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The Name I'll Give to Thee	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 42129 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Nine—The Gate

            “What is that?” Harry asked, determined to keep his breathing smooth and the temptation he felt to lash out under control.

            Draco smiled at him again. It was easier to think of him as Draco than Malfoy now that they’d spent some time looking at each other naked, Harry realized. Not that he was attracted or thought Draco was particularly more interesting naked than Malfoy would have been, but at least it was something they’d both had to do, and that meant they were on an equal footing.

            “We have to pass through the gate that I mentioned,” Draco whispered, and reached out with a hand that seemed to ripple and drift in the air, as though the mist had come back and was clouding Harry’s vision. He blinked and shook his head. “Do you know what that means?”

            Harry kept his hand at his side. “No,” he said evenly. “And so far, we haven’t had good results when you assumed that I knew something instead of telling me what it was.”

            Draco’s hand dropped, and his smile wavered like it had. Then he inclined his head and murmured, “Forgive me, Harry. I do assume that too often. But this time, I only meant to tease. I knew you didn’t know.”

            “Oh.” Harry blinked, thrown. He had thought that Draco would keep teasing out of something like this, because neither of them wanted it and so the friendly relationship that teasing implied was out of the question.

            But that was an unquestioned assumption of his own, or so he saw when he thought about it. He didn’t know what their relationship was going to be like, because each of them would define it as they went forwards.

            He blinked again and held out his right hand, the one that Draco had been reaching for. “What is it?”

*

            Bloody stubborn Gryffindor.

            On the other hand, perhaps it was best that he simply become used to discussing what would happen around them and with the ritual out loud now. It would save time and trouble in the long run.

            Draco took Harry’s hand, and held his eyes for a few seconds to make sure that there would be no backing away now. When Harry continued to look at him, even through a nervous swallow, Draco decided the moment was acceptable. “We have to walk through the gate that’s forming over there,” he said, and nodded towards the end of the platform behind them.

            He thought he saw Harry stiffen his shoulders before he turned around, but why that would unsettle him more than the rest, Draco didn’t know. Personally, he would have been more frightened of the mist that could devour him whole.

            The gate was made of braided white branches, extruded from the mist but not formed by it. Draco had no idea where they came from, what trees they had grown on. The books, in this case, were full of speculations but not information. The ribbons that bound the branches were bright, red and gold and green and silver. He heard Harry snort faintly beside him in acknowledgment of that.

            “Would all of them be green and silver if it were two Slytherins getting married?” Harry muttered.

            Draco smiled at him again, pleased beyond words that Harry had begun to show interest in the workings of the magic that he would have to study for years after this. Draco knew a lot about his family, but more than that, he knew the right kinds of questions to ask, which had made his research into the demi-marriage go much faster. This was the right kind of question.

            “No,” he answered. “Most of the time, those ribbons represent the family colors. If both spouses were of Malfoy blood, no matter how distant, those colors would appear. If they were of different families, we’d see that.”

            Harry quirked his eyebrows. “And since I considered Hogwarts my home, Gryffindor is as close as the magic could come to finding a family for me, and the only thing that was close for you, corresponding to me, was Slytherin.”

            “Well, if you’re stubborn, it’s a good thing that you’re not an idiot,” Draco muttered before he could stop himself.

            Harry smiled back. “I agree, or I would have died,” he said, and then swung the hand that held Draco’s. “And I have noticed that you aren’t telling me what happens when we pass through the gate. Or at least, you haven’t done it yet.”

            Draco grimaced a little and shook his head. “You know, you’re far too perceptive for your own good.”

            “And stubborn and an idiot at the same time?” Harry smiled, but there was reserve in his eyes that Draco found he wanted to remove. “Tell me, Draco. I think I can endure anything, as long as I know what’s going to happen.”

            Draco nodded. “We’ll see the most intense moment of each other’s lives. From the inside, as it were, although we’ll literally watch from the outside as we do in Pensieve memories. But we’ll feel each other’s emotions, the pain or the bitterness or the joy or the sorrow, whichever it was that burned that emotion into your memory.”

            Harry’s eyes closed for a moment. Then he sighed and opened them. “And I suppose that that happens because your ancestors were suspicious about the secrets their demi-spouses could be hiding?”

            “No,” Draco said. “It’s meant to emotionally bond us, and team us against the world.”

            Harry snorted with a heaviness that made Draco wince, despite himself. “Ah, yes. Those sacred demi-marriages.”

            “You knew the limitation of this kind of bonding as well as I did, Potter,” Draco told him, gaze lingering on his face. “If this wasn’t what you wanted, then you should have fought me harder when I demanded it of you.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows again. “Aren’t you violating one of your major tenets, right there? Calling me by the last name that the ritual is supposed to take away from me?”

            Draco shut his eyes and wished he had a god he could pray to for patience who would actually answer. Finally he said, “Are you willing to walk through the gate beside me, or not?”

            “I reckon I am,” Harry said, and Draco had the sense that he was keeping quiet about many other words that he could have spoken.

            Well, so was Draco, when it came to that. He opened his eyes and plunged towards the gate, dragging Harry along. Harry compensated for the pace, and then they were walking with each other. Harry’s mouth was set and his head lifted as though he intended to batter through any obstacles the gate might throw in their way.

            There would be none, Draco knew. The whole purpose of the gate was to let them through, to lead them from one kind of life into another, from the life where they knew nothing of each other, or at least not of the most intense memories of each other’s souls, into a life where they did.

            But for once, he didn’t want to tell that to Harry simply because the stubborn bastard didn’t deserve to know, and not because he assumed Harry would know it. Let him ask. Let him think there was no honor in being married to a Malfoy, even demi-married.

            Well, Draco reflected as they passed under the curved top of the gate, at least I can say that our marriage will never be boring.

*

            Harry stood in a small alcove that looked as if it was part of Malfoy Manor, given the marble walls and the way they curved, but not one that he’d seen before. He glanced around curiously. It was a room off the ground floor, it looked like; Harry recognized the corridor that led to the dining room.

            And in the corner was Draco, vomiting.

            Harry blinked, and waited. There was no one else around, and no foul smell. Maybe Draco was sick.

            Then a shadow moved behind him, and a voice that made Harry reach for his wand even though of course he wouldn’t have one here said, “Aw, poor baby. Has the nasty smells made yous sicky?”

            Draco lifted his head and turned around, his hands clenched in front of him to keep them from shaking. Bellatrix Lestrange stood there staring at him in what looked like delight, her wand twitching in her hand. She nodded and smiled when Draco looked at her, and lifted her wand. “The baby needs to come back now,” she crooned. “Unless the baby wants his Lord to come after him.”

            In Malfoy Manor, during the time Voldemort was living there, Harry decided. Probably one of the first times that he had to torture someone for the bastard.

            Draco closed his eyes and opened them. “No, he doesn’t need to come after me,” he whispered. “I’ll come to him, Aunt. Just give me a minute.”

            But Bellatrix seized Draco’s arm and tugged him in the direction of the corridor. “You don’t tell the Dark Lord what to do, Baby Draco,” she whispered right into his ear, so close that Harry was surprised he could hear her. Maybe the memory would make sure that he heard everything relevant. “You come when he tells you, and you cringe for the favor like a good dog.”

            Harry took a step forwards, burning with indignation, and then stopped. This memory had already happened. What was he going to do, act like an idiot in front of a woman who couldn’t see him and a boy who wasn’t the man he’d married?

            “I’m coming, aunt,” Draco whispered, and stumbled along behind Bellatrix, while she brushed his hair with one hand like she was petting the dog she had called him. The look on his face made Harry wish he could go back in time, and help him.

            But he just had to follow them into the Malfoys’ dining room instead. This time, he thought he knew what he would find. Voldemort sat at the head of the table with his hands folded in front of him, finger precisely placed against finger, and Nagini wound around him, her head in his lap.

            Harry felt himself tighten and stiffen all over. Voldemort was dead, Harry knew that, Harry had killed him, but it was still awful to see him like that, and to see Draco have to kneel down in front of him and bow his head, shaking. Harry had been afraid enough of Voldemort, and at least he knew from the prophecy that there was some way he could fight him and he’d had his friends on his side.

            Draco had no one. Harry did catch a glimpse of Narcissa sitting off to the side, her eyes shadowed, but she did nothing except close those eyes as Draco knelt there. Harry had no idea where Lucius was, and he doubted that Lucius would have dared to intervene even if he had been there. It probably wouldn’t have done anything but make matters worse.

            “Young Draco,” Voldemort said. His fingers never stopped scraping back and forth along each other, which made a rasping noise, although Harry didn’t know if that came from dead flesh or long nails or something else. “You have failed the tasks I assigned you. You have behaved as a member of your bloodline never should. And now you will not accept the simple task I offer you as a gift?”

            “I’m sorry, my lord,” Draco whispered, the muscles in his neck bobbing constantly as he swallowed. “I didn’t mean—of course I will be happy to accept any task you offer me. Anything. Anything for you.” He lifted his head, his hands trembling in front of him, his eyes huge with tears that faded as he stared at Voldemort. Not because he was less afraid, Harry knew, but because he didn’t dare shed them right now.

            Voldemort nodded judiciously. Harry knew he didn’t believe Draco, any more than he needed Draco to torture people. It was purely his pleasure to set Draco a task that he didn’t want to do, and then watch him succumb to it.

            Harry had seen this happening in his visions, but that wasn’t the same thing, especially since he was always overwhelmed with Voldemort’s emotion and the pain through his scar in them. Here and now, watching it, it made him want to—

            To break things. To kick the table over, and slaughter Voldemort, and cut off Nagini’s head all over again, and bear Draco away.

            It wasn’t going to happen, so Harry watched instead, moving back so he could see both Draco’s face and Voldemort’s. He was feeling Draco’s emotions, he realized, but the trembling was a distant shake in his muscles and the fear burned in the back of his mind. He was so caught up in what was happening, or Draco was so numb, that it wasn’t more than that.

            At least, it wasn’t until Voldemort drew Draco to his feet with a touch that made his teeth chatter and turned him to face someone lying on the floor beyond the table. “Here, Draco,” he whispered, with sweetness that had more fangs behind it than Bellatrix could ever dream of. “Here is your first. Here is the pledge of your loyalty to me.”

            Harry didn’t know the man on the floor; he thought he must not have seen this particular man in the visions. But he was a Death Eater, as was obvious from the Mark on his arm, and red-faced, and red-haired, and sweating. His eyes were closed, as though that would block out the chains that bound him to the floor, and the circle sketched around him on it.

            Draco’s terror increased rapidly after that; Harry could feel Draco’s heart beating against the roof of his mouth. But he only knelt down and leaned his head against Voldemort’s hand for a moment as though seeking confirmation in what he was to do, before he stood up again and drew his wand.

            Harry felt a quiver that wasn’t his own in his hands, and winced. Draco hadn’t been able to kill, no, but his dislike of torture came from something deeper than that.

            He could cause mental suffering and revel in it, or not notice it, because there were no physical effects, Harry thought. Maybe he even used to think that he’d like to torture and kill people. But physical pain frightens him and revolts him. He must—he must have suffered a lot when we went through the mist, a few minutes ago.

            Hard to remember that the Draco he was watching right now wasn’t the one he was married to, that Harry couldn’t reassure him he had survived the mist and would survive this, too. But what mattered was that he knew something about Draco he hadn’t known before.

            Draco lifted his wand high enough that it looked like he was trying to pierce the ceiling, and whispered, “Crucio.”

            The man screamed as the spell struck him, and then he began to kick and struggle against the chains. Harry, narrowing his eyes, saw a faint gleam from the circle that surrounded the Death Eater, and winced. The circle was reflecting the Unforgivable Curse back, multiplying its energy and strength, and the Death Eater would be suffering from the pain redoubled.

            Draco fell back a step, but then he turned his head to the side, and the terror increased again, until Harry thought he would choke on it. Voldemort was watching him, his hands on Nagini’s head, slowly caressing.

            Draco dared do nothing but turn back around and cast the curse again. He hated pain, he didn’t want to hurt people, but he wanted to live more.

            And Harry felt the biting tendrils of his own remorse that sank into him, as he condemned himself for a coward, and part of him whispered that he wasn’t worthy to live.

            Harry shut his eyes and reached out. Whether he could touch the memory or not, this Draco deserved to have a bit of comfort.

            But the memory dissolved before he could touch it, and Harry found himself walking down a long, misty trail, with a gate ahead of him. He hastened towards it. He could live with what he had seen, but he couldn’t wait to get out of here and talk to Draco about it.

*

            Draco looked up and blinked. He had expected to be in one of the places that Harry and his friends had confronted danger, which meant either Hogwarts or somewhere that he might not be familiar with.

            Instead, he stood in the Forbidden Forest, leaves beneath his feet, leaves tangled over his head, leaves whispering all around him. And in front of him stood Harry, his hand clenched around something, and his yearning eyes fastened in front of him—

            On ghosts.

            Draco had never seen any of them except Remus Lupin in the flesh, but he knew who they must be. There was James Potter, looking like some of the photographs that Draco had seen in his father’s news articles about the first war, carefully pressed and saved in an older album Draco had come across last year. And there was Lily Potter, her eyes gleaming and her hand stretched out as if she could touch his son.

            The other man, he didn’t know, not for sure, but he must be Harry’s mysterious godfather. His hair was wild, his face a mess, but his eyes shone.

            And the way Harry stood there, reaching out, the way he whispered, “Walk with me,” and turned to make the words real by walking through the Forbidden Forest to the clearing where Draco knew, because his mother had told him, that the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord waited—

            This is the way he looks when he feels he has a family.

            Draco followed Harry as they walked through the Forest, hoping with one corner of his mind that he wouldn’t have to watch the Dark Lord kill Harry, but with most of the rest working on and wrestling with the problem. Was it true that Harry could feel most at home, most with his family, when he was on his way to death?

            Why not? His parents were dead before he could remember them. The rest died over the years, and he might have lost others who were like parents to him, too; I wouldn’t know. Any family he had died. If he could join them, if he thought that he would join them…

            Draco glanced back at Harry’s face. He walked with his head upright and his face shining as he stared forwards through the leaves of the Forest. He didn’t look like someone walking to his death.

            He looked like someone walking home.

            Yes. This is the only experience of family he’s ever had.

            And that’s why the gate thought it was important for me to know it. Because if I want to give him a family, if I want him to treat my mother and I like his family, I deserve to know the uphill struggle that we’re battling against.

            He hadn’t known it would be anything this severe, and for a moment he shivered. For another moment, he faltered.

            I shouldn’t have made this decision. Harry’s too broken. We can’t offer him anything he would accept, not when his idea of family is all dead people who can’t make any mistakes and who all loved him.

            But Draco remembered that they had passed through the mist and most of the demi-marriage ritual already, and the chances that they could turn back were exceedingly small.

            And he remembered something else, something that made him stiffen his shoulders and lift his own head as he walked along.

            Malfoys never offer second-best. I had to compromise with Harry on the issue of where his loyalties would go, but there’s no reason that I have to feel the same way about this. We’ll give him a family. We’ll teach Harry that you don’t need to be dead to be connected to him, that you can be living and take care of him.

            That might be enough, Draco thought, his mind split again, part on his own thoughts and part on the throbbing sweetness he felt from Harry, the quiet and solemn delight that was a mask over swirling terror and even stronger determination. He couldn’t offer love, he never would, but he could offer the luxuries that Harry had enjoyed so far, and the fact that he cared about whether or not Harry enjoyed them. Harry had cherished these people, that much was certain, but they couldn’t give him shelter or good clothes or a decent meal.

            Draco nodded, and walked with Harry, beside him whether Harry knew he was there or not, until the leaves closed in around him and his vision dimmed. The last sight he had of that place, of that memory, was Harry, still moving forwards, his head unbowed.

*

            Harry stumbled as he came out of the gate. When he glanced back, the nodding, swaying branches were behind them, and so was the stretch of misty road he had glimpsed. For a moment, he wondered if walking through the gate and reversing their motion that way would unbind the marriage vows.

            Then he thought of the things the mist had tried to do to him and Draco already, and shuddered. I don’t think I’ll try it.

            “Harry.”

            Draco was close beside him, catching his arm to keep him from falling, his eyes so intense that Harry blinked. Then he stood up and nodded.

            “We both saw the right memories, I think,” he said quietly. He had learned that Draco was human after all, and had suffered, and that he could try to protect him from the same extremes of emotion and nightmare that Harry had been through since the war. He held out his hand. “From the look on your face,” he added, because while Draco was giving him an extremely odd stare, it wasn’t a hostile one.

            “Yes,” Draco whispered, and put his arm around Harry’s shoulders, drawing him closer. “In the meantime, there’s something we need to do.”

            Harry choked back a sigh and lifted his head. Draco stooped to kiss him like a great bird swooping down, and Harry reminded himself that Draco, while he contained that frightened and sickened boy Harry had seen, wasn’t him anymore.

            Draco lingered in the kiss longer than before. Well, they didn’t have a dragon riding their arses this time, Harry thought, drawing back and shaking his head a little. That tended to hurry you through your first kiss.

            “And that’s it?” he asked, when he could catch his breath again. “We’re demi-married.”

            Draco smiled, and the expression was bright and cutting as a Muggle laser. “We are.”

            Harry nodded and reached for his wand. The first thing he was going to do was conjure a robe.

            Draco got to it before he could, conjuring not only a robe but pants and socks for him. Harry nodded gratefully to him and turned away to put them on.

            “Oh, modesty?” Draco asked, voice low and snaky. “This late in the game?”

            “Yes, I still want it,” Harry said, and concentrated on not tripping over the edge of the platform while he put his socks on.

            There was silence behind him, and Draco said, “Then that’s enough.”

            Harry paused and glanced back at him, but Draco’s face told him no more than before. It was quiet and intense, like the silver eyes that watched him.

            Harry shrugged and sat down on the edge of the platform, which was just easier. “That’s all right, then.”

*

            SP777: I think you have an exaggerated notion of wordcount. ;) That chapter was actually longer than my usual 4000-word chapter by a few hundred words.

            unneeded: Harry does want to help Draco, but yeah, there’s a limit.

            polka dot: He hasn’t changed that much. The biggest change is his scar.

            moodysavage: That might have been one reason they refused to watch!

            asiacheetah: He did think Malfoy still wanted him to give his friends up, which he wasn’t about to do.

            Nightlo: Not until next chapter.
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The Name I'll Give to Thee