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The Serenity of His Rage	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16981 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Nine—Facing the Music
            “Why didn’t you take us with you?”
            Harry put his hands behind his head and ignored the steady humming of the bond in the back of his mind. Ever since they’d escaped from the Manor, Malfoy’s emotions had been more open. Harry didn’t think they would stay that way, though. For all he knew, Malfoy was just too tired and didn’t see the point of investing too much power in building up his Occlumency shields.
            “Because I thought you would get in the way,” he told Hermione, who stood next to his bed with her hands on her hips.
            She gaped a little at him, and Ron promptly jumped in. “That’s not fair, mate.”
            “What do you mean?” Hermione asked in the next instant.
            Harry sighed. “I thought you would want to investigate the Manor and look for Dark artifacts. Or get upset if Malfoy used a Dark Arts spell, and delay us with the complaining. Or you just wouldn’t want to come. Not to rescue Lucius Malfoy.”
            He was looking at Ron when he said the last thing, and saw his face twitch and work for an instant. Maybe he was seeing Lucius brawling with his father in the bookshop before their second year. Maybe he was thinking of the man who had almost killed his little sister.
            “We wouldn’t have!” Hermione said.
            “Can you be sure? I couldn’t. So I had you stay there, and I went with Draco.”
            Hermione folded her arms. Her eyes were wide and hurt. “You chose him over us. You decided that you would rather listen to the insane plans he comes up with than the sensible ones that I would try to get you to do.”
            “Both of you,” Harry said, and turned to her. “Malfoy’s hurt you in the past, too. I mean, Draco. I couldn’t be sure—Hermione, we needed a whole-hearted commitment to this. I couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t hesitate if there was something we needed to do and you thought it was the wrong thing.” She paused in turn, and Harry drove in the final argument. “I couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t tell someone. McGonagall. Dumbledore.”
            Hermione looked away. “You should have told him. Even if no one else.”
            “I thought he would also try to stop me,” said Harry. It wasn’t the time to try and explain the more complex doubts he was having about Dumbledore. He didn’t think Dumbledore was evil or malicious, just—he didn’t have Draco’s best interests in mind, and Harry was someone who needed to have those interests in mind, from now on. “And we needed to go there and get Draco’s father out. That was just the way it was.”
            “What did Malfoy say to convince you?”
            Ron’s voice was deep and soft, the way it sometimes got when he was trying to work out Harry’s intentions towards Ginny. Harry had to pause and think. “It wasn’t what he said so much as what we are.”
            “What—” Ron began, and then he stopped. “Bondmates.”
            Harry nodded. “He’s opened his Occlumency walls so I can feel more of what he feels. And I know how relieved he was to get his father back.” He took a deep breath. “I couldn’t let someone whose mum had died in that horrible way just go in and maybe kill himself trying to rescue his dad.”
            “I know you feel sorry for him, Harry.” Hermione’s voice was kind. “But that doesn’t mean you should risk your own life!”
            “Maybe not,” Harry admitted. “And I don’t think I’ll have a lot of other chances. Draco and his dad are going into hiding.” He stretched one hand beneath his pillow, and flinched as he felt his skin get sensitive from the way the cloth rubbed against it. Maybe lingering side-effects from having his soul wandering outside his body. “I won’t see him again. Or at least not for as long as the war lasts.”
            “Good,” said Ron. “I don’t really mind you having a soul-bond with him, mate. I know that’s something Dumbledore wanted you to do. But you shouldn’t let it make you act stupid.”
            “That, we agree on,” Harry said, and smiled at Ron. He would have said something else, but Madam Pomfrey came out scolding then.
            “Don’t you think you’ve stayed long enough to convince Mr. Potter of your friendship for him? And if you’re his friend, you’ll respect how draining his wounds are and let him rest.”
            Ron grinned a little, for the first time since he’d come into the hospital wing and heard about Harry and Draco’s adventure in Malfoy Manor. Harry reached out and squeezed his hand once. He knew why. This was back to normal, for Ron; reality often included a scolding Madam Pomfrey when Harry had been injured.
            “All right,” said Hermione, and she began to pull Ron towards the door. She gave Harry one more dour look before Madam Pomfrey managed to herd her into the corridor. “But we’ll talk about Dark Arts and soul-bonds and all the rest of it before long.”
            “We sure will,” Harry promised her, and then lay back and let Madam Pomfrey fuss over him as much as she needed to. He deliberately kept himself from looking at the beds that held Draco and his father, the way he held all morning.
            He had to separate himself from Draco and learn to start thinking of them as less than pure bondmates. He really should have practiced that before. He’d always known that their closeness to each other wouldn’t be permanent, even if the bond was.
            And it’s time for me to stop being stupid.
*
            Draco chose his time well. Professor Snape hadn’t yet come back to the hospital wing; Father was asleep; Madam Pomfrey had muttered something about having to check on the status of the Blood-Replenishing Potions and had marched into her supply cupboard. And Potter’s friends had already visited, so hopefully they wouldn’t return soon.
            “Potter?”
            The surge of emotions through the bond made Draco blink, but they ran back and vanished again before he could tell what they were. Potter turned over to acknowledge him, nodding. “What is it, Malfoy?”
            “I want you to know that you saved our lives.”
            “Well, yes,” said Potter, frowning as though he had expected a declaration of more importance from Draco, even though Draco thought this was just about the most important one anyone could make. “I know that.”
            Draco blinked. “That doesn’t matter to you?”
            “I’ve saved several people’s lives over the years,” said Potter, and his lips twitched as if he was recalling something funny. “I suppose you could say I even did it in first year, when Ron and I helped rescue Hermione from the troll.”
            “Your friends won’t necessarily remind you of life-debts,” Draco said, and caught his eye. “I am.”
            Potter’s amusement vanished. He watched Draco in silence. Draco waited for the inevitable questions.
            But when Potter finally asked one, it wasn’t the one Draco had prepared for. “Does that matter?” he asked, shaking his head a little. “You’re going into hiding soon, and we probably won’t see each other again until the end of the war—if then. I suppose you can look me up then if the bond’s nagging at you and do something for me. Merlin knows, by then I might want someone to scare the publicity away or something.” His smile was tired.
            Draco slowly closed his hands down on the blanket. “A Malfoy would never let debts go so lightly. I owe a debt to the Dark Lord that I shall see repaid. And I won’t forget about the one I owe you.” He looked at where Father slept in his bed. “You’re the reason I still have a family, Potter. I won’t forget that.”
            “You want to do something that would repay me?”
            “Yes.” Draco turned quickly back towards the other side of the room, although he hardly believed Potter had gone from disregarding the life-debt Draco owed him to deciding how to use it. “What do you want?”
            “Call me Harry. That way, I won’t have to feel as awkward as I do when I call you Draco and then remember we aren’t even on a first-name basis.”
            “That’s nothing like enough to pay a life-debt of this magnitude,” Draco began. It wasn’t Potter’s fault he didn’t know the way proper wizards behaved. Well, it was sort of his fault, in that he should have taken better care not to anger Draco their first year, but it would be counterproductive to blame him for that right now.
            “It would be for me. Hermione told me once that life-debts can only be considered paid if the person who owes them saves the person who saved them—or until the person who’s owed them decides he’s satisfied. Isn’t that right?”
            “Yes.” Potter’s eyes seemed almost impossibly bright, like the scar on his forehead was really flashing lightning, and Draco couldn’t look away.
            “Then I want to be satisfied by you calling me Harry. Unless you decide that’s one of the prices you can’t pay.”
            “Only the price of my father’s life or my family heirlooms and home would be too much.” Draco shook his head, not in refusal but because Potter was so dim sometimes. “Do you know what I would take the chance to collect if you owed me one?”
            “I don’t really care. Despite the soul-bond, we are different people.” Potter sounded tired. “Will you call me Harry?”
            “Yes.” Draco spoke the word not expecting anything to happen, but there was a dim flash in the air between them, and his shoulders felt lighter. He stared at Potter, who smiled a little and closed his eyes.
            “There, see? Now you know I was sincere when I said that my first name would be enough.”
            Draco sat there and considered that. Then he whispered, “Harry?”
            “Hmmm?” Harry—because Draco thought he should start practicing in his head, too, just so he wouldn’t slip up aloud—rolled his neck back and forth. Draco listened to the snapping joints and winced a little. There was no pain rolling down the bond, which seemed incredible to him.
            “Why do you think you’ll never see me again after I take Father to a safehouse?”
            That brought Harry’s eyes flipping open. He stared at Draco in silence for long moments, and then said, as if he was explaining to someone who didn’t understand English that well, “Because we’ll be apart? And there’s the chance either one of us will die in the war, no matter how well you’re protected. And the soul-bond is only supposed to make the Horcrux in me move further away from the rest of my soul.” He glanced automatically around for Madam Pomfrey, but Draco had already done that, and didn’t think he needed to look away from Harry’s bed. “Because you have no reason to want to see me now?”
            Draco leaned slowly forwards and braced his elbows on the bed. “Why do you think I didn’t put up the Occlumency walls again?”
            “Because you’re too tired, and that kind of magic takes concentration.”
            “I was less hurt than you were in the raid on the Manor.” Draco didn’t let his indignation into his voice, because that would have the opposite effect he wanted. Harry thought he was weak enough to still be suffering from magical exhaustion? Really? Well, he would address the misconception at a later date. “It’s because I have my own notions of what I owe you for what you did.”
            Harry snorted. “Now that the life-debt is paid, you can raise your walls again.”
            “I don’t want to.”
            “Why?”
            Now it was harder than ever to meet Harry’s over-bright eyes, but Draco did it because he wanted to. “Because I think I owe you something different than a life-debt for helping me protect my only remaining family. I don’t know anyone else who would have done something like that for me.”
            “I…” Harry frowned at him. “Dumbledore promised to.”
            “And you saw how well he kept that promise.”
            “Perhaps he would have done better if you’d given him more time,” Harry suggested, and then sighed. Draco could feel his own disbelief welling through him so strongly it nearly strangled him; that meant it had to be almost swamping the bond. “No, I don’t believe that. I don’t think he meant your father to die, but he would have delayed and delayed because of good intentions, and something would have happened that he didn’t intend.”
            “Exactly.” Draco smiled a little. “And your opinion of my friends in Slytherin is vindicated. None of them would help me like that. None of them would try to save my life at the risk of their own.” He shrugged. He wouldn’t say that Blaise’s and Theo’s friendship was worthless, but he would say that they wouldn’t see the value of taking such a risk. They would never have agreed to the soul-bond, much less assaulting the Manor with no warning to any of the professors.
            “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Harry. His awkwardness tasted like stones in Draco’s mouth. “Okay. Keep down your walls if you like.” He smiled a little. “Maybe it’ll be a comfort to us both, when you’re in the safehouse and I’m with my relatives, to feel someone else’s emotions.”
            “I won’t get bored easily with Father’s company, if that’s what you’re implying.” Draco thought of what he would give to spend one more moment with his mother, and had to clamp his hands down against a harsh blast of emotion.
            “I wasn’t. Just that you might want to have a reminder of the outside world occasionally.”
            “Well, what about you, then?” Draco asked, turning the conversation back on Harry the way Father had always drilled into him. Of course it was a comfort, a luxury, to talk about himself, but Draco was no longer the child who believed everyone would stare at him in fascination when he did. “Do you have such need of someone to comfort you and believe in you when you’re at your relatives’ house? Why? I thought they pampered you?”
            “You’ve been listening to Snape again,” said Harry, and leaned back on the bed. “They’re not that bad, but not that great, either.”
            Draco gasped as the emotions in the bond broke over him, cold water that dissolved straight away into foam and bubbles but still stung. Then he bowed his head and wheezed a second until he could get his breath back again.
            “Draco? Are you okay?” A touch of concern came down the bond, too, and caught Draco like a board floating in the water, bobbing him back up to the surface.
            Draco had his breath steady, now. He sat up and said, “You shouldn’t try lying when we have a bond that connects us emotionally, Potter.”
            “And you shouldn’t have said that you were going to call me by my first name if you didn’t mean it.”
            Once again Harry’s surface didn’t match what was underneath, but Draco was better-braced to resist pain than the disgust and anger that had drowned him before. He swallowed, then said, “I’m sorry, Harry. But my point stands, regardless of the name I used to talk to you about it.”
            “You don’t make much sense, you know.” Harry looked at him. “I don’t know what I’m lying about.”
            “You hate your relatives.”
            “Oh, you could feel that?” Harry was still for a second, and then he rolled his head in that gesture again. “Well, it doesn’t matter much. You’re the only one who’s ever picked up on that.”
            “Why do you hate them?”
            “For being such oblivious Muggles.”
            This time, Draco was able to keep his head above water, and he said the first thing that came to him. “That doesn’t sound much like the hero Dumbledore’s been raising.”
            “It’s probably not.” Harry stared off to the side, and snorted. His emotions receded a little, although Draco knew he could reach out and feel the sea of them any time he wanted. “And I don’t hate all Muggles. Only them.”
            Draco held back what he wanted to say, that he couldn’t see any reason not to hate all Muggles. Harry would only get tiresome if Draco voiced it, and probably want to argue. Instead, he murmured, “Tell me why.”
            Harry gave another glance around before he answered. Draco knew Father was deeply tired from the way he breathed, probably sleeping off the exhaustion and fear of his captivity as well as the Starvation Curses that the other Death Eaters had cast on him.
            But his curiosity was piqued as to what Harry would think he had to keep secret from Madam Pomfrey.
            “All right,” said Harry. “The Muggles I live with are my mother’s sister and her husband. And my cousin,” he added in a slightly less dismal voice. “They don’t like magic. Well, my aunt and uncle, anyway. I don’t know if my cousin ever knew about me being a wizard before I turned eleven.”
            Draco made a quick calculation, based in part on the salt water that once more touched his throat. “But you didn’t know, either.”
            Harry shook his head, staring off into the corridor, although he tensed when Madam Pomfrey made some noise back in her supply cupboard. “Not about being a wizard, not about magic, not about how my parents died, not about Voldemort—” Draco winced, but said nothing. “None of that.”
            “I don’t understand,” said Draco, memories taking him over as strongly as the emotions. “You acted like you knew what I was talking about, when we met in the robe shop.”
            “Really?” Harry grinned at him suddenly. “When I didn’t know what the Houses were, or what Quidditch was, or what you meant by ‘the other sort’ that you thought they shouldn’t let into Hogwarts?”
            Draco hesitated. Then he admitted, “You have a better memory of the conversation than I do.”
            “Of course I do,” Harry said, almost gently. “You were only the second wizard I’d met. Met to know, I mean. Sometimes odd people came up to me and hugged me, and I suppose they knew…But more important, you were the first wizard my age. And then you sort of ruined it.”
            “I wouldn’t have ruined it if I knew.”
            Harry only shrugged. “Right, but I wanted a friend who didn’t care about my fame. And I didn’t have one until I got Ron.”
            Draco swallowed back apologies that wouldn’t come out right if he tried to say them and objections that Harry wouldn’t want to listen to, and continued. “But didn’t that get lonely, once you went back to your relatives in the summers?”
            Harry nodded. “I always look forward to coming back to Hogwarts. They were vaguely decent last summer, though. Nothing’s been as bad as the summer before second year.”
            “What happened then?”
            Harry glanced sideways at him. “Your old house-elf Dobby showed up, and thought he was saving my life by making sure I couldn’t go back to Hogwarts. He cast a spell that my relatives thought I was responsible for. Hell, even the Ministry thought I was, from the warning about underage magic they sent me. My relatives locked me in my room.”
            Draco stared. There were so many different things wrong there that he didn’t know where to begin addressing them. “How could they lock you in your room?” he finally decided to ask first. “Couldn’t you just break out?”
            Harry laughed, in a voice completely without humor. “When I couldn’t practice magic during the summers and there were five locks on the door?”
            “Five.” Draco stared again. From the way Harry shifted and glanced away, he was getting the full force of Draco’s emotions through the bond, and he probably also wished that Draco would stop gaping like an ignorant schoolboy. Draco couldn’t help it, though.
            He knew Harry was spoiled. He knew Harry had been raised with the knowledge that he was like a prince in the wizarding world and had come to Hogwarts prepared to break the rules that the rest of the students were expected to obey. He knew all about the luxurious upbringing from Father, who was certain Dumbledore wouldn’t allow just anyone to raise the Boy-Who-Lived, and the rest from Professor Snape.
            But now he had to admit all that knowledge was wrong, and it was like falling from a mountain. He shook his head once and then again. Harry’s gaze came back to him and fixed on him, darkly amused.
            “Don’t shake your head so hard,” Harry told him. “You’ll jar something loose.”
            Draco studied Harry. It was still true that he broke school rules and caused Professor Snape nothing but trouble. Draco found himself wanting to know why as fiercely as he had once wanted Harry to take his hand.
            “Tell me more. I know there’s more.”
            “I don’t know what you mean.”
            Harry’s voice was bland, his eyes just a little mocking. Draco knew that for a mask, though, the same mask Harry used whenever Professor Snape asked him something in class. And the emotions still seethed and danced under the surface, although Harry had reined them in a little and it was no longer as easy for Draco to tell exactly what they were.
            “I mean that they didn’t just keep the secret of your magic from you and put five locks on your door because they were angry at you one day. What else did they do?”
            “You don’t want to know that.”
            “Because I’m in the habit of asking constantly about things I don’t want to know.” Draco folded his arms and rolled his eyes. “Indulge me, Pot—Harry. Talk to me about the other things they did to you. It would ease some of the pain, wouldn’t it?”
            “Not really. The other times I’ve tried to tell someone about this, I’ve regretted it.”
            “So you admit that there is more!”
*
            Harry stared at Draco, and wondered how in the world he could ever explain without using words. He could push a bunch of emotions down the bond, but Draco wouldn’t understand everything from those, either. He could feel hatred and anger.
            He wouldn’t know about the hunger. He wouldn’t know about the cupboard, or the lies about Harry’s parents, or the way that Aunt Marge sicced Ripper on him, or the way that sometimes Harry lay there and ached with the force of his desire to run away.
            But that’s a good thing. That’s not anything you want to admit to people. You saw what happens when you do. You get the Dursleys angry at you for no good reason, and nothing changes.
            But the Dursleys wouldn’t ever know Harry had told Draco if Harry didn’t tell them. Draco and Lucius would be miles away, maybe in a whole other country. The knowledge would leave Harry alone after that.
            Harry nodded. He had probably known he was going to do it from the minute Draco started asking, if he wanted to be honest with himself.
            But really, he wanted to be honest with someone else. Someone who couldn’t hurt him, who couldn’t interfere because he wouldn’t be there, and who had every reason in the world to keep it to himself, because he would have to explain how he knew it otherwise.
            Draco leaned forwards on the bed. Harry basked a little in the curiosity that blew down the bond, like a friendly gust of sunshine.
            “The first thing I remember is the cupboard.”
*
            AnonymousTigress: What would weaken the bond? Harry’s near-death experience?
            sara101: Neither does Draco.
            Skybee: Thank you.
            moon: Thank you!
            SP777: Thanks. And it’s not a subconscious oath, but a life-debt that Lucius will acknowledge as much as Draco did.
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The Serenity of His Rage