Rating:
R
House:
The Dark Arts
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
Genres:
Mystery Slash
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 11/04/2003
Updated: 01/06/2004
Words: 40,796
Chapters: 17
Hits: 231,087

The Goodness of Their Hearts

Taratext

Story Summary:
Malfoy Security Inc. is hired when Chudley Cannons' star Seeker Harry Potter starts receiving disturbing letters.

Chapter 16

Chapter Summary:
Malfoy Security Inc. is hired when Chudley Cannons' star Seeker Harry Potter receives threatening letters.
Posted:
01/04/2004
Hits:
11,630
Author's Note:
New people who have added to the feedback (I hope I get everyone) include: Anj, kurla, potty_the_snowman, Morgana_Malfoy, scarletandblacklace, ZoeCilinder, Manicus_Inice, and Claire_D_L. And to those who post a comment every chapter, thank you, you're the best!


The plan was to get thoroughly plastered. To try to forget all the many many many mistakes he had made. Try to figure out just why he wanted Harry Potter so much in the first place, considering he'd acted like a bastard pretty consistently throughout.

Only he couldn't work up the proper enthusiasm for a good drunk. He ended up nursing the same glass of scotch for an hour or so, staring off into space. And instead of forgetting, of course, he remembered each and every mistake he'd made, with agonizing clarity.

He couldn't figure out what he'd found so entrancing about the Seeker. Except that tight body in that form-hugging uniform. And that curious bluntness that reminded him of all the people he'd hired and the few friends he still hung out with. And the sneaking suspicion that that laid-back attitude, while dangerous and annoying under the current circumstances, would have been rather a relief to deal with in a normal day to day situation. People did tend to get overly stressed over trivial matters.

The pick-up Quidditch game, that had been fun. Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd had some simple, uncomplicated fun.

And really, hadn't he always been entranced by Potter from the moment they met, in one way or another?

He was so pathetic.

An unfamiliar owl arrived. He groaned. He was in no mood to deal with anything outside of his own head.

On the other hand, what was going on inside his head was no great thrill either. He accepted the letter and ripped it open.

Dear Mr. Malfoy:

I don't know whether you are still working for Mr. Potter. I've heard what happened at the match today. But I don't know who else to write to.

Mr. Potter has returned. I've received a complaint from Ms. Cavanaugh, the other tenant living on Mr. Potter's floor, about terrible crashes and bangs coming from Mr. Potter's flat. I went up and heard the same noise. Mr. Potter doesn't answer when I knock on the door, and I can't reach him by phone. I can't force open the door and neither can the janitor. Please come.

Sincerely,

Sileas Dimarco (the day doorman)

Draco ran to his own fireplace and floo-ed to Harry's block of flats. The doorman was waiting for him. "He's still making a racket," he told Draco as they stepped into the lift. "We still can't get him to answer us."

Draco heard a huge shattering crash as the lift opened up again. A middle-aged man with a bag of tools lying open at his feet was pounding on the door. Standing nearby was a thin youngish woman with her arms crossed tightly. Ms. Cavanaugh, he presumed.

"Move aside," he ordered the janitor.

The janitor shot him a poisonous glare. "There's no getting through those wards," he said sharply, his professional ego dented.

"I know, I put them on." Draco knocked on the door. "Harry!" he shouted, though he wasn't at all sure he could be heard through the pounding he heard from the flat. "I'm coming in! Don't throw anything at me!"

The noise dropped off suddenly, then started up again, slightly muted.

Draco pulled out his wand and disengaged the wards, then pulled out a slim pick and turned the lock. "Please wait out here," he told the others. The doorman looked relieved, the janitor looked mutinous, and the neighbour looked disappointed. Draco slipped into the flat and closed the door behind him.

Then he leaned back against it, stunned. "Shit."

Scorch marks on the ceiling, walls and floors. Pictures with the glass shattered, the frames bent and askew, or dropped to the floor. Dents in the walls, as though someone had pounded them with a blunt object. The television screen smashed in, the music equipment strung out on the floor and crushed, the telephone ripped from the wall and flattened.

There was glass scattered all over the floor.

He heard a sliding clattering sound from the bedroom. He picked his way across the glass-strewn living room floor as quickly as possible. "Harry?"

A hard pounding rang out next, and Draco ran. "Harry!"

Harry was in his bedroom. He held a black wooden box Draco had never seen before, about a foot square, and he was pounding it against the wall with the obvious intention of smashing it, mindless of the damage he was doing to the wall, the flying splinters, and his own bleeding knuckles.

The bedroom was as thoroughly trashed as the living room. Scattered on the floor were newspaper clippings, metals, plaques and trophies. The air was practically ringing with violence and magic.

"Harry, stop this!"

Harry was crazed, his lips peeled back from clenched teeth as he swung the box against the wall in increasingly shorter and faster strokes. The box gave, leaving blackened dents in the plaster of the wall, but Harry didn't stop until each side of the box was separated from its neighbour.

"Harry!"

"Get the fuck out of here, Malfoy!"

He dropped the remains of the box and grabbed up a trophy, throwing it at the mirror, snarling when the mirror didn't smash. He grabbed up a Quidditch broom from the mess on the floor and jabbed it at the mirror. It was jarred right out of his hands. He howled in frustration.

Draco leapt on him. "Calm down!"

Harry threw him off roughly and he landed on the floor, hissing as something jabbed into his back. "This enough feeling for you, Malfoy? Accio wand!"

The mirror exploded. Draco covered his face with his arms, hoping he didn't find himself impaled by the shards.

When he thought it was safe to uncover his face, he lowered his arms and saw Harry grabbing clothing out of his closet. A Quidditch uniform, which Harry twisted around his fingers and set on tearing apart. Draco didn't bother to get all the way to his feet before tackling the Seeker, bearing him straight to the floor.

Between Quidditch and the gym, Harry was stronger than Draco. Draco had the means to put him down, but feared doing serious damage with Harry in the frenzy that he was in. So instead he just clung on and tried to be a weight. He hoped Harry wasn't so far gone he to started punching him to get him off. "Stop, stop, stop!"

Harry squirmed under him, hands hard around his biceps in the attempt to push him away. "Get off, Malfoy!"

"No! Calm down!"

"Fuck off!" Harry turned them over so he was on top, then tried to rise to a crouch.

Throwing all dignity to the wind, Draco wrapped both his arms and his legs around Harry, shifting his balance to make it impossible for Harry to find his. When Harry collapsed back onto him Draco shoved a hand into his black hair and grabbed a tight handful, yanking hard.

"Ah! Fuck it, Malfoy!"

"Stay still!"

"Let go!"

"When you stop acting like a five year old in a tantrum."

"Fuck you!"

"Has your vocabulary shrunk to five words or what?"

"Let ... me ... go!"

"Breathe and calm down."

For several more moments Harry pulled against the hand in his hair and squirmed against Draco's grip. He didn't think to try the hair pulling himself. Draco spent a second wondering if he'd been too much in the company of women recently, but what the hell. Whatever worked.

And then, all of a sudden, the tension seemed to rush out of Harry's body, his muscles trembling in the aftershock, his face buried in Draco's neck. Under Harry's full weight, Draco became aware of the fact that he was lying across something on the floor, and it was digging into his back.

Draco unclenched the hand in Harry's hair. He resisted the urge to stroke it. He didn't know what might set Harry off again. He unwrapped his legs from Harry's waist, but kept his arms around his torso.

"Why couldn't they just fire me?" Harry asked in a broken whisper.

Anger that had been buried by shame and depression came flaring up again, and he tightened his arms around Harry, this time with no desire to restrain him. "You can't expect decent behaviour from assholes, Harry."

"I can't ... they just ... I'm so tired."

And he did sound tired. Exhausted. Resigned. Like he'd given up.

"It was all there was left."

"What was?"

"Quidditch."

Talking was definitely better than trashing the room, but he was becoming really uncomfortable being squished between Harry's weight and the debris on the floor. And he didn't understand. "Quidditch was all there was left of what?"

"Anything."

Yeah. If this conversation was going to get all circular and tangential, they were definitely moving. "Come on, Harry. Sit up." It took some prodding and pushing, but Draco got Harry off him. The Seeker didn't so much sit up as slump on the floor, but at least Draco could move. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder, and all the tension and vibrancy that had been there before was completely absent. "Don't do anything, alright?"

Harry didn't answer, just lay on the floor staring into space. Still not good, but Draco could at least hope he wasn't going to dash to the balcony and throw himself off. "I'll be right back."

As quickly as he could, Draco went back to the entrance, where the doorman, the janitor and the neighbour were still waiting. "It's all right now. You three can go."

"Is Mr. Potter - ?"

"He's fine." Draco wasn't going to drag these three strangers into it. "Just got a little over-enthusiastic with his renovations. I'm going to help him clean up. Thanks for calling me." He shut the door in their faces and ran back to the bedroom.

Harry was exactly where and as he had left him.

"Come on, Harry, on your feet."

"Go away, Draco," Harry told him wearily.

"No. I went away before and look what you did. Your security deposit's gone, my friend."

There was no answer to that.

"You can't stay here right now, Harry."

"I've got nowhere else to go."

"Yes, you do. And if you get up I'll take you there. Come on. On your feet."

As passive as he had been violent, Harry let himself be prodded to his feet. Draco led him out into the empty corridor and down to the floo in the foyer. The doorman watched them, but with some discretion, and he didn't say anything. Good man.

Draco held out the floo powder. "Dragon's Keep."

That brought Harry back to life. A little. "No," he said.

"I'm not going to hang around in this mess, Harry. There's glass everywhere." And he wasn't about to clean it up, either.

"I can't go there." Harry looked rather desperate as he said it.

"Why not?"

"It's too quiet there. There's nothing to distract me. All I can do is think."

Draco stared at him. "I know Gryffindors aren't known for their thinking but - "

"Damn it, Draco! I can't take it right now, all right? I can't stand ... thinking, knowing it's all ... it's all meaningless."

Draco was stumped. He couldn't stand to think? Was he serious?

They needed to get out of the flat. It was a hazard, and he was surprised the journalists weren't camped outside yet. "Give me half an hour, Harry. If after half an hour you have to get out of there, we'll go anywhere you want to go."

"I don't want to go anywhere."

"I'm not leaving you here." Draco raised the floo powder pot. "It's only half an hour."

Harry clenched his teeth and grabbed a handful of the powder, stepping into the fireplace with a rigid cast to his frame. "Dragon's Keep," he snapped, tossing the powder down.

He disappeared and Draco followed him.

Harry was waiting for him in the living room, staring out a window, looking lost, the brief moment of defiance gone. "This way."

Draco took him to his relaxation room, but Harry balked at the door. "No."

"Trust me."

"I know what this room is supposed to be about. Meditation. Thinking things through."

And what was so wrong with that? "And purging negative thoughts. Sounds to me that you're in desperate need of purging. Come on." He tugged on Harry's arm. "Just a few minutes. If you don't like it, we'll leave. Come on. Shoes off."

Shoes off. Then he had Harry lie on the floor on his back. Draco lay beside him, on his stomach and propped up on his elbows. "Tell me why you said Quidditch was the only thing you had left."

Harry sighed. "It's obvious, isn't it? It's all I was ever good for. I was supposed to defeat Voldemort, and play Quidditch. I couldn't do the first thing, and now, it seems, I can't do the second either."

"It's not like you couldn't kill Voldemort. Snape did it first. In a more sensible, less dangerous manner. And you can still play Quidditch, if you want. There are other teams."

Harry hissed with a sudden return of his vigor. "I'm never playing Quidditch again. You said it yourself. It's a waste of time and I know it now."

"I never said that." Granted, sports weren't the most essential career in the pool, but there were worst things to be doing.

"I don't care about it anymore."

"You loved it when you were playing with your mates."

"That's different."

"Because it doesn't have the fame and fortune attached to it?"

Harry turned his head to look at him, eyes tired. "Because it doesn't come with the parties and the press and the public appearances."

"You like all that?" Draco was surprised. He wouldn't have been, had he heard Harry say something like that a couple of months ago. But after being with him day in and day out, yes, it surprised him.

"I need all that."

"What for?"

"It keeps me from thinking."

"About what?"

"About the fact that I'm nothing. That I was never anything to anyone but a symbol or an icon, and everyone else has moved on and built real lives and I don't know what the hell I'm doing or what I want. And I have to keep playing, because that's the only thing I know how to do aside from not getting killed, but playing is all about money and politics and people telling lies about you and I'm beginning to hate at all." He closed his eyes. "But I have nothing else."

He had, Draco knew, much more than most people had. Enough money to live the rest of his life without worrying where his next meal was coming from. Healthy mind and body, reasonable intelligence, and a whole lot of people ready to adore him if he wished it.

But obviously, he wasn't in a position to see that. "So the thing to do is to find something else."

"As easy as that?"

"No, but as simple as that."

"And how do I do that?"

"I don't know. You'll have to think about it. Much as you Gryffindor types hate thinking. The place to start, is to figure out what you want."

Harry looked at him again. "You."

Draco frowned. "I'm not going to be the drug you take to keep from thinking, Potter."

Harry snickered. "Oh, don't I know it. You are such an irritant, Draco Malfoy. Everyone else either gives me what I want or leaves in disgust. You insisted on doing neither."

"So I'm a new spice for your jaded palate, is that it, Potter?" Draco demanded sharply.

"Do you need to hear the reasons why I want you and why I'm worthy of having you?"

Draco sat up. "That isn't why I brought you here."

"Not in the relaxation room." Harry shifted, draping and arm over Draco's legs to keep him from leaving. "You can do a dead-on impression of Snape, and I laughed so hard it made my spine hurt. You've managed to spit in the eye of everyone who was so damned sure you'd turn out dead or in jail or a Death Eater, and did exactly what you wanted to do. You walk such a careful line and I'd like to be the one you trust to spot you when you decide to step off. You're so tense, and I want to be there when you let go." Harry smiled then, just a little. "And your voice drives me completely crazy. In a good way. You didn't talk like that when we were at school, did you? I would have fallen for you then if you had, I'm sure of it."

Did that mean he had fallen for him now?

Of course he wouldn't ask that.

"Maybe I can work on making myself worthy of you," Harry added.

"Don't do humility, Potter. It's never suited you."

"What would make you take on the gargantuan task of taking me?" Harry asked.

"Maybe I should force you to work that out for yourself."

Harry's answer was to bury his head in Draco's lap.

Draco sniffed, then trailed his fingers through Harry's mane, pushing the black strands from his face. "Your problem, Harry, is that everything was handed to you. Dumbledore comes out of nowhere and puts you on a pedestal as the hero of the wizarding world. McGonagall comes out of nowhere and hands you a plum position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Snape comes out of nowhere and spares you from having to actively go after Voldemort yourself. And the Cannons come out of nowhere and offer you fame and fortune. You never had to work out for yourself what you wanted to do and how to go after it." Harry was silent and for a few moments Draco merely stroked his hair. Then he asked, "Do you disagree?"

Harry hesitated for a moment before answering, "No."

"So what do you want?"

"I have no idea."

"Then you'll have to take the time out to think about it, won't you? Explore your options." And that could be a very frightening thing to do. "There's no great rush, you know. You're young yet."

"Do you have any suggestions?"

"Oh no, Harry Potter. I'm not coming out of nowhere and putting you anywhere. You've got to do this one on your own." Draco pushed at his shoulders until he sat up. "Once you've done that, if you want, you can come back."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to be your next distraction, Harry." Malfoy had his own issues to deal with. He wasn't going to be dragged into Harry's. "I'm not going to be what you cling to, to avoid thinking about how much you hate your life. Figure out what you want to do, figure out what kind of steps you want to take, and then if you want to, come back."

Harry sighed. "Must you always take things so seriously, Malfoy?"

"I don't think I'm the only one in this room guilty of that."

"Give us a kiss then, so I can have some happy memories while I'm wrestling with my too serious personal demons."

So Draco kissed him, a gentle meeting of mouths that promised and reassured but didn't press. He didn't accompany him back to the living room, because he didn't want to hear where Harry was going. He hoped it wouldn't be straight back to his trashed flat, but Draco decided that for the moment it wasn't his business.

It was a good decision, that they both step back and think about what they wanted. In his gut Draco felt pretty sure the job was over, that Zimmer was the one. He would put Perona on follow-up, but it was time for him to back off a little, and address the gaps he'd noticed in his own life. A sensible and wise decision. And he really hoped he didn't regret it.