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Love, Free as Air	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 32706 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from this story.

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Chapter Nine�Letters
Out of Silence

�� Severus had
not anticipated how silent the house
would be with Draco gone.

�� It should
have been easy to adapt to. He had often wished for silence during the
evenings, when he wished to read and Draco would
annoy him with conversation. He had not wished to discuss mundane things
like their meals, the gardens, the birds that Draco had seen and counted that
day, or Draco�s schooldays, all of which Draco had thought to introduce as fit
topics of conversation. Severus had never needed chatter to make his life
complete, and that had been as true when he sat at the High Table in Hogwarts
as it was now.

�� So when the
quiet descended on the house for the last time, as the door banged behind Potter
and Draco, Severus opened his mind in welcome.

�� But the
silence endured. It lay there for hours in the evening like a great hunting
beast in the drawing room with Severus, and it padded into his room after him
and lay stretched across the foot of the bed. And then it followed him into the
gardens and the lab, and blocked the orders he would have given with a muffling
paw.

�� Severus
coldly analyzed these reactions as the first signs of someone who was going to
go slightly mad with isolation. As long as the madness got no worse than
that�as long as he didn�t start believing the hunting beast was real�he thought
he could bear it.

�� But bearing
was not the same as enjoying.

�� Severus sat
on the couch and read, and the turning of the pages was loud in his ears.

�� He measured
Potions ingredients and realized that he had paused in his counting,
anticipating the interruptions that Draco often made and which were, now, never
to come.

�� He cleaned
the vials in his lab until they shone, and still the thought that he could see
only his own face reflected in them made him turn away abruptly.

�� He could
analyze that reaction, too, and he did as he ate his third dinner alone, the
scraping of the fork on the plate enough to put his hackles up as Draco�s voice
had once done. He had grown used to having Draco around in the past few years.
He had tolerated his presence rather than liked it, but it was still a mixture
of habit and well-worn use that made him turn, expecting someone to demand
things of him that Severus had no intention of offering. It would take him some
time to become used to being alone again.

�� Six years
of company, against three days of loneliness, where the loneliness was severe
enough already to amount to a disease.

�� Severus did
not like the odds, and that was the reason�the only reason�that he turned to the quills, ink, and parchment that
waited on the desk in his bedroom, largely unused except when he was writing to
one of the clients who knew his assumed name. And then he paused there, because
he had fallen out of the habit of writing personal letters even more than out
of the habit of being alone.

�� In the end,
he snarled at himself and wrote the letter as it came to him, ragged words and
all. Draco would not be a stylist concerned with such matters in the same way
Severus himself was. He had never cared that much about writing, as opposed to
the content of the writing. Lucius had liked to boast that he was raising his
son in the first style of elegance, but Draco had never had much elegance of
habit. He frequently dragged his sleeve across the page and blotted it, or
dripped ink on the paper enough to obscure the words while he stared dreamily
out the window.

�� Severus
stopped short then and examined the emotions that budded in his own mind with
suspicion. Was he regarding Draco�s habits, which had annoyed him so much at
the time because they wasted parchment, fondly?

�� Severus
shook his head and went to find an owl to send the letter. There were always
several that remained near the house, half-tame, and would work for the promise
of food. Severus preferred not to keep a single, identifiable post-owl that
someone could follow back to him or come to know by name and sight.

�� He would
send this, and Draco would feel the pull to respond, and perhaps to return.

�� Severus
hastily qualified that in his own mind. He would
not be able to bear it if Draco returned permanently. But a flying visit,
where he knew that he possessed the power to exile Draco from the house again
at once if his behavior did not please him, would do nicely.

*

�� Draco still
couldn�t really believe that Harry Potter was living in the house of his Black
ancestors.

�� The place
was dim and gloomy, suiting its name, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. But Potter
had carried an�an atmosphere with him
into the place that had changed it, transformed it, and probably had as much to
do with the way Draco felt there as the changed decoration and the coats of
paint on the wood.

�� A single
house-elf lived here, and seemed to keep mostly to the kitchens, though from
the ecstatic way he bowed to Draco, Draco had the feeling that he would be
happy to leave it and come up to tend to Draco�s rooms at any time. The sheer
relief of not having to keep up with his own chores if he didn�t want to made
Draco close his eyes and stand there in silence for long moments after Potter
had introduced him to Kreacher.

�� And most
remarkably, Potter had seemed to understand why he might want to do so. He had
remained by his side in calm silence until Draco remembered himself and opened
his eyes, and then escorted him upstairs to see the rooms that would be his.

�� Rooms. Draco had had only a single
bedroom for so long that he�d been able to forget what it was like to have
several assigned to him, for his exclusive use. This �wing� was a bedroom, a
bathroom, and a large, empty room that Potter told him he could furnish as a
study, a library, or anything else that caught his fancy, so it was small, but
Draco didn�t care. For personal reasons, the choice to come with Potter had
obviously been the right one.

�� His bed was
enormous, made of ebony, hung with curtains of dark blue silk that Kreacher
carefully dusted and preserved every day; Draco thought they would have
collapsed into mold long ago if not for him. The window looked out over a
small, bleak lawn, quite a change from the gardens around the cottage, but
Draco already had plans for changing that. There was also a desk and a chair in
the room that Draco had sat down uncomfortably at only once, before he came in
and found that Kreacher had cushioned the seat of the chair.

�� That was
the real difference, Draco thought, not that he was living in a larger house or
one without gardens or even one with a house-elf. He was living in a place with
someone who had consideration for
him. He had forgotten what that felt like.

�� And it
didn�t seem to matter that it was Potter. The man had consideration anyway, or
extra consideration, maybe, given who he was. He didn�t remind Draco of their
days at Hogwarts, other than by the inevitable things like the memories he
stirred when he looked at Draco with those green eyes. He didn�t make any
mention of payment. He gave Draco the books he asked for, lavish meals, time
alone, time in the same room even if they didn�t speak, and he got Potions
ingredients after only a brief consultation with Granger. When Draco asked what
he�d asked her, Potter grinned briefly and said, �If you think I can walk into
an apothecary and actually know what black lilies or some of the other
ingredients you named look like, you�re flattering me.�

�� Potter�s
friends, now, Draco thought as he leaned back in the big, comfortable chair
that Kreacher had dragged into the study for him and stared out the window.
Potter had shown him the simple enchantment that would give him a variety of
views, and Draco had chosen a field of snow with moonlight playing over it.

�� Potter�s
friends were surprising.

�� Weasley had
stood guard for him in the camp and then, afterwards, when he visited Potter�s
house, watched Draco with a curious eye but not an overly cautious one. If he
rarely spoke to Draco directly, well, what did they have to say to each other?
Civility was more than Draco had hoped for.

�� As for
Granger�

�� Draco shook
his head. He felt almost as if he should be exchanging tales of commiseration
with Kreacher and any werewolves who might happen to be about. They were some
of the few people in the world who would know what it was like to be one of
Hermione Granger�s causes.

�� Granger had
been sitting in the kitchen the first morning that Draco came down. She had
sprung to her feet at once and advanced with her hand out. Draco hadn�t been
able to decide whether he wanted to shake or not because she�d made the
decision for him, pumping his hand until his wrist hurt.

�� I think
it�s awful, that they would have
tried and condemned you,� she said warmly. �I think it�s noble that you escaped rather than sacrifice yourself to an
overeager Wizengamot. And now we can work on freeing your mother, too!� She
turned away, tucking a curl of unexpectedly sleek brown hair behind her ear,
and picked up a stack of parchments that were as tall as her shoulder, at least
sitting on the table. �Now, I�ve been looking into the laws that govern your
situation, and��

�� And on and
on she went, naming so many laws and exceptions and loopholes they could use to
try and make sure that he would go free that Draco was dazed. Where had she found them all? She could have had, at
most, about sixteen hours to gather the information at that point, if Potter or
Weasley had owled her the minute Draco came into the Auror camp, and she must
have spent some part of that time sleeping. But there the information was, and
there she was, and Draco sat back while the words poured over him and enjoyed,
again, the consideration.

�� He wondered
if he was getting too soft, if Severus would have said so with a sneer in his
voice. Where was the endurance that had let him bear six years of poor
treatment? Where was the self-sufficiency he had been dreaming of wistfully
when Potter stumbled into his life?

�� But maybe
that was still to come. Draco admitted that he could enjoy what he had for the
moment without wanting it to continue forever.

�� He was
starting to settle into this routine, becoming confident and hopeful that he
would escape being sent to Azkaban after all, when Severus�s letter came and
upset all his balance.

*

�� Harry
sighed. �No,� he said. �I�m not
saying that he did nothing during the
war. Of course not. He refused to identify us at Malfoy Manor when he had the
chance. That counts as doing something.�

�� The
Wizengamot member he was dealing with sniffed disdainfully. Harry had known she
would. Her name was Maria Hellebore, and she was so old that Harry thought all
human sympathy had withered in her veins. �You do understand, Mr. Potter,� she
said, �that I am only taking your call personally because of who you are?� She
shifted, and Harry wondered if it hurt her knees to be down in front of a
fireplace like this. He hoped it did. �Otherwise, a secretary would be here,
and you would not stand much chance of convincing one of our secretaries that
young Malfoy deserves to escape Azkaban.�

�� I�m not
saying that he absolutely must,�
Harry said. �I�m saying that he should have a fair trial, and that means I�ll
stand with him. If you choose to take that statement as a threat, it�s your
right.�

�� Hellebore
regarded him with sleepy dark eyes for a long moment. Her mind had been
sharpened, if anything, by age, and Harry hoped that he wasn�t making the
mistake of underestimating her. But he didn�t think so. He was simply
determined that Malfoy should have actual fair
treatment, and that was running up against Hellebore�s apparent idea that
justice should not be talked about until the Wizengamot had determined it.

�� Very well,
Mr. Potter,� she said finally, stiffly. �I will tell you when a date is set for
the trial.�

�� Harry
smiled with only his teeth. He knew this particular delaying tactic. �Within
the week,� he said casually, and moved as if he would close the Floo
connection.

�� Hellebore
blinked behind her glasses. �And what makes you think that the Wizengamot will
come up with such a date to oblige you?� she asked softly. �The business of
wizarding government does not wait on the impatient tempers of two young men
who have not made the contribution they ought to make to the wizarding world.�

�� Ah. Someone else who thinks I should have
been an Auror. Harry found those people irritating, but he also found it
useful to identify them, because then he would know how to fight them. He gave
another one of his not-smiles again and said, �Because I know that otherwise
the Wizengamot will delay this and delay this, attempting to wear our wills
down with suspense, until they have enough information gathered to, as they
think, put Mr. Malfoy into prison without argument. And because I want to
prevent that, because I want to make sure that he gets a fair trial this time instead of the biased thing he would have had
years ago, I�m going to have a trial date within the week.�

�� Or?�
Hellebore said.

�� Or the Daily Prophet gets an exclusive story
about how Malfoy was kind to me when I was injured,� Harry said coldly, �and,
incidentally, about how the Wizengamot is attempting to delay his trial because
they�re still incensed about their own incompetence in allowing him to escape
six years ago.�

�� There was a
little silence, and then Hellebore bowed and said, �You shall have your trial.
But I feel obliged to warn you that you will not have many friends there.�

�� Harry
sneered at her and shut the Floo connection. As if either of us have many friends there in the first place.

�� As he stood
up, he paused. There was something wrong, he thought, but he didn�t know what
it was. He turned his head from side to side, listening for any disruption in
the wards around the house, but heard nothing. He snapped his fingers and
summoned Kreacher.

�� The
house-elf appeared still bowing and gasping; he had evidently been making
dinner, since he was covered with dough. Harry smiled at him. �Kreacher, did
you just admit someone to the house? Or is something else wrong?�

�� No,
nothing wrong, Master Harry!� Kreacher paused, his ears standing out from the
sides of his head, and suddenly looked hunted. �Unless Kreacher has been leaving
Master Harry�s bed unmade!� He turned around and would have slammed his
forehead into the wall if Harry hadn�t put carefully restraining hands on his
shoulders. He didn�t want Kreacher hurt, but he also didn�t want his hands
covered with food.

�� That�s all
right, Kreacher,� he said. �As long as you don�t see anything wrong, then
nothing can be. I trust you.�

�� Kreacher
stood up so tall that Harry thought he would float right off the ground, bobbed
his head, clicked his heels together, and then vanished back to the kitchen.
Harry stepped out of the library, where he�d firecalled the Wizengamot, and
wandered slowly along the corridor, listening.

�� He didn�t
find the source of the wrongness until he went to the first floor, rather than
the second. Then he could hear the unusual silence coming from behind the door
of Malfoy�s robes. There was always some noise
there, as if Malfoy was trying to make up for the years of silence and
constraint in Snape�s presence: the rustle of a page, the chanting of a spell,
the sound of furniture being dragged about. Harry knocked.

�� The silence
remained unbroken for so long that he was considering kicking the door down,
but then Malfoy said in a dead voice, �Come in.�

�� Harry
opened the door and saw him sitting in the large chair that he had requested
for his study, staring out the window. In his hand was a letter that bore a
spiky handwriting Harry recognized instantly. If years of seeing remarks on his
essays hadn�t made it known to him, watching Snape write notes for the potions in
the last fortnight would have.

�� He stepped
up to Malfoy�s side and took the letter gently from his unresisting fingers.

�� Draco:

�� You are not the man I thought you
were. No, of course you are not; you were always a boy. You have abandoned me
without care. The moment Potter walked into your life, he was enough to turn
your head, and thus I came to know where your heart has always lain: with
someone who could give you the greatest advantage, not with someone who you
pretended to genuinely care for.

�� Harry held
back the incredulous snort at the idea that Snape
would accuse someone of looking out for his own advantage. It was clear
that the letter had devastated Draco, and Harry didn�t want to sound like he
was mocking his pain. He put a hand on Draco�s shoulder and pressed down gently
as he continued reading.

�� Six years of companionship mean nothing to
you. You wished to reduce our relationship to sex and nothing more. The minute
I stopped giving in to your importunities, you began to whine. You remain young, younger than anyone else I have ever
known, with less self-control, less skill, and less talent. You will find no
happiness in the outside world because you carry that youth with you. I would
give you a year, perhaps less, before you end up as Potter�s pampered pet and
spoiled fucktoy.

�� There was
no signature, Harry thought, as he handed the letter back to Draco with his
heart thudding in his ears. There didn�t need to be.

�� Draco,� he
said quietly. He hoped his use of the first name would jolt Draco out of his
trance, and so it appeared. He started, blinked, and looked up at Harry with a
hopelessness that was at least better than the motionless mask his face had
worn a few moments before.

�� He wrote
that letter to hurt you,� Harry said. �That�s the only reason. He�s wounded
himself and lashing out.� He drew a deep breath and thought carefully about
what to say next. He couldn�t ask Draco not to let the letter hurt him; Harry
knew as well as anyone else that intimate feelings like that were often beyond
control. But he would try something similar. �Do you want to go back to him?�

�� Draco�s
eyes glowed with fire, and he lifted his head in a way that Harry had come to
know well. �Of course not! I meant it when I said that I wasn�t a coward, and I
wasn�t going to go crawling back.�

�� Harry
nodded and smiled at him. �Good. Then we can try something else. Write a letter
back to him. Tell him what you felt��

�� Draco shook
his head. �Since he wrote this to hurt me,� he said, and crumpled Snape�s
letter violently in his fist, �I won�t give him what he wants.�

�� Harry felt
his smile grow wider, and hoped that it was mostly admiration of Draco that
drove the expression, rather than pleasure that Draco would turn his back on
Snape. �Then write a letter back that mocks him. That would be a response that
he didn�t expect, don�t you think? He thinks of you as weak and fragile, based
on that letter. Silence or a wounded cry for him to stop would be what would
please him. Do something that displeases him.�

�� Draco
abruptly considered Harry with a skeptical look. �You sound like you�re
enjoying this a little too much.�

�� Harry
hesitated, then shrugged and admitted honestly, �Yes, I am. But I don�t enjoy seeing you hurt. I�d just
like to see Snape suffer a dose of his own potion, for once.�

�� Draco
closed his eyes. Then he murmured, �Find me ink and parchment.�

�� Harry went
willingly for them, and decided that he would keep as silent as possible while
Draco was writing, and not try to read it. Draco deserved the chance to make
some decisions on his own, for once.

�� He managed
to do that, and Draco was silent in return, except for the scratching of the
quill on the parchment, until the owl had carried the letter out the window.
Then he turned around, stood from the chair, and studied Harry.

�� What?�
Harry asked. He had expected Draco to be caught up in his own memories of Snape
and feelings at the moment. There was a scrutinizing spirit behind those steady
grey eyes that surprised and pleased him at the same time.

�� No one has
ever displayed this much tenderness for me since I stopped being a child,�
Draco murmured. �Why are you?�

�� I don�t
know that it�s tenderness, exactly,� Harry said. �I just want you to have a
fair chance. That�s what you haven�t had so far.�

�� Mmmm.�
Draco studied him once more, then stepped past him. Harry relaxed, thinking the
interrogation was over, only to freeze when he felt Draco�s fingers sliding
along his neck and into his hair.

�� Thank
you,� Draco said, voice deeper than Harry had heard it before, and he left the
room.

�� Harry stood
where he was, staring after him.

*

�� Severus
smiled grimly when the post-owl brought Draco�s response back. He could not
have written it more than an hour after receiving it, at least if Severus�s
estimation of the travel times was correct. He opened the letter and settled
down to read either the plea to leave Draco alone or the pathetic, childish
defiance he expected.

�� It was
neither.

�� Severus:

�� I had hoped that you would have
learned better by now than to take your disappointment out on me. Obviously
what you want is what you accuse Potter of wanting: a toy who will obey your
every whim. You think that you only had to wind up me when you wanted and I
would go, and you could stand me in a corner the rest of the time and ignore
me.

�� Does it surprise you that the toy
has a will of his own? That I might go and live with someone else because I�m
sick of not having my freedom, or a social life, or the ability to do something
different with all my decades than sit in an isolated cottage and watch myself
decay?

�� I can imagine nothing more terrible
than spending my life with you�the version of you that exists right now. I
thought you were different, and that�s my delusion, for which I have to pay the
price. But you gave up the chance to get to know me and live with me and really
love me, for which you�ll pay a price
even if you don�t recognize it as such.

�� I�m not coming back.

�� Draco.

�� Severus sat
still.

*

�� Pittwitch:
Not by a long shot!

�� Cathartes:
Thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy it.

�� lryn: There�s
a reason this story is in the threesomes section, but I�m not going to rush it.

�� angelmuziq:
Thank you! Harry is the more confident one, but he does think that Draco needs
so much self-confidence he�s not (yet) interested in dating him. We�ll see how
Draco changes his mind.
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Love, Free as Air