I am sorry about the cliffhanger in the last chapter—except for the fact that it was a perfect place to end it.
Chapter 21—A Decision to Make
Wormwood's face fell when Harry didn't immediately move towards him. "Harry?" he asked tentatively. "That is you, isn't it?"
That question he could answer, and any question he could answer sounded like a good thing right now. His heart beating fast in his mouth, Harry nodded.
The other man relaxed. "That's good," he said, and held out the hand that didn't clutch his wand. "We should leave, shouldn't we? Mrs. Malfoy told me the truth. Her son is a bit unstable, which means that he won't go to Azkaban for this, and she can work out a deal with the Ministry whereby she takes care of him. But it does mean that we should leave as soon as possible, in case Draco Malfoy catches us."
Harry felt as if he were standing underwater, staring at Wormwood across a chasm. How could he leave now?
How could he stay?
Going with Wormwood would offer him everything he still wanted. Quiet, peace, a good life where he helped people. And if he died in a few years, well, it had been a good life.
Staying with Draco would cost him so much effort. He was aiming for a life like the one he'd enjoyed when Ron and Hermione were still alive, but who knew if he would ever get there? Far better to save what he could, clutch what little scraps of happiness came his way, and just be grateful that the wizarding world still had room for a worn-out hero.
He took a step forward.
And Draco, of course, chose that moment to arrive behind him in a swirl of robes and call out, "Harry?"
It had taken Draco forever to find Harry.
The idiot could run so fast that he was out of sight in seconds. Then Theresa's urgent calls of his name had deterred Draco; he thought Harry had hurt her with his wandless magic, only to find out that she was just convinced Draco shouldn't go after Harry, but "give him some time to recover." Then he'd tried to ask Trippy, but she'd covered her ears, whimpered, and vanished. Draco thought his mother had probably ordered the house-elves not to assist him.
So he'd searched their bedrooms, and the Quidditch Pitch, and only thought of the garden when he saw a drift of apple blossoms rising in a spiral that couldn't be natural from the direction of the orchard.
And now he arrived here to find a man he recognized as Harry's newest partner narrowing his eyes and raising his wand, and Harry standing between the two of them. Harry turned to look at Draco with an absolutely desolate expression on his face, and Draco almost ceased to care about the Auror.
"Harry," he whispered. They were stuck on a pinnacle, and it wasn't one he'd managed to plan for, even if he'd orchestrated everything else. "Come on. We made a bargain. Are you just going to walk away from this?"
"I'm tired, Malfoy," Harry said simply. "And it would be easier to walk away from this. You know that as well as I do."
"Which is why you would never do it." Draco eased a step closer, then regretted it as that made Harry retreat. He was probably thinking more about getting away from Draco than going towards Wormwood, but Draco had no doubt that, once Harry was in reach, the Auror would grab him and Apparate out of the Manor. And then it would be all too easy for Harry to start thinking he'd never wanted to spend time at the Manor at all—which was true enough to make Draco's head hurt. "You're a Gryffindor. They don't take the easy paths."
Harry gave him a smile which had never known humor. "It's been a long time since I was a Gryffindor, Malfoy. A long time since I was anything but an Auror."
Wormwood smiled, clearly pleased by that announcement. Draco was not. He had invested so much time trying to make sure this wouldn't happen, that Harry couldn't leave the Manor until he'd seen the wreck of his life and admitted he needed help. And now it was all upset by a random chance.
Chance, and your mother.
And Draco could see the plan now, of course. Even if Narcissa really had thought that Harry wouldn't leave the Manor, she'd had this as a backup plan. And perhaps she had seen more of Harry's true character than either of them would like to believe. Placed in the reach of temptation, he could easily go back. She had counseled Draco to make Harry retreat from him, for one thing, and had Draco actually been willing to give Harry up, that tactic would have worked.
"You have him under some sort of enchantment, Malfoy." Wormwood's voice was scornful. "That's all right. I'll remove it, and then you can go back inside your pretty house and let your mum take care of you." He pointed his wand at Harry and quickly intoned, "Finite Incantatem!"
Harry just blinked his eyes and shook his head. "It wasn't an enchantment, Wormwood," he said. The smile was gone, and he just sounded—weary. "It was a stupid dream that he convinced me to believe for a little while. But I don't believe it any more." He turned his back on Draco. "Let's go."
Draco could have stopped him—raised the Manor's wards against him, for one thing. He still had greater control of them than his mother did. He made a mental note to make sure he transformed them so that he had sole control. Letting Narcissa be able to lower them without his knowledge had been a mistake.
But he knew Harry had to stay here of his own free will, or the healing Draco and Theresa both hoped for wouldn't happen.
That didn't mean he couldn't persuade him, though.
"Harry," he called, and Harry lifted his head at the sound of his voice. He was responsive, whether he wanted to admit it or not, just as he hardened at Draco's touch. "Think about what you're going back to. A few years, and it could all fall out from under you. Do you want that?"
"Don't listen to him, Harry," Wormwood whispered confidingly, as if entrusting Harry with a great secret. "He's mad."
But Harry turned around and directly addressed Draco, ignoring his partner's unsubtle tugs at his arm. "I want it," he said. "It's easier. I don't have to think over my words every time I say them. I don't explode in fits of magic, because I can keep my emotions under some kind of fucking control." The trees shuddered, then settled back into place again, and Harry shuddered as if in sympathy. "Don't you see, Malfoy? You should be happy I'm going. You're in danger around me."
"And what about the other people in danger around you, when what Theresa predicted happens?" Draco asked. He hated to play this card, but, at the moment, Harry's choice to stay was more important than the reason he made it. Harry had to remain. They could work on changing his reasons later.
"Who's Theresa?" Wormwood demanded, his wand swinging back to reorient on Draco. "Your little partner in this mad escapade to enslave my partner?"
Harry quivered. "I just—I can't think about that, Malfoy. I'll deal with it when it happens, I suppose."
"And how will the people around you deal with it?" Draco demanded. "The innocent victims you've spent your life serving? What will they do when you become a Dark Lord, one harder to predict than Voldemort, because you'll be so totally insane and so completely starved of human affection and company?"
Harry turned his head away. Draco could practically see the bleeding chunks the words had torn off him. He was sorry to do it, but he had been willing to hunt Harry down in the first place and plan for two years to help him. He wasn't above speaking a few cruel truths.
"That's enough, Malfoy." Wormwood was trembling with righteous indignation. "I'm going to see that you get taken to Azkaban after all. You're manipulative, and you don't have the right to say those things to Potter."
"They're true," said Draco, not moving. He knew he was better and faster with a curse than some pissant little Auror. Besides, Harry couldn't see him making a hostile move against Wormwood. It might be the thing that would decide the war going on in his head right now. "He knows they're true, and he knows why. He's had some very interesting conversations in the last few days. And I've heard them. He can be selfish, the way he has been all these years, and cut off contact with anyone else, and doom half the city, or he can actually come here and try to start living like a human being again, with someone willing to help him."
"Stop," Harry whispered. "Please stop."
And then Wormwood moved.
The spell he cast at Draco was nothing more than a minor hex compared to some of the Dark curses Draco had dealt out in his time, but it was still one that was disabling and painful.
And Harry gave an inarticulate shout and threw himself between Draco and the curse, using his body as a shield. He was down in the dirt a second later, twitching and convulsing, his hands pressed to his stomach.
Draco flicked his own wand out, binding Wormwood. His eyes were wide and motionless, fixed past Draco, while his wand clattered to the ground.
Draco strode over to Harry then, and whispered, "Finite Incantatem. Hush, Harry, it's all right."
Slowly, Harry relaxed from around the center of his pain. Draco stroked his hair, marveling at the way Harry cuddled closer to him. The motion made his choice clear, if the sacrifice of himself to save Draco hadn't. Harry had decided to stay here and risk the harder road, to strive for friendship and humanity.
Just like a Gryffindor.
Draco called Hoppy, and the young house-elf appeared immediately. "Fetch a Calming Draught," he whispered. He was sure that Harry would try to refuse the potion if Draco gave him too much time, while, with the vial pressed against his lips, he would probably give in. Hoppy gave him a solemn nod and vanished. Draco let out a breath of relief. Narcissa had only given the house-elves commands not to help him locate Harry, most likely. Matters would have been far harder if she'd given a comprehensive command.
Of course, that would have given her game away much earlier.
Draco crouched next to Harry, stroking his hair with one hand and keeping his voice low and soothing. Wormwood could hear him from here. Besides, Draco was saying the words mostly for his own satisfaction.
"You're going to leave here, and you won't trouble Harry again. I've watched you. I've heard what you said about him when you weren't in the office. You don't care for him as a friend.
"He's your ticket to glory, isn't he? You were going to be the latest one who shared his captures and took on credit you didn't deserve. Harry works his arse off, but he isn't ambitious. That means that other people can take all the advantages he should have had, could have had if he wanted them.
"You only came to get the Auror back. You don't care about Harry the man. Unfortunately, given that you're an Auror and I don't have a copy to replace you, I can't kill you, and I can't make you suffer the way I'd like to, for hurting him and disrupting his healing. I can only do this." Draco aimed his wand straight at the bound, terrified man. "Obliviate." He'd never spoken the spell with so much smugness.
Wormwood's jaw dropped open and slack. Draco wondered how much he would forget—everything concerned with Harry, of course, but there might be other things. Draco didn't care. He indicated to Hoppy that he should take Wormwood outside the Manor and release his bonds, and the little house-elf was more than happy to oblige.
Then Draco turned, cast a Lightening Charm, and picked Harry up, just as he had that night when he first took him, when he fell limp and relaxed in the alley. This time, the façade was completely broken, and Draco's hold was tighter than it had been, more protective.
He suspected the breakdown Harry had been fighting had come at last.
He took the vial of Calming Draught Hoppy had handed him, but then hesitated, and slid it into the pocket of his robes. He could always use it later, such as if Harry's wandless magic became dangerous. For now, though, it might be best to let Harry work through his emotions and come to the conclusions he needed to come to, without forcing them back into submission.
Harry could feel the tears burning at the back of his eyes. By contrast, his throat was hot and dry, like the desert at high noon.
It wasn't the pain from the curse, God knew. He'd suffered much worse in his duties as an Auror and rarely done more than clench his teeth to hold back the cries. But what it meant, that he'd lunged to get in between the curse and Draco instead of just drawing his own wand and stopping the whole thing—
He'd chosen this.
But he was so tired.
He could feel himself getting ready to fall, and he fought it. He didn't want this. He didn't want to yield to the emotions. God, it felt as if he had years of accumulated tears to work through. And given that he couldn't remember really weeping since the night the Weasleys died, that might even be accurate.
Draco's hand stroking his hair seemed prone to force the tears out of him. Draco's arms around him told him it was all right to relax and let them come, and his voice murmured the identical words, over and over again, low and soothing.
Harry fought. It wasn't manly to cry. It wasn't like an Auror to cry. He couldn't afford it. He knew what depths of bitterness and grief and emotion waited underneath.
It was too much, though. The first sob escaped him, and he curled up and began to weep frantically.
Draco supported him, and didn't tell him to hush, didn't tell him to bear it, didn't scorn him. He just held him, and said it was all right.
This was going to change everything between them. Harry knew it, and yet right now he couldn't bring himself to care. He was so tired.
He gave in.