Out of the Night that Covers Me

Out of the Night that Covers Me

by Mephistedes


Previously:

When Harry turned away and caught sight of the supposedly blank fourth tesseract lurching with images, he was certain his jaw hit the floor.


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X. The Fourth Tesseract

.:.

“Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.”

Harry jumped and spun around. Draco was standing in the doorway behind him, eyes shining from the tesseracts’ glow. When he said nothing else, Harry slowly looked away from the grim-faced blond and back to the floating Malfoys.

He had never recalled seeing Lucius or Narcissa looking quite this ... well, happy. Harry didn’t think they could smile, in all honesty. But there they were, faces eased of the lines that spoke of burdens and obligations and darkness. Carefree. High-spirited. They looked younger. Then the tesseract turned. The next image told quite a different tale.

Draco’s parents were almost unrecognizable. Lucius’ hair was matted, tangled, lacking its usual rich luster. His face was older, gaunt, and skeletal, and from what Harry could see, his skin looked paper thin and unreal. There were heavy bags beneath his clouded eyes and his blue veins showed clearly through his barely-there skin.

Narcissa wasn’t much better off herself: her flowing hair was a ball of white knots, and her blue eyes were washed out and deadened grey. Her skin was sickly yellow and waxy. If Harry hadn’t known who they were beforehand, he would have never guessed those restrained strangers were once the wealthy and powerful parents of Draco Malfoy.

“Found like this at Malfoy Manor.” Draco’s tone was as low and detached as the pictured figures of his parents. “It’ll be three years three weeks from now, October 27th.”

“What happened?” Harry found himself whispering, as he didn’t dare raise his voice any louder.

“One of their peacocks went missing from the grounds, and mysteriously reappeared a week later, four days before they were found like this.”

Swallowing thickly past the lump in his throat, Harry whispered, “The first victims.”

“Yes.”

“So that’s why you said we were so alike,” Harry quietly said, his heart wrenching at the sight of the unresponsive pair. “They’re gone; like my parents.” Strange, though; Harry was sure he’d have heard if the Malfoys died, being such a prominent couple.

“No.” Harry ripped his gaze from a snapshot of the young parents bouncing newborn Draco to stare at the blond in shock. “They survived.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Harry said, “If they survived, then — ”

“The Malfoys survived in body, but not in mind,” Draco quickly answered, his eyes still glued to the tesseract. “The damage was far too great to save them mentally. No chance of recovery whatsoever. At least that’s what the Healers said.” He limply shrugged. “Could’ve changed. I haven’t seen them in nearly three years.”

Like Neville’s parents, Harry wanted to say, but didn’t want to upset Draco further. Instead he asked, “Why your parents, though? What links them to Quidditch and Gryffindors and Gareth?”

Draco raised and dropped a shoulder, idly shaking his head. “Nothing. Unless someone was trying to get to me through the Malfoys; but I didn’t know Perkins before his murder.”

Harry frowned, his eyes drifting back to the Malfoy tesseract. Lucius was no saint, his stint in Azkaban attested to that fact, so whoever had done this might have been after him. Narcissa, though; Harry wasn’t sure about her.

Sure, he knew she supported her husband in everything prim and dark, but since that day in the forest, Harry’s impression of Narcissa had changed. She was just caught up in Lucius’ mess as Draco had been back in school.

But why the Malfoys? Unless former Death Eaters were seeking revenge on old mates and lost Quidditch matches, nothing added up.

“What did they do?” Harry gently pried, studying the tesseract. “After the war; what could they have done to deserve this?”

Considerable silence fell, and he was sure that that was all he was going to get from Draco tonight. Then, the Slytherin finally answered, again, aloofly. “After the war, the Malfoys kept a low profile. It was rare that they ever left their manor; it was rare that they made a move toward anything public, what with the rest of society prejudging their decisions. The Malfoys remained holed in their empty manor with their house-elves. Miserable recluses: what of it?”

“You speak as if you’re separate from them,” Harry said instead, piercing Draco with a serious look. “It’s as if you don’t know them.”

“I don’t.” Draco answered so brusquely Harry took a startled step backward. “They are my parents, Potter.” As Draco’s brandished finger pointed to the tesseract, Harry spun around to see the uncharacteristic smiles on Lucius and Narcissa’s usually standoffish faces. “The happy people who know who I am and what love is,” Draco continued.

When the tesseract melted into another image, the one of the Malfoys at their worst and most unrecognizable, Harry turned away, unable to face them.

But even worse was the livid scowl on Draco’s face as he roared, “Not them! Not the strangers who were driven so mad they attacked me, their own son, and left me like this!”

He gestured to his bare torso and twisted around. As Draco turned, Harry saw that the burn on his arm extended in a russet lash across his back. Even more pink claw marks could be seen drawing long, angry lines down to the waist over his bare buttocks.

Harry’s heart threatened to stop when Draco said, “Lucius Malfoy did that. Went mad and started firing hexes left and right, spitting, ‘demon and intruder’ in my face.” He dragged his hand across the scratches and explained, “Narcissa clawed at me, and when that wasn’t enough, she bit me,” Draco rubbed the wound on his shoulder and faced him. “No Stunning Spell would stop them. Those monsters are not my parents!”

Harry took a quick step forward, vehemently shaking his head. “No. The coward who did this is the monster, Draco; not your mum and dad.”

“My parents would’ve never done that to me!”

“If their brains’ve been addled, they didn’t know better,” Harry implored.

“My parents would’ve known me!” snarled the Slytherin. “They are not my parents!”

“Yes, they are, and you believe that, you still believe that,” Harry angrily returned, moving closer to the infuriated wizard, “or else you wouldn’t carry around their badges everywhere like this. You know deep, deep down in there, your parents are still alive, because some part of you — God knows some stubborn, prideful part of you knows they’re still in there, and it’s killing you to say those things. But you do. Because you don’t want to show how much it still hurts.

“Because beneath all of that, you blame yourself for them being this way.” Harry finished softly, finding himself nearly nose to nose with the fuming Slytherin. Draco was trembling, whether with incredible sadness or unparalleled anger, Harry wasn’t sure, but still, he carefully settled his hands around Draco’s arms. The blond balked, but didn’t push him away. His grey eyes remained on the floating tesseract, unblinking.

He tremulously whispered, “I should’ve been there with them.”

Harry’s heart jolted in his chest. He tightened his hold on Draco. “Then you would’ve died, too.”

“Would that be so bad?” Draco hissed, and Harry knew without a doubt, Draco really believed that. “For months we stayed in that house while the Dark Lord wrought his havoc, maiming and torturing and plotting and murdering. For months, my parents tried to shield me from the worst displays of what he called ‘kind mercy’ and ‘true justice.’

“They saved me, Harry,” Draco’s form shook under Harry’s embrace. His eyes still hadn’t moved from his parents’ tesseract. “I couldn’t save them.”

By that time, Harry already had the Slytherin in full embrace. Despite the blond’s nakedness, Harry felt no inkling of sexual desire. He was more aware of the growing ache in his chest formed in response to Draco’s suffering. Harry ran his hand soothingly along the nape of the Slytherin’s neck and held his trembling body closer, tighter.

He couldn’t form words for any type of condolence, and Draco was sure to reject him for saying something heartfelt and foolish. Harry also found he couldn’t relate to Draco’s situation, either: both his parents were dead, and he couldn’t have saved them if he tried.

And Draco shot down any possibility of his parents recovering any time soon. So there was nothing Harry could do but continue to comfort the blond in whatever small way he could, for as long as Draco needed. Draco needed to know he was here, that he’d be here for as long as he was needed.

After several moments of tacit support, Harry inaudibly asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The fistfuls of his t-shirt in Draco’s hands tensed. Then Harry felt a hand on his chest, pushing him gently away until he met Draco’s narrow-eyed gaze. Warily Harry asked, “Draco?”

“You were never supposed to see it in the first place, Potter.”

Harry started as he was shoved away, nearly crumpling to the bed. Draco’s face contorted in rage as he hissed, “In fact, I never wanted anyone to see them like this. I’d rather they died than to have them suffer in this way.” The blond snarled, and Harry drew back from the long finger shaking in his face. “Curse you and your nosiness.”

Draco regarded him with a glare of betrayal so harsh, Harry felt as if he’d been slapped. Stepping forward beseechingly, Harry ruefully reached out to the Slytherin. “Draco...”

He felt breath leave him in one fell swoop as Draco angrily shied away from him with a dark look. “I knew this was a mistake,” growled the blond, and he moved to start gathering his scattered clothes. “An incredibly stupid one.”

“You’re being a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Harry snapped. He grabbed Draco’s arm only to have his hand shaken off again. “Draco, be reasonable: it’s not as if I’ve broken into your Gringotts account.”

“I think I would’ve been far more pleasant if you had.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“This is an operation, Potter, a one-off, after which we’ll never see one another again,” said Draco as he slid on his shirt and waved his wand over the clasps.

Harry folded his arms and slowly shook his head. “You don’t know that. You don’t want that.”

“Maybe you don’t want that,” Draco countered as his buttons rapidly fastened themselves and he yanked his legs through his trousers. Harry narrowed his eyes at the blond wizard’s apathetic shrug. “But at least I’ll get to go back home having had one decent shag.”

Harry vaguely knew only the deepest rage caused him to react so violently. He reared back with his fist and struck Draco square in the jaw at that moment, sending the half-nude blond sprawling against the wall. Normally, Harry would never let violence speak for him, especially considering the world of hurt Draco was in at the moment.

But after that foul remark, he thought he was fucking entitled.

“You throw my invested trust back in my face,” he gutturally growled, “you’d better be prepared for the consequences.”

The twinge in his knuckles didn’t bother him as much as Draco’s dismissive nasal scoff. “Right,” rubbing his lower jaw, which bloomed scarlet, the blond sneered, “big mistake.”

“You’re being a real arsehole,” Harry furiously said. He clenched his hands in to fists at a feeble attempt to maintain the grip on his rapidly-declining control.

With a wry sort of chuckle, Draco snapped the buttons on his cuffs closed and drawled, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t my privacy violated?”

“I’m sorry.”

“That you got caught.” Draco snarled before walking out of the room.

Fists balled and shaking, Harry followed him into the corridor and down the stairs, continuing their argument. “We’re partners.”

“I don’t do partners, Potter,” the blond growled as he ducked into the drawing room to retrieve his cloaks. Harry briefly gave the dimmed room a once-over, noting its spotless restoration. He recoiled slightly as he turned to find Draco inches from his face, regarding him with a glower. “And after tonight, I’m definitely reinstating that decision.”

“D’you want me to punch you again?” Harry threatened, glaring at the Slytherin over the rim of his glasses. “Now, listen to me, listen,” he emphasized by seizing Draco’s wrist, refusing to let go. He would be heard, whether Draco wanted to listen or not. “I am sorry for violating your trust, but there is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Of course you can say that,” Draco retorted, shaking loose his wrist. “Your parents are dead.”

Draco briskly shrugged on his robe and cloak as he walked out of the drawing room and down the stairs, Harry at his heels.

“What are you really mad at?” he softly asked as they reached the foyer, mindful of Mrs. Black’s sleeping portrait. Draco paused with his hand on the doorknob before facing him with an annoyed expression. “That I violated your trust or that I found out about your parents and didn’t react how you assumed I would? With glee and laughter and a sense of justice served? Or is it because I care?”

The stony expression on Draco’s face would have stopped anyone else from continuing. Harry, however, with S.T.A.G.-enhanced perception, noticed the tiniest flare in Draco’s nostrils. He knew then he’d struck a nerve. Draco had practically given away the reason for his ire with his twitching nostrils.

Still standing in Draco’s boxers and his Weird Sisters shirt on the fourth stair, Harry crossed his arms and eyed Draco coolly. “That I care? Is that it?”

Draco rolled his eyes, muttering, “Oh, please.”

Despite the Slytherin’s moan of complaint, Harry went on. “Because I do, is that what you want to hear? I care! I ... care!”

His voice was rising, but he was too far gone to worry about waking Mrs. Black and Kreacher now. Draco needed to hear this. “And that pisses you off — that pisses you off, because you don’t want me to care. You want another reason to go on hating me like you hate everyone else because you’re afraid.”

Draco’s eyes darted up to his at that moment, the grey depths sparking with something unclear. His pale face was drawn with annoyance, lips pressed tightly together and eyebrows dropped as low as possible. Anyone else would have turned away, given up. But Draco was still here, still listening to him when he could have been long gone.

And that was the hope Harry held to. They weren’t even together, per se, and he had never fought this hard for anyone else. It was all so astonishing and bloody confusing, defying all known and unknown logic in the world, but still, Harry went on fighting.

“You’re afraid to get close to me. You’re afraid of this,” Harry quietly said, taking a step forward and motioning between them. “You’re afraid, because I care about you, Draco.”

By the time he’d finished, he was panting. His mouth was bone dry and his eyes were wide and unblinking behind his round spectacles, waiting for Draco’s response. For the first time since their partnership, Harry felt the silence between them was excruciating. He wanted a response — an insult, a sob, a confession, a hex, anything — just something to know what Draco was thinking. Was Draco thinking? Or was he hearing an angry buzzing noise in place of his voice? It took all of Harry’s strength not to demand an answer.

“You shouldn’t.”

For all the unbearable waiting he’d done for Draco’s answer, Harry had barely missed the wizard’s reply. But he would have known regardless, because his heart gave a staggered heave against his breastbone. He simply stared at Draco’s emotionless face without a word.

“Because this,” Draco gestured hastily between them, “is over.”

Eyes briefly falling shut, Harry gently called, “Draco — ”

“I’ll see myself out.”

“Shutting me out isn’t going to stop me from caring.”

“From now on,” the blond angrily spun round, hand firm around the doorknob, “the only talk between us will be at work and about the case only.”

Harry shook his head. “That’ll never work out.”

“Then we’ll make it!” Draco snarled. Harry shut his mouth and settled his hands on the stairway banisters quietly. “We’ve scratched the itch, now it’s time to finish the investigation so we can get back to our lives.”

“Can you really?” he broached, noting the slight flutter of Mrs. Black’s curtains. “Can you really forget tonight and go back to normal?” he expanded, piercing Draco with a serious look. The blond’s eyes were narrowed, his hand tightening around the doorknob. “Because, honestly, I can’t. I can’t forget what we did, I can’t forget your parents, and I can’t forget that I care, I can’t.” Harry shook his head firmly. “I won’t.”

“You had better try,” Draco coldly returned. “Good night, Potter.”

He at last opened the door, letting in a cool draught that didn’t chill Harry as much as Draco’s solemn expression did. “This conversation is not over,” he called after him.

“Yes, it is.”

“Draco!”

As the pale wizard slammed the door shut, that’s when chaos ensued. The curtains shrouding Mrs. Black’s painting burst open as Harry jumped the last steps, dashed across the foyer, and threw open the door. The doorstep was empty. He was gone.

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