A Dream For The Dead

A Dream For The Dead

Chapter 20

Invest Yourself In Me

Harry stood at the door again. He had been standing there for at least five minutes already, without having been inclined to knock. Not once. He must have tripped the wards. He knew he had.

They had to know he was here. They had to.

Draco was not the kind of man who would leave his home unprotected and he certainly wasn’t the kind of man to allow any trespassers to simply wander around his gardens without surveillance.

But when had he turned from Malfoy into Draco?

Harry frowned as he stood, resolutely, at the door. He had not moved at all since he arrived. He had fully intended to knock, when he had arrived, but something stayed his hand. Harry had actually gone so far as to lift his knuckles to the door before freezing. He was caught, paralyzed with images that flooded his brain and filled him with concern and fear that he never faced otherwise. He had expected a house-elf to pop in next to him and inform him that the Lord of the house had no wishes to see him. He had expected the wards to spit him back out as though they were the mouth of some giant creature that had accidentally imbibed something wholly unpleasant.

He had expected someone to notice, or care that he had waltzed onto the grounds and made no move to present himself.

But no one had, as of yet.

After the first few minutes, Harry stopped expecting it and wondered how long it would take before someone did, finally, open the door. Was this a game of chicken they were playing with each other? Was it a test of Harry’s patience?

Or was Harry testing Malfoy’s patience?

Then, suddenly, the thought hit him that perhaps Draco –or, Malfoy, or whatever anyone might call him –wasn’t answering the door because he couldn’t. Harry had received word that he had been released from St Mungo’s, but that did not mean that he was not still bed-ridden. It was possible that he could not move about much.

But then, what of Aurora? Or the house-elves? Surely, if both masters of the house were unavailable, a house-elf would have responded to the trip in the wards, to the doubtless alarm that Harry had triggered. Wouldn’t they?

Harry decided that something was very wrong. If the house-elves were not even available to react to a stranger passing through the wards, then something must be wrong.

He pulled out his wand and raised it to the door in front of him. He opened his mouth, trying to decide on a spell, and the door finally swung open.

It revealed a rather placid-looking Malfoy. His blond hair hung loose around his face. He wore, to Harry’s surprise, a simple pair of thin grey trousers and nothing else. They hung loosely on his hips and revealed the raw, red areas of his skin where his burns had not yet healed. One shoulder was bandaged. He did not look impressed.

The cold air wafted inward, pushing through to the warm inside the house and Harry found his own gaze dropping to Malfoy’s chest. His nipples hardened into little pebbles and Harry idly wondered what it would feel like to run his tongue over them.

Then, shaking his head vigorously, he tried to dispel the notion and focus on the blond’s face, instead. Malfoy rolled his eyes at Harry, who had still not spoken.

“I see,” he drawled, the boredom painfully evident in his tone. “So you do wish to stand stupidly out here all day. I foolishly believed that you were waiting upon an invitation to enter. My mistake. You clearly enjoy standing motionless on my doorstep. Never mind, then. Carry on, as you were.”

He made a move to close the door and Harry finally snapped out of his strange stupor. He blinked and held out a hand to stop the door. Malfoy’s eyes flickered from Harry’s hand on the wood and then to his face.

“Hang on,” Harry said, forcing the door open again. Malfoy allowed it and let go, crossing his arms. He blinked slowly and Harry suddenly thought he looked very tired. “Why did you wait so long before opening the door if you knew I was here?”

Malfoy blinked again and Harry was reminded of a snake. He tilted his head and his pale brows pulled together in a form of confusion.

“What do you mean, wait?” he asked. “I opened the door when I noticed you. If you had been waiting you could have knocked. That’s what normal people do, you realize?” Then he made a motion of mock realization. “Oh that’s right, I’d forgotten. You aren’t normal, are you Potter? You simply show up where you please and expect people to throw themselves aside to make room for you, doors to open at the mere sight of you… does this sound familiar?” Malfoy’s voice was dry and cutting. Harry frowned and glared at him, trying to bite his tongue, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Well, my home does not work that way.”

Harry rolled his eyes and squared his shoulders.

“Your wards didn’t tip you off?” Harry asked, arching a brow. Malfoy’s eyes flashed so briefly Harry thought he had imagined it.

“No,” he answered in whisper. He glanced briefly to the side. Harry opened his mouth to ask but Malfoy stepped to the side abruptly and tugged Harry inside. He lost his train of thought as he stumbled forward and the door was slammed behind him. Malfoy rounded on him looking like an angry Veela, pushing Harry into the wall and pinning him there. Harry had been trained to avoid situations like these, but somehow none of his training seemed practical as Malfoy invaded his personal space. His bare chest pressed to Harry’s and his hands found themselves on each side of Harry’s head. “How did you get in the last time? When I was coming out of the bath?”

Harry swallowed momentarily before blinking away the strange images that floated through his mind. He tried to straighten himself to regain his footing but did not manage.

“I told you last time,” he answered, hoping that his voice did not waver as much as he thought it did. Malfoy’s grey eyes were boring into him and he shifted under the scrutiny. Why was he so useless when faced with Draco Malfoy? “A house-elf let me in.”

“No, they didn’t,” Malfoy breathed, his words sharp. Harry tried to think of facing down a Hippogriff and refused to allow himself to blink. “I questioned them all and none of them have ever let you cross the threshold of this house without my consent, Auror badge or not.”

Harry kept his face expressionless and brought one hand up to push back against Malfoy’s oppressive weight. He realized that the wall behind him was pulling at both of them, but only slightly. Ignoring that feeling, he forced them both forward and tried to regain his composure.

“I don’t think it really matters, Malfoy,” he answered coldly. “The point is, I’m here now, and we need to talk.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head slightly, the familiar sneer in place.

“We are talking, Potter,” he snarled. “That’s what it’s called when you move your mouth and sound comes out. And it is important. My wards have been altered so that they don’t alert me when you cross them.” Harry’s eyes widened without his consent and a small smile ghosted over his mouth. He was surprised Malfoy had admitted something like that. “I need to know who altered them. I need to know who betrayed me.”

Harry nearly snorted and crossed his arms over his chest as Malfoy had done earlier. The blond looked menacing and suddenly Harry understood that, more than Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa had given Draco her features. There was even an odd aura of danger around him, similar to the one that followed Narcissa whenever she was in Harry’s presence.

Perhaps that’s why I find him attractive… he looks like a woman.

Harry’s eyes widened inexplicably as the thought crossed him. There were two things dreadfully wrong with it. First off, Draco Malfoy most definitely didn’t look like a woman. Particularly not when he stood in front of Harry, scantily clad and angry.

And, secondly, Harry did not find him attractive.

Or should that have been first?

“Look, Malfoy,” Harry began, thankful to the gods that might be that he had managed to not say ‘Draco’. “No one has betrayed you. Your mother is the one who allowed me in, last time. I didn’t know she altered the wards, but it was probably a good idea. This way I have full access to you if you are in need.” Harry stiffened at his own words. That had not come out the way he had intended. He felt a flush attempt to creep up on his cheeks but fought it back, shaking his head. Malfoy’s eyes shifted in front of him but gave away nothing of what he was thinking. “She wanted me to protect you and that is what I’m going to do.”

Malfoy suddenly gripped his wands and glared at Harry. His lip curled more clearly into a snarl and the tension on the air grew dense.

“I don’t need anyone to protect me,” he answered harshly, spitting the word protect like a foul flavour on his tongue. “My mother should learn to mind her own business.”

Harry felt anger rise in him. His own wand dug into the flesh of his palm as he gripped it. He glared at Malfoy and tried not to scream when he spoke.

“Your mother was only doing what she thought was necessary,” Harry snapped. “She came for help when she knew you wouldn’t. And you do need it. She has always done what you and your father were too proud to do.”

He hadn’t meant to say it, he hadn’t meant to bring up the war, but he blurted it out before he could really think on the consequences. Malfoy immediately stiffened visibly, his skin taught over the muscles of his stomach and chest. Harry opened his mouth to say something but didn’t know what to say.

“She is the one you promised, then?” he hissed, anger filling his words. Harry pulled back slightly. A myriad of emotions flitted over Malfoy’s face. Chief among them was loathing and disdain, but Harry thought that he could see a glimmer of hurt, mixed in with the rest.

“No,” he answered suddenly. “Not only her. I promised my son, as well.”

“What?” Malfoy rasped, suddenly just as confused as he was angry. Harry nodded.

“Albus, I promised him to protect you,” Harry went on. “Because Scorpius is worried about you.” Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly before he schooled his features back to a mask of hatred. Harry’s face was hard. “Did you think nothing reached him? Did you think he was completely oblivious to what’s been going on in your life? Did you think no one would tell him?”

Malfoy looked horrified and then pushed Harry suddenly. It was so abrupt that Harry could not react. He had not been expecting it though he really should have been. He felt his skull hit the wall and ground his teeth from the pain. Malfoy’s face was only inches from his. Harry could feel the hot breath on his face.

“I do everything in my power to protect my son,” he snarled, his fingers digging into Harry’s skin where they held him. Harry stared back at him.

“It’s within your power to accept my help,” he answered evenly. “So do it. Let me protect you to protect Scorpius.”

Malfoy’s mouth was a thin, downturned line. His cheeks were pulled in as he glared and he looked ill for a moment. Harry could see just how tired he was. He must have been tired of fighting on his own, of bearing every burden on his own. He must have been tired of being berated by a wife he could never please, of caring for a son he wanted to keep safe, of supporting his parents, fallen from grace, of dealing with the scrutiny of the world and the threat of a madman. Harry was angry with him, then, for not giving in more quickly, for not accepting help more readily.

But he knew that, had he been in Malfoy’s place, he would not accept help either.

Perhaps they were not so different.

“You want me to accept,” Malfoy said quietly. “Just so you can fulfill your promises to others?”

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. He tilted his head forward just slightly until his hair brushed through Malfoy’s fallen locks.

“I want to fulfill my promise to you,” he answered softly. “I said I would keep you safe and I intend to.” His eyes softened. He inhaled slowly, unintentionally breathing in Malfoy’s scent. Peppermint, wood and… something. “I won’t leave you.”

The words hung on the air, incensing it and dragging them both into a cocoon of warm promises. Malfoy’s lips parted very slightly, apparently breathing in just as Harry had done. Then he pulled away and released Harry entirely. He glanced at him for a moment and then heaved a sigh. It sounded like the final breath of the dead.

Malfoy nodded almost imperceptibly then started down the hall.

Harry watched him for a moment, taking in the long, lean line of his body, before following after him.

He was already exhausted.

+++++

Draco was very sure that he was slowly but surely losing his mind. There was no other explanation for his acceptance –however unwilling –of Potter’s help. Or protection, as he called it.

Sure, there was the fact that his life was in danger, as well as the life of his son, and possible the rest of his family, but Draco could have dealt with that alone. He could have borne the burden of defending his family, keeping his son safe, and dispelling threats against him, much like his ancestors had been forced to do in the years before Saviours of the Wizarding World. He could have done it.

Had it not been for Death hounding his heels, anyway.

Draco was not superstitious in any way, but he couldn’t quite shake the dread that followed him wherever he went. His skin was still hypersensitive from the explosion of his broom. His old Sectumsempra wounds kept splitting open at inopportune times. His sleep was perturbed by vividly erotic dreams, or else painfully real nightmares. His waking hours were tainted by the constant assault of Aurora’s attentiveness.

He couldn’t quite stand to bear it alone any longer. No matter what he wished of himself, Draco just wasn’t strong enough to deal with it all alone.

When Potter promised him, for the second time, that he would not leave, that he would help protect Draco and, more importantly, Scorpius, Draco was only too willing to cave. He wanted Potter’s help more than he would ever admit or care to think about.

Draco needed Potter.

He nodded to the Auror and then walked silently back towards his study. He would not allow himself to speak or make any other effort to assent. He did not trust his voice and body not to betray him.

As he wandered down the hall, he heard Potter eventually follow him. The Auror’s shoes padded with soft thuds against the marble floor of the entryway. Draco’s feet were cold and stinging from it as he walked, but he could not put on socks or shoes. No matter how soft the fabric, they hurt to wear. Even the trousers were painful on his skin, but he would not stoop so low as to wander around his own house stark naked.

Imagine the look on Potter’s face, though, if you did.

Draco entertained the musings for a few moments before casting them aside. Whether he meant to seduce Potter or frighten him away so thoroughly he would never return, there would be time for that later. Draco could not afford for Potter to be too distracted just then.

He pushed open the door to his study and walked in, trusting that Potter would not hesitate to follow him. He had entreated on Draco’s personal study in the past without permission. Why should he be concerned for manners now?

As Draco suspected, Potter followed him in, but briefly lingered on the threshold. He glanced around and suddenly seemed uncomfortable. It was a wonder that his reactions were that slow, considering his profession.

“Problem, Potter?” Draco asked dryly, making his way over to the table in the corner. The only thing on it was the Malfoy Chest. He stopped and stared at it for a long moment, mustering up the courage to open it and share its contents with his former-rival. Then he turned back to the Auror who had not answered.

“Er,” he began with his personal brand of eloquence. Draco frowned and rolled his eyes. Potter seemed to be checking the corners of the room and eying the curtains as though he suspected there were people sneakily hidden behind them. “Where is Aurora?”

Draco’s eyebrows wandered up to his hairline. He shifted his hip slightly and ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth.

“On a first name basis with my wife, Potter?” Draco asked in the same dry tone. The man turned such a pleasant shade of magenta that Draco decided he should embarrass Potter much more frequently. He frowned slightly and took a further step forward into the room.

“I just find it easier to refer to you all by your first names, Draco,” he answered smoothly, emphasizing Draco’s name in such a way that made an almost unnoticeable shiver run through him. “When there are so many Malfoys to deal with.”

Draco might have snorted, had he still been fifteen years old. Instead, he smiled coldly and tilted his head slightly.

“Rich, coming from someone who married into the Weasley family,” he sneered back. Potter coloured still but his face became almost dark in its amusement.

“I assure you I call them all by their first names, too,” he replied coolly. Draco rolled his eyes again and turned back to the chest.

“My wife is in her private quarters,” Draco answered stiffly. He focused on the chest now. He traced his finger over the familiar ‘M’ symbol and then pressed his palm to the glowing keyhole. Every time he reopened the box, Draco felt as though it burned more deeply into his palm and stole more of his magic. He opened the lid after a moment and a faint whimper he couldn’t quite contain. His skin was already raw from his attack, but the chest burned more deeply into his soul.

The letters inside were piled neatly, as always, but the ordered façade only veiled the insidious danger within. They were each little innocuous masks for a new slice of madness.

He stepped back and flicked his wand, levitating the box. Turning around he waved it over to the table in the centre of the room, surrounded by two armchairs. Potter was still shifting oddly on the spot, glancing over his shoulder toward the door.

“So, you’re wife won’t be interrupting us, will she?” he asked, moving carefully towards the chair opposite Draco. The blond allowed his eyebrows to rise once more and a cocked his head.

“What precisely will we be doing, Potter,” Draco asked, his drawl infinitely bored. “That she would be displeased to interrupt?”

Potter coloured again. Or perhaps the previous colour had not quite escaped his cheeks. Either way, Draco was amused at how easy it was to fill his face with blood. He wondered idly if it was just as easy to fill something else –

Draco nipped the thought in the bud and forced it aside.

“Nothing,” Potter answered shiftily. He seated himself. A smile drew itself on Draco’s features very briefly as he realized what was wrong.

“Potter,” he said sharply enough to make the man look at him. Draco’s face was not impassive. “Are you afraid of my wife?”

Potter’s eyes widened and his brows knit to transform his face into a mask of shock. He shook his head and gave an awkward laugh.

“No!” he cried, laughing again in a very nervous way. Draco tilted his head from side to side as he considered Potter. “No, of course not. I just..” Potter glanced back at the door. Bloody Hell he’s paranoid for a bodyguard. “She’s… a little overwhelming.” He admitted it so quietly Draco was almost unsure he had heard it. Potter looked guilty and even more humiliated by the notion that a woman of any kind of distress him to the point that he might seem paranoid. “I would simply prefer to avoid her company if I can.”

Draco stared at him for a moment and then, so abruptly that Potter looked up in surprise with his wand drawn, Draco burst out laughing. It was close to hysterical as he felt himself shaking from the power of it. Draco brought one hand up to brush away the hair that had fallen into his face and turned to look at the Auror.

“Welcome to my world, Potter,” Draco mused, feeling oddly more comfortable than he should have. “It seems we finally have something in common.”

Potter’s face flickered a number of emotions very quickly before settling on a tentative amusement. He offered Draco a small smile before opening his mouth. He seemed to want to ask a question but then thought better of it and closed his mouth again. Draco was almost disappointed. He knew what the question would likely be, but still wanted Potter to ask.

“Right,” Potter chuckled softly before turning his attention to the open chest before him. His eyes studied the engravings of the exterior before he peered inside at the stack of letters. “These are all of them, then?”

Draco sighed softly as the subject turned back to the inevitable. He had appreciated the moment of levity, no matter what had brought it on. He leaned forward reluctantly and nodded.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “All except the one you –or rather my mother – pilfered from me.”

Potter shot Draco an unreadable glance before picking up a short stack from the chest and flipping through them. He opened them, one by one, to read the contents and see how they differed from the others.

Draco spent the time watching him. Potter’s hair was almost alive in the way it fluffed unnaturally around his head. It seemed to be caught in a never-ending static storm, except for the fact that it was all in clumps as well. The locks fell haphazardly around his eyes and tickled his nose and cheeks. They obscured the famous scar that Draco knew all too well. His nose was straight and his cheekbones were angled and rather sharp.

Draco noticed that every time Potter read something particularly obscure or oblique, he sucked in his lower lip and nibbled at it. Draco wanted to reach out and tell him to stop, to refrain from marring the undoubtedly soft skin, but he caught himself. Now was not the time.

His eyes wandered down to Potter’s neck. The hair at his nape curled into the arch of his neck and Draco wondered just what he tasted like, at that exact spot. He felt his lips parting as though to act out his curiosity but then shut his mouth abruptly.

Potter’s fingers became the next focus of his attention. Long and thick they were, Draco imagined they were probably rather rough. The back of his left hand bore very faint scars that Draco recognized with an unpleasant lurch.

I must not tell lies.

He sighed and wondered if Potter still had every scar from every battle he had ever fought. Magic was an amazing thing, but there were some scars it could simply not remove. The Sectumsempra wound was a testimony to that.

Wonder what scars will never heal for Potter.

Draco’s eyes travelled over each knuckle carefully as he wondered this. Eventually the sight of the ring on Potter’s left ring-finger caught his attention. His stomach churned in what he would like to convince himself was an inexplicable manner. The ring was broad and simple. The outer band was gold and there was a thinner silver one inlaid over it. It had turned on his finger. There was a signet on the face of it that was partially covered by Potter’s other fingers. Draco narrowed his eyes as though it might help him see it better. It did not.

He grimaced to himself.

Probably the Weasley crest or some other such rubbish meant to show that they are his family.

The thought sobered him and he glanced away just as Potter looked up, an air of confusion on his face.

“These letters,” he began slowly. Draco turned back to face him, his eyes half-lidded and unimpressed. He waited for Potter’s undoubtedly brilliant deductions. “They’re all clearly written by the same person. Or persons.” Draco leaned back into the chair as Potter decided to talk out the information Draco had already repeated to the point of meaninglessness. “The themes are all the same, the tone of them, the particular insults and threats.” He paused and licked his lips. Draco did everything in his power to not follow Potter’s tongue on its journey. “They want you to be Kissed, clearly.”

“Really?” Draco snapped, unable to bite it back. “I hadn’t quite picked up on that. Do you suppose that’s why they sign it The Dementor’s Kiss? I was under the impression they fancied me.”

Potter frowned and ignored his comment, his eyes scanning more lines. His brow furrowed and he brought his thumb up to nibble at the nail, effectively assaulting another part of his body to give his lips a rest. Draco nearly screamed that he was marring the merchandise, before he caught himself. Again.

“But each letter,” Potter continued as though uninterrupted. “Makes mention of very specific events. But they’re all vague in the descriptions. No names other than yours, really. All of the other people are only mentioned as what they are, not who they are.” Potter turned his full attention on Draco and he felt his ice run cold. He did not want to discuss this part with Potter. He had hoped that the bloody Auror would just come to his own vague conclusions on the matter and move on to more important matters.

“Your point?” Draco asked coldly.

“They’re not mentioning these random events for no reason,” Potter went on. His voice was calm but goading. He wanted answers from Draco but Draco wasn’t sure he was prepared to give them. “I don’t think they just made these things up. I don’t think that they are the random ramblings of a madman.” He turned more fully to Draco. “I think that these things really happened and that they are important to the full meaning of these messages.”

Draco swallowed and his mouth pulled into a snarl. He glared at the hearth in front of him before turning back to Potter. It was a mistake. Potter’s bright green eyes were alight with intensity. They were more convincing, more demanding than anything the man could have said or done.

“What do you want, Potter?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Potter reached out a put a hand gently on his forearm. The touch was light but the heat of Potter’s palm was agonizing for Draco’s sensitive skin. He winced but stopped himself from crying out. Potter lightened his touch impossibly but kept his hand where it was.

“You need to tell me, Draco,” he said quietly. Draco felt the floor open up beneath him and try to swallow him whole. He had half a mind to let it.

“Tell you…”

“Everything you witnessed while Voldemort used Malfoy Manor as his headquarters.”
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A/N: SORRY I forgot to post last night. *headdesk* I'm really sorry. Also, someone mentioned that they noticed one of the chapter titles was from a My Chemical Romance song. Actually, almost all of them are :D Some are slightly tweaked to my liking, but they're all from various songs. The fic title A Dream For The Dead is from the song "You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison".

I hope you like this chapter! The next one is.. rough, to say the least. We'll get there. *hearts and love* Reviews = love and cookies!