Deathsong Balladeer

Devil\'s Advocate

Harry picked at his food, head resting on his hand. He wasn\'t all that hungry, but that was really more because he had eaten a rather large breakfast than any emotional turmoil. He was actually feeling better than he had in days. It had been almost a full school week since the Incident, as he liked to refer to it. He hadn\'t forgotten, but the physical memory was dimming. And Severus was helping. He h't m't made any move to touch Harry sexually since, but held him and he had dropped the subject of their relationship.

\"You gonna eat that?\" Ron asked, jabbing his fork in the direction of Harry\'s mashed potatoes.

\"No...I\'m still stuffed from breakfast. Take them.\" Harry scooted his plate closer to Ron, stifling a yawn.

\"Still tired?\"

\"Yeah...a\'ve\'ve got that stupid detention with Filch tonight.\" Harry made a face. It hadn\'t been his fault...he had dozed off in the library, and had been late to Divination. Trelawney didn\'t like him much anyway, and had seen fit to assign Harry detention with the school\'s loathed caretaker. Which meant, generally, a night polishing trophies in the trophy room.

\"Better you than me.\" Ron joked. \"I think you should\'ve tried to get out of it.\"

\"No point.\" Harry said. //Ron still thinks I\'m in some sort of training. Nah, I\'m just meeting our Potions professor for intense cuddling and insightful conversation. Oh, and when he thinks I\'m ready, the sex will come back.//

\"If I were you, I would have.\" Ron continued. \"I would have gone to Dumbledore. You weren\'t *that* late...and if you weren\'t being kept up so late at night, you wouldn\'t be falling asleep all over Hogwarts...\"

\"It\'s not that big a deal. I\'ve had detention before. I\'ll get it done quick.\"

\"Do you still have to do the other stuff?\"

\"Probably.\" Harry shrugged. He wanted to see Severus. They had had Potions today. Nothing there had changed. The Potions master was exactly the same, taking points and chastising Harry as though they had shared nothing. In a way it amused Harry, and he had to smile. If he weren\'t so worried about upsetting his teacher-turned-lover, he would have taunted the older man in class. Shot him steamy looks, or something. He knew he\'d eventually have to tell Ron. Eventually.

\"That\'s not fair.\"

\"What is?\" Harry retorted. \"I\'m stuffed. I\'m gonna finish my homework before detention.\" He could tell he and Ron were drifting apart, and that he had to do something to stop it, but he wasn\'t sure what. He still wasn\'t ready to tell Ron everything. He\'d never tell Ron *everything*. //I have to tell him about me and...Severus. That\'ll be weird. What will I say? How will he take it?// Well, Ron had never turned away from him completely before, he shouldn\'t now. Sighing, Harry gathered up his things and headed to the dorm.

***

Harry sighed, shoulders slumped, as he pushed open the door of the trophy room. Filch had told him to go on up, he\'d be joining another \'snotty little trouble maker\'. Well, at least with two the detention would go quicker. He walked inside, and froze, eyes falling on a familiar slim figure. He sucked in a quiet breath, glad his entrance probably hadn\'t been heard. He swallowed, hard, eyes studying the slender form of Draco Malfoy. The pale boy was bent over a trophy, polishing it hard. His silver blond hair was falling forwards, dislodged from its usually perfect cut. Harry could see clearly the ridge of spine through his dark grey sweater, and there was something about that that fascinated him.

It was on that close inspection he realized that there was more to the rapid movements of Draco\'s back and shoulders than the polishing. Cocking his head, Harry could hear clearly small, hitching breaths, almost imperceptible. Was Draco...crying?

\"Draco?\" Harry asked, softly. The pale boy froze, and the face that glared up at Harry was not one of sadness, but of pure rage. Thin pale lips were twisted into a snarl, and silver grey eyes narrowed dangerously.

\"How long were you standing there, Potter?\" Draco hissed.

\"I just came in.\" Harry said, sgingging. In the faint light he could see the sheen of tears on Draco\'s high cheekbones.

\"Yeah, right.\" Draco sneered. \"Bet you enjoyed the little show, huh?\" He shook his head, tucking his hair behind his ears.

\"Calm down Draco, I was just standing there a minute.\" Harry assured the Slytherin. //Paranoid. Not that I can really blame him. I wish there was something that could be done. I don\'t like him or anything, but I feel bad for him.//

\"Just don\'t talk.\" Draco muttered, turning back to the trophy. //Wonder why he\'s crying...get the feeling he doesn\'t do that too often.

\"Fine.\" Harry grumbled, turning his attention to the bucket and rags that had been supplied. If that was the way Draco wanted to be, then fine. Harry wasn\'t going to go out of his way to help someone who obviously didn\'t want it. He dipped a rag into the water and began scrubbing at a trophy. They worked in silence, only punctuated every so often by a small, hitching sob from Draco\'s direction, but soon even those faded.

\"I mean...it isn\'t as if you even care.\" Draco suddenly snapped. Harry looked up, surprised. He blinked, and rubbed his arm over his forehead.

\"Whatever.\" Harry said. //Of course I care, you just can\'t wrap your brain around it. Or you won\'t.//

\"He could have done something.\" A petulant, whining drawl. \"You could have made him.\"

\"Not really.\" Harry said, sitting back on his heels.

\"Shut up, Potter, I didn\'t ask you!\"

Harry decided to refrain from pointing out that, actually, he had. He just shrugged, going back to the polishing of the trophy he was working on.

\"I mean...it\'s not like he\'s a bad person. He just...he gets carried away, that\'s all.\" Now Draco was trying to justify what his father did. //There\'s no excuse. There\'s no justification. You can lie to yourself if you want Draco, but it\'s not going to do any good.// \"He\'s an important man. He gets...stressed. And he has to deal day in and day out with a plethora of idiots. They get him mad. He just....he just needs to let it all out, that\'s all.\"

\"He shouldn\'t use you to do it.\" Harry said.

\"Yes he should.\" Draco snapped. \"I\'m his son!\"

\"Which is a damn good reason why he *shouldn\'t*, Draco!\" Harry turned, frustrated. //Can\'t he figure out how he feels, what he wants?//

\"You shouldn\'t talk about things you don\'t underd, Pd, Potter.\" Draco hissed, voice low and icy. \"You\'re an orphan, remember. I am his *son*. It should be me he goes to. When he needs this.\"

\"But not...\" Harry didn\'t even know how to phrase the words. The things Draco kept saying were incomprehensible to Harry. \"Draco...\"

\"You don\'t know a thing about it.\" Draco insisted. \"It\'s not like it\'s anything strange. Lots of the elite do it.\"

\"Beat their sons?\"

\"He doesn\'t beat me!\" Draco screamed, throwing his rag across the room. \"That\'s not what it is! He\'s just trying to make me sehe dhe doesn\'t want me to be weak. He...he only does it because he loves me.\"

\"So he...\"

\"He just makes sure I remember, that\'s all.\" Quiet. Words almost lost in the gaping silence of the room. Draco was sitting, knees drawn up to his chest, chin resting on his folded hands. Harry sighed, sitting down across from him, and crossed his legs.

\"You shouldn\'t let him do that. Not that there\'s anything you can do to stop him, but you shouldn\'t try and justify it.\"

\"I\'m not trying to justify it, Potter, I\'m explaining what it is.\"

\"Then why did you ask Sev...Professor Snape to make him stop?\"

There was no answer for that. Draco turned his head away, lips pressed into a thin line. Harry didn\'t say anything. There was nothing he could say. Draco seemed determined to be stubborn. //It\'s not his fault. I have to remember that. But...at this point it sort of is. He *knows*, he knows it\'s wrong. //

\"I just want...\" Draco started, but trailed off. //He was home...for the funeral. Oh God...no wonder. What happened to him? He doesn\'t look too beat up...but maybe I just can\'t see where he\'s hurt...// Realization dawned on him. He had been home. With his father. Harry was pretty certain Lucius hadn\'t decided to leave his son alone. And from what he heard, Lucius was cruel with his son.

\"Look, you can talk to me about this. If you want.\" Harry said. \"I\'m not going to judge you. Not on this. I\'ll judge you because you\'re an arrogant little snot who likes to make my life miserable, but...this is different. Okay?\" He hoped Draco would take the lifeline offered to him. Maybe whatever had happened would be enough to give him a little push...

\"He was...nice about it.\" Draco said. //That\'s what\'s bothering him? He\'s upset because his dad was *nice*? Now that is messed up...// \"He\'s never really been nice before. He kissed me.\" Harry had to bite his tongue to keep himself quiet. He found the whole situation a tad bit disturbing, but he had to remember that wizards were different. And Draco had said this sort of thing was normal...?

\"And I thought maybe this time would be different.\" Draco went on, slim hands moving as he spoke. \"He was really...nice. Like...well, like a lover. I mean, he is, but...oh, you know what I mean! Then....well, then it went back to normal.\"

\"Oh.\" Harry really didn\'t know what to say. He had to repress a bit of a shudder. Just the fact that Draco had referred to his father as his lover...he still couldn\'t get past that. As far as he was concerned, there was no way Lucius Malfoy could be considered a lover. Tormenter, abuser, rapist...not lover.

\"Least he got my name right.\"

\"That\'s good, I guess.\"

\"Sometimes he doesn\'t.\"

\"Oh.\"

Another awkward silence, that stretched out between them like fine ice, cold and insubstantial. Draco picked at his fingernails, seemingly unaware that he was crying again. Harry pulled at a loose thread on his jeans. //I don\'t know what to say. I think it\'s sick. He thinks it\'s normal. It\'s not. Not that. Maybe...well, maybe the...the sex? That\'s just messed up.//

\"I don\'t feel any better.\" Draco snapped.

\"I didn\'t ask if you did.\"

\"No, but I think I\'m supposed to. Talking is supposed to help. It didn\'t.\" Draco shrugged, idly brushing the tears away from his face.

\"Maybe you didn\'t talk enough?\"

\"Maybe. But I\'m not going to talk anymore. Certainly not to you.\" A huffy sniff, and Harry shook his head.

\"Maybe you should try talking to your father...?\"

\"Are you bloody mad?\" Draco stared at Harry as if he had two heads, or he had just suggested they eat a house elf. \"Talk to him? He\'ll tell me I\'m weak and decide I need to be punished. No, thank you.\"

\"You\'re not weak.\" Harry offered up, for lack of anything better to say. He was beginning to wish he had never spoken to Draco at all.

\"Oh shut up, Potter.\" Draco waved his hand dismissively. \"I don\'t care what you think.\" But there was a certain look in Draco\'s eyes tharryarry decided he didn\'t like at all.

\"Okay. We ought to get back to cleaning...\" Harry said, and Draco just shrugged. //It\'s too bad. Lucius is a sick bastard. I\'d tell him that he\'ll pay, but I don\'t think Draco wants to hear that. He\'d probably flip out on me if I said anything.//

\"Clean if you want.\" Draco said.

\"I\'ll finish up...if you want to go?\"

\"Won\'t that cut into your little date?\" Draco sneered.

\"I can be late.\" Harry certainly wasn\'t going to rise to any bait that Draco threw out. He didn\'t say anything more, just went back to polishing trophies. //He just needs someone, too. Sev said you only know what you\'re taught. If someone would just teach him....oh well. There\'s nothing I can do for him. I tried to help. Nobody can help him now but himself, and he\'s not going to do that. He has to stop lying to himself...//

Draco had stopped crying. He was perfectly silent, the only sound their soft breathing and the whirl of the cloth on metal. Then Harry heard the soft rustle of fabric that told him Draco was standing up, and then the sound of the door opening and shutting. And he was left alone in the trophy room, with his thoughts.

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