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The Serenity of His Rage	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16982 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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Chapter Five—Immediate Urgency
            Harry sipped the tea Dumbledore had given him, and waited. Dumbledore had asked Harry up to his office, given him tea, turned away to stroke Fawkes, and not spoken for five minutes. Harry knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.
            His bond with Malfoy was actually working out better than he’d thought it would. They ignored each other most of the time, could get along when they met in dreams, and had the basics of Occlumency on both sides now. Harry could still feel Malfoy’s emotions like a rising wind when they got too strong, but they weren’t distracting now. He felt like he was finally back in control of his own mind.
            “I’m afraid that I have bad news, Harry.”
            And there it is. I knew my life was going too well. Harry put down the teacup and asked, “Sir?”
            Dumbledore turned and silently showed Harry his hand. There were black streaks creeping up past his wrist now, two of them aimed like fangs at his shoulder. Harry winced.
            “That’s—that’s the Horcrux you destroyed?” He still didn’t know all the details, but Dumbledore had told him that much.
            “Yes. And Professor Snape’s estimate of how long I have to live keeps fluctuating.” Dumbledore sighed and folded his hands on the desk. “That means I will not be able to help you as much in the Horcrux hunt as I had imagined. I have a good idea of where one of them is, and as soon as I can gather more information about the defenses, we may go and fetch that one. But the others…”
            Harry swallowed and sat up. “I understand, Professor Dumbledore. I’ll do anything I can to make it easier for you.”
            Dumbledore smiled mistily at him. “You’ve done well, Harry. Grown into a young man I can be proud of.” As Harry flushed and tried to pretend he hadn’t heard, Dumbledore added, “There is another problem with my swiftly approaching adventure.”
            Oh, death, he means, Harry decided after a confused second. Not looking for that Horcrux. “What is it?”
            “None of the Order members who are competent to break into Malfoy Manor and rescue Lucius Malfoy are willing to do so. Or at least willing to guard him past the initial escape. They are all convinced they have more important tasks to do in the war than staying in a safehouse to guard an escaped Death Eater.”
            Harry blinked, trying to imagine what Dumbledore wanted him to do about that. “D’you—I’m sorry, Headmaster, but I don’t really think the Dursleys would want to shelter him or Draco.”
            Dumbledore burst out laughing, and bent over his desk with his shoulders shaking. Harry stared at him, but had to smile when Fawkes trilled, too, and landed on his shoulder to rub his head under Harry’s chin.
            “Thank you for that laugh, Harry,” Dumbledore said, sitting up with a smile that made Harry’s widen. Fawkes trilled one more time and flew away to perch on Dumbledore’s shoulder and start preening his hair. “It is good to be reminded that even in the darkest despair, joy might still shine.”
            Harry nodded and waited, but Dumbledore seemed involved in tickling Fawkes’s breast feathers again. “All right, sir. But what do you want me to do?”
            Dumbledore glanced up, his eyes cool now. “Convince Mr. Malfoy to wait. I know I promised that I would have his father rescued by the Easter holiday at the latest, but those promises mean little if I cannot guarantee his safety afterwards.”
            Harry started. “I—don’t think he’ll be willing to wait. His father is all he seems to care about.” When he knew what the bursts of emotion he could still feel from Malfoy were about, they were always connected to his father in some way. There was a certain kind of rage, like a winter wind, that Harry knew Malfoy only experienced when he thought about his father possibly dying.
            “He must. What good does it do if we free Lucius and then he dies through lack of the Order’s protection?”
            Harry opened his mouth, hesitated, and shut it again. Dumbledore nodded encouragingly to him. “Go on, Harry. What were you about to say?”
            “I’d be willing to protect Lucius, because of my bond with Draco. Could you have the Order members break him out and then I could take over the duty of guarding him?”
            Dumbledore smiled, but his eyes were still sad. “That’s also impossible, I’m afraid. You will be busy with the last of your year at school and the Horcrux hunt.”
            “Is Draco just going to leave school, though?” Harry’s tongue felt strange. He had never used Malfoy’s first name this much, ever. But he couldn’t just get him mixed up with Lucius all the time. “If he goes with his father into hiding?”
            “That is something we had already discussed, and that young Mr. Malfoy is willing to do.” Dumbledore leaned back and regarded Harry curiously. “Do you think he’s changed his mind? If he has, then he needs to come talk to me.”
            “No!” Harry snapped, and then flinched a little as Dumbledore looked at him with calm eyes. “Sorry, Headmaster. It’s just—I really think that we have to get Lucius out of there soon, or Draco is going to go mad.”
            “In literal terms, or with worry and anxiety?” Dumbledore shook his head, but Harry thought it was a thoughtful shake. “I do see your concern, Harry. If Mr. Malfoy ends up experiencing such intense emotion, then it might overcome your still shaky Occlumency barriers and end up distracting you when you’re trying to do something else.”
            Harry opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. He’d been going to say that that wasn’t it at all, that Draco simply needed his father free and Harry understood why, but this might be a good way to actually get Lucius free. For better or worse, Dumbledore’s plans rode on Harry. And Harry didn’t think Draco would care all that much how his father got to safety, as long as it happened.
            Then Dumbledore sighed. “I am afraid that he still must wait. The fact that most of the Order members are unwilling to protect an accused former Death Eater is simply intractable. I will search among some of my other contacts. Private duelists, former Hit Wizards, and the like. They are not in the Order—some are not even from Britain—but they may be willing to take on the challenge of moving Lucius into hiding.”
            “Let me talk to Draco. Please?” Harry added, when Dumbledore focused on him and seemed a little doubtful. “I can at least make it clear to him what’s going on and why it’s going on.”
            “And you think I wouldn’t be gentle enough with him.”
            Harry flushed. “I think Draco’s his own worst enemy when it comes to taking news like this. He might be rude. You might get upset—well, no, but you might get him upset. And then he might go off and do something crazy. We don’t want that, because of the bond.” And because he’s a living human being who got promised something and deserves to have the promise kept. But Harry honestly didn’t know if Dumbledore would accept that reason right now. “He’ll listen to me better, because he can know that I’m sincere about what I’m feeling.”
            Dumbledore seemed to be thinking. But then he nodded, slowly, judiciously. “Do what you must, Harry,” he said, reaching over to pat Harry on the shoulder. “As long as young Mr. Malfoy understands the need to wait and won’t endanger himself or you by going off on a mission that has no chance of succeeding, I suppose it doesn’t matter much where the news comes from.”
            Harry bowed his head once, then turned and strode out of the office. On his way down the stairs, his thoughts leaped like a ball between two conclusions.
            One, Dumbledore was not going to change his mind. He would try to rescue Lucius, but he was going to wait.
            Two, Draco would never accept that.
            Harry straightened his shoulders. Looks like it’s up to me to find a solution.
*
            Draco glanced up in annoyance. He’d finally found a corner of the library not overrun with Ravenclaws to study a book on wards in, and here came Potter. He could tell when Potter was drawing near, of course, because the surging and seething emotions in the back of his mind began to gain voices and whisper.
            It didn’t mean he wanted him there.
            Draco laid the book aside and waited. Potter paused at the entrance to Draco’s little alcove and waited. Draco tried to stare him down. Potter just stood there and waited some more.
            “What do you want?” Draco finally snapped, deciding that at least part of it must be some verbal acknowledgment.
            “I came to warn you about something Dumbledore told me. And see if I can’t find a solution.”
            Draco blinked. This was more promising than the way he had thought a conversation with Potter would go. He leaned back in his chair and eyed him. Potter still didn’t sit down, but he did slip into the alcove and cast a nonverbal spell that left Draco with a slight ringing his ears.
            “Anti-eavesdropping spell,” Potter explained, then lowered his voice anyway. “Dumbledore said that he doesn’t have Order members who will agree to protect your father. They can get him out, but none of them want to stay in a safehouse and guard a convicted Death Eater. Dumbledore is talking about leaving your father in the Manor until after the Easter holiday.”
            “That is not acceptable.”
            Potter swayed a little and put his hand to his head, and Draco remembered abruptly that someone other than him could feel his own swirling, lava-like rage. Well, he didn’t intend to calm down because of that. He only stared at Potter with hot eyes, and Potter finally nodded and said, “I agree.”
            “Really?”
            “You took on a soul-bond for the sake of rescuing your father, Malfoy. I think the least Dumbledore can do is keep his word.”
            Draco slowly dropped his shoulders. “Better than I expected of you, Potter,” was all he said. Potter said nothing, and Draco couldn’t read the dim tumult of his Occluded emotions, only that they were strong. “Fine. What exactly do you think you can do about this?” Because something would be done. Draco would not let the Headmaster simply get away with changing his mind, and he didn’t care about the ethical scruples of Order members. They would help him and his father or suffer for it.
            “I don’t know. Can you tell me? I promised I would talk to you about it, because I thought you at least deserved to hear it from me. And I volunteered to be the one who guards you, but Dumbledore said I was going to be busy with schooling and hunting down Voldemort.” Draco didn’t flinch, but Potter grimaced a second later and said, “Sorry.”
            “You volunteered for that.”
            Potter shrugged, his eyes dark. “I don’t know how much good I would be when I haven’t even finished my sixth year yet. But I do know a lot about Defense, and I would be willing.”
            Draco just closed his eyes. He wanted to say something about the kinds of sacrifices Potter was willing to make for this bond and that he probably shouldn’t expect the same kind of thing from Draco in return, but honestly, he couldn’t muster the words right now. The facts of Potter wanting to guard him and his father just banged and boomed around in his skull like balls made of metal, until they finally settled into their proper place—down low—and left Draco able to think.
            “I’ve been studying warding,” he said finally, and held up his book. Potter looked at it and nodded, but didn’t ask questions. “I don’t think the safehouse has to be a problem. If we can take my father out of the Manor, I think I can guard him virtually anywhere.”
            “With anonymity the best defense?” Draco popped open his eyes at hearing that sentence come out of Potter, but apparently his surprise wasn’t strong enough to make Potter question it. He only nodded. “Yes. And I could swear the Fidelius, if that would work for you.”
            Granger must have phrased the sentence that way at least once, for Potter to memorize it. “I think it would be better for me to swear it. I’m not in such constant danger.”
            Potter looked at him, eyes a deeper green than they were even in the dreams he and Draco shared. “Whatever you want. Whatever you need.”
            Draco closed his hand into a hidden fist down at his side. With Potter now raising Occlumency walls, he wouldn’t sense everything Draco could pour down the bond. And Draco had to ask, anyway, not keep this hidden.
            Such trust was terrifying.
            But Draco plunged anyway. “If you mean that, Potter, then help me get my father out of the Manor now. This weekend. Let’s not rely on Order members who might also decide to desert in the middle of the mission. Let’s not rely on Dumbledore and his tendency to change his mind. You want to help me? Prove it.”
*
            Harry stared at Malfoy, feeling as though someone had tossed a Bludger at him and he didn’t have a broom to dodge it.
            He’s serious, though. Harry knew that without checking the bond. Of course he would be. Harry had come to realize that nothing mattered to Malfoy as much as his family, not even his own safety. The boy Harry had known in third year, who had cringed and whined from a hippogriff scratch, had vanished.
            Been murdered. Died when his mother did.
            Harry didn’t like such thoughts, so he willingly replaced them with the consideration of what Malfoy was saying. “All right. I know you know the Manor well enough. But there’s the fact that I might not know enough Defense to protect us.”
            “I know enough. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve been studying this year, including the last few weeks.”
            Malfoy’s face was as bitter as a sword. Harry blinked at him and hazarded a guess. “And you won’t hesitate to cast the Dark Arts spells that I wouldn’t touch. Right?”
            “Exactly.” Malfoy stood up suddenly, and Harry straightened from where he’d been leaning on the wall, because it looked almost threatening. “The question in front of us now is, are you going to come along and let me cast those spells?”
            Harry sucked in his breath and held it, something he’d done before when he wanted to think. But it was harder to think now, when he had emotions churning and thrashing so hard in his head that his eyes were watering.
            He could feel the heat blazing from Malfoy, and he could feel his own panic at the thought of Dumbledore breaking his word and Lucius Malfoy dying and Harry himself probably having to watch it, and he could feel the clatter and clamor of different emotions on the other side of his fragile Occlumency barriers. He didn’t know how he could make the right choice when he had all of that happening around and inside him at the same time.
            He had to, though. Because Malfoy’s eyes were already hardening, and he would walk out of here and attack Malfoy Manor on his own if Harry didn’t say something. He made his choice.
            It’s not like it was that time with Sirius. At least this time I know the danger is real.
            “I agree,” he said, and Malfoy froze in the act of turning away. Harry lifted his head and spoke the words that might damn him as one kind of moral person but would at least let him be another. “I’ll come with you and protect you while you get your father out. The only thing I ask is that you don’t torture or kill another person unless it’s in self-defense or defense of your father. No—no random killing just because you think someone hurt him. We get in, free him, and leave.”
            Malfoy watched him. Harry didn’t know what he was thinking. Not for the first time, he wished the bond included telepathy. That would have been more useful than the emotions.
            He knew Dumbledore had picked this particular soul-bond because it was the most similar to the one he and Voldemort shared, but, well, he just wished Dumbledore hadn’t, that was all.
            “I promise,” Malfoy said at last. “And a promise in return, Potter.”
            For a minute, Harry wanted to rebel. Wasn’t going into Malfoy Manor and rescuing Lucius enough?
            But he supposed not. This was about extra promises, not keeping Dumbledore’s promises for him or doing what Harry thought was right. “All right,” he said. “As long as it doesn’t involve murdering anyone in your place.”
            “You don’t have a high opinion of me, do you?” Malfoy asked in an almost clinical way, but he held up his hand when Harry would have objected. “No need to answer that, Potter. I know why you don’t, and it’s as much my fault as yours.”
            Harry quieted, and watched as Malfoy seemed to brood on the past a moment. His emotions had stilled and hardened, but as he lifted his eyes again, Harry recognized that particular quiet. It only meant they were becoming what Harry thought of as an obsidian spearpoint. He’d seen a picture in one of Dudley’s old books that he’d read during a summer when he was desperately bored. Cool, and hard, and sharp.
            “I want you to go with me and promise that you won’t tell your friends about it. Or Dumbledore. Or anyone else who would try to stop you.”
*
            This is the part where he falls down. No way will good little Gryffindor Harry Potter go without a Weasel at his side and without telling the Headmaster who keeps him safe and favors him so much.
            Draco felt Potter’s struggle as he stood there. He didn’t care. He would still have Potter’s help regardless. And he would try to live up to the promise Potter had required of him—if he could have this.
            The help was about getting his father out of there. This was more about the private testing of their bond, whether he would always be the supplicant and the one who had to ask favors, or an equal partner, or the one who could make Potter do as he wished, because it was more in Potter’s interests to appease Draco than the other way around. He knew his father would have approved.
            He might not approve this mad bond in the first place. But he would approve of the way I’m acting now.
            “Are you going to tell Professor Snape?” Potter asked abruptly. He had looked up and into Draco’s eyes as he spoke.
            Draco sneered a little. He understood, now, the cryptic hints Snape had dropped during the earlier part of the school year and the way he had approached Draco. But understanding did not mean forgiveness. “No. He has more interest in me as a student than he does in my father. I think they were even rivals for the Dark Lord’s favor at times. He would try to stop me.”
            Potter uncurled his fingers a little from his fist. He was looking at one of the shelves. Draco could tell from the storm in his head that it was merely a convenient target for his eyes, though, and he leaned forwards.
            “Well, Potter?”
            Potter turned his head centimeter by clockwork centimeter. Draco sneered, and Potter said, “Yes, I promise.”
            Draco stared. His Occlumency walls actually trembled, and he felt a coldness from Potter that he hadn’t expected. It seemed Potter had hardened his own emotions into a block of ice.
            “Why?” Draco blurted.
            Potter stared at him for a second. Then he said, “Because Dumbledore should have kept his promises. Because I’m in this bond, too, and unless Dumbledore decides it should be severed some time in the future, it’s probably going to be forever. And because I can feel how much you care about your father.”
            “My Occlumency shields—”
            “Do slip sometimes.” Potter’s voice was gentle. “And anyway, it’s obvious how much you care about your dad, Malfoy. It would have been without the bond. You were always talking about him when we were kids.”
            Draco shook his head a little, feeling as if water had flowed into his ears that needed to be cleared out. “I—I didn’t know that you cared about my caring, Potter.”
            “Now that we have the bond and you accepted Dumbledore’s promise of a safe haven, I do.” Potter’s eyes hardened again, and he flicked one hand off to the side as if he was casting a wandless Shield Charm. “He should have kept that promise.”
            “That matters to you,” Draco said, and when Potter looked at him as if to say, Of course, Draco tried to explain further. “Word of honor. Giving someone what they asked for.”
            “If they keep the promise,” Potter said, and smiled a little. “And anyway, I’ve broken the rules and not told my friends and Dumbledore about important things before. It’ll hurt like hell later, but what’s that at the moment when you’re on the broom and speeding after the Snitch?”
            Draco felt as though someone had sealed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He had thought—
            Potter was going to be a shield to protect his father and himself. Maybe someone Draco could come to care for in time. But this wasn’t time. This was just a moment in a library and a downwards slide so fast that Draco didn’t even know when the ground had started breaking under his feet.
            “So,” Potter said, and smiled at Draco. “When are we going to do this?”
            “This weekend,” Draco said. “Friday night.” It was a time when the prefects and professors were both a little less vigilant than usual, and more inclined to overlook breaches of curfew, at least by students in their fifth year and above.
            “Good,” said Potter. “Owl me with more details.” He nodded once and left Draco, walking out of the library with his head as high as though he hadn’t just been plotting what was essentially treason against Dumbledore.
            Draco stared blankly at the books again. Things had changed, and he felt as though he was on a broom, or that downwards slope of a mountain again, or—
            Or just around Harry Potter.
            It wasn’t the first time his world had changed and reoriented abruptly when Potter did something. It was just, he decided slowly, the first time the change had ever been positive. That was what was so strange about it.
            And hopefully that won’t be so strange for so long.
*
Jan: Here it is.
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The Serenity of His Rage