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All the Proud Shall Be	By : ladycat Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 5061 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Blood smells like metal.

Harry knows he knew that, somewhere in the back of his mind where a younger
Harry remembers getting scraped from falls that are only partially due to
clumsiness. He doesn�t remember blood smelling this metallic, though,
like muggle coins rubbing against his mouth, filling his mind until he thinks
he might blink copper. But then, he�s fairly sure he�s never seen quite so much
of it, either. It covers him, a sticky paste that molds itself to his body and
Harry is frantic to remove it, to find the clean skin that may or may not still
be underneath. He doesn�t. He�s not sure he can, with his arms still
trembling too much and his knees continually buckling.

�Almost there, Harry,� Remus tells him. Remus isn�t in much better condition
than Harry, for all he�s shouldering Harry�s weight and practically dragging
him towards the stairs. He�s not completely covered in blood, at least. Only
partly and really just exhausted and slightly shocky around the eyes. �Madam Pomfrey�s
waiting for us. She�ll get you cleaned up and check that cut on your chest.�

Remus is very worried about that cut. So are Tonks and Shacklebolt, who are
still outside speaking with Dumbledore�who is also probably worried, though he
hasn�t mentioned it. Harry isn�t worried about the cut at all, because he knows
it�s bleeding clear and clean with his blood, no one else�s. It�s the only part
of his body that doesn�t feel tainted. He touches it absently; pain screams
through him, and he watches, bemused, as bright red drops drip from his fingers
to splatter onto the floor, instantly turning into dirty, dark stains. He knows
that he�s in shock and that tomorrow or possibly the day after, he�ll be...
relieved. Or proud. Or even glad, although Harry thinks he�s going to have to
throw up a whole lot more before he can ever contemplate that feeling
rationally.

The mission is a success. On Saturday morning Voldemort kidnaps nine muggles,
just as Dumbledore had predicted. Freeing them, at least, was fairly simple;
they�re all back in their homes now, disoriented from the oblivate spells, but
fine. Harry doesn�t know what their deaths would have accomplished. He doesn�t
want to know. All he cares about is that they�re safe, and Dumbledore is
wearily pleased with how the battle went: Voldemort�s lost a few followers to
the Ministry�s justice, and one is very dead.

Harry is truly not certain who killed Gregory Goyle�s father. Just that it�s
his blood, Mr. Goyle�s blood, that covers him.

They reach the infirmary just in time, an anxious Madam Pomfrey taking one look
at him before conjuring a basin. �That�s right,� she murmurs. Her customary
briskness has vanished into gentility, somehow shooing Remus away and getting
Harry into bed without allowing the basin�which follows like a masochistic
puppy�to ever be out of reach. Harry�s crying while he empties every trace of
food that has ever been in his body and her fingers feel cool and soft against
his cheek. �It�s all right now,� she tells him. �You just let it all out while
I take care of everything.�

Harry lets her, too weak to fight and too uninterested in arguing. He shivers,
retching, whenever�s he�s touched and the feel of magic through his body makes
him want to scream. He feels raw inside, like someone�s split him open and
dragged sandpaper everywhere. It�s from channeling magical energy, or so Madam
Pomfrey clucks as she starts cleaning him with a soft, wet sponge. It certainly
sounds right to Harry, though he�s never heard of overdosing from too much
magic, before.

He remembers standing there: magic surrounding him, blinding gold and so
intense he felt like he was being dipped into the sun. He was holding it, or
containing it, letting it build up underneath his skin so that Dumbledore could
use it. Take it, and that hurt almost as much as the magic itself did.
He remembers screaming and screaming and screaming. Not stopping when
Dumbledore collapsed, the image of that tall man and his even taller hat
crumpling to the ground burned into his retinas. Harry was still screaming when
he started to use the magic within him, tossing out hexes and curses that
burned down the length of his arm, desperate to protect the others. To protect Dumbledore,
who never stopped chanting, even when Harry ripped off his invisibility cloak
and moved in front of him, the one thing Dumbledore made him promise not to do.

Harry hopes his cloak is okay. Tonks may have told him she�d get it
cleaned, but he isn�t sure.

His mind is foggy, like the sticky blood that still covers him has leaked
behind his eyes. Thinking is hard, his too-tight skull pressing down until he
can�t do anything but remember, over and over again. He struggles with the
images, but Madam Pomfrey quiets him, shushing him, crooning something Harry
thinks might be a lullaby. He isn�t sure�he isn�t sure of anything. Just that
there�s blood, so much blood, and that he did what he was supposed to and it hurts...

�Harry.�

He blinks, sniffling. He�s clean now. Time is moving in lurching jumps and
Harry isn�t surprised to see a clean Remus sitting beside him, while Tonks
hovers in the doorway, watching him anxiously. She�s looking at his chest, so
Harry does, too: something blue and faintly glowing covers the slice that runs
lengthwise from shoulder to shoulder. He has no memory of receiving the wound,
only noticing it when a worried Remus pointed it out.

�I�ve got to go back, Harry,� Remus says. �Madam Pomfrey knows, so you can talk
to her about anything you want, or she�ll get us, if you need. But I�ve got to
go back tonight to make sure��

�The muggles don�t find out,� Harry finishes, startling himself. His voice is
so hoarse it�s unrecognizable, ground down to nothing and heavy with age.
�Okay.�

Remus�s arm moves, obviously reaching out for Harry�s hand�he stops after only
a few inches. Harry is grateful; he doesn�t want to reject Remus, who is tired
and hurting as much as Harry is. There�s more salt than pepper in Remus�s hair,
now, more even than there was that morning. He doesn�t need Harry�s problems�

But Harry can�t even think of someone touch him now, not even Madam Pomfrey.
The haze is starting to clear from his mind, and as the pain starts to fade, he
can feel how hypersensitive he is. The air feels too cold, too sharp against
his face, his clothing sack-cloth rough. Thinking about being touched makes his
skin shiver, the way a horse�s does to remove a fly. If someone actually
tries... Harry shudders.

He hates feeling this violent. As if he�s a bomb, with an unknown trigger.

�You�ll be all right, Harry,� Remus tells him. �Madam Pomfrey can heal
anything, you know, have you right as rain by morning. And Professor Snape�s
made you a potion, one that�ll help you sleep. Help you not remember so
clearly, either. Oh, yes,� he says, smiling slightly at Harry�s look. �I�ll be
taking it too. We all will. It helps, a little. Just�just remember that you
were wonderful, Harry. I know it�s cold consolation, but you were. We�re all so
very proud of you.�

Harry wants to cry every time Remus says his name and it�s only when he sniffles
that he realizes that he is, silent tears dripping down his face to fill his
mouth with salt. �Did�did I�� He wants to ask, needs to ask. To know if
Dumbledore has finally succeeded. If Harry really is that broken,
unrecognizable thing. �Remus, did I��

�No.�

The word is a blessing, a benediction that comes with angel�s wings, and Harry
hears himself sob brokenly.

�No, Harry.� Something cool touches his mouth. His body seizes up, but Madam
Pomfrey is there to magically soothe him while Remus tips the potion into his
mouth. It tastes like jasmine and a wild, twisting wind, filling Harry�s mind
with soothingly grey before settling fully into his body. It feels soft against
his throat when he finally swallows. �No, Harry,� Remus continues, �you didn�t
kill him.�

�Then�Dumbledore�� Harry�s slurring now, his mouth suddenly so heavy he can�t
control his lips and tongue the right way, but that�s good, isn�t it? His mind
whirls, sleep warming the edges and making the memories, so clear and painfully
sharp in his mind, grow fuzzy and dim, like something he�s seen on television,
or happened very long ago so the fine detail is blurred, the emotions not as
intense, not an event that finished only hours before. �Or��

�Harry, Voldemort killed him.� Remus�s voice is distant, but earnest enough
that the words make sense. �Voldemort killed him to protect himself as he ran.�

Remus�s face blurs, the top of his head bulging grotesquely as Harry fights to
keep his eyes open and his brain functional. He forces his lips to work one
last time, grateful he can manage even parts of words. �Not�don�t�lie��

�I�m not lying, Harry.� Remus�s voice is so steady, so sincere that it has to
be truth. �I�ll take veritaserum to prove it to you, if you want, later. You
didn�t kill him Harry. None of us did. Only Voldemort killed anyone tonight.
Now sleep, Harry. Let it go, please.�

He feels himself sigh, shoulders unknotting as a wave of black settles over him
like a soft, downy blanket, blacking his vision and muffling his mind. He�s not
a killer, is the last thing he thinks. He hasn�t killed anyone. It�s all still
okay.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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All the Proud Shall Be