Were the Soil Not So Unforgiving My Love
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
3,679
Reviews:
42
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
3,679
Reviews:
42
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Interlude: May the Child Be Born of, but Not Like
Were The Soil Not So Unforgiving My Love
By: Lunatic with a Hero Complex
Interlude: So May the Child Be Born of But Not Born Like
The floo flared up and Draco, knowing only approximately 3 people in the world with access to his floo, put his book down in a preparatory motion, settling himself for what he was sure was going to be a lecture.
Sure enough, his father’s head appeared a moment later, wearing his ‘I am gracefully stern, prepare for my wrath, which will be delivered in a noble, compelling, lofty, and completely ridiculous speech’ look.
“Father.”
“Draco.”
“To what do I owe this honor?”
“Sarcasm is not necessary, Draco, I only wish to speak to you. May I come through?”
“Yes, of course.”
The floo flared even brighter and a body appeared on his rug. Draco stood and smiled at his father. A thin smile, because he knew his father wasn’t just here for a visit, but a smile nonetheless because he was his father after all. Even the Malfoy’s had innate love for their family members. However, Draco did not have an innate love for the preaching and the pimping of the Malfoy family that was about to occur.
His apartment wasn’t very large, it being only what was provided by the housing clause that the university included in his scholarship packaging. One bedroom, a small kitchen, an almost nonexistent bathroom, and a respectable, but low ceiling-ed living room; all of this only seeming smaller in Lucius’s presence. His father had a way of making all things in a room smaller than himself.
“Would you like some tea, Father?”
“Yes, Draco, thank you.”
Draco moved to the kitchen, which was still visible to the living room through a small rectangular bar area. His father took a begrudging, albeit graceful seat at one of the barstools while Draco moved his wand in the motions that made the correct spells for tea production. He turned to his father, “What did you wish to speak to me about?”
“Your mother is concerned that you have carried on this act of defiance too long. She believes that you have achieved your point, and she wants you to come home now. I must say that I quite agree with her.”
Draco felt the beginnings of a tension headache building in between his temples. He’d had this conversation, and many similar ones, with his father before. His parents seemed fatally determined not to acknowledge the new, post-war order.
Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy no longer lived in the lap of luxury. Of course, they still had their manner. The Malfoy Manner had been around for time immemorial, and there had been many wars in that time, with Malfoy’s on both the winning and losing sides. In a spark of genius typical to the Malfoy heritage, one of their earliest ancestors had woven the manner with enchantments that made it absolutely untouchable by anyone not approved by or a part of the Malfoy line. This meant that, while the Ministry had certainly had a grand old time pillaging their coffers, they had been forced to leave his parents’ home untouched. In a petulant act of retaliation, the Ministry had instead taken after their business holdings. Dissolving many of the shares of stock the Malfoy family had in a good deal of popular Diagon Alley shops.
It was only by grace of the fact that Lucius Malfoy was so very much a devious person that they hadn’t discovered all of the investments in the Knockturn Alley establishments. It was these profits that his parents were living off of.
Lucius and Narcissa were absolutely convinced that Draco’s enrollment in University was simply a juvenile attempt at asserting his independence. They’d believed that for 2 years now. Draco was halfway towards graduating and moving on to graduate school. He was beginning to doubt if his parents would even realize he was serious when they were attending his graduation.
“Father, it is not an act. I am working towards a career. A career, I might add, that will earn much needed money. We are not exactly able to simply live comfortably on interest any longer; I will need a livelihood you know.”
Draco despaired because the tilt that his father’s head was taking was the tilt it got when he was about to completely disregard whatever statement, truth or lie, he’d just heard. He was not disappointed.
“Nonsense Draco, there is absolutely no reason for you to have to work at anything. It’s not the Malfoy way.”
Draco had to keep himself from snickering as his father flicked his long hair behind his shoulder in a gesture of annoyance, then he sobered as he set to the heinous task of explaining financial prudence to his father…again.
“Father, there is plenty of money for mother and yourself to live off of, if you are careful, however,” Draco heaved the sigh of the long suffering, “there is simply no way that we can all three live off of the meager returns from your Knockturn Alley associates. Malfoy’s may not have worked before or during The War, but this is a new world, a working man’s world, Father. I am adapting to become a Working Man.”
He stopped himself from slamming the cup of tea onto the counter at the last moment, caught up in his theorems on post war economic values. His father, despite his complete refusal to accept and understand anything said concerning their financial situation, could tell that Draco was drifting into dangerous territory and attempted to momentarily lighten up the topic of conversation.
“What have you been doing with yourself besides this foolish university nonsense?”
Draco’s mind went from cooling to cold in 1.4 seconds. His father would not be pleased to learn that Draco was playing Hero Psycho Therapy with Harry Potter. Ever since the end of the war, Lucius had held a barely concealed hatred with a capital H towards the Boy Wonder. Draco suspected it had something to do with Harry’s ability to get his family out of a situation that he had not been able to. Draco didn’t care. He would not lie about what he was doing, his father, though willfully blind concerning economics was still woefully connected in the wizard world, he would find out.
“I’ve been helping a sick friend.”
“Oh, do we know him?”
“Yes, I’m afraid he’s very…connected.”
“Well, who is it?”
Draco squared his shoulders, doing it casually of course, and let it fly, “Harry Potter.” He quickly took a drink of his tea.
His father tersely put down his cup. Draco kept a tight hold on his.
“What would possess you to associate with Harry Potter? I was not aware of the fact that you are friends, or even on speaking terms.”
Draco’s grip tightened marginally on the teacup’s handle and he let himself proceed with ultimate caution, “Granger came to me because Potter has been acting strangely lately, and, knowing my chosen course of study, and our past relations, she felt that I was the best candidate to assist him.”
He wasn’t going to tell his father all of Potter’s secrets and mental ailments, it was information the man needed, and Draco was far too old to be selling out school rivals to The Daily Prophet.
His father picked his own cup back up and made a dismissive gesture with his eyes that Draco just despised, “Well, you’ll stop that immediately of course, I won’t have my son catering to the capricious whims of Harry Potter.”
He was outraged, what in all of the conversations that they’d had over the past two years made his father believe that a simple order to cease and desist would ever work, “Father, I don’t have time for silly childhood rivalries, or ridiculous issues of pride, if I help Potter, it could lend enormous credibility to my name. Not everyone psychologically cures the Savior of the Wizarding World. If you can’t do anything but give orders, I suggest you leave.”
Draco put his cup down and locked eyes with his father. There was shock there. Shock and a very small breed of respect. Also a great deal of anger. However, his father was a stoic man, and he held it in, “Very well Draco, until we talk again.”
“Have a pleasant evening father.”
Lucius disappeared into the floo and Draco was left leaning against his counter, wondering why he’d just taken a stand for his right to help Harry Potter.
He chuckled darkly and picked up the teacups. As he washed them, he wondered if Harry had left the study since he’d left.
Probably not.
By: Lunatic with a Hero Complex
Interlude: So May the Child Be Born of But Not Born Like
The floo flared up and Draco, knowing only approximately 3 people in the world with access to his floo, put his book down in a preparatory motion, settling himself for what he was sure was going to be a lecture.
Sure enough, his father’s head appeared a moment later, wearing his ‘I am gracefully stern, prepare for my wrath, which will be delivered in a noble, compelling, lofty, and completely ridiculous speech’ look.
“Father.”
“Draco.”
“To what do I owe this honor?”
“Sarcasm is not necessary, Draco, I only wish to speak to you. May I come through?”
“Yes, of course.”
The floo flared even brighter and a body appeared on his rug. Draco stood and smiled at his father. A thin smile, because he knew his father wasn’t just here for a visit, but a smile nonetheless because he was his father after all. Even the Malfoy’s had innate love for their family members. However, Draco did not have an innate love for the preaching and the pimping of the Malfoy family that was about to occur.
His apartment wasn’t very large, it being only what was provided by the housing clause that the university included in his scholarship packaging. One bedroom, a small kitchen, an almost nonexistent bathroom, and a respectable, but low ceiling-ed living room; all of this only seeming smaller in Lucius’s presence. His father had a way of making all things in a room smaller than himself.
“Would you like some tea, Father?”
“Yes, Draco, thank you.”
Draco moved to the kitchen, which was still visible to the living room through a small rectangular bar area. His father took a begrudging, albeit graceful seat at one of the barstools while Draco moved his wand in the motions that made the correct spells for tea production. He turned to his father, “What did you wish to speak to me about?”
“Your mother is concerned that you have carried on this act of defiance too long. She believes that you have achieved your point, and she wants you to come home now. I must say that I quite agree with her.”
Draco felt the beginnings of a tension headache building in between his temples. He’d had this conversation, and many similar ones, with his father before. His parents seemed fatally determined not to acknowledge the new, post-war order.
Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy no longer lived in the lap of luxury. Of course, they still had their manner. The Malfoy Manner had been around for time immemorial, and there had been many wars in that time, with Malfoy’s on both the winning and losing sides. In a spark of genius typical to the Malfoy heritage, one of their earliest ancestors had woven the manner with enchantments that made it absolutely untouchable by anyone not approved by or a part of the Malfoy line. This meant that, while the Ministry had certainly had a grand old time pillaging their coffers, they had been forced to leave his parents’ home untouched. In a petulant act of retaliation, the Ministry had instead taken after their business holdings. Dissolving many of the shares of stock the Malfoy family had in a good deal of popular Diagon Alley shops.
It was only by grace of the fact that Lucius Malfoy was so very much a devious person that they hadn’t discovered all of the investments in the Knockturn Alley establishments. It was these profits that his parents were living off of.
Lucius and Narcissa were absolutely convinced that Draco’s enrollment in University was simply a juvenile attempt at asserting his independence. They’d believed that for 2 years now. Draco was halfway towards graduating and moving on to graduate school. He was beginning to doubt if his parents would even realize he was serious when they were attending his graduation.
“Father, it is not an act. I am working towards a career. A career, I might add, that will earn much needed money. We are not exactly able to simply live comfortably on interest any longer; I will need a livelihood you know.”
Draco despaired because the tilt that his father’s head was taking was the tilt it got when he was about to completely disregard whatever statement, truth or lie, he’d just heard. He was not disappointed.
“Nonsense Draco, there is absolutely no reason for you to have to work at anything. It’s not the Malfoy way.”
Draco had to keep himself from snickering as his father flicked his long hair behind his shoulder in a gesture of annoyance, then he sobered as he set to the heinous task of explaining financial prudence to his father…again.
“Father, there is plenty of money for mother and yourself to live off of, if you are careful, however,” Draco heaved the sigh of the long suffering, “there is simply no way that we can all three live off of the meager returns from your Knockturn Alley associates. Malfoy’s may not have worked before or during The War, but this is a new world, a working man’s world, Father. I am adapting to become a Working Man.”
He stopped himself from slamming the cup of tea onto the counter at the last moment, caught up in his theorems on post war economic values. His father, despite his complete refusal to accept and understand anything said concerning their financial situation, could tell that Draco was drifting into dangerous territory and attempted to momentarily lighten up the topic of conversation.
“What have you been doing with yourself besides this foolish university nonsense?”
Draco’s mind went from cooling to cold in 1.4 seconds. His father would not be pleased to learn that Draco was playing Hero Psycho Therapy with Harry Potter. Ever since the end of the war, Lucius had held a barely concealed hatred with a capital H towards the Boy Wonder. Draco suspected it had something to do with Harry’s ability to get his family out of a situation that he had not been able to. Draco didn’t care. He would not lie about what he was doing, his father, though willfully blind concerning economics was still woefully connected in the wizard world, he would find out.
“I’ve been helping a sick friend.”
“Oh, do we know him?”
“Yes, I’m afraid he’s very…connected.”
“Well, who is it?”
Draco squared his shoulders, doing it casually of course, and let it fly, “Harry Potter.” He quickly took a drink of his tea.
His father tersely put down his cup. Draco kept a tight hold on his.
“What would possess you to associate with Harry Potter? I was not aware of the fact that you are friends, or even on speaking terms.”
Draco’s grip tightened marginally on the teacup’s handle and he let himself proceed with ultimate caution, “Granger came to me because Potter has been acting strangely lately, and, knowing my chosen course of study, and our past relations, she felt that I was the best candidate to assist him.”
He wasn’t going to tell his father all of Potter’s secrets and mental ailments, it was information the man needed, and Draco was far too old to be selling out school rivals to The Daily Prophet.
His father picked his own cup back up and made a dismissive gesture with his eyes that Draco just despised, “Well, you’ll stop that immediately of course, I won’t have my son catering to the capricious whims of Harry Potter.”
He was outraged, what in all of the conversations that they’d had over the past two years made his father believe that a simple order to cease and desist would ever work, “Father, I don’t have time for silly childhood rivalries, or ridiculous issues of pride, if I help Potter, it could lend enormous credibility to my name. Not everyone psychologically cures the Savior of the Wizarding World. If you can’t do anything but give orders, I suggest you leave.”
Draco put his cup down and locked eyes with his father. There was shock there. Shock and a very small breed of respect. Also a great deal of anger. However, his father was a stoic man, and he held it in, “Very well Draco, until we talk again.”
“Have a pleasant evening father.”
Lucius disappeared into the floo and Draco was left leaning against his counter, wondering why he’d just taken a stand for his right to help Harry Potter.
He chuckled darkly and picked up the teacups. As he washed them, he wondered if Harry had left the study since he’d left.
Probably not.