FIC: Benevolence (Part Eight)

[dysonrules]

Yes, I know.  You thought I forgot about this.  WELL, I DIDN'T.  I was just busy with things.  *kicks holidays*

But it's baaaaaaack!  :D  You might need THIS to hack through the fluff.  I suppose that's a warning.  :D

~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry ate dinner alone.  He paced for a while in his study, carrying a book that he didn’t bother to crack open and try to read.  Finally he returned it to the shelf and went to his workshop, but each time he picked up his tools to carve the scales on his newest dragon he found his mind wandering.

Eventually he flung the tools aside with a sigh and got to his feet.

Where was Draco?

Harry went to the kitchen and made a cup of tea, then sat at the table and made ripples in the liquid with his fingers until it grew cold.  He reheated it and tried to drink it, but found himself mindlessly twirling the mug after only a few sips.

At nine p.m. he went to his room and sprawled on his bed.  He considered taking off his clothes and trying to sleep, but thoughts of Draco preoccupied him.  Harry got to his feet twice, tempted to Apparate to Malfoy Manor.  Surely the Malfoys wouldn't hex him for showing up unannounced?  But Draco might.

The thought was agonizing and Harry took to pacing again, twisting his wand in his hands over and over, wearing the smooth patches even smoother.

“Fuck,” he whispered to the empty room.  “What could be taking so long?”

Harry sprawled into a chair and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, trying to picture the scene at Malfoy Manor.  How would Draco even bring up the subject?  Likely it would take him forever to work up the courage.  Harry tapped the handle of his wand rhythmically against the arm of the chair.  And then how would Lucius react?  With rage?  With angry words and hexes?  Could Draco be lying on the floor in pain right now?  Could he be screaming from the agony of multiple Crucios?  Could he be dead?

Harry shot to his feet again, wand digging so hard into his palm that he had to consciously relax his grip.  He walked the floor from door to window and back again, thoughts racing.  Don’t be a bloody fool, Harry, Draco is his son.  Lucius wouldn’t kill him, even by accident, and Narcissa is there.  She loves him.

The words were rational, but Harry’s fear was not.  What if Narcissa had changed?  What if Lucius had gone mad in the past four years?  People could change; Draco himself was evidence of that.

Harry gnawed at his bottom lip, half-convinced that Draco was lying dead on the floor in Malfoy Manor, murdered by his enraged father for daring to adopt a Muggle child.  Only the knowledge that Draco was no fool kept Harry from Apparating there straightaway.

He considered fixing himself a drink, but he suspected alcohol would sit in his stomach like a fiery lump of coal.  He doubted any libation could take the edge from his anxiety.  He frowned.  No liquor, but possibly a potion.  He tried to remember if he kept a Calming Draught in the cupboard with his medicinal salves and potions.

After ransacking his supplies and then reorganizing them in a burst of nervous energy, he located a vial of Dreamless Sleep, which he might have to take if Draco did not return soon; otherwise he would get no sleep at all.

Harry carried it into his workshop and promptly dropped the vial.  It shattered on the wooden floor with a loud tinkle, but Harry barely noticed.  He launched himself into Draco’s arms and held him tightly, so grateful to see him alive that he could not even speak.

Draco trembled and clutched tightly at Harry.  His face had been pale in the brief glimpse Harry had seen of it before his frantic embrace.  He pulled away and looked into Draco’s haunted grey eyes.

“Was it awful?” Harry whispered.

Draco nodded.

Harry did not ask for details.  He simply took Draco’s hand and led him into the bedroom.  He sat Draco down on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes, then pulled a thick blanket around his shoulders before curling next to him.  Draco leaned into him and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder.  He seemed exhausted.

“Tea?” Harry asked.

“No.  I won’t be able to sleep.”

“All right,” Harry said and rested his lips against Draco’s hair.  He wished he had not broken the bottle of Dreamless Sleep; it seemed Draco might need it.

“It took me half the evening to work up the courage to speak,” Draco said quietly.  “We ate dinner and father made barbed comments about how I am never home.  Mother asked why I was poking at my food and not eating.”  Draco swallowed.  Harry rubbed gentle circles into his back, striving to comfort him.  “We retired to the parlour for brandy, like civilized grownups.”  Draco snorted.  “Ironic that I still feel like a disobedient child around them, particularly now.”

Harry said nothing; he simply allowed his hands to express what words could never say.

“Finally my father demanded to know why I was acting like a recalcitrant house-elf, so I blurted it out.  All of it.  I told him about Daisy and her grandparents and the fact that I had made her my sole heir.  Everything.”  Draco’s voice was hushed.  “He said nothing, but his face grew colder and angrier with every word.  And then I could not seem to stop.  I told them…  I told them about you.  I admitted I was gay and would never marry and produce Malfoy heirs, never join the Ministry and manipulate politics, never do any of the things he planned for me.”

Harry’s breath caught.  He would never have expected Draco to have broken that news; not then, possibly not ever.

“What did he say?” Harry asked.

“Nothing.  He did not say a word.  He got to his feet, used his bloody cane to steady himself, and walked from the room.  He did not even slam the door.  Somehow that almost made it worse.”

Harry cringed.  In all of his imaginings, that scenario had never come to mind.

“Mother tried to make light of it, but I could tell she was just as shocked and horrified.  It was almost as though I had become a stranger in my own home.”  Draco waved a hand vaguely.  “Just like that.”

“What do you think he will do?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Maybe he’ll disown me and I’ll be living on my own in a boarding house with a Muggle child.”  Despite his flippant words, Draco’s voice shook.  Harry knew, despite everything, that being a Malfoy was important to him.

“You won’t be on your own,” Harry assured him.  “Not really.”

Draco pulled away to look at him and then leaned in for a kiss.  It was slow, sweet, and lingering.   Draco’s hands slipped into Harry’s hair and held his head in place while he stared into his eyes for long moments.  “When did you become so…?”

Harry waited, but Draco did not finish the sentence, although he hoped the final descriptor was something positive.

“Come on,” Harry said, “Let’s get you out of these clothes so you can rest.”

Draco made no protest as Harry slowly undressed him, meaning to give him nothing more than comfort, but as each bit of flesh was slowly revealed, Harry could not stop himself from placing random, delicate kisses here and there, a shoulder, wrist, breastbone, knee.

When Draco was down to nothing but pants, Harry peeled back the blankets on his bed and started to tuck them around Draco, but a pale hand stopped him.

“Don’t stop,” Draco whispered.

Harry swallowed and nodded, then quickly took off his own garments before sliding beneath the blankets and continuing his slow worship of Draco’s body, hands and lips caressing and kissing until Draco was gasping and incoherent beneath the onslaught.  Harry saved Draco’s cock for last, finally taking it into his mouth and sucking hard, revelling in the blissful sensation of giving comfort in every way possible.  Draco’s soft cries and clutching hands told Harry his thoughts were far from his parents and the problems at hand, at least for those few moments.

When Draco came, the taste did not seem as horrible this time.  Perhaps Harry was more prepared for it, or maybe he was simply willing to take any part of Draco he could get, even the not-so-pleasant bits.

Harry moved up and curled himself around Draco’s back, holding him tightly.

“I need to take care of you,” Draco protested.

Harry was hard and aching with the need to come, but he shook his head and pressed a kiss to Draco’s neck.  “Later.  Rest now.  We have plenty of time.”

He hoped.

Draco linked the fingers of one hand through Harry’s, squeezed once, and slept.

~~~~

Harry dreamed of blond hair and pale skin, of hands touching, and warm lips kissing his skin.  He opened his eyes to darkness and found it was not a dream at all.

“Draco,” he whispered.

“Hush,” Draco said and continued.

Harry stayed quiet, except for his gasping cries when he came.

Draco curled around him, solid and real.  They slept.

~~~~

Harry woke up alone.  He sat up, panicked, and reached for both glasses and wand on his bedside table.

A snort caused him to sag back against his pillows and he blinked at Draco, slightly fuzzy without benefit of spectacles, but there.

“Do you always wake up ready to hex someone?”

Harry smiled lazily and watched as Draco fastened the last few buttons of his shirt.  “Old habits die hard.  Going somewhere?”

Draco nodded.  “I can’t go see Daisy because I am ‘out of the country’, but that doesn’t mean I have to neglect my other charges.”

Harry smiled.  Draco’s other charges, like Ned the fisherman and the children at the orphanage.  “Will you come back here when you’re finished?”  He told himself he did not sound pathetic and needy.  He should have tried for seductive, but doubted he could pull it off.

Draco arched a brow at him.  “Will there be a prize if I do?”

Harry’s grin widened.  “I could probably arrange one.”

“Then I’ll see you later, Potter.”  He started towards the door, paused, and then walked back to the bed to give Harry a lingering kiss.

Harry watched Draco  leave with a silly feeling of contentment before he rolled over and went back to sleep.

~~~~

Harry was awakened sometime later by the sensation of his bed rocking.  His eyes snapped open to find Kreacher standing by his bedside.  His hands were on the mattress, shoving it violently.  Harry blinked, trying to shake off the vestiges of sleep that always seemed more cloying after once awakening.

“Kreacher?” he asked.

“Harry Potter is having a visitor,” Kreacher said and stopped pushing the bed.  His hands twisted together, almost as if he were wringing them, even though Harry could not remember the last time he had seen the elf behaving nervously.

“A visitor?”

“Mistress Narcissa Malfoy,” Kreacher imparted in a hushed tone, “is being in the drawing room.  She is being certain Kreacher is telling Harry Potter that she is not wanting to leave.”

Harry swung his feet over the edge of the bed, wishing his sudden alarm would help him feel awake.  “Will you, um… offer her some tea?  And bring me a cup, please.”

Kreacher backed away.  “As Harry Potter wishes.” 

Harry tore through his wardrobe, looking for something that would not offend Draco’s mother, but also not appear that he was trying to impress her.  It did not help that most of his clothing consisted of Muggle t-shirts and jeans.

“Robes, robes…” he muttered and rejected three different sets of dress robes.  Why did he have so many?  Relics from his days as an Auror.

He finally snatched out a medium blue set that Hermione had referred to as “day robes”.  She had picked them out for him when they had attended some ceremony or other that had been too casual for dress robes.

Harry shrugged into them quickly and then dragged a comb through his hair.  It would have to do.

He padded down the stairs at a near run, stopping near the bottom in order to assume a more sedate pace.  He could only hope his look said “casual relaxation” and not “I just had sex with your son”.  The memory caused his face to flame and he had to stop in the hallway and fan himself until his blush faded.  Whatever the purpose of Narcissa’s visit, Harry doubted it would be pleasant.  No need to make it more difficult.

When he felt more composed, he entered the drawing room to find Kreacher pouring tea from a silver service Harry could not recall seeing before.  Narcissa stood as Kreacher popped out.

“Mr Potter,” she said formally.  She was dressed in fur-trimmed white robes that made her look cold and almost foreign.  Her hair was pulled back in a severe style.  She looked serious and formidable.

“Mrs Malfoy,” Harry replied and practically dove on the tea service in order to avoid eye contact.  “Tea?”

“Yes, thank you.  One sugar, no milk.”

Harry dropped a sugar cube into one steaming cup using the fancy silver tongs.  He handed the cup and saucer to Narcissa, who took it and seated herself once more on the sofa.  Harry loaded his cup with several sugars and a splash of milk, assuming he would need the jolt of energy to survive the next few minutes.

He sat on the couch opposite her and waited, stirring his tea until most of the sugar dissolved.  He took a gulp and scalded the roof of his mouth.

“Is Draco here?” Narcissa asked without tasting her tea.

“No,” he answered and felt a flash of relief at the truth of it.

She studied him and then nodded.  “Draco spoke to us yesterday about the matter of a Muggle child.  Is this familiar to you?”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted, half-surprised that she had reached the heart of the matter so quickly.  “Yeah, I know about Daisy.”

She sipped at her tea and pierced him with a stare.  “I rather thought you might.”

Harry matched her look and waited, saying nothing.  The purpose of her visit was still unclear.

“This… fostering.  Was it your idea?” she asked.

Harry laughed.  “Mine?  Why would it be my idea?”

“Draco also mentioned that he was… seeing you.”  Her nose wrinkled as if she had smelled something unpleasant.  “I understand that your Granger friend is muggleborn.  Draco never had any interest in Muggles.  Until now.”

Harry sat back.  “Are you suggesting that Draco is only interested in Muggles because of me?”

She shrugged.  “It seems logical.”

Harry leaned forwards and placed his teacup on the table lest he smash it in a rage.  “Well, let me assure you, Draco’s interest in Muggles has nothing to do with me.  His own conscience placed him on the path he now follows and while I would love to claim credit for some of the amazing things he has done, I cannot.  If you insist upon placing some sort of blame for Draco’s altruism, then I suggest you dig up Voldemort and ask him about it.”

She looked taken aback.

Harry nodded.  “Yes, Voldemort’s horrific acts of terror taught your son that there were more important things in life than labels like 'pure-blood' and 'Muggle'.  Things like compassion and charity.  And love.”

Her eyes flashed, but Harry wasn’t finished.

“It might be easy for you to scoff at those concepts now, but I remember a time when you were not so eager to brush off such things.  I remember a time when being a pure-blood and living in a fancy mansion and having your peers look up to you meant nothing.  I remember a time when all that mattered was that your only son still lived.”

Narcissa shot to her feet so quickly that her tea sloshed over the edge of her cup.  She set it down on the table quickly.  “You need not preach to me, Mr Potter.”

Harry stood also.  “Really?  Perhaps someone needs to.  Occasionally it is good to be reminded about such things.  Like hope.  And faith.  And trusting in your own child.”

“How dare you?” she hissed.  She advanced on him, crossing the small space to stop before him.  Her fists were clenched and her eyes flashed.  Harry held his ground, glad that she was not holding a wand.

“How dare I what?  How dare I tell you that Draco is amazing?  That he is a far better person than I would ever have imagined?  That some days he makes me feel ashamed for not doing more?  Yes, how terrible of me.  I am sure it offends you that Draco had the temerity not only to rub elbows with dreadful lesser beings, but also that he lowered himself enough to allow one into his life.  But here’s the rub.  If you actually saw him with Daisy, the way he smiles, the way he talks to her, the way he shines when he's with her…”  Harry’s breath caught at the memory and he looked away, nearly overcome with emotion.  “Well, if you saw that, I don’t think you would be seeking retribution or wanting to level blame.  I think you would burst with pride.  And if you were someone like me…”  He met her eyes again, defiantly.  “If you were like me, you would fall in love.”

Her eyes were wide, and so much like Draco’s that Harry’s heart ached with the need to see him again.

“I… see,” Narcissa said.  She stepped away and walked quickly to the doorway.  “Thank you for the tea, Mr Potter.  I will see myself out.”

Before Harry could speak, she was gone.

Harry sank down on the sofa and put his head in his hands.  He had no idea whether or not he had made things better, or worse.  But he did know one thing for certain.

“I am in love with Draco Malfoy,” he whispered.

~~~~

It seemed to enormous to contain, Harry’s newfound knowledge.  He wanted to shout it from the rooftops.  It was exhilarating and terrifying at once.  Harry wanted to tackle Draco when he saw him next and exclaim the words aloud, to see Draco’s face…

Harry groaned and sprawled on the sofa.  Telling him would be a bad idea.  A very bad idea.  Draco was dealing with too much right now; the last thing he needed was a silly declaration of love from his former enemy.

Draco would run.  Harry was sure of it.  And even if he wouldn’t, Harry wasn’t ready to take that chance.

If Draco sensed something different when he stepped through the Floo and into Harry’s arms, felt it in the way Harry kissed him, saw it in the way Harry's eyes drank in the sight of him, well, he didn’t mention it.  And neither did Harry.

~~~~

“Your mother was here today,” Harry said casually later, when the afternoon rain made the shadows long and nightfall seem closer than it was.

Draco stiffened and his fingers stopped trailing lazily over Harry’s bare shoulder, only for an instant, and then they resumed.  Draco relaxed, but not quite completely.  “Was she?”

“Yes.  She thought I might be responsible for your newfound altruism towards Muggles.  I mean, to your parents it’s something new, yeah?”

“How little they know me,” Draco said dryly.

Harry nodded.  He suspected that was the whole point of Narcissa’s visit.  Following the trail of the man her son had become, hoping to find the place where it had diverged from their expectations.

Harry said nothing; he only snuggled closer and breathed in Draco’s scent.  Something plopped onto the pillow they shared and Harry felt something tug at his hair.

“Malachite,” he grumbled.  “Is it necessary to sleep in my hair?”

Draco’s chest rumbled with a chuckle.  “Dragon’s nest.”

“It’s not that bad!” Harry protested.  He paused and then added, “Maybe I should cut it really short.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Harry smiled against Draco’s skin.  “You like my dragon’s nest,” he mumbled.

“You wouldn’t be quite you without it.  Now be quiet.  I would like to get in a decent nap before supper.”

Harry winced as the dragon pushed more firmly into his hair, yanking a few strands out.  Draco had brought Malachite back with him, along with a handful of toiletries that he had wordlessly placed in the bathroom.  Harry hoped it meant Draco meant to spend more time at Grimmauld Place and less at the boarding house, but he knew better than to ask the question aloud.

Harry dozed.  He thought Draco had fallen asleep, but his quiet voice broke the stillness.

“What else did she say?”

Harry thought back to the conversation with Narcissa.  “She didn’t have a chance to say much, really.  I sort of did all the talking.”

“You did?”  Draco sounded surprised.  “And what did you say?”

“I can’t remember, exactly,” Harry prevaricated.  “I might have told her I was proud of you and if she wasn’t, then that was her loss.  Or something to that effect.”

Draco snorted softly.  “Nothing important, then.”

Harry smiled.  “No, probably not.”

But Draco leaned down and kissed him anyway, and they skipped their afternoon nap.

~TBC~

Keep those machetes handy.  XD