cock, tug and pull on it, the way Draco was yearning for him to. He reached behind himself and eased his fingers into his hole instead, his eyes fluttering shut exactly once, before he forced them back open and focused on Draco again. His smile was deep and smug.
            Draco knew that the notes of his mind had subsided to nothing but a tense, single, plucked note, as though someone had found the inner string of his mind and decided to play it obsessively. He decided that he didn’t care.
            That’s new, Harry noted cheerfully, and moved over on top of him. Draco was shivering, his neck arching despite himself. He could hear the music that made them up vibrating back and forth between them, and Harry snorted at some difference in the tones that honestly wasn’t audible to Draco. He sank back, and Draco was sheathed in him.
            He gasped and shut his eyes. Harry didn’t insist on his opening them. He began to rock, slowly and steadily.
            Draco was usually in control of this. He’d thought he’d want to be, most of the time.
            But right now, it was pleasant to feel the rocking on top of him, the difference between the warmth against his thighs and hips and the coolness of the sheets against his neck. He reached up and caressed Harry’s hip without opening his eyes.
            The notes in his mind leaped about, a skirling frenzy like a flute, and then began to play faster. At least I have that much effect on you, Draco said, pleased that his mental voice was untroubled, even if his lungs were going like drums.
            You have a lot of effects on me, Harry said, and squeezed down with his muscles in a way that made Draco jolt and nearly unseat them. And one of them is exasperation, Harry added, as he readjusted his position and then sank back down, with a slight grunt that made Draco’s eyes roll back in his head again.
            After that, he lay as still as he could—although when he couldn’t, that was Harry’s fault, not his—and let Harry make the movements. Harry thrust sharply now and then, paused now and then, and gave another surge that made Draco bite his tongue. He swallowed. The blood in his mouth was as hot at the music throbbing between their minds.
            But the music doesn’t taste like iron, Harry pointed out smugly, and Draco slapped him on the hip for the irrelevant remark.
            Just remember that we’re raising this power for a reason. Normally, Draco wouldn’t have been the one to bring it up, but he couldn’t let Harry get away with that smugness.
            I know, said Harry, and his voice was a swelling music that made Draco shiver in both awe and humility.
            Sometimes he was exasperated with Harry. Sometimes he wondered how in the world Harry had escaped getting taken advantage of by everyone in the world before now, and why he was still alive. He ought to have worn himself out before he ever got to defeat the Dark Lord or be a candidate for defeating the Boneturn Plague, from the simple process of giving everyone what they wanted.
            But then Draco saw moments like these, and he knew that behind Harry’s heart and mind lay a greatness of soul that the music couldn’t swallow, only represent.
            The moment came when the movements of their bodies were less important than the songs entwining between them, the frenetic sway of their hips less consuming than the impulse and the urge to jump out together and unite their magic. But Draco still felt the moment of his orgasm as a flare like a falling star, a supremely sweet soaring of notes that went on and on, which was followed a second later by the dying fall of Harry’s.
            They mingled and matched and spent a moment swirling around each other for the joy of the song, before they rose and expanded and followed the magic into that world which only they, since their joining and bonding in that absurdly powerful ritual, could inhabit.
*
            It actually didn’t take long to locate Lavender Brown’s sick magic, long only in the moments when they had to shift through other discordant notes and endure the pain of their screech. But there she was, surrounded by the soft green tinkling bells of Healing magic and the soft moans that the cores of the dying made.
            They swirled around her and back and forth, playing the music she made to themselves so they would know both what noise she made and what noise she should make. There were so many braided, tightly coiled wires that it was like delving into the innards of a music box and finding that it played different notes at different layers. They hovered back and forth, uneasy.
            They might be able to do this. But they didn’t know if they could do it without hurting Lavender.
            On the other hand, she was in a lot of pain right now, and even easing it might help. And the Healers did think she would die without outside intervention.
            So they sang, back and forth between the two of them, and they decided-agreed that it would be best to help. Although they would heal only the physical damage, not the grief or other mental kind that had made her decide to kill herself. That was a note one of them sounded monotonously until the other agreed.
            Then they wrapped Lavender in the proper music, and went about the singing.
            It took a long time, more than it had seemed when they healed the Boneturn Plague. Then again, that had been a matter of a great opposition, between the song of Voldemort’s magic and the song of everyone else. This was only one small voice in a vast choir, and they had never been familiar with Lavender, to know what she should sound like without concentration.
            It was a good thing there were two of them. One of them would sing a note, and the other would play it, and then the first would adjust the echo closer to the real note that formed part of Lavender’s magic, and the other would play it back. So, together, they came closer and closer to reality.
            But there was something else buried beneath all the music, something that neither of them had considered. They first became aware of it as a ticking noise, like a clock that someone had hit with an elbow and knocked off-balance. Then one of them touched it.
            The blare, the clash, sounded like a dozen cymbals dropped on the floor. It ripped apart the fragile song they’d been putting together and blasted them tumbling through the space made by magic and music, the space that so many souls and songs had braided into. Their bond kept them connected and able to turn back over and come back into contact, but it was a near thing.
            Unbonded souls might have gone flying through the darkness forever, too shocked by the noise to keep their heads.
            Slowly, cautiously, they circled towards Lavender’s magic again. Their thoughts bounced back and forth between them, traded so fast that one mind in communion with itself couldn’t have been faster.
            Her grief?
            Grief alone doesn’t sound like that. This was magical.
            Is there a magical reason she could have tried to kill herself? A curse that someone put on her?
            That made the other mind pause, and then they were near the noise again, retreated to a deep, solitary ringing in the middle of Lavender’s magical core. They paused, reoriented themselves to the tune they had been singing together, and then dived straight down and grabbed the clang before it could burst out again.
            It still managed a shocking sound, like a dropped gong, but they had hold of it now, and they unraveled the power holding it onto Lavender’s magical core with a hiss and crackle. Yes, it had been a curse, one that manipulated Lavender’s mind in a subtler way than the Imperius Curse. It strengthened every sensation of despair, made small problems seem huge and large problems seem insurmountable. It was something they might never have noticed if they hadn’t delved into so many sounding strands of Lavender’s magic.
            Now for it, they both said at once, and then they spun in opposite directions, tugging on the wire that made the curse sound that way between them.
            It came unstrung with a said little noise like a crack opening in a cymbal, and then dissipated into the darkness between minds. They did a little strut and dance to the victory march of their thoughts, and then they went back to repairing Lavender’s magic, healing her as gently as possible.
            It was much easier now that they didn’t have the curse to work against. Lavender’s magical core was singing with them, mounting stronger and stronger as they worked, and then there was a sudden wash of ripple-light over them as the song that was really hers began to sound. They twined and crossed over, and vanished back into their own minds and bodies.
            They were tired enough that they only separated physically this time, instead of putting their personalities back in their minds and bodies as usual. They curled up together, and the song became a lullaby quickly enough that it soothed them before they could even object that they should probably stay up and wait for news of what had happened to Lavender.
*
            “Tell them no.” Draco didn’t even look up from the porridge he was spooning into his mouth. He frowned as Harry watched and added some more sugar.
            Harry rolled his eyes. You didn’t even listen to me read the whole thing. The letter was from St. Mungo’s, and part of it was genuinely news about Lavender, telling them that she was doing better. She had been influenced by the curse, but also grief over friends of hers who had died in the plague. It was when Harry had started reading about that that Draco had made his announcement.
            I listened to you read enough. Draco leaned forwards, his eyes and mind-music both glinting. They’re making the same plea Granger did, aren’t they?
            As a matter of fact, no.
            Harry would have gone on, but Draco’s mind suffered only a mild skip in the music before it continued. Then they want us to investigate and find out who cast the curse on Brown. Right?
            Harry blinked. You’re learning to hear past the barrier that I raised after all? He didn’t really feel violated as far as his privacy went, but it meant he would have to build a stronger barrier.
            No, said Draco, with such deep peace in his voice that Harry found himself smiling. I only know what the wizarding world thinks is appropriate to ask of the Boy-Who-Lived—and since most of them are under the impression that you’re going to be an Auror, it’s only natural for them to ask it.
            Harry leaned slowly back in his chair. They hadn’t really discussed what they were going to do in the long term. Harry had vaguely thought it would continue like this for a year or so, as they got used to their bond and healed people.
            But Draco had put a sharp limit on how many people they would heal in a given frame of time, and while Harry had to admit that he would have liked to do more, he understood why. And he couldn’t be a Healer for the reasons he had explained to Draco.
            You’re not still considering being an Auror?
            Harry blinked at Draco. You said I wasn’t going to be.
            Oh, I knew that. I’m just amazed you also knew it.
            Harry sighed loudly enough that Draco’s music acquired an irritated tone, and then shook his head. It wouldn’t be fair to put your life in danger. You know that—that if one of us dies, the other one is probably going to do it, too.
            Draco regarded him evenly. With enough time to get used to the bond, that probably wouldn’t happen. But if you went out and put yourself constantly in danger within the first few years, yes.
            Harry nodded. I don’t want to do something that’s going to make you anxious, even if I think the Auror training would teach me well enough to defend myself. Besides, there’s always going to be extra people who want shots at me so that they can brag they took down the Boy-Who-Lived. I’d already given up on the idea of being an Auror.
            Draco was oddly silent. Then he said, with a tentative creeping of notes, You would do something like that because I wanted you to?
            Harry blinked. Yes. And then he smiled. If Draco was the one who was good at setting boundaries and telling Harry when they needed to limit their power of healing so they didn’t exhaust themselves, Harry was the one who could baffle Draco sometimes by how much he cared for him.
            He stood up and came around the table. Draco looked at him with the same odd expression as the oddity of the notes humming in his head, and then looked away again.
            That didn’t matter. Not a lot did, when they still had the bond connecting them. Harry sat down beside Draco and hugged him, holding him until he felt relaxation sliding across Draco’s muscles like hot butter.
            I don’t want to distress you or upset you or hurt you, Harry whispered. Now that I know we’re not going to be healing machines and I’m not going to be an Auror, we’ll find something to do. Separately or together. I’m not in a hurry.
            And it would be…well, it would be nice not to have to worry about saving people from Dark wizards on a regular basis. Regular magic and diseases were the kinds of enemies he would rather handle.
            You can admit it to yourself. Draco sounded dazed. You don’t need me to stand up for you all the time!
            This time, his mind-music sounded like a Muggle film score exactly at the part where the triumphant couple fell into each other’s arms. Harry laughed and shifted his grip on Draco so Draco was leaning against his shoulder. Yeah. I can protect you sometimes. I can show you how I can improve your life, too.
            Draco nestled into his shoulder and said nothing for a second. Then he murmured, And if someone accuses me of taking you away from your rightful career as an Auror?
            Then I’ll stand up to them, and remind them they were the ones who wanted us to bond so we could defeat the plague in the first place.
            Draco’s music was warm enough now to feel like a cat purring. This is going to be a lot better than I thought it was.
            How so?
            Because things won’t stay the same. Draco pulled back to glance at him, and his mind was like the music box that Lavender’s magical core had resembled now, continually playing a number of different sprightly tunes. I thought they might, at bottom. We’d be friends and have sex and sometimes refuse invitations or orders from your friends, but most of the time, it would be the same as it was in Hogwarts.
            Harry just nodded. He wanted to say Draco could have told him that, but if Draco had, then Harry would have claimed he was wrong and that things were already different and got huffy, and nothing would have been accomplished.
            What are you going to do with that letter? Draco added, nodding at the one that still lay on the table.
            “Send back a polite response saying we’re glad Lavender’s feeling better,” said Harry, picking it up. “And then refuse any invitations to figure out who cast the curse or anything extra.”
            He smiled at Draco. “You can write it, if you want.”
*
            Draco felt a breathless coiling around his chest and throat that made him swallow. He reached out silently, and Harry clasped his hand.
            Harry wasn’t just relying on Draco to do the things he didn’t like or didn’t want to do. He was offering Draco the chance to do things that he would never have trusted him with only a short time ago, because he would have thought Draco was going to “hurt” the people involved.
            Draco leaned in and kissed Harry and whispered at the same time, down the bond, Thanks. I’d like to.
            And he would make it polite and faintly threatening and no more than that. Because there was absolutely no sense in destroying Harry’s trust in him. He wouldn’t sacrifice that for a momentary or temporary pleasure.
            They would have the bond, instead, and the pleasure from that was far from temporary. Or even only found in bed.
            Harry’s eyes and mind were shining at the same time, and he whispered, So glad to have you.
            Draco nodded. He could wish that the Boneturn Plague hadn’t happened. He could wish that they weren’t thought of primarily as invincible healers, since it meant people would probably be sending them owls—and Howlers—for a long time to come.
            But he couldn’t wish Harry undone. And the soft, shimmering sound of bells in the back of his head, even more than the words, reassured him that he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.
            The End.
*
starr: They can do some limited healing, but it’s not going to be anything like what it was at first.
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The Music of the Spheres