A/N: Ok, so I'm not completely satisfied with this one, but if I wait until I am, then you folks wouldn't get this until Easter.
Many thanks to the following reviewers: Ura-hd, Aaye, Gabby Kathleen, Carolyn, Angle, Lucius, Jane, Shadowed-Seraph, Susan Potter, alliekatgal, Bobbi, Bex Drake, Mirokuluver's Friend, lilylupin7, Beautiful-Boy-Love, Zelphie, Penguin Steps, celestialuna, akuma-river, amy (The song in that chapter is mine and it exists only in this fic), miadragonlover, louey13, darkfaerie161, JediMasterWithAPen, Xelena, Xenia Marvolo, Madd Girl, Emileigh, spinnerofdark, Ambwardo, gizachick, and Cut-Wrist Kate.
Lots of Draco in this chapter, actually. Enjoy!
Sebastian leads the way through the manor. Harry is grateful that Sebastian's back is to him. Sometimes, Harry finds it too hard to look at Sebastian. He looks too much like people Harry has loved and lost. Now isn't one of those times. Today it is simply a matter of having the courage to face people as himself. It is harder than Harry remembered—being himself.
Harry follows Sebastian through parts of the manor that he doesn't recognize. Sebastian's gait is easy, though in it Harry recognizes both traces of Nicholas' swagger and a slight swaying of the hips, which Harry suspects Sebastian has picked up from performing in high heels. They are silent. Harry is grateful for that, too. It gives him a chance to compose himself. When they stop, it is in front of a door that is all too familiar to Harry.
"Here we are," Sebastian says, opening the door to Draco's bedroom.
To Harry, Draco's room always resembled a library with a bed. Sometimes, a stack of books with a bed, as Draco had a tendency to just leave books in piles until he was absolutely sure that he was finished with them. Nestled in amongst the bookshelves that lined the walls were windows, a bed, a fireplace, a wardrobe, and a desk. The room looks just as Draco would have kept it—neat and tidy, with the exception of a small pile of books that sat on the desk.
Sebastian closes the door behind them. His face is solemn. Harry is learning to dislike Sebastian's solemn expressions. When Sebastian has a solemn expression, he tends to sound more like his relatives and less angelic. "I had hoped not to have this talk with you, but recent events suggest that you are just as dense as my cousin always said you were." There is no trace of amusement in Sebastian's voice, which is sharp and cold with a trace of disappointment. Harry sighs, suddenly weary. He takes the chair at Draco's desk.
"Goody, I love being told what an idiot I am. Draco and Hermione used to do it loads."
Sebastian smirks slightly. "You know, you only use his first name when you speak about him third person. You always called him Malfoy to his face."
"So?" Harry retorts, fiddling with the books on Draco's desk.
"He did the same thing when he talked about you." Harry looks up.
"He talked about me?" Sebastian's smirk mellows into something that's almost a smile and when he speaks, some of the coldness has left his voice.
"All the time. He was fond of you, though most people wouldn't have been able to tell. And if you had died before he did, he would have done the same thing you've done—killed Voldemort and then become an inconsolable wretch, but at least he would have been inconsolable while carrying out his duties to others."
"I am not an inconsolable wretch!" Harry protests. Is he?
"You're not the only one who lost something when Draco died, you know. I understand that there were unique circumstances binding the two of you—"
"Sympathetic magic," Harry whispers, running his finger along the spine of a book.
"What?"
"We were magically sympathetic," Harry says. The look on Sebastian's face is similar to how Harry's face must have looked when he was told that Sebastian was an empath.
It is Draco who taught Harry how to cast a spell properly. Magic, for Harry was like breathing. He did it because he had to and he could, not because he took any particular joy in it. Magic, for Draco, was art. Draco taught Harry how the swish and flick of Wingardium Leviosa could be as precise and graceful as dance, how an individual's magic left a stamp on any spell, and how to pronounce incantations for maximum effect.
Not that Harry learned these lessons particularly well, but Draco made a point of attempting to teach him anyway.
"Potter," Draco's tone was brusque, shaking Harry from his reverie.
"H'm?"
"Pay attention." Harry sighed.
"Why? You keep talking about paired spells. Hermione says that most wizards are crazy to even try, their odds of getting it right are so slim, even among spouses."
"That's because paired spells require knowledge of magic, knowledge of yourself, knowledge of your partner and one other component," Draco said. Despite himself, Harry's curiosity was piqued.
"What's that?" he asked, almost resentfully.
"Sympathetic magic."
"What?"
"Sympathetic magic, Potter, is the term used to describe the phenomenon in which two wizards' magical signatures are synchronized, such that the combination of the two results in a single, more powerful magical signature."
"How often does this happen?"
"About as often as Muggles win the lottery, at least, in terms of fully sympathetic magic. There are degrees of magical sympathy. Family members are usually sympathetic to some extent. Older families used to choose heirs based on magical sympathy. The similarity of magical signatures sometimes makes it easier for magical objects and properties to align themselves to the new owner."
Harry thought about this for a moment.
"So, the reason you keep nattering on about paired spells is because you think we're magically compatible?"
"And?"
"And you think that our history of hating one another and our newfound…whatever this is, will give us the insight we need to read each other while casting these spells."
"Go on."
"Which you think will give us an advantage over Death Eaters and possible old Voldepants himself."
"You know, it really disturbs me when you call the Dark Lord 'Voldepants.' You do realize that technically that means 'Flight of Pants'?"
"Does it really?" Harry asked, amused. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Yes, and yes, you are correct."
Sebastian's dumbstruck expression lasts for only a split-second. "Well, that would qualify as 'unique circumstances'," he says wryly. Harry pulls from a bookshelf a book entitled "On Magical Sympathies" and flips past "Symptoms" and into "Side Effects". He shows the page to Sebastian who reads aloud:
"Though generally beneficial, the bonding of magic on such an intimate level can have dark side effects. The loss of one's sympathetic partner can be magically and emotionally devastating. At its worse, such a loss can result in a lack of desire or even an inability to cast spells. The double loss generally requires a long period of mourning and recovery, particularly since magical partners tend to form strong emotional bonds. In a healthy relationship, these bonds manifest as friendship or marriage. In cases of damaged relationships, strong enmity with frequent confrontations is often the result, conflict being necessary to satisfy---"
Harry shuts the book.
"As I said, my cousin would be very upset as well," Sebastian says. His voice is still cool, but not as cold as before. Harry wonders how much of that change is Sebastian's mood improving and how much of it is Sebastian being unable to maintain an icy façade for long.
"At first, I was upset, but that only lasted until the funeral. Then I went numb and I did what everyone expected of me. Then I came here and I was scared. Lucius had a way of looking at me that worked through all the numbness and got right under your skin. I wasn't ready to feel again, so I ran. "
"But Lucius found you."
"And gave me the chance to run again. At first, it was all right—a new me, a chance at being just normal. Nicholas was the first person I let touch me in years, and I loved him. I shouldn't have and I didn't realize that I did, but then I lost him. Then I realized just what I had lost." Harry pauses, his throat tightening. Sebastian looks down at the floor for a long moment. When he looks up, his eyes are glistening. There is a moment of shared loss between them, and Harry finds himself oddly comforted by it.
"Then there was Lucius again and all of you and so many, many reminders of the war and of Draco. Everything I love, I lose. I've lost everything to Voldemort and his war—even those fucking territorial squabbles are the result of Voldemort's meddling there."
Sebastian is silent. Harry would have thought that saying everything he just said would have felt awkward, but it wasn't. Maybe it was Sebastian's empathy, but the words had come almost effortlessly. Then again, maybe it was just that the words were overdue. Harry takes a deep breath. He feels better now, lighter somehow.
"Then you know just how my uncle feels," Sebastian says. Harry nods. He can understand the losses that Lucius has suffered. "But there's something you fail to realize," Sebastian adds.
"I fail to realize a lot. As Draco must have told you, observation isn't one of my talents." Sebastian smiles a little.
"You give my uncle hope, Mr. Potter." Harry's laugh is bitter. It has been so long since Harry has dared to hope for anything. The idea of him inspiring such a thing in anyone is sadly amusing.
"Hope of what?" he asks.
"Hope that his life has not been in vain." The shock that Harry feels at those words leaves him momentarily speechless.
"You're wrong," he blurts out, once he is able. Sebastian has to be wrong, he has to be. There is no way that Harry could have come to mean so much to Lucius—to anyone. Sebastian raises an eyebrow.
"Am I? In you, there is the continuation of his line, the sum of the love and blood of his son, of Lucius' teachings and his ceaseless efforts to protect something of himself from the madness of that lunatic. If you do not accept your duty to him—a duty you've already accepted twice—you will kill him."
"Stop." Harry doesn't want to hear this. He can't hear this. He can't. Sebastian continues.
"The Malfoy estate as it was entrusted to Lucius shall cease to exist, the last wish of his son will have meant nothing and Lucius himself will spend the rest of his days with only the knowledge of his failure to keep him company."
"It's not fair for you to ask this of me!" How can anyone ask him to take on the burden of someone else's happiness, when he has failed so miserably at procuring his own?
"No, it isn't, but life is not fair and life has not been very kind to the house of my uncle. If you love him, if you loved my cousin, you will not let this happen. You will not neglect your obligations here." There is a heavy silence, one that makes it difficult for Harry to breathe.
"Did Draco love me?" Harry asks suddenly.
"What?"
"You might have sensed something. I have to know. Did he love me?"
"How many times did Draco have to prove his devotion before you would believe it?"
"I'm not talking about loyalty."
"Yes. My cousin loved you. He trusted you and he watched over you and he died for you. He even saw fit to provide for you if something should happen to him. He gave you family, Harry. His family. He gave you us—and he brought you to Lucius."
"He brought me to Lucius?" Harry asks, blinking.
"He left a note to be delivered in the event that he died before Lucius."
"What did it say?"
"It said 'John 19.26-27. You and Potter are well matched.'"
"The Bible?"
"It was a favorite of Draco's."
"Draco wasn't religious."
That is, perhaps, an understatement.
"I don't believe in God," Draco said flatly. The statement caught Harry off-guard. Harry's own use of the word "God" was casual, at best. He had hardly expected Draco to comment upon it seriously.
"No?" Harry asked, looking askance at Draco.
"No. I believe in no supreme being, no master plan, no final judgement or resting place. This is all there is and this is all that matters and at the moment, it's pretty fucked up."
"Then why do you fight so hard?"
"Because if this is all there is, then it's worth fighting to make it all it should be, isn't it? No second chances. This one has to count for everything." Draco's smile was wistful. He looked small against the immense backdrop of the open sky and land. With the wind ruffling his fine hair, he looked like a boy—a normal boy. Harry looked away, his eyes stinging.
Somehow, talking philosophy with Draco always made Harry more depressed.
"No, he wasn't, but he thought the Bible was a fine piece of dramatic literature."
"So what does it mean?" Sebastian held out his hand and in the space it took him to cast a wordless summoning charm, a book came to him. He holds the book out to Harry.
"See for yourself."
Harry has seen a Bible once before. The Dursleys had had one. It had been pristine. The spine was never cracked, the pages were never ruffled, and the gold leaf around the edges was perfect. Draco's copy is nothing like that. It is a much better copy than the Dursleys', that's true, but Draco's actually shows signs of wear.
Harry riffles through the pages, looking for the passage. There it is, underlined:
"When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son! Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother! And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home."
Harry stares at those words for a moment, his throat going dry. "Who is supposed to take care of whom?"
"I like to think that they meant to care for each other," Sebastian says gently. He hands Harry a small black book and exits the room quietly, leaving Harry to think.
The first paired spell that Harry and Draco performed together was a variation of Sinister Peace. The non-lethal variation would render everyone within a certain radius unconscious, to be revived only at the casters' will. The spell required that Draco point his wand, Harry take Draco by his left hand, spin him in a movement that reminded Harry of dance lessons for the Yule Ball, and then, with his hand over Draco's, use Draco's wand to trace an infinity symbol, counter-clockwise.
The movement, though cumbersome for Harry to think about, actually went quite smoothly in practice and it was something, to be so close to Draco that he could feel the magic of the spell moving through Draco's body and joining with the magic coursing through his own body. It was exhilarating and—Harry was almost ashamed to say-- nearly better than flying.
So it is quite easy to figure out what to say when the first leaf of Draco's journal prompts him for a password.
"Pacis Atra."
H'm, I might edit this later. I'll try to get the next one out soon, but class makes doing other things near-impossible. Until then, be a dear and leave a review?
With love,
J. Silver