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Chapter Thirty-Two—As Fierce as Love

If Skeeter was at all disconcerted by the sight of Harry holding Draco and smiling at her like a demon, she didn't show it. She pressed forwards instead, her gaze darting between Harry and Draco like a shark who had just realized that there were two bleeding, wounded fish in the water.

"Don't you think the public has a right to know?" she murmured. "Since you really belong to all of us, Mr. Potter, and anything concerning you is automatically public knowledge? I know you won't deny me." She posed her Quick-Quotes Quill, and Harry thought she was eagerly anticipating an outburst. It would make him look unstable and dangerous, and that was all to the Daily Prophet's good right now.

Harry held himself in check, though it was hard with Draco trembling against his back. He said mildly, instead, "Tell me, Skeeter. What would happen if you were forced to endure having your bones sucked out through your foot?"

Skeeter's quill slid hard across the paper, not writing anything but simply creating a random mess of ink. She stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"It was quite painful," Harry said conversationally. "The creatures that did it had the form of spiders, but they were made entirely of bone, and ate it. When they fastened on my foot, they turned the bones in it to slurry, and sucked them out through the skin. The pain was excruciating. Can you imagine that?"

He hadn't made a threatening gesture; most of his body was still occupied in shielding Draco. He had just looked at her directly and spoken in such a clear tone that she couldn't mistake any of his words. But Skeeter looked faintly uneasy.

"It doesn't seem as though you have any trouble walking now," she said.

"Oh, the Healers used Skele-Gro on it." Harry shrugged. "Things outside the maze are different than inside. But we were inside the maze for more than two weeks, Skeeter. And Draco was inside for more than a year altogether. Can you imagine what that did to us? Can you imagine what you would have had to endure, were you in our place?"

Skeeter licked her lips. She said, "But you committed crimes."

"Imagine what it was like," Harry repeated serenely. "I received a sickness, a small creature that hid in my shadow and infected me. It started to turn my entire body to shadow." He paused a moment. "The Department of Mysteries had developed it, or studied it, all on its own. It never produced any results from the study of that disease. It just kept its secrets down in the dark and brooded on them like a mother dragon." He stepped away from Draco, hating to do it, but wanting to stretch his hand casually towards Skeeter's elbow.

She shrank from him, then gave a nervous little laugh. "But of course you can't still have the disease!" she said. "The Healers would never let you near anyone else if you did."

"Haven't you noticed?" Harry said, dropping his voice. "The ones near me are Draco, who knows how to cure the disease; my friends, who have had plenty of chances to protect themselves against the infection; and the Healers and Mind-Healers, who have their own protections. But if someone else was to come barging in—"

"I didn't—" Skeeter stuttered, and then stepped backwards. With some satisfaction, Harry saw that her quill was moving on its own, recording their words. If Skeeter dared to publish any of this in her paper, and cut her own idiotic contribution out, then Harry had no trouble at all releasing a Pensieve memory that would show him trying to warn her of her stupidity in entering St. Mungo's.

"Oh, yes, you did," Harry said, and he finally let the rage bubbling in the back of his voice through. It was important not to sound like he was threatening her, or he would confirm the suspicions she was trying to spread with her story. Instead, he could be outraged that she had broken in against all reasonable warnings and tried to imply that both Harry and his partner were criminals. "You bypassed all reasonable precautions to come into a place where you knew you wouldn't be welcome. You didn't ask for an interview; you tried to force one. You went after someone mentally scarred, someone who saved my life again and again in the maze and out of it, someone I love." The word left his mouth easily, though he heard both Hermione and Draco gasp softly. "Does any of that sound like you should be spared the shadow plague?"

Skeeter was gasping by now, seeming to be unnerved as much by Harry's slow, steady approach as by his words. Harry paused, let the smile cross his face again, and then reached out to stroke her shoulder.

"No!" Skeeter wailed, and cowered back. Harry let his hand drop, and frowned thoughtfully.

"You're right," he said. "I probably don't need to touch you. You probably have the infection already."

Skeeter blanched, and broke, and darted for the door. She was just in time to meet Agarwal, who gave her such a forbidding look of contempt that it made her gather up her robes and run.

Harry closed his eyes and took several deep, cleansing breaths. God, he'd been about three seconds from lashing out with his magic, and never mind that it would have been incredibly bad publicity for both him and Draco—and he couldn't have been sure it would have hurt Skeeter, either.

He turned around and gathered Draco back into his arms. Draco had ceased to tremble, and his face was like a white flame. Harry knew from a glance at his expression what he needed.

"Agarwal," he said crisply.

"Yes, Harry?" The Mind-Healer's voice matched his own in hardness.

"You'll find the person who leaked the story to Skeeter and the one who let her in here?" Harry tightened his embrace, trying not to imagine what would have happened if Skeeter had cornered Draco and he couldn't get away. Would he have gone catatonic again, to defend the sanctity of his own mind? Harry didn't like to imagine it.

"I will."

"Good. Then get out." Harry flicked a glance at Ron and Hermione that made them leap as if stung. "You, too."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but something—maybe the way Ron took her arm, maybe the look Agarwal was giving her—caused her to shut it and nod. She and Ron filed past Harry and out of the room. Agarwal closed the door a moment later.

And Draco stepped away from Harry to the limit of their arms, but left his hands in Harry's hands, fingers and palms joined.

"You didn't betray anything of the tortures I went through," Draco whispered. "Even though that might have built sympathy for me with the public."

"It wasn't my place to betray that," Harry answered, feeling oddly as if he were giving ritual responses in which every answer and inflection was already known. "I don't care about their knowing what happened to me. But you hadn't given me any permission to talk about this with someone who wasn't a Mind-Healer."

"You wanted to rip her apart. I could feel that." Draco's eyes were exalted, his expression somewhere between feverish and dazed.

"Of course." Harry felt another surge of the emotion and had to grit his teeth, or going after Skeeter and squashing her to a pulp would sound like a good idea.

"You said you loved me." Draco's eyes, piercing and direct, were harder to face than the thought of losing Ron and Hermione to the maze had been.

Harry took a deep breath. Here was the response he should have anticipated most easily, and yet somehow he had not.

"I do," he said. "So much, Draco. You have no idea—"

And then Draco's mouth was fastened to his, wild and demanding, whilst his right hand took Harry's left and crushed and squeezed it.

Harry gasped and kissed him back. It was like the embrace they'd shared after the shadow plague, with the joy of survival running through them both. But this time, it wasn't an emotion to be excused by physical danger. Harry had no excuse for it. He could open up and accept it, or he could deny it, but those had to be actions he took on his own.

Feeling as if he had utterly drained himself of strength to do it, he opened up and accepted it.

He let—or made—himself feel the strength in Draco, the muscles bunching beneath his fingers, so different from the curves that he might have expected of a woman. He found no breasts pushing against him, and he made himself accept that. He opened his eyes and stared into Draco's face, the thin lips and the high cheekbones and the harsh angles of exhaustion and the chin rough with pale blond stubble.

This was no woman. This was no random man chosen from a street corner or pub, either, in an effort to ease the urges without seeking emotional attachment, as Harry had once thought he might need to do when the images pressed and wanking wasn't enough.

This was the man he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

Harry's heart literally fluttered. He groaned into Draco's mouth, and his own grip grew more crushing; he drew Draco to him and darted his tongue around teeth and gums and lips, greedy for every bit of taste he could find. His body was trembling with excitement. He was so hard that the need felt as intense as pain.

Draco leaned against him, pushed against him, seemed above and below him and around him and everywhere. This lovemaking was like wrestling. Harry laughed joyously, and if the laughter had an edge of hysteria, well, that was akin to the triumphs he had felt in the maze.

But this one wouldn't be snatched away from them by a danger waiting just around the corner. This one could go on and on.

Swept away by his emotion, concentrating on the rapturous expression on Draco's face, Harry reached for his trousers.

And then Draco went still, and stared up at him, and Harry had to go still, staring back. Had he presumed too much? Was he going too fast? He had seen no signs in the Pensieves that Richard had raped Draco, but there was much that he might not have seen.

Draco whispered, "We—if you do this, I want to know that it's because you want it, not because you're caught up in the moment."

Harry's body shook with warmth. He thought of all the times he would have given half his soul to hear Draco speak. And now he could.

This is not the maze.

"I want it," Harry whispered. "I don't know why, but I do, and I don't know how long it will take me to want it again, but I want it now." The arm he had coiled around Draco's neck and shoulders shifted, so that he could stroke the other man's forearm. "Draco—let me in."

Draco let his head fall back, and nodded. His eyes were shut. His lips were clamped together in what looked like pain as Harry delicately unbuttoned his trousers, and drew them down, and reached in, and grasped his cock, and drew it out.

It wasn't nearly as alien as Harry had feared. He had one, didn't he? And it was smooth and hard and warm in his hand, where he had always half-thought it would feel like a pipe, all cold metal.

But that was ridiculous. He had one. And the greed was right there, urging him along, making him want to stroke and stroke until his palm and Draco's erection both grew red and raw.

He stroked Draco, supporting the other man on his shoulder, watching his face. Draco continued to clamp his lips and eyes shut, except when he opened his mouth to utter an involuntary keening wail. Harry could tell the experience was transcendent, but he thought he would have been hard put to it to say whether it was pain or pleasure, if he was watching from a distance. He lost himself absolutely to the rhythm of his stroking hand and his staring eyes.

Then Draco's eyes fell open, and the gray in them glittered like sunken stars. He mouthed, rather than whispered, Harry, and his body shuddered. A spray of wetness covered Harry's palm, likewise less alien than he had feared.

And then Harry's hips jerked, and he was coming in his trousers. He gasped aloud, body shaking so hard that he nearly dropped Draco. He hadn't even sensed the orgasm rising, since he was so focused on Draco's pleasure. It was hard and hot and fast and so good.

As the ebbing waves of intensity rippled and traveled back through him, Harry held himself up against the impulse to fall to the ground. He looked around vaguely, then dragged Draco to the loo and found a tissue to wipe them both clean. He experienced a brief spasm of regret that he couldn't do magic.

But not for very long, because Draco was draped over his neck like a satiated cat, and every time Harry looked at him, the fierce, protective love in him hissed like a dragon and every other emotion fled far away.

He got them cleaned up, though he could never remember how. He got them both to the bed, though he could never remember how. He only remembered falling into sleep beside Draco, whose face was relaxed, his mouth open, and in spite of all the times they had slept side-by-side in the maze, this felt like the first.

Agarwal had been sitting in silence for some time and gazing at him critically. Harry raised his eyebrows back, because he wasn't quite sure what she meant for him to do or say. If she tried to disapprove of the way he'd taunted Skeeter, Harry would yell at her. Agarwal had said he should be honest, after all.

Finally, Agarwal said, "Though what you did with Draco yesterday is progress, you must realize that this has not solved all questions of your sexual orientation."

"I know." Harry relaxed back against the couch. He wasn't exactly cheerful today—he couldn't be, when they still hadn't identified who'd leaked the information to Skeeter—but he was more patient and tolerant. Good sex would do that, he thought. "I don't know if I could go as far with him again right now, without that extreme emotion driving us." Funny, he only had a bit of a blush on his cheeks whilst he talked about this. "And the thought of anal sex still—well." He waved his hand, not really wanting to think about it. "But it's a start. A stepping stone to what we both need."

"A full sexual relationship with another man." Agarwal intoned the words softly. "Do you know what that will mean?"

"It's not just any random man," Harry said, irritated that she didn't understand the difference. "It's Draco."

Agarwal tapped a nail against her lips and regarded him sternly. Harry looked back. "What?" he asked.

"I wonder, sometimes, if you are not as obsessive about him as he is about you." Agarwal cocked her head. "The way you speak about him, the way you exempt him from the rest of the world, as you would not exempt another gay man who wanted to live with you and love you—and, especially, the way that you have decided to blackmail the Minister with mention of the Department of Mysteries' activities if he does not keep the press quiet, as your friend Miss Granger told me yesterday."

Harry bared his teeth. Or she could think of it as a smile, if she wanted. He didn't reply.

"You do realize that it looks like obsession from the outside," Agarwal said.

"Oh, the outside." Harry flapped a lazy hand.

Agarwal's half-smile vanished. "We need to discuss this, Harry," she said. "The steps that you take to protect Draco cannot be too extreme, or they will combat your ability to fit back in among other people. And you cannot—"

"Listen to me," said Harry, surprising even himself with the intensity of his lowered voice. "I love my friends. I know that I need relationships with other people who aren't Draco. And I will have them. I will work towards them.

"But Draco always comes first. I'll take supporting him and learning how to deal with his problems over looking normal in other people's eyes—or placating Skeeter and the public. I will not let other people hurt him. The Ministry is implicated in the processes that hurt Draco. They never even noticed what Richard was doing. I don't like them. I don't trust them. I won't let them near Draco."

"And if you get in trouble as a result of protecting Draco so strongly?" Agarwal asked softly.

"I'll deal with that when it comes," Harry said. "But I won't hesitate in fear of the consequences, not when that could mean Draco getting hurt. And I'm Harry Potter." He clenched his fists in front of him. "I have more power in my name than someone like Skeeter can ever hope for, never mind how much she writes."

"Your friends and you have both let me know that you don't like the kind of publicity that comes from your name," Agarwal said, her eyes alert.

"I'll use it," Harry said, "rather than let any harm come to Draco. I just told you. He comes first. Before my ridiculous fears of intimacy, before my ridiculous fears of the public. He's first."

Agarwal stared at him steadily for a long time. Harry stared back. If she had a problem with this, he was sorry for it, but that didn't mean he was going to change his stance or his priorities.

Then she smiled and nodded, and Harry found himself letting his breath out in a whoosh.

"Something like this," she said, "is what I have long hoped to see from you. It is not perfect, mind. But it's a good beginning."

"It should be," Harry said. "I want nothing but the best for him. He deserves the best."

He couldn't describe it better than that. This was love, burning him up from the inside.

Agarwal smiled again.

"Lumos!"

And it worked. This time, Harry could feel the spirals spreading through him—spirals of energy from his magical core, spirals of thought and intellect from his brain, and spirals of strength from his body, the movements of the muscles he used when wielding the wand. He could feel them meeting in the middle of his chest, just above his heart, and the slight shock when they collided. And then they recognized each other, and suddenly he was breathing more deeply, seeing the world with clearer eyes, and wielding magic that came from his own core and his wand core, and not his brain's and body's memories of himself as a wall.

His wand sparkled with light. Harry laughed aloud. Odd Robert, who had sat on the opposite side of the room offering criticism as always, whooped and actually danced down the middle of the long office to hug him.

"That's it, that's my boy!" he crowed aloud. "And you're doing it more quickly than I expected, too!"

Harry blinked. They'd been working on this for days, and this was the first time he'd managed to produce anything like normal magic. "How long did you think it would take?"

"Given your unique case, and how long you spent as a building, and my own lack of experience with anything like this?" Odd Robert eyed him critically, gray hair frizzing up more than ever, as if his thoughts stimulated his scalp. "I thought we'd be bloody lucky to achieve any results after a year."

Harry gaped at him. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "You could have told me that, and then maybe I wouldn't have been so frustrated when I didn't get any results right away!"

"Why would I want to do that?" Odd Robert stood on one foot like a stork and stared at him. "After all, that would have been bloody discouraging and only made you think that not putting your best effort forth was excusable!"

Harry glared, and the Mind-Healer added, hopping out of reach, "This doesn't mean your coordination is perfect, mind. You'll still have to work to get that back. And you really shouldn't let your heart pump blood so fast, son."

Harry swore. He'd only walked down the corridor to Draco's room, and already he was weary and had to lean against the wall to stop the world from blurring in front of his eyes. Odd Robert had warned him that something like that was probably going to happen after his first successful use of magic, but when it hadn't occurred between his early afternoon session with the Mind-Healer and the evening, Harry had assumed he was safe. Besides, he'd rested since then. Wasn't everyone always telling him to bloody rest?

He waited until he was sure he wouldn't collapse, and then went cautiously on, gritting his teeth. But he had to take care of himself, he thought sternly. For Draco, as well as for his own sake. Draco would get more worried if he saw Harry weak and shaking, and Harry didn't want that for him, ever again.

He lifted his hand to knock on Draco's door, and then paused when he saw it was slightly ajar. And then he heard the second voice coming from beyond it, and realized Narcissa Malfoy was visiting her son.

Heart pounding, he leaned on the wall and listened as he had once before.

"That's wonderful, Draco," Narcissa said. Her voice was hesitant. "But—forgive me. I know what you went through in the maze—"

Harry gasped, soundlessly, and found himself blinking. He told her. He's reaching out.

"—But are you certain it's best for this relationship to continue now you're out of it? Can you be sure that Harry Potter is the best person for you in the long term, instead of just to protect you and soothe you whilst you're healing?"

Harry's chest hurt. He rubbed it absently and wondered if a heart attack could result from his small exertion as he waited for Draco to speak.

Draco replied softly, but with so much clarity in his tones that Harry knew he wasn't fumbling for an answer to the question. "I'm sure, Mother. If you knew him as I know him—which is impossible, and anyway I'd be jealous—"

A joke. Harry wiped at his eyes, which really did have a tendency to water most irritatingly from the hospital's light spells. That's the first time I've heard him make a joke about this.

"—you'd know he's the only one for me." Draco's voice lowered further, turned shy. "I have to talk to other people and laugh with other people and visit other people. I know. I'm planning to visit the Manor this Saturday."

Really, would Harry's eyes stop watering now?

"But he's the center. I'll always come back to him. He comes first."

Harry could not even hear Narcissa's answer. He didn't care to. Joy was burning away the last of his doubts, joy as fierce as love.