Hearts Open (at the Close)

IV.
Draco felt the tingle of Harry’s wards as he approached the foyer closet. Even coming within a few metres of a door or window set the wards to reminding him that he was a prisoner.

He grabbed his jumper from the closet and returned to the living room, where Harry looked at him with interest.

“I can make a fire,” Harry offered, watching as Draco put on another layer.

Draco shook his head and picked his book up. He knew Harry really did want to make things easier for him, but he really didn’t like it when Harry used wandless magic. The sensation dripped along his spine like water torture, making him uncomfortable if not actually pained.

“Are you hungry?”

“A little,” Draco admitted. Harry cooked the Muggle way, so there really wasn’t anything to fear there.

Harry stood. “I’ll have dinner ready in about an hour. Do you want to get cleaned up first?”

Harry’s solicitous manner was strange to Draco, but he’d grown up having people either wait on him or fuss over him, and Harry seemed to enjoy doing both.

Was it wrong to make the best of the worst possible situation? Draco thought not.

He showered quickly and efficiently, knowing that if he took too long, Harry’s magic would turn the water off. It had happened three times before Draco had finally confronted Harry about it. But the dark-haired man hadn’t even realised what he was doing. He said he had wanted Draco with him—his magic had done the rest.

There were many instances of Harry’s magic working to make him happy, but the obvious was, of course, Harry’s spontaneous Apparition to Grimmauld Place with Draco.

Draco had thought that he’d be rescued in the first few days, but Harry’s wild magic seemed to have performed a variation of the Fidelius Charm, and he’d long given up on the idea that Aurors would storm in and free him, not that he put much stock in Aurors in the first place.

And Harry had no intention of letting him go. His magic had worked to make Harry happy, and that meant bringing Draco to a secluded place with no hope of escape.

But the positive thing was that Harry was improving. Draco insisted on playing the mind-Healer, and Harry let him. Draco asked for so little—besides freedom—and Harry really did seem intent on making him happy. Harry could control his magic beautifully, and if it didn’t feel so strange, it would have drawn Draco inexorably. But even that discomfort was diminishing every day. Harry’s thoughts seemed to be taking on a more linear structure—he didn’t jump from thought to thought as often, and he was able to keep his attention on one topic without losing control.

He still had nightmares. They were so bad they gave Draco nightmares. Screaming, wailing, crying, jerking, fighting… they were agonising. For the first few times, Draco had watched with an attempt at disaffection, but even he couldn’t watch his captor in such turmoil. He just didn’t have it in him.

Harry was so bloody good to him.

“I made chicken Caesar salad,” Harry said proudly when Draco entered the kitchen. Harry liked to eat in there instead of at the formal dining table, which made Draco question his upbringing, but then, he had reason to. He knew the story well enough.

“That’s my favourite,” Draco said softly, taking a seat and letting Harry serve him.

“I know,” Harry said simply. He dished them both out huge portions. Draco was always amazed at the sheer volume of food Harry could eat, and Harry seemed equally surprised at how little Draco could subsist on.

They ate in silence as they usually did, Harry’s unsilent eating the only noise. It was oddly endearing, and Draco hated that.

“Harry.” Draco dabbed at his mouth with the napkin and waited to be acknowledged. Harry nodded and swallowed, pushing his plate aside. Harry did all the cleaning up himself, never once asking for any help.

“Yes?”

“I’d like for you to tell me about your dream.”

“What dream? Being an Auror?”

“No.” Though he filed that information away for later. He had never heard that. “The dream you had last night. You were shouting, saying things.”

“What was I saying?” Harry’s voice was light but there was obvious strain beneath it.

“The word green. And Teddy. ”

Harry drew in a shuddering breath and collected the dishes. For the first time, Draco helped him, setting them in the sink and waiting for Harry’s magic to take over. To his surprise, Harry ran the water and began to wash the dishes by hand. Draco watched, transfixed, at the strange and oddly satisfying chore. He almost wanted to stick his hands in the soap water and do it himself. He resisted the urge.

“I guess it was just the same old stuff. I worry about Teddy. I wish he was here with us.”

This wasn’t the first time Harry had made comments like that, both about Teddy and this us. Harry hadn’t left the house since they’d arrived three weeks ago, so Draco had no reason to believe Teddy was in any danger, but he really wanted to know if Harry thought Draco’s imprisonment wasn’t an imprisonment at all. Sometimes he made it sound as though Draco was here of his own accord, perfectly amenable to the situation.

Instead of reacting to the comment, however, Draco pressed on about the dream. “What exactly is the ‘same old stuff,’ Harry?”

Harry gave him a sidelong glance before sighing. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”

“No. Helping you is probably the only way I’ll ever get out of here.”

Harry frowned. “You think I’m crazy?”

Trying not to snort at the obviousness of the question, Draco smoothly avoided answering. “I think you could benefit from talking, and it looks like I’m the only one with the ability to listen.”

“Talking to you about it never made the dreams go away, you know.”

“You never gave me the complete story, did you?”

Harry reached for a tea towel and dried off his hands. He held it out to Draco, but when he reached for it, Harry folded his hand into the cloth and rubbed it, drying it off. Draco was too stunned to do anything, and when Harry reached for the other dripping hand, Draco let him dry it, too.

“I’m tired, Draco,” Harry said, obviously trying to get out of the discussion.

“That’s fine. At St. Mungo’s some of the best talks we had were when you were in bed and I sat beside you. I think you feel more comfortable in that sort of situation.”

“Oh. So you want to come to bed with me, then?”

“Well, I’ll attend your bedside while we talk,” Draco equivocated.

“There’re no chairs in my room,” Harry said quickly, and Draco jumped about a foot in the air when he heard a loud crash above them.

It sounded a little like furniture exploding.

“Not anymore,” Draco muttered. Harry gave him an almost apologetic smile. Draco knew that Harry didn’t actually control things like that. Just like he hadn’t really controlled their Disapparition. Still, Draco had to wonder why his magic had acted up at that point—surely there had been other times when Harry had wanted to return home. Why then?

“You can stay in my bed, then. I have an armchair I could use.”

Draco almost laughed when Harry pouted, but he just led the way up the stairs. He held the door open for Harry and followed him in.

“This was Remus’ room,” Harry said quietly, touching the bureau with barely the tip of his fingers. “I sleep in Sirius’.”

Wishing he had his trusty clipboard—Muggle pen and all—for that rather morbid morsel, Draco dragged the chair over beside the bed and sat heavily in it. Harry walked around for another moment, touching things or just staring at them.

Eventually he came up to the bed, and Draco shouted in surprise when he began unbuttoning his jeans.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” he demanded, eyes wide.

Harry’s hands rested on the waist of his pants. “I can’t sleep with jeans on,” he explained as if Draco was the mental patient in the room.

“You’re not sleeping in my bed! You’re just going to rest there while we talk.”

“But now that I know I’ll have to get back up and go to my own room, I won’t be able to relax. It’ll be the same as talking on the sofa.”

Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance at the sense Harry made. “Fine, get undressed. I’ll sleep in your room.”

“No,” Harry said quietly, and the bedroom door slammed shut. Harry didn’t look apologetic in the least as he stared challengingly at Draco.

“All right then, the chair it is,” Draco said resignedly. But before the words even left his mouth, the chair beneath him exploded into shards, and he had to leap away to keep from getting impaled on the chair-cum-kindling.

“Potter,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “That was very rude.”

Crawling under the covers, Harry pulled back the other side for Draco. “You know, I meant to do the door thing, but the chair just happened.”

“I’m sure,” Draco said, glaring. “I’m not even tired! Am I just supposed to pace back and forth all night while you restfully dream of green?”

“I could make you sleepy,” Harry offered helpfully.

If Draco hadn’t known for a fact that Harry’s magic would protect him, he would have launched himself at the fiend.

Draco stomped over to his dressed to retrieve his pyjamas, but the drawers wouldn’t budge. “You’re kidding me!” he cried, spinning to face Harry, who was biting his lip and trying to look innocent. “First you kidnap me! Kidnap me! I might never see my family, do my job, go outside again! But that’s not enough. I have to endure your cooking, suffer through your company, and now I’m not allowed my own room, a door that lets me out of said shared room, a fucking chair, or pyjamas! If you’re trying to torture me to death with inconveniences and petty annoyances, you’re halfway there!”

Harry’s eyes were wide. “I thought you wanted to help me,” he said in a small voice, as if he hadn’t just acted surprised to find out that Draco thought him a few Chasers short of a Quidditch game.

And like that, all his anger was gone. He closed his eyes, scrubbing at his face. “I do. I want to help you because it’ll help me, and I really want to help me. But mostly I just want you to get better, Harry. You don’t deserve this, not by half. And you can’t live like this. But neither can I.” Draco climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. He pulled off his trousers under the sheet so Harry couldn’t watch. Tossing them over the side, he then got started on his shirtsleeves, which he also threw onto the floor.

“I’ll let you help,” Harry said earnestly. He put a hand on Draco’s shoulder and met his eyes. Draco couldn’t look away. “I want to get better, really. I’ll let you do your Healer thing and then we can see Teddy, right?”

Well, that had almost been promising. “Tell me about your dream, Harry,” Draco urged, getting comfortable. They were lying face-to-face, Harry’s hand tucked under his cheek in a horrifyingly sweet way. How could this gentle and relaxed man have the most dangerous wild magic in the entire world at his disposal?

Harry closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were determined. “I kill people in my dreams. I don’t even use a curse or anything. I kill them just with my thoughts. Sometimes people kill me. They all band together—they have to because I’m so strong—and they cast the Killing Curse all together, but it takes me a lot time to die. While I’m dying, they tell me… tell me all the things I did wrong. I cry and beg and tell them that I’ll be better, but they don’t really care or maybe they don’t believe me. They just let me die.”

Draco forced himself to think about his response. His immediate reaction was to comfort Harry, tell him the things that had happened were not his fault. People had died as a result of a war, not because of anything Harry did or didn’t do. And even if he had killed them, he had saved the world. Surely that should count for something.

“What do they say you did wrong?” he asked, knowing, of course, that whatever Harry responded with was what he thought he did wrong, not some imaginary dream people. Harry’s subconscious was feeding him guilt, and Draco had to know why.

But Harry shook his head.

“You said you wanted my help,” Draco gently reminded him.

“I’m really tired,” he tried again.

“Harry…”

“I killed them. They said I killed them. Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Snape, Colin… I killed them all. Even Voldemort was there, accusing me. I never wanted it to happen, Draco. I never wanted to be a killer. I was so happy when I found out I was a wizard. It seemed like such a perfect escape from a horrible life. I thought I had won the lottery or something. You can’t know… but then I kept having to fight him, and people wanted so much from me, so much I didn’t know how to give. I didn’t want to kill anyone. I just wanted to be a normal wizard like everyone else, like you. I never even once thought of running away, you know that? I didn’t. I always knew it would be me, and then it was. It was my job. But it’s done, Draco! It’s fucking done now, so why isn’t it over? Why? ”

“I don’t know,” Draco whispered. He closed his eyes. He was completely helpless and wholly unqualified to deal with damage of this magnitude. It had been pride that had made him think he could heal the great Harry Potter. After all, if he healed him, he was better than him in a way, wasn’t he? But he’d never questioned his ability, not like he was now. Harry needed and deserved help, and Draco was so far from providing it that he knew neither of them would be able to escape. Harry from his mind, and Draco from this house. “I really don’t know.”

Harry closed his eyes and Draco watched as he began to fall asleep. Every now and then his eyes would flicker back open and he’d stare at Draco for a moment, but then they’d fall closed again, and his breathing shallowed. Draco watched him for a long time before closing his own eyes.

He was almost asleep when Harry whispered, “I wouldn’t do it again. I know what that means, but I wouldn’t do it again.”

Draco didn’t answer, only brushed the backs of his fingers against Harry’s cheek and closed his own eyes.

*

The dreams didn’t come. Harry didn’t understand. The dreams always came. That meant that Draco was doing something, something good. The magic had been right to bring them here. Draco hadn’t been helping him at the hospital, but now he was helping him, and things were going to get so much better.

Draco. Even without his Healer robes—which Harry had thrown out, or so Draco said, but Harry didn’t remember—Draco was still lime green. Draco tasted sweet. Harry sometimes tasted him in his sleep. Draco didn’t try to stop him, but he didn’t say anything, either. Harry didn’t mind. Draco tasted so good.

Harry liked Draco’s eyes because when he looked into them, the pale grey ate up the green in the reflection. That was nice of them. Harry really didn’t like to see green. It was much better to see grey.

Harry woke up.

*

Draco was surprised to see the walls of Hogwarts surrounding him. He was alone in the Great Hall, and the castle was completely silent.

“Is this okay?” Harry said. Oh, Harry was there. That was good.

“Yes,” Draco said.

Then Harry was on his knees, and Draco realised he was naked. And hard. And Harry’s mouth was very, very good. Draco tried to run his fingers through that silly hair, but he couldn’t.

Draco woke up.

“Fuck,” he hissed when Harry sucked particularly hard. “Harry, stop it! What the fuck are you doing?”

“You were hard,” Harry said before taking Draco into his mouth again. Draco went to push him away, but his hands were bound above his head. He quickly looked up to see if he could squirm out of the bonds, but there were none. Harry’s trusty magic, yet again.

“That doesn’t mean you should… oh, fuck… Harry, this is really… bad. You need to stop.”

Harry didn’t stop. He rolled and softly kneaded Draco’s balls with one hand and stroked the base of his cock with the other. He was placing teasing kisses on the crown of Draco’s prick, making him want to pull away and thrust forward at once.

Draco wished he was confused. He wished he was experiencing conflicting emotions that he could later look back on and say everything happened so fast… But there was none of that. There was only Harry’s mouth on his cock and the fact that he wanted to come so bad he would surely die from it.

“Say no,” Harry said simply, teasing Draco’s foreskin with his tongue before poking the wriggling muscle into the slit.

“What?” Draco gasped, his hips thrusting until an invisible bond across his waist kept his arse firmly on the bed.

“Say no, and I’ll stop. Just one word.” Harry licked from base to tip. “One little word.” A hand pushed Draco’s leg until his knee met his chest. “Simple, really.” A prodding finger traced his entrance. “And I’ll stop.”

What Draco really wanted was for Harry to stop talking, but he was a Healer, for fuck’s sake! Taking advantage of a disturbed patient—

—Wait a fucking second. Draco was the victim here! Draco was the captive. Harry was in control. The power balance had shifted. He didn’t have to… be strong…

And it was a good thing he came to that conclusion, because Harry swallowed his cock almost to the root just as his finger dryly breached Draco’s hole. Draco shouted as he came, feeling his orgasm in the tips of his fingers, his pulse pounding as every part of his body clenched.

He couldn’t look. He couldn’t.

He had to.

Harry was looking at him with wide eyes. His mouth was plumped and red, and there was a smear of come on his bottom lip. His cheeks had high points of colour, and he was panting.

He was the most beautiful jailer Draco had ever seen.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Draco breathlessly scolded, but the words didn’t have the power behind them that he’d intended.

“But you liked it,” said Harry.

Obviously.

Draco’s eyes clenched shut. “How can you ever expect to get better if you keep doing things like this? I want you to rejoin society, but how can that be possible when all you do is make your own rules?” Draco was proud of how level and wise that sounded. Until Harry laughed, that was.

“The good thing about being Harry Potter,” Harry said in a voice full of bitter self-deprecation, “is that I make the rules. I can do pretty much whatever I want because of what I did. I never took advantage, because, well…” Harry made a swirling motion beside his ear with one finger. “But now I think I have something to break the rules for.”

“Even the great Harry Potter can’t kidnap a Healer, hold him hostage, rape him, and not expect to face consequences.”

Harry jerked back as if struck. “Rape? You didn’t say no! I told you you could, and you didn’t.”

“The fact that I’m a prisoner makes everything you do suspect. How do I know you’ll stop? How do I know you won’t punish me for saying no? There’s no free will here.”

“You’re wrong,” Harry said, shaking his head quickly, hair flying in his eyes. He pushed the strands away impatiently. “I would stop and I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Somehow, Draco actually believed him.

“Plus, it was the best blowjob of your life. You should be thanking me.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Unbind me,” he demanded, having had enough of his vulnerable position, not wanting to admit that there was a dark place inside of him that was grateful for the bonds.

“Oh!” Surprised, Harry looked up at his hands. To the observer, they were resting casually against the headboard, but to Draco, they were in an implacable hold.

Harry seemed to concentrate, but nothing happened. “Er, Draco?”

“Don’t you fucking say it, Potter,” Draco snapped, seeing the hesitation in Harry’s eyes.

Biting his lip, Harry closed his eyes and appeared to focus. A moment later, the ‘strap’ across Draco’s belly dissolved away, but his hands remained secured.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” Harry admitted at length.

“It’s because you don’t actually want to,” Draco said through gritted teeth. “Surely you’ve realised that your magic is a slave to you, and it acts on your impulses—conscious and unconscious.”

“You’re saying I don’t really want to free you?”

“Clearly!” Draco shouted, starting to feel a little panicky. He didn’t much like not being able to move.

“Okay, calm down.” Harry took a deep breath as if to show Draco how to do it. Draco snarled.

Harry climbed onto Draco’s lap, straddling him. “Let me just try…” He leaned forward and stretched until his hands were resting on Draco’s wrists.

Draco tried not to notice the tendon in Harry’s neck that was enticingly close to his mouth. He was thinking of biting, not… other things.

All too aware of his naked and Harry’s near-naked state, Draco tried not to move. But Harry was obviously affected by the blowjob he’d given Draco, and his hips were making little rocking movements that Draco eventually decided were not entirely intentional.

“Can you move yet?” Harry asked softly, his face directly above Draco’s and entirely too close.

Testing, Draco shook his head. Still bound.

Chewing on his lower lip, Harry looked around the room, apparently trying to find something to help free him.

“I have an idea,” Draco said suddenly. “Go downstairs.”

“What?”

“Go sit in the kitchen or something. Really. Just do it.”

Harry looked reluctant to leave Draco’s lap. He leaned down and kissed Draco on the lips before practically launching himself out of the bed. Draco definitely didn’t lick his lips. Not until after Harry left the room.

Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, the bonds slipped away and Draco could move. Stretching, he quickly got dressed and went downstairs.

“How did you know that would work?” Harry asked immediately. He was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in his hands and a worried look on his features.

“You wanted me here with you more than you wanted me tied up there,” Draco said simply, pouring himself a cup of tea and contemplating the extent to which his life was so very fucked up.