Fic: What Are Words For? (2/6)
Nov. 7th, 2007 07:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salixbabylonTitle: What Are Words For?
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
salixbabylon
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Prompt: "Words" – Missing Persons, part of the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
ficrocksthe80s fest
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4805
Disclaimer: JKR owns everything. I just like to play naughty games with her dollies.
Summary: "Six months after the end of the war Harry decided, admittedly in a fit of pique, that he wasn't going to talk any more."
Author's Notes: Surprisingly mostly canon compliant, even with DH. Only I didn't kill Fred because that's just wrong. Also warning = plot! Not my usual PWP-fare. Tons of thanks to my beloved beta,sarka *smooch*
(Part 1)
What Are Words For?
Oddly enough, Malfoy seemed to feel the same way. Harry was only somewhat surprised when Tiberius returned a few days later with a very short note asking if Draco could come by with a small gift of thanks for Harry, since he would be in town anyway.
The gift turned out to be an Unchippable teapot and set of four mugs, which amused Harry to no end. At least, it did until he had a fleeting memory of Professor Lupin's chipped mugs, which rather ruined his good mood for a few moments. Malfoy didn't seem to notice, which was another handy aspect of the Silence Resolution; people weren't so aware of Harry's mercurial mood swings unless they were staring him in the face all the time.
From there it somehow became normal for Draco to pop in with little warning once or twice a week. Harry began to doubt whether Malfoy really had that much business to conduct in London, but as neither of his parents were able to leave the Manor and with their trials rapidly approaching, he supposed that perhaps there was. Either way, it wasn't any of his concern, and he found he enjoyed the company.
Now that was shocking. Somehow he and Malfoy had become friends.
Or perhaps it wasn't so surprising, not really. They were both somewhat lonely. Draco had been isolated at the Manor for nearly two years now and seemed to need someone to talk to. Harry was in a perfect position to simply listen and he found that Malfoy was much more interesting and amusing than he would ever have suspected. They shared a few mid-day meals and eventually Draco discovered the chess set in the corner. That led to several games where Harry was utterly trounced; Draco seemed to be almost as good a player as Ron.
The next time he came over, Malfoy brought a bottle of scotch older than they were, combined, and introduced the idea of a penalty sip for every piece lost. Harry was well on his way to a drunken stupor before Malfoy called the game off, citing that it was no fun to play with a half-wit who was practically a quarter-wit when inebriated.
Harry wasn't able to work out what exactly Malfoy had said until the next day, but he did remember the blond's promise to return and teach Harry both how to improve his game and hold his liquor like a gentleman. Knowing Draco would be back made a warm glow settle in his stomach somewhere.
Harry couldn't believe he was feeling like such a sap merely about making a new friend. But it was Malfoy, and after all these years. Harry was, well, intrigued. Everyone else whom he saw, he knew so well. He'd lived with Ron and Hermione for so long he practically knew what they were going to say before they said it. Not that he didn't enjoy their company, of course, he hastened to remind himself. It was just that Malfoy, or at least this side of him, of Draco, was new. Interesting. Unusual.
Harry had always had a bit of a weakness for oddities and mysteries.
Speaking of oddities, Luna and Neville were due to arrive for supper, and Kreacher had gone all out preparing some sort of fish pie that was apparently a favorite of Luna's. Harry was beginning to wonder at the constant appearance of his two friends together and made a mental note to try and notice whether there was a romance blossoming between the two of them.
As always, Neville was fairly quiet throughout the evening, but the flush staining his cheeks whenever Luna happened to touch his arm or say his name seemed like a pretty clear sign to Harry. Heaven only knew what was going on in Luna's head, but Harry knew Neville well enough to recognize a crush when he saw it, remembering how his shy roommate had acted when he'd fancied Hermione and Ginny, in turn.
Neville had grown up a bit since then, though, and Harry was always a tiny bit startled at how much his friend had changed over the last year, how much confidence he had found. When he wrote something to that effect on the blackboard, Luna concurred.
"It was amazing to see, Harry. It was as if all the struggles and beatings and misery we endured seemed to turn Neville into the man he always meant to be. So rapidly, too... Of course I guess we all had to grow up in a hurry. War isn't a child's game."
Neville turned positively red at this compliment, and although it was sweet, Harry felt like he'd been stabbed in the gut. They spoke so matter-of-factly about the horrible things the Carrows and other Death Eaters had done to them and their fellow students, turning Harry's beloved Hogwarts, his refuge, into a nightmarish prison. Harry had always felt that the weight of his destiny had aborted his own childhood, but it hurt him beyond measure that so many of his friends had suffered a similar fate as well. That these gentle two especially, who had always been so unfailingly loyal, should have suffered so much, tore him apart inside.
He wanted to say something, do something, but there was nothing he could do. No words could make it better, could give them back their innocence, or at least their naivety. He moved to the blackboard and, using the chalk rather than casting the spell so they wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill down his face, he wrote "
" It was such a pathetic thing to say, so feeble and useless, and he wrote it again and again while his hands shook as he tried and failed to bring his emotions under control.
Luna's soft hand on his shoulder was just too much. He rested his forehead on the cool slate as she said, "It's not your fault, Harry. None of it. There's nothing you should have done differently."
"
" he wrote, sniffling and trying to subtly wipe his face on his raised arm.
"She's right, you know," Neville said, awkwardly. "Whatever you've been telling yourself, it doesn't matter. We all did what we had to do. The fault for all of it lies with Voldemort. Don't you dare blame yourself for anything he did, Harry."
The quiet conviction in Neville's voice lent Harry a measure of strength, if not peace. "
" he wrote. He busied himself with making a pot of tea for all of them, and soon the conversation turned to other topics.
The rest of the evening was pleasant, if subdued. It was good to see his two friends taking tentative steps toward beginning a romance, even if they were both a bit hopeless about that sort of thing. Harry recognized that he himself was not faring any better in that department and silently wished them success and happiness.
Once they had gone, though, his feelings returned to melancholy and gloom. He did know that the suffering and deaths of so many others was not his fault. He had not been the direct agent of such destruction, chaos, and torment. But there was a great chasm between the factual knowledge and his emotional response. If only he had figured out Dumbledore's riddles faster. If only he had confronted Voldemort earlier. If only, if only, if only...
He tossed and turned all night, wishing even one of his older friends was still alive to talk to - Sirius, Remus, even Tonks. Perhaps then words would be worth speaking. Instead, the silence inside him simply affirmed how alone he was.
*****
Distraction arrived late the next morning in the form of Draco, with chocolate éclairs which he refused to disclose the origin of. Harry secretly wondered if Draco might have Apparated all the way to France for them but then realized that it was far more likely that the Malfoy house elves had made them.
They played a game of chess, then ate lunch. After that Harry began to get a bit twitchy, wondering when Draco planned to leave so that he could get to work. He was surprised when Draco asked what Harry was planning to do that day, and even more so when he received an offer to help.
Today's task was to get that bloody rug in the upstairs hallway to stop attacking him, he wrote, glaring at Draco when the blond tried and failed to stifle his sniggering. When Draco asked what the plan was, Harry shrugged weakly and pointed at a few books lying around the drawing room, which he consulted for the more stubborn curses that he couldn't figure out on his own.
Draco rolled his eyes. "I know there's a library downstairs, Harry. There've got to be better resources than this," he said, thumbing through a low-level curse breaking guide Hermione had brought him.
Harry glanced nervously at the far-right corner of the floor, as if he could see through it into the next level.
"Don't tell me the library's haunted," Draco teased.
Barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out, Harry wrote, "
"
Draco snorted. "Come on, Potter. I'll protect you," he offered, taking Harry by the arm and leading him to the stairs.
Once in the library, the conversation become one-sided again, since there was no blackboard. Yet it wasn't all that difficult to communicate, with Draco's constant monologue only interrupted by Harry's occasional nods or head shakes. Draco had Harry demonstrate the problem, resulting in blood-curdling shrieks and ominous shaking of the floors, walls, and bookshelves whenever Harry's fingertips got within an inch of a book.
Shaking his head in mock dismay, Draco clucked his tongue. "Potter. These are Dark books," he said slowly, as if Harry were mentally challenged. "Like the Restricted Section at school? You have to show them who's boss." At Harry's still-blank look, he rolled his eyes. "Hex them, Harry. Cast something Dark on the whole lot of them! Show them you mean it."
Harry blinked. Clearly Draco had totally lost his mind. Hex books?
Draco rolled his eyes. "Confringo!" he shouted, stabbing his wand at the books. The room shivered once, then settled. Draco nonchalantly walked over to a shelf and pulled down a few tomes that looked like they were bound with snakeskin.
Harry took a step forward and the shelves rattled warningly. With a long-suffering sigh, he withdrew his wand and cast a nonverbal Stinging Jinx at the books. He reached out again and the library shrieked in outrage.
"You've got to mean it, Potter. They're books, for fuck's sake. They're keeping important information from you! Are you going to let a bunch of bloody paper run roughshod over you?"
Harry narrowed his eyes and cast an angry Incendio at the books, honestly not caring a whit whether they burst into flame or not. Again, a slight shudder went through the library. Once it passed, Harry tentatively reached out... and touched a book.
No noise. No bookshelves shaking, threatening to bludgeon and bury him with their heavy contents. Just a book in his hand.
The smile he gave Draco almost hurt his face, it was so wide. And although the blond tried to shrug it off with a casual insult to Harry's intelligence, he couldn't help but notice that the grey eyes were sparkling with warmth as Draco shoved him towards an area full of books on house protection spells and suggested they get to work.
A few hours later found them back in the drawing room in front of the blackboard. They both looked a bit worse for wear. Then again, so did the rug upstairs.
"This would be so much bloody easier if you'd just speak the damned spells, Potter," Draco huffed.
Harry tapped the words "
" already written on the board.
"I know that, you great git. I'm just saying it's asinine, inside your own house."
Harry shrugged in a way which clearly conveyed that he didn't really give a toss what Draco thought of his Resolution.
"First you have to unravel the hexes, then decide what spells to use as a counter-hex, then practice it enough for the spell to work... And of course you have to do bloody wordlessly, which makes it all infinitely harder. Do you ever do anything the easy way, Potter?"
Harry thought for a moment. He shook his head negatively.
Draco laughed. "No, you never do." His stomach broke the mood by giving a loud growl. "You can't even call your bloody house elf, Harry. This is so stupid."
Harry scowled at him, then took out his wand and tapped the name "
" written on the blackboard. The elf popped into the room immediately and Harry turned to give Draco a smug look.
"Would Master like his supper now?" the old elf asked, bowing.
Harry nodded.
"Will young Master Malfoy be joining him?"
Harry quirked a brow at Draco, with a bit of a smile.
Draco hesitated. "All right. But I should firecall Mother."
They had a leisurely meal, Kreacher once again going all-out to entertain what he apparently considered an important guest. When Draco questioned the elf about the dining room, though, Harry kicked him in the shin, shaking his head.
"The dining room is still not fit for Master to entertain in," Kreacher said with unexpected diplomacy.
Harry's chuckle made it clear what a gross understatement this was. The last person who had touched a covered chair in that room found herself mummified and nearly strangled by the dustcovers as the silverware struggled to get out of the cabinets. Tonks had been lucky that Moody was in the hall and able to get her out of there and the door shut behind them bare instants before the murderous cutlery embedded itself in the wood.
After dinner they returned to the drawing room and decided on a game of senet rather than chess. Harry had never played, which necessitated a lot of deep sighing on Draco's part as he attempted to both teach the game and win.
Liquor seemed to help him reign in his impatience, and they played for a while until Harry apparently tried to make a rather bad move. Draco clucked his tongue, then reached out and put his hand over Harry's, moving his fingers from one piece to another, better move. Later, he scooted his chair closer to show Harry a tricky little bit of strategy and their thighs pressed together.
At both of these instances, Harry froze but tried to act like nothing had happened. Draco didn't seem to notice how his face grew hot and must have turned red, nor Harry's not-so-subtle need to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans. The second time Draco pressed their legs together, he could hardly repress the shiver that went through his whole body and settled in his crotch.
There was an awkward moment when Draco left, and Harry almost expected the blond to hug him or something weird like that, but it didn't happen. He went to bed feelingly mildly disappointed and very unsettled. Not to mention distressingly aroused.
*****
A few days later Harry sent an owl to Mrs. Tonks, asking if he could come over and visit Teddy. He still found it unbelievable that he was a godfather, and had no real idea what that involved, particularly with an infant. The impetus for this sudden urge was a growing feeling of both restlessness and grief; the day before he had come across a book in the library, stuffed with bits of old parchment, notes in Remus' handwriting. It must have been left there from when Remus was living at Grimmauld Place with Sirius. A wave of longing to talk to his old professor, his first link to his parents, and the last one to die, almost made Harry break down right there in the library.
Teddy was much bigger than Victorie had been and Harry was amazed at how quickly he had grown. He wasn't a baby anymore, really; he was toddling and babbling and seemed quite obsessed with changing his hair to match whatever bright colors were around him. When Mrs. Tonks left them alone for a few moments to fetch them some lunch, Harry entertained the child as best he could but found himself lost in thoughts of the orphan boy's parents. The parallels between them hit Harry for the first time, and he vowed to himself that no matter how decent a grandmother Andromeda was, Harry would be there too, as often as he could.
Sitting there, holding Teddy as he fell asleep, Harry felt an urge to speak, to apologize. To Mrs. Tonks, for the loss of her husband and daughter. To the baby, for getting both of his parents killed and not even knowing the details of their deaths. To Tonks, for the snuffing of her bright spirit. Most strongly, though, Harry wished he could apologize to Remus. He'd never had a chance to talk to him and settle things after their argument when Remus tried to run away.
But he couldn't apologize for things that everyone kept saying weren't his fault, and Teddy wouldn't understand his words anyway, and Remus was dead. So really, what was the point in speaking?
Almost everything he needed to say and wanted to say, he couldn't, because the people he needed to speak to were dead.
He went home, thinking of all the people he had lost because of Voldemort and this stupid war. Because Harry had been the Chosen One, chosen by an insane man named Tom Riddle. He'd lost Remus and Tonks and Moody. His embarrassingly devoted friend Dobby had been killed and would never again squeal with delight at being given socks for Christmas. Hedwig, who had kept him sane during the summer holidays and reminded him that he was a wizard even while locked up at the Dursleys', would never again nip his fingers or steal his toast.
His schoolmates Colin Creevey and even that gorilla, Crabbe, were gone and Harry couldn't find it in him to be callous about the death of someone so stupidly following the orders of his father. Not unlike Draco...
Sirius would never take Harry for a ride on his flying motorbike. Never grin at him again with that mad sparkle in his eyes that half-worried, half-amused Harry. Even the passage of nearly three years hadn't made that wound fade.
Nor had the length of time since Dumbledore had been killed caused that to hurt less, even knowing now as much as he did about the old man's plots and machinations. Despite his mentor's fallibility and weaknesses, Harry found he could not love him any less, could not stay angry with his memory forever. In the end, Dumbledore had been a man, not a god. He had done what he'd thought was right. And in the end it had worked out.
It was the same with Snape. Harry wanted to go on hating him but after seeing his memories, and the tragic life the man had led, Harry found himself with nothing but grudging sympathy for his former professor. Yes, the man had been a bully of the worst sort, and needlessly cruel to Harry. Yet he could understand it, a bit, since he had looked so very much like James, and how much that reminder of Lily's choice must have hurt Snape every time he looked at Harry. And in the end Snape too had done what was right, even though no one, not one single living soul, believed in him.
And finally the oldest losses of all: his mum and dad. A man and woman he never knew, not as people nor as parents, and only a bit as ghosts and memories. And he never would.
Harry went upstairs to bed, and was only a little embarrassed when, a few hours later, Kreacher silently brought him a dry pillowcase to sleep on.
*****
Hermione and Ron noticed that Harry's mood had taken a downward turn when they came by the next day; how could they not? He was almost as sullen and mopey as he'd been the summer he turned sixteen. It took a bit of wrangling but eventually the two of them annoyed Harry enough to admit that he was upset from the visit with Teddy.
Hermione quickly drew the underlying truth out of him - that he was finally feeling all of the losses of the last few years.
"Well, you didn't exactly stop and take any time to grieve properly," she nodded. "I'm not surprised that now that you aren't speaking, now that you have some time alone with your thoughts, all of this is surfacing. It's not uncommon to postpone grief until a time when you're more able to deal with it, psychologically."
Harry did a complicated thing that involved both a shrug and a roll of his eyes.
Hermione slapped him lightly on the arm. "I didn't say you were dealing with it well. Just better, perhaps, than you might have done right after each death, or even the end of the war. It's a lot to deal with," she said sympathetically.
Ron grinned a bit. "Yeah Harry, I told you we all expected you to have a meltdown at some point. The last few years have been ever so slightly traumatic."
"I wouldn't have put it quite that way, Ron," Hermione scowled. "But I don't disagree with his sentiments," she added, looking at Harry. "I'm sure there's a lot left unsaid. Perhaps this Silence Resolution of yours wasn't just about staying away from the public eye, was it? It's given you some much-needed time to think."
Harry sort of shrugged and looked down at his hands. She was right about some of it - he did wish there was a way he could have resolved things with Lupin. Or Sirius. Or Dumbledore. Or even Snape.
They were all silent for a bit until Ron said in a thoughtful tone, "Yeah, I suppose things with Remus were fairly messed up there at the end, weren't they? You two never had a chance to talk before he died."
Harry shrugged again.
"Well," Hermione said after a moment, "What about writing them letters?"
Harry gave her the most incredulous look possible.
"No, I'm serious. Many people suggest writing letters to friends and family members who have passed away, particularly when you didn't have a chance to say goodbye or other things you wish you had been able to tell them. It can be quite cathartic. Therapists are always recommending it."
Ron gave her a look. "Let me get this straight. You want Harry to write letters to dead people?" he said.
She nodded.
"What the bloody hell is the owl gong to do with them? They can't deliver letters to people who aren't here anymore. They'd just exhaust themselves trying to find the recipient and come back to Harry. Talk about depressing!"
Hermione kicked him. "You don't send the letters, you dolt. It's just an opportunity to get all of your thoughts down on paper so they stop banging around inside your head."
"Oh," Ron said, taken aback. "All right. I guess it doesn't sound like a half-bad idea, then. Do you have thoughts banging around inside your head, Harry?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Harry gave him a rueful grin. After a moment he nodded.
"
" he wrote.
Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Some people keep them, I guess. Or maybe burn then. That's what I'd do, I think, so the essence of the words could go off to whatever realm you believe their spirits are in now, the place beyond the Veil."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
Ron made a face. "I take it back – the whole thing's completely daft."
"Fine Ron! Why don't you suggest something constructive then?" she glowered.
"Don't know," he shrugged, "Firewhisky maybe?"
They all laughed a bit at that and the conversation thankfully turned to other topics. Hermione was thrilled that Harry had figured out how to access the Grimmauld Place library and eagerly went downstairs to cast her own hexes at it. It took a few tries, but she eventually managed to subdue the guardian spells and happily set about exploring the previously off-limits collection while the two boys went down to the kitchen for a snack.
A few hours after they'd left, Tiberius arrived with a note from Draco asking if he could stop by after supper. Draco arrived promptly at nine o'clock, causing Harry to wonder what he'd been doing all day which made him so eager to get away from the Manor again.
Not that Harry minded, really. Not at all.
As was his usual habit, Malfoy checked out the contents of the blackboard in the drawing room to see what was going on in Harry's life recently, while Harry went to fetch some drinks and snacks. When he returned, pleased at having found a nearly-full packet of biscuits to go with their tea, he was confronted by a thoughtful looking Draco.
"What's this about letters to dead people?" he asked.
Harry sighed. "
" he wrote, giving Draco a look that clearly communicated his lack of desire to discuss the topic any further.
Draco stared at the words for a few minutes. "Hmm... Not a half-bad idea, actually. There are a few things I wish I had been able to say to Severus. And Greg..."
Harry nodded, trying to look sympathetic.
After a pause, Draco changed the topic. "How are you doing on finding spells to break the curse on that rug?"
Relieved, Harry nodded again, grabbing a heavy book and gesturing to the sofa. Draco sat down quite close to him, their bodies touching at the shoulders and arms and down the length of their legs. Harry knew it was just so they could both look at the small writing in the book but it still sent a flutter of pleasure through his body.
Hoping his face wasn't too flushed, he tried to both ignore and simultaneously will down his burgeoning erection. Being a teenage boy was so humiliating at times, even though this almost never happened to him anymore. Thank the gods he was getting older.
Also, Malfoy smelled really good, he noticed.
Swallowing hard and refusing to let his mind wander any further in that direction, Harry focused on what Draco was saying about curses which animated non-living objects versus ones that made such objects semi-sentient. That would definitely impact which counter-hexes might work best on the damned rug.
By the time Malfoy finally left, after a glass of scotch and a game of chess, Harry was so hard he didn't know how Draco had failed to notice. He ran upstairs to his room as fast as he could and practically had his hands in his pants before the door slammed shut.
Images of blond hair and pale skin flashed through his mind as he set a quick pace, and the ghost of the warmth of Draco's body pressed against him on the sofa made him shiver. The memory of Fred's hands grabbing his arse the week before and what it might have felt like if they'd lingered, squeezing his bum, tore a small moan from his throat.
A light sweat broke out over Harry's still mostly-clothed body and he leaned against the door as his knees were threatening to give out while he frantically pulled on his cock. Panting for breath, the startling and fiercely arousing image of Draco wanking suddenly popped into his mind.
Thoughts of those long pale fingers wrapped around an equally long, pale prick dragged a shout from Harry's throat as he climaxed harder than he thought he ever had before, almost blacking out for a moment. Aftershocks of pleasure left him trembling, gasping, and very grateful he lived alone and there was no one to hear, to bear witness to the name he had almost certainly let slip out.
Slumped against the door, Harry took a moment to catch his breath, still reeling from what had just happened. He'd wanked off over Malfoy. Draco.
A boy.
And he'd come harder than he ever had, even after snogging Ginny for hours, imagining her letting him go all the way.
Harry cleaned himself up and Banished the mess. He was going to have an awful lot to think about when he woke up from his post-orgasmic nap, he knew, but it could wait until then. Or until the morning.
Or hopefully, never.
**Part 3**
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Author:
salixbabylonPairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Prompt: "Words" – Missing Persons, part of the
ficrocksthe80s festRating: NC-17
Word Count: 4805
Disclaimer: JKR owns everything. I just like to play naughty games with her dollies.
Summary: "Six months after the end of the war Harry decided, admittedly in a fit of pique, that he wasn't going to talk any more."
Author's Notes: Surprisingly mostly canon compliant, even with DH. Only I didn't kill Fred because that's just wrong. Also warning = plot! Not my usual PWP-fare. Tons of thanks to my beloved beta,
sarka *smooch*(Part 1)
Oddly enough, Malfoy seemed to feel the same way. Harry was only somewhat surprised when Tiberius returned a few days later with a very short note asking if Draco could come by with a small gift of thanks for Harry, since he would be in town anyway.
The gift turned out to be an Unchippable teapot and set of four mugs, which amused Harry to no end. At least, it did until he had a fleeting memory of Professor Lupin's chipped mugs, which rather ruined his good mood for a few moments. Malfoy didn't seem to notice, which was another handy aspect of the Silence Resolution; people weren't so aware of Harry's mercurial mood swings unless they were staring him in the face all the time.
From there it somehow became normal for Draco to pop in with little warning once or twice a week. Harry began to doubt whether Malfoy really had that much business to conduct in London, but as neither of his parents were able to leave the Manor and with their trials rapidly approaching, he supposed that perhaps there was. Either way, it wasn't any of his concern, and he found he enjoyed the company.
Now that was shocking. Somehow he and Malfoy had become friends.
Or perhaps it wasn't so surprising, not really. They were both somewhat lonely. Draco had been isolated at the Manor for nearly two years now and seemed to need someone to talk to. Harry was in a perfect position to simply listen and he found that Malfoy was much more interesting and amusing than he would ever have suspected. They shared a few mid-day meals and eventually Draco discovered the chess set in the corner. That led to several games where Harry was utterly trounced; Draco seemed to be almost as good a player as Ron.
The next time he came over, Malfoy brought a bottle of scotch older than they were, combined, and introduced the idea of a penalty sip for every piece lost. Harry was well on his way to a drunken stupor before Malfoy called the game off, citing that it was no fun to play with a half-wit who was practically a quarter-wit when inebriated.
Harry wasn't able to work out what exactly Malfoy had said until the next day, but he did remember the blond's promise to return and teach Harry both how to improve his game and hold his liquor like a gentleman. Knowing Draco would be back made a warm glow settle in his stomach somewhere.
Harry couldn't believe he was feeling like such a sap merely about making a new friend. But it was Malfoy, and after all these years. Harry was, well, intrigued. Everyone else whom he saw, he knew so well. He'd lived with Ron and Hermione for so long he practically knew what they were going to say before they said it. Not that he didn't enjoy their company, of course, he hastened to remind himself. It was just that Malfoy, or at least this side of him, of Draco, was new. Interesting. Unusual.
Harry had always had a bit of a weakness for oddities and mysteries.
Speaking of oddities, Luna and Neville were due to arrive for supper, and Kreacher had gone all out preparing some sort of fish pie that was apparently a favorite of Luna's. Harry was beginning to wonder at the constant appearance of his two friends together and made a mental note to try and notice whether there was a romance blossoming between the two of them.
As always, Neville was fairly quiet throughout the evening, but the flush staining his cheeks whenever Luna happened to touch his arm or say his name seemed like a pretty clear sign to Harry. Heaven only knew what was going on in Luna's head, but Harry knew Neville well enough to recognize a crush when he saw it, remembering how his shy roommate had acted when he'd fancied Hermione and Ginny, in turn.
Neville had grown up a bit since then, though, and Harry was always a tiny bit startled at how much his friend had changed over the last year, how much confidence he had found. When he wrote something to that effect on the blackboard, Luna concurred.
"It was amazing to see, Harry. It was as if all the struggles and beatings and misery we endured seemed to turn Neville into the man he always meant to be. So rapidly, too... Of course I guess we all had to grow up in a hurry. War isn't a child's game."
Neville turned positively red at this compliment, and although it was sweet, Harry felt like he'd been stabbed in the gut. They spoke so matter-of-factly about the horrible things the Carrows and other Death Eaters had done to them and their fellow students, turning Harry's beloved Hogwarts, his refuge, into a nightmarish prison. Harry had always felt that the weight of his destiny had aborted his own childhood, but it hurt him beyond measure that so many of his friends had suffered a similar fate as well. That these gentle two especially, who had always been so unfailingly loyal, should have suffered so much, tore him apart inside.
He wanted to say something, do something, but there was nothing he could do. No words could make it better, could give them back their innocence, or at least their naivety. He moved to the blackboard and, using the chalk rather than casting the spell so they wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill down his face, he wrote "
" It was such a pathetic thing to say, so feeble and useless, and he wrote it again and again while his hands shook as he tried and failed to bring his emotions under control.Luna's soft hand on his shoulder was just too much. He rested his forehead on the cool slate as she said, "It's not your fault, Harry. None of it. There's nothing you should have done differently."
"
" he wrote, sniffling and trying to subtly wipe his face on his raised arm."She's right, you know," Neville said, awkwardly. "Whatever you've been telling yourself, it doesn't matter. We all did what we had to do. The fault for all of it lies with Voldemort. Don't you dare blame yourself for anything he did, Harry."
The quiet conviction in Neville's voice lent Harry a measure of strength, if not peace. "
" he wrote. He busied himself with making a pot of tea for all of them, and soon the conversation turned to other topics.The rest of the evening was pleasant, if subdued. It was good to see his two friends taking tentative steps toward beginning a romance, even if they were both a bit hopeless about that sort of thing. Harry recognized that he himself was not faring any better in that department and silently wished them success and happiness.
Once they had gone, though, his feelings returned to melancholy and gloom. He did know that the suffering and deaths of so many others was not his fault. He had not been the direct agent of such destruction, chaos, and torment. But there was a great chasm between the factual knowledge and his emotional response. If only he had figured out Dumbledore's riddles faster. If only he had confronted Voldemort earlier. If only, if only, if only...
He tossed and turned all night, wishing even one of his older friends was still alive to talk to - Sirius, Remus, even Tonks. Perhaps then words would be worth speaking. Instead, the silence inside him simply affirmed how alone he was.
Distraction arrived late the next morning in the form of Draco, with chocolate éclairs which he refused to disclose the origin of. Harry secretly wondered if Draco might have Apparated all the way to France for them but then realized that it was far more likely that the Malfoy house elves had made them.
They played a game of chess, then ate lunch. After that Harry began to get a bit twitchy, wondering when Draco planned to leave so that he could get to work. He was surprised when Draco asked what Harry was planning to do that day, and even more so when he received an offer to help.
Today's task was to get that bloody rug in the upstairs hallway to stop attacking him, he wrote, glaring at Draco when the blond tried and failed to stifle his sniggering. When Draco asked what the plan was, Harry shrugged weakly and pointed at a few books lying around the drawing room, which he consulted for the more stubborn curses that he couldn't figure out on his own.
Draco rolled his eyes. "I know there's a library downstairs, Harry. There've got to be better resources than this," he said, thumbing through a low-level curse breaking guide Hermione had brought him.
Harry glanced nervously at the far-right corner of the floor, as if he could see through it into the next level.
"Don't tell me the library's haunted," Draco teased.
Barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out, Harry wrote, "
"Draco snorted. "Come on, Potter. I'll protect you," he offered, taking Harry by the arm and leading him to the stairs.
Once in the library, the conversation become one-sided again, since there was no blackboard. Yet it wasn't all that difficult to communicate, with Draco's constant monologue only interrupted by Harry's occasional nods or head shakes. Draco had Harry demonstrate the problem, resulting in blood-curdling shrieks and ominous shaking of the floors, walls, and bookshelves whenever Harry's fingertips got within an inch of a book.
Shaking his head in mock dismay, Draco clucked his tongue. "Potter. These are Dark books," he said slowly, as if Harry were mentally challenged. "Like the Restricted Section at school? You have to show them who's boss." At Harry's still-blank look, he rolled his eyes. "Hex them, Harry. Cast something Dark on the whole lot of them! Show them you mean it."
Harry blinked. Clearly Draco had totally lost his mind. Hex books?
Draco rolled his eyes. "Confringo!" he shouted, stabbing his wand at the books. The room shivered once, then settled. Draco nonchalantly walked over to a shelf and pulled down a few tomes that looked like they were bound with snakeskin.
Harry took a step forward and the shelves rattled warningly. With a long-suffering sigh, he withdrew his wand and cast a nonverbal Stinging Jinx at the books. He reached out again and the library shrieked in outrage.
"You've got to mean it, Potter. They're books, for fuck's sake. They're keeping important information from you! Are you going to let a bunch of bloody paper run roughshod over you?"
Harry narrowed his eyes and cast an angry Incendio at the books, honestly not caring a whit whether they burst into flame or not. Again, a slight shudder went through the library. Once it passed, Harry tentatively reached out... and touched a book.
No noise. No bookshelves shaking, threatening to bludgeon and bury him with their heavy contents. Just a book in his hand.
The smile he gave Draco almost hurt his face, it was so wide. And although the blond tried to shrug it off with a casual insult to Harry's intelligence, he couldn't help but notice that the grey eyes were sparkling with warmth as Draco shoved him towards an area full of books on house protection spells and suggested they get to work.
A few hours later found them back in the drawing room in front of the blackboard. They both looked a bit worse for wear. Then again, so did the rug upstairs.
"This would be so much bloody easier if you'd just speak the damned spells, Potter," Draco huffed.
Harry tapped the words "
" already written on the board."I know that, you great git. I'm just saying it's asinine, inside your own house."
Harry shrugged in a way which clearly conveyed that he didn't really give a toss what Draco thought of his Resolution.
"First you have to unravel the hexes, then decide what spells to use as a counter-hex, then practice it enough for the spell to work... And of course you have to do bloody wordlessly, which makes it all infinitely harder. Do you ever do anything the easy way, Potter?"
Harry thought for a moment. He shook his head negatively.
Draco laughed. "No, you never do." His stomach broke the mood by giving a loud growl. "You can't even call your bloody house elf, Harry. This is so stupid."
Harry scowled at him, then took out his wand and tapped the name "
" written on the blackboard. The elf popped into the room immediately and Harry turned to give Draco a smug look."Would Master like his supper now?" the old elf asked, bowing.
Harry nodded.
"Will young Master Malfoy be joining him?"
Harry quirked a brow at Draco, with a bit of a smile.
Draco hesitated. "All right. But I should firecall Mother."
They had a leisurely meal, Kreacher once again going all-out to entertain what he apparently considered an important guest. When Draco questioned the elf about the dining room, though, Harry kicked him in the shin, shaking his head.
"The dining room is still not fit for Master to entertain in," Kreacher said with unexpected diplomacy.
Harry's chuckle made it clear what a gross understatement this was. The last person who had touched a covered chair in that room found herself mummified and nearly strangled by the dustcovers as the silverware struggled to get out of the cabinets. Tonks had been lucky that Moody was in the hall and able to get her out of there and the door shut behind them bare instants before the murderous cutlery embedded itself in the wood.
After dinner they returned to the drawing room and decided on a game of senet rather than chess. Harry had never played, which necessitated a lot of deep sighing on Draco's part as he attempted to both teach the game and win.
Liquor seemed to help him reign in his impatience, and they played for a while until Harry apparently tried to make a rather bad move. Draco clucked his tongue, then reached out and put his hand over Harry's, moving his fingers from one piece to another, better move. Later, he scooted his chair closer to show Harry a tricky little bit of strategy and their thighs pressed together.
At both of these instances, Harry froze but tried to act like nothing had happened. Draco didn't seem to notice how his face grew hot and must have turned red, nor Harry's not-so-subtle need to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans. The second time Draco pressed their legs together, he could hardly repress the shiver that went through his whole body and settled in his crotch.
There was an awkward moment when Draco left, and Harry almost expected the blond to hug him or something weird like that, but it didn't happen. He went to bed feelingly mildly disappointed and very unsettled. Not to mention distressingly aroused.
A few days later Harry sent an owl to Mrs. Tonks, asking if he could come over and visit Teddy. He still found it unbelievable that he was a godfather, and had no real idea what that involved, particularly with an infant. The impetus for this sudden urge was a growing feeling of both restlessness and grief; the day before he had come across a book in the library, stuffed with bits of old parchment, notes in Remus' handwriting. It must have been left there from when Remus was living at Grimmauld Place with Sirius. A wave of longing to talk to his old professor, his first link to his parents, and the last one to die, almost made Harry break down right there in the library.
Teddy was much bigger than Victorie had been and Harry was amazed at how quickly he had grown. He wasn't a baby anymore, really; he was toddling and babbling and seemed quite obsessed with changing his hair to match whatever bright colors were around him. When Mrs. Tonks left them alone for a few moments to fetch them some lunch, Harry entertained the child as best he could but found himself lost in thoughts of the orphan boy's parents. The parallels between them hit Harry for the first time, and he vowed to himself that no matter how decent a grandmother Andromeda was, Harry would be there too, as often as he could.
Sitting there, holding Teddy as he fell asleep, Harry felt an urge to speak, to apologize. To Mrs. Tonks, for the loss of her husband and daughter. To the baby, for getting both of his parents killed and not even knowing the details of their deaths. To Tonks, for the snuffing of her bright spirit. Most strongly, though, Harry wished he could apologize to Remus. He'd never had a chance to talk to him and settle things after their argument when Remus tried to run away.
But he couldn't apologize for things that everyone kept saying weren't his fault, and Teddy wouldn't understand his words anyway, and Remus was dead. So really, what was the point in speaking?
Almost everything he needed to say and wanted to say, he couldn't, because the people he needed to speak to were dead.
He went home, thinking of all the people he had lost because of Voldemort and this stupid war. Because Harry had been the Chosen One, chosen by an insane man named Tom Riddle. He'd lost Remus and Tonks and Moody. His embarrassingly devoted friend Dobby had been killed and would never again squeal with delight at being given socks for Christmas. Hedwig, who had kept him sane during the summer holidays and reminded him that he was a wizard even while locked up at the Dursleys', would never again nip his fingers or steal his toast.
His schoolmates Colin Creevey and even that gorilla, Crabbe, were gone and Harry couldn't find it in him to be callous about the death of someone so stupidly following the orders of his father. Not unlike Draco...
Sirius would never take Harry for a ride on his flying motorbike. Never grin at him again with that mad sparkle in his eyes that half-worried, half-amused Harry. Even the passage of nearly three years hadn't made that wound fade.
Nor had the length of time since Dumbledore had been killed caused that to hurt less, even knowing now as much as he did about the old man's plots and machinations. Despite his mentor's fallibility and weaknesses, Harry found he could not love him any less, could not stay angry with his memory forever. In the end, Dumbledore had been a man, not a god. He had done what he'd thought was right. And in the end it had worked out.
It was the same with Snape. Harry wanted to go on hating him but after seeing his memories, and the tragic life the man had led, Harry found himself with nothing but grudging sympathy for his former professor. Yes, the man had been a bully of the worst sort, and needlessly cruel to Harry. Yet he could understand it, a bit, since he had looked so very much like James, and how much that reminder of Lily's choice must have hurt Snape every time he looked at Harry. And in the end Snape too had done what was right, even though no one, not one single living soul, believed in him.
And finally the oldest losses of all: his mum and dad. A man and woman he never knew, not as people nor as parents, and only a bit as ghosts and memories. And he never would.
Harry went upstairs to bed, and was only a little embarrassed when, a few hours later, Kreacher silently brought him a dry pillowcase to sleep on.
Hermione and Ron noticed that Harry's mood had taken a downward turn when they came by the next day; how could they not? He was almost as sullen and mopey as he'd been the summer he turned sixteen. It took a bit of wrangling but eventually the two of them annoyed Harry enough to admit that he was upset from the visit with Teddy.
Hermione quickly drew the underlying truth out of him - that he was finally feeling all of the losses of the last few years.
"Well, you didn't exactly stop and take any time to grieve properly," she nodded. "I'm not surprised that now that you aren't speaking, now that you have some time alone with your thoughts, all of this is surfacing. It's not uncommon to postpone grief until a time when you're more able to deal with it, psychologically."
Harry did a complicated thing that involved both a shrug and a roll of his eyes.
Hermione slapped him lightly on the arm. "I didn't say you were dealing with it well. Just better, perhaps, than you might have done right after each death, or even the end of the war. It's a lot to deal with," she said sympathetically.
Ron grinned a bit. "Yeah Harry, I told you we all expected you to have a meltdown at some point. The last few years have been ever so slightly traumatic."
"I wouldn't have put it quite that way, Ron," Hermione scowled. "But I don't disagree with his sentiments," she added, looking at Harry. "I'm sure there's a lot left unsaid. Perhaps this Silence Resolution of yours wasn't just about staying away from the public eye, was it? It's given you some much-needed time to think."
Harry sort of shrugged and looked down at his hands. She was right about some of it - he did wish there was a way he could have resolved things with Lupin. Or Sirius. Or Dumbledore. Or even Snape.
They were all silent for a bit until Ron said in a thoughtful tone, "Yeah, I suppose things with Remus were fairly messed up there at the end, weren't they? You two never had a chance to talk before he died."
Harry shrugged again.
"Well," Hermione said after a moment, "What about writing them letters?"
Harry gave her the most incredulous look possible.
"No, I'm serious. Many people suggest writing letters to friends and family members who have passed away, particularly when you didn't have a chance to say goodbye or other things you wish you had been able to tell them. It can be quite cathartic. Therapists are always recommending it."
Ron gave her a look. "Let me get this straight. You want Harry to write letters to dead people?" he said.
She nodded.
"What the bloody hell is the owl gong to do with them? They can't deliver letters to people who aren't here anymore. They'd just exhaust themselves trying to find the recipient and come back to Harry. Talk about depressing!"
Hermione kicked him. "You don't send the letters, you dolt. It's just an opportunity to get all of your thoughts down on paper so they stop banging around inside your head."
"Oh," Ron said, taken aback. "All right. I guess it doesn't sound like a half-bad idea, then. Do you have thoughts banging around inside your head, Harry?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Harry gave him a rueful grin. After a moment he nodded.
"
" he wrote.Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Some people keep them, I guess. Or maybe burn then. That's what I'd do, I think, so the essence of the words could go off to whatever realm you believe their spirits are in now, the place beyond the Veil."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
Ron made a face. "I take it back – the whole thing's completely daft."
"Fine Ron! Why don't you suggest something constructive then?" she glowered.
"Don't know," he shrugged, "Firewhisky maybe?"
They all laughed a bit at that and the conversation thankfully turned to other topics. Hermione was thrilled that Harry had figured out how to access the Grimmauld Place library and eagerly went downstairs to cast her own hexes at it. It took a few tries, but she eventually managed to subdue the guardian spells and happily set about exploring the previously off-limits collection while the two boys went down to the kitchen for a snack.
A few hours after they'd left, Tiberius arrived with a note from Draco asking if he could stop by after supper. Draco arrived promptly at nine o'clock, causing Harry to wonder what he'd been doing all day which made him so eager to get away from the Manor again.
Not that Harry minded, really. Not at all.
As was his usual habit, Malfoy checked out the contents of the blackboard in the drawing room to see what was going on in Harry's life recently, while Harry went to fetch some drinks and snacks. When he returned, pleased at having found a nearly-full packet of biscuits to go with their tea, he was confronted by a thoughtful looking Draco.
"What's this about letters to dead people?" he asked.
Harry sighed. "
" he wrote, giving Draco a look that clearly communicated his lack of desire to discuss the topic any further.Draco stared at the words for a few minutes. "Hmm... Not a half-bad idea, actually. There are a few things I wish I had been able to say to Severus. And Greg..."
Harry nodded, trying to look sympathetic.
After a pause, Draco changed the topic. "How are you doing on finding spells to break the curse on that rug?"
Relieved, Harry nodded again, grabbing a heavy book and gesturing to the sofa. Draco sat down quite close to him, their bodies touching at the shoulders and arms and down the length of their legs. Harry knew it was just so they could both look at the small writing in the book but it still sent a flutter of pleasure through his body.
Hoping his face wasn't too flushed, he tried to both ignore and simultaneously will down his burgeoning erection. Being a teenage boy was so humiliating at times, even though this almost never happened to him anymore. Thank the gods he was getting older.
Also, Malfoy smelled really good, he noticed.
Swallowing hard and refusing to let his mind wander any further in that direction, Harry focused on what Draco was saying about curses which animated non-living objects versus ones that made such objects semi-sentient. That would definitely impact which counter-hexes might work best on the damned rug.
By the time Malfoy finally left, after a glass of scotch and a game of chess, Harry was so hard he didn't know how Draco had failed to notice. He ran upstairs to his room as fast as he could and practically had his hands in his pants before the door slammed shut.
Images of blond hair and pale skin flashed through his mind as he set a quick pace, and the ghost of the warmth of Draco's body pressed against him on the sofa made him shiver. The memory of Fred's hands grabbing his arse the week before and what it might have felt like if they'd lingered, squeezing his bum, tore a small moan from his throat.
A light sweat broke out over Harry's still mostly-clothed body and he leaned against the door as his knees were threatening to give out while he frantically pulled on his cock. Panting for breath, the startling and fiercely arousing image of Draco wanking suddenly popped into his mind.
Thoughts of those long pale fingers wrapped around an equally long, pale prick dragged a shout from Harry's throat as he climaxed harder than he thought he ever had before, almost blacking out for a moment. Aftershocks of pleasure left him trembling, gasping, and very grateful he lived alone and there was no one to hear, to bear witness to the name he had almost certainly let slip out.
Slumped against the door, Harry took a moment to catch his breath, still reeling from what had just happened. He'd wanked off over Malfoy. Draco.
A boy.
And he'd come harder than he ever had, even after snogging Ginny for hours, imagining her letting him go all the way.
Harry cleaned himself up and Banished the mess. He was going to have an awful lot to think about when he woke up from his post-orgasmic nap, he knew, but it could wait until then. Or until the morning.
Or hopefully, never.
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no subject
Date: 2007-11-08 04:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-08 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-08 04:35 am (UTC)Poor not talking Harry. Bet Draco might get a few words out of him at some point ;)
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Date: 2007-11-08 07:58 pm (UTC)Harry's a tough character - he'll figure himself out soon, I'm sure.
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Date: 2007-11-08 06:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-08 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-08 07:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-08 08:02 pm (UTC)Thank you for that observation - my fics are usually so dialog-heavy that it's been a challenge to write Harry as silent. I'm glad it's been a little (but hopefully not too much) frustrating to read. I think I'd have smacked Harry by now, myself. ;)
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Date: 2007-11-08 08:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-08 08:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-08 09:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-08 08:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-08 01:25 pm (UTC)I loved the mental image of Harry and Draco doing battle with the rug and coming out of it worse for the wear!
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Date: 2007-11-08 08:07 pm (UTC)Glad you liked the rug bit - I had fun visualizing that myself.
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Date: 2007-11-08 02:04 pm (UTC)And I have a feeling that Draco likes it, too. :D
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Date: 2007-11-08 08:09 pm (UTC)Draco... well, there has to be *some* reason he keeps coming around. *g*
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Date: 2007-11-09 12:51 am (UTC)Great job, and I'm looking forward to what comes next.
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Date: 2007-11-09 08:58 pm (UTC)I'm glad you are enjoying the story and that you appreciate the graphics for Harry's handwriting - that makes it all worth it to me!
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Date: 2007-11-09 03:12 am (UTC)And oh! Those early "unintentional" touches between the boys that set Harry's blood to racing. Awesome! I'm so sad there's only three more installments - you need to make it loooooonger!
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Date: 2007-11-09 09:00 pm (UTC)*whispers* It might be 6 parts rather than 5; we'll have to see what happens. I'm not much of one for drawing things out though - usually 10 chapters is my limit even for a 150 page story.
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Date: 2007-11-12 12:23 pm (UTC)"Yeah, I suppose things with Remus were fairly messed up there at the end, weren't they? You two never had a chance to talk before he died."
I think that was a part of the book that truly broke my heart, because it had seemed so callous. Lupin was a favourite character of mine and he seemed to be a background device, not used well at all. And both he and Tonks were just... disposed of. That's just the way it seemed to me.
Awesome job. Third part, here I come.
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Date: 2007-11-13 04:06 am (UTC)So I'm very pleased that you're finding it plausible and enjoyable, how Harry is working through all of this. Thanks for reading! :)
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Date: 2007-11-14 06:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-15 04:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-18 05:02 pm (UTC)I really Love the character of Snape and this part Made me suffer his death all over again. I may be Masochistic but thank you.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-19 04:24 pm (UTC)