Dearest Harry - Eileen's Story

Thanks to Claudia for betaing!

A/N This chapter is from Draco's point of view, which one of the reasons it took so long to write. This was meant to be Harry musing about recent events but Draco is a stroppy little bugger and wanted his say. So with no more ado..... ~ Lucie




Forty Five

Draco was watching his Gryffindor sleep. He looked so young, so peaceful when he slept. Tonight he was undisturbed by the dreams which sometimes plagued him, thanks to the very liberal dose of dreamless sleep that Eileen had made him promise to drink. Of course she had also made Draco promise to drink some as well, but Draco had had no compunction at all about lying to her. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight, not if he could help it.
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He reached out a hand and gently touched Harry’s cheek. Harry sighed and wrinkled his nose and Draco almost smiled. He had spent so much time over the past few weeks watching Harry sleep. This felt familiar, it felt safe.

Draco’s world had been far from safe recently; it had been turned upside down, in the last few months especially. In fact the whole of the last year had been hellish for him, the loneliness at Hogwarts, the impossible job that The Dark Lord had given him, failing to kill Dumbledore.

Then being on the run, desperately trying not to be caught, wishing that he could have accepted Dumbledore’s offer. And then…then Greyback, Draco could not bear to think of that. If Snape hadn’t been there he would probably have been killed. Draco revelled in the fact that Severus’ spell had been messy and bloody and the werewolf had died screaming in agony.

Thank Merlin though, he had been there and despite his distaste for Draco immediately afterwards they seemed to have come to an understanding in the last month or so which Draco knew was essentially due to Harry. He felt closer to his godfather than he had done in a very long time, he even to his surprise. felt proud of all the man had accomplished, for it could not have been easy to remain an undetected spy for so very long. He had saved him and taken him to Harry and Draco knew he could never thank him enough for all that he had done.

Draco had thought for such a long time that his life was over. He had been desperate, frantic. He closed his eyes when he thought of the first transformation. The pain had been unbelievable, it had been agony. But he would never have to endure it ever again now, thanks to Harry.

Harry Potter! Who would have thought that he would come to love him so much? Certainly not him. He had thought that he hated Harry, had thought that he wanted to see him suffer. But that really was not the case. When they had gone to Harry’s Muggle home, he had expected, well he didn’t know what he had expected, but certainly not what he had found.

Seeing Harry broken as he had been had terrified him, appalled him. The disregard, no the cruelty, with which Harry’s relatives had treated him. He reached over and gently stroked Harry’s hair again. Needing to reassure himself that Harry had indeed survived. Harry didn’t stir. The dreamless sleep potion was doing its work well.

Draco thought he would never forget the smell. That was almost the worst thing. Seeing Harry broken and bloody had been bad enough. But the sickening odour of blood and vomit that had hit them when Severus first opened the cupboard door had been almost too much.

Draco had been really frightened that day. He had hated Harry, no he had hated Potter, Potter the golden boy, Potter the hero. The one who beat him at Quidditch and always seemed to win at every thing he tried, well except for potions, and Draco could now admit that Harry had never really been given a chance at that particular discipline. The last year, the whole of the last year Harry had seemed to sail through without any worries. But now he knew Harry, Draco understood that this was not really the case. Harry worried about everything! He just didn’t show it and didn’t tell anyone because he had never had anyone to tell.

Not until now. He wondered what it must be like to have been alone your entire life unloved and uncared for. Then to be hated and adored for something that you didn’t even remember, having to stand by whilst people celebrated something that was your greatest tragedy. Yet despite all of this, Harry loved so well.

The ratty little room that Harry had obviously slept in, Draco had never seen anywhere as shabby as that. Yet for Harry that had been normal hadn’t it? Draco had had a paradigm shift that day, the day at Privet Drive. He had been feeling desperately sorry for himself, sad and lonely and very scared. Then they had found Harry and his whole world had become upended and changed beyond recognition. When Harry had leaned against him on that mean little bed, Draco had felt how thin he was, how insubstantial the hero of the wizarding world was. He was far too slight, too damaged, Draco had thought. It was surely too much for one slender boy to be the object of the passions, both hatred and love, that he aroused in others.

Draco had been sure that Harry would crumble that night, but he hadn’t. He had conjured his magnificent Patronus, one that Draco had not seen properly before, as he had been under a pile of borrowed robe the last time he had made its acquaintance. He had seen right then how mean and shabby his trick in third year had been as the glowing silver stag lit up the sad little room with an unearthly glow.

Then he had defended them to their rescuers, before succumbing to unconsciousness and nearly dying.

Draco had fallen a little bit in love with Harry that night. He had found that he admired the boy who refused to be beaten down by cruelty. So he had gathered up Harry’s few possessions, which had been stowed, somewhat pathetically under a grimy floorboard and had felt proud of himself for the first time in a long time when he had finally been able to return them to their owner. A little enough favour but one that had assumed huge importance to Draco, as it was the first time since he had started at Hogwarts that he could remember doing something that was completely for the benefit of someone else.

Harry had had a childhood without love or affection or even regard and yet somehow he had grown up to become the man he was. He gave love and loyalty so easily.

Despite what had happened to Draco in this last year, having seen a glimpse of Harry’s life, he supposed that he was lucky. At least his parents had always loved him.

And now they were back.

His mother seemed so much stronger that she used to be. Often when he was a child she had deferred to his father, but she did that no-longer. These days she spent time with her sister and they talked of all that they had missed. They talked of Dora and of Draco’s childhood but never mentioned the years of estrangement. He wondered now and then what it would have been like to grow up with his bright haired cousin around to play games with. She had been kind to him too, in the dark days at Grimmauld Place. She hadn’t been around much, but she’d made him a cup of tea once. She had spilled the milk and used far too much sugar but he hadn’t minded, it was the thought that counted after all.

Dora had told him once that his mother was unharmed and would come back safe, though she hadn’t said how she knew that. Her voice had carried a soft authority and so he had believed her and she had brought his mother home, fulfilling a promise she had never really made.

He had truly grieved for her when she died. But he could not regret his mother’s return, having her back was balm to his soul, even if he had nearly lost Harry over her. He would do anything for his mother, but almost losing Harry had shown him how much he loved the other boy and Narcissa had given her blessing. She had changed beyond all recognition this summer too.

Andromeda looked at him with eyes filled with grief whenever she saw him and he wondered once or twice if she wished that it had been him that had died instead of her Dora. But she never voiced that thought. She smiled at him instead and bid him to watch over his mother.

Draco had had a lot of rows with his father over the past few weeks. The initial euphoria that he had felt when Lucius had been rescued had long since evaporated. Draco had always felt that he had been a disappointment to his father. Never clever enough, not able to beat Mud…Muggleborns, funny Draco couldn’t even think that word now, though he had used it often enough in the past.

Without his father’s influence Draco had begun to form his own opinions. Hermione was indeed one of the brightest witches that Draco had ever known, and she had been kind to him. When he had first arrived at Grimmauld Place and everyone had been so worried about Harry, she had spoken to him, reassured him when the others could barely bring themselves to look at Draco. How could he hate her after that? And Dora, his father had kept her away too with his hatred and his prejudices hadn’t he?

He looked at his arm in the near darkness. The mark that he had once sought had become a source of deep shame. He had wished time after time that he had never taken it, but he’d wanted to be like his father. He’d thought that taking it would keep his mother safe. But that hope had been still born. The Dark Lord took Draco on for one reason only. He set him up for failure so that he could punish his father through Draco and make him suffer, make them all suffer for nothing more than a madman’s whim.

Lucius Malfoy, the father that he had admired for all of his life was diminished now. He had been wrong, deluded. So many of the things that he had taught Draco were erroneous. The fact that Dumbledore was a fool, that Muggleborns were worth nothing, that the Dark Lord was a great and glorious leader! Well actually to be strictly honest Lucius had not told him that. He had tried to keep Draco away from the evil wizard. But once he had been incarcerated the Dark Lord had demanded to see him.

His mad aunt Bellatrix had taken him there for the brand, yet one more hideous chapter of his life that he would rather forget!

Harry had never commented on his Dark Mark, except once to say that Severus had told him that the marks had faded when Voldemort had been defeated before. Harry had no problems saying that name, but it made Draco cringe to even think it, he just hoped that his hideous tattoo would fade like Severus’ had when Harry won for good.

“You will win, Harry!” Draco said into the darkness, “you have too.”

Lucius seemed so broken now. The spell that the Death Eaters had cast on him made him desperately allergic to magic. Any spell, even a cleaning charm directed at him, would have him screaming in agony. Severus was hopeful that eventually Harry might be able to help him but he would have to be completely acclimatised to Harry’s magic first, hence the copious use of potions that contained Harry’s magical essence. Draco refused to think that Harry might not make it just so that he could one day cure his father, he truly did not care whether Harry could cure him or not; he simply wanted his lover to stay alive. To win, to come back to him safe and whole.

He had taken no potion, but his eyes felt heavy. He closed them and sighed deeply. He didn’t think that he would sleep. His thoughts were flying madly about his brain, like a snitch evading capture.

He thought of the first night that he and Harry were together. Draco had been frantic that evening. Severus had promised to tell Harry about his lycanthropy, but he had not. It had been up to Draco in the end. He had been terrified, sure that a disgusted Harry Potter would send him away. But he hadn’t. The rough sympathy and the warm bed that Harry had offered had felt like a benediction.

He snuggled against Harry’s warmth now. The nights were getting cold and Harry seemed to need less clothing, fewer covers than Draco did, he radiated heat and energy.

He put his hand on Harry’s chest and spread his fingers wide, savouring the warmth; the soft skin and then he pressed his cheek against his hand and lay there listening to the steady thump of Harry’s heart.

Harry had made love to him tonight.

Their coupling had been frantic, desperate. Draco had lay on his back and wrapped his legs about Harry, pulling him close as if he wanted him completely inside his skin. Although still full of love, Harry’s eyes had been bleak and worried. Usually when he looked at Draco it was with tenderness, with such awe that Draco often felt his own heart still. The way that Harry looked at him, he could not mistake that he was loved. Loved with a passion so deep, so all encompassing that sometimes it truly frightened him.

Harry loved Draco with the same sort of reckless abandon that he did everything and Draco couldn’t feel truly worthy, but neither could he turn such love away. He was Slytherin to the core. If Harry Potter wanted to love him, he was not going to refuse; however unworthy he felt. But he was also going to love Harry in return with everything that he had and give him the care and the understanding, the appreciation and the support that he had not known as a child.

He couldn’t think about what life would be like without Harry now. He meant too much to Draco. He was everything. He had made Draco promise that he would run for safety if he did not come back from beyond the veil, but Draco could not answer him. He couldn’t make the false, empty promises that he had made to Eileen. If Harry didn’t come back, Draco didn’t want to live.

For a moment it was as if his heart stopped, he felt like he was giddy with grief with and with fright. “Please don’t take him from me.” He whispered, though he couldn’t have said whom he was talking to.

He thought of the things that Harry had done for him. The Animagus transformation that had seemed like a miracle, the kiss that had nurtured his own Patronus, the other kiss, the one in the Ministry that had told the world that Draco belonged to Harry. Things had been so much better since then. People probably did still hate him, but they kept it to themselves like a dirty secret.

“You mustn’t die, Harry.” Draco breathed the words into his lover’s flesh like a charm.

In his sleep Harry mumbled. He turned and wrapped his arm around Draco, almost as if he had heard, though of course he had not. He nuzzled Draco and Draco’s eyes filled with tears that he refused to let fall. He would not cry for Harry. Not yet. Because Harry was not going to die. He was going to return from the veil, triumphant as he always did and then he would kill the Dark Lord.

Draco stifled a sob. The darkness surrounded them, thick and heavy, just a little light fell upon the bed, seeping in through a chink in the curtains, but oh it was so black elsewhere in the room, he did not want evidence of his fear to be released, to hide amongst the shadows.

He was not even going to think that Harry might not come back, because such thoughts could be dangerous, tempting fate. Fate was not having his Harry, he wouldn’t allow it!

It was too much to ask of Harry, Draco thought. That he should be the one to go out to face the most evil wizard who had ever lived, one who thought nothing of murdering innocents to fracture his soul. Draco had seen the Horcruxes now. They stank of corruption, no one but Harry could have carried around a fragment of such evil for so many years and yet be so uncorrupted. Anyone else would have been surely swamped, but not his Harry.

Harry sighed in his sleep and his breath ruffled Draco’s hair. Draco felt a shiver chase down his spine and he trembled, only to find himself wrapped even closer to his lover’s heart.

“I love you.” Draco said. His voice deadened in the cold, dark bedroom. “I love you with all of my heart.”

He thought about casting Tempus, to see what the time was. But really and truly he did not want to know. Tomorrow would be the end. He knew it, Harry knew it. Whatever happened tomorrow at least it would be over.

He screwed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, but not against the darkness this time, he closed his eyes against the light and he prayed as hard as he could, that the morning would never come.