Title: Armchair
Author: Jules ()
Artwork: Scene by Plumeria
Rating: PG13. Slash. Male/Male relationship. Adult themes.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: This bunny came to me as I misread the name of the image in a too-quick swipe of the mouse. It just stuck and wouldn't leave me alone. And many, many thanks to Nancy for the quick and helpful beta!
"And we can have the pool over there, and there's a lovely spot down that hill for a pitch," Harry gestured over to his right as he slowly circled in the air. "Draco, are you listening to a word I'm saying?"
"Hmmm? Oh yes, pool, pitch. Sounds lovely." Draco nodded vaguely, his voice just loud enough to carry over to where Harry rode his broom. Draco's own had stopped in mid-air, just above treetop level. He wondered when he had gotten on the broom. The last thing he clearly remembered was ...
Harry's voice cut through the fog. "Do you want to rest for a bit? I know it was a long trip by broom," he suggested, flying over to parallel Draco in the air.
"Sure, all right then," Draco descended to the ground by tipping forward on his broom. Too late, he recalled that his reflexes were still not up to old standards, and he yanked up sharply on the broom before it could stick in the ground. This caused his feet to come into contact with the earth with a jar, and he nearly fell.
He dropped his broom where he had landed and moved to a nearby tree, wondering what the bark would feel like under his hand. It had been years since he'd been outside, able to enjoy the fresh air and the feel of living things against his skin. The feel of life against his skin. He was not using it as an excuse to rest himself upright, though he could understand why people might see it that way. Why Harry might see it that way.
Okay, maybe it was partially that, but it also was the feel of the plants. He wanted to take his shoes off and run his toes through the grass and the soil. But he couldn't. Not yet.
He could feel Harry's eyes on him, those green eyes that left a verdant path as they examined his face.
"Stop it now, Potter," Draco growled harshly through gritted teeth as he glanced up through pale locks. "Or haven't you seen enough? I'm not bloody insane. I just needed to get out of the flat for a while." Oh, that had hurt. He hadn't managed a growl before. Ow. Oh ow.
Harry glided down near him, dismounting from his broom with an easy grace Draco had always envied, even before. He rested his broom against the tree where Draco was leaning. "Right then, here we are, taking in our new property. They should start in a week or so, from what the builder told me. So do you think it'll suit?" Draco noticed Harry kept his tone light, returning to their earlier discussion of the property. As if he hadn't been watching Draco for any of the telltale signs.
He supposed it was his own fault. The flat had just gotten too cramped, felt too enclosed. Like you were back in your cell, his mind suggested, which had triggered the beginnings of a panic attack. Harry had caught the signs and immediately suggested a trip to the land he had just bought. The land for their house. A perfect solution, if The Boy Who Should Have Thought Before He Spoke hadn't mentioned apparating to the site.
Before Draco could tell his mind to stop it, he had his wand out and was pointing it at Potter's throat, ready to deliver the Killing Curse. Harry just stood there, unflinching, his green eyes steady on Draco's own. It was the lack of reaction that kept him alive, and they both knew it.
"Brooms," Harry continued on, ignoring the wand. "A bit long for a broom ride, but if you want to get outside, it's a brilliant day."
Just like that, he continued on with the plan, as if Draco hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. Draco had put his wand away, but it had taken three tries to reholster it, his hands were shaking so hard.
So now they were here, after a bloody long ride. Draco was not looking forward to the trip back. Since when had riding a broom all morning taken so much out of me? He didn't answer the question; he didn't have to.
"The land's not really very flat, Potter. You'd think you could have picked something that wouldn't cost all of your Galleons to level before building on it." Draco hated the whispery way his voice had to sound now, but there was nothing for it. And he couldn't hold a quill well enough to write all the time.
If only there was such a thing as telepathy.
"I like it. Gently rolling hills. Besides, like I said, the flat area is reserved for the pitch. Do you want to have a look? It's just over there." Potter's voice taunted him. Just over there, just a few steps. All you have to do is let go of the tree and put one foot in front of the other. Bloody Potter. Harry had stopped speaking. He had that faraway look in his eye that said he was remembering happier times. Well, time to put his legs to the test.
"Thinking about Hogwarts again?" Draco whispered, touching Harry's arm, interrupting his thoughts. He wasn't resting on Harry, no. Just a touch, a simple hand upon the sleeve of his jumper.
"How could you tell?"
"You get this glassy-eyed look." Snark wasn't dead, it was just quieter. "Reminds me of a dead fish I saw once by the lake..."
"Hey!"
"Just telling it like it is, Potter." Draco whispered with some amusement. It was so hard to get the right tone when all you could do was whisper. He curved his lips up slightly, trying a smile, hoping it would soften the words.
Harry's arm quivered beneath his. Not anger, judging by the look behind the glasses. He looked like he wanted to cavort about the field, actually. Draco realized that it may have well been the first time he'd managed a smile since he'd been out of hospital. How many weeks was that now?
"Well, as a matter of fact, I was just recalling how you only insult the things you've taken a fancy to. So this must be the perfect spot."
"Really?" Feeling good, Draco tried his trademark drawl, but managed only a pale imitation. He wished the medi-wizards had been able to fix his vocal chords. Bloody-minded fools. They'd wanted to know what spell had been done to cause such scarring, but wouldn't let him speak. So he'd had to write it down.
Screaming for days at a time might be the cause.
"Really," Harry pulled his mind back to the present. "The pitch is this way," Harry began moving, and made no comment when Draco clung a bit more firmly to his forearm.
The spring sun shone down on the two men as they walked across the field. The dew had long evaporated in the warmth of the day, and the new grass sprung back into place behind them with barely a pause, leaving no trail. The air was clean and clear, and birds and animals chirped and chattered in the distance.
And Draco Malfoy sweated every step of the way to the edge of the down slope. But I made it, Draco thought.
Breathing heavily, Draco's eyes took in the future pitch. He could sense Harry trying hard not to look at him. He just held his left arm steady and gestured with his right, pointing out the way he saw the setup.
Draco had responded well to Harry's voice when he was first released from Azkaban and had been swathed in bandages. A lifeline, the medi-wizards had said. He needs something to keep the madness at bay. They hadn't thought that he could hear them, that he wasn't conscious enough to hear them. Bloody fools.
Harry read to him after that - the Daily Prophet, books, Muggle newspapers. When he ran out of things to read (and Draco had asked), Harry told him what had happened after they had been parted. After Lucius had found out just what his son had been doing with The Boy Who Lived.
Harry's voice had beaten back the Dementors' lingering madness, and continued to keep it at bay. Whenever Draco's mind wandered, Harry started talking, bringing him back to the present, to the here-and-now, not the then-and-gone. It worked, and it kept them talking.
Well, it kept Harry talking. Draco hated the way his voice sounded now, even more than he hated his body's weakness. He rarely talked to anyone, and then in short, clipped sentences. Except for Harry, who had treated him no differently than he had before they were parted. He was always there, a presence Draco took comfort in, even when he didn't want to. Someone to lean on. Not that he needed it. Much.
The arm beneath his moved away, and he had to rebalance himself. It brought him back to the present, to staring at the nice flat stretch of land just down the slight incline. He wondered when he'd be able to make it down without falling, followed by how many more months (years?) it would be before he could walk back up it without pain.
"Stop it, Malfoy." Harry moved in front of him, breaking his line of sight. He glared up at Potter, even more annoyed at the height difference. Draco forced himself straighter, to meet his nemesis'...friend's...lover's...eyes levelly. He could feel the wounds on his back tear open, the ones that couldn't heal from magical remedies, but he wouldn't wince. He'd never done it for his father, he wouldn't do it for Potter.
"Stop what?"
"You're pitying yourself. You're judging everything here based on the old you, the seventeen-year-old who laughed in his father's face. I can see it in your eyes. Draco, you're twenty-seven. You've been through experiences that I can't imagine, nor do I want to. You're different. I'm different. We're picking up the pieces and moving on with our lives."
Draco watched Harry, full of passion and vigor. It was hypnotic, the amount of intensity the former Gryffindor could deliver, with his eyes, his words, his whole body.
"I thought we agreed to move on together. But I won't do it. I can't, Draco. If you won't let it go. Or won't let me in."
Draco leaned forward and kissed Harry, wanting to capture that passion, to transmit it from the man before him into himself. He opened his mouth and Harry's tongue swept inside while his hands moved to Draco's head, holding him steady. Draco clutched Harry's arms and stepped forward into the kiss, toward the man who had saved him.
He doesn't know.
Draco whimpered, and he knew Harry would think it was from the pain, or the pleasure, but it made him stop and pull back. And look into his eyes.
"What is it, Draco?"
"You," he whispered, for once glad for the quiet voice. "I never told you..." He wanted to cry. He could feel his eyes burning from the tears that wouldn't come.
"Shhh. It's okay. You can tell me. Let's go sit down underneath the tree and relax, then you can talk. About whatever you want."
Slowly, they made their way back across the field, to the tree where they had abandoned their brooms. Draco was silent, trying to piece together the words he would use. The smallest amount he could manage, to explain everything that had happened since Draco left Hogwarts. He was afraid once he started he wouldn't be able to stop, but he was more afraid that if he had to stop, he'd never be able to start back up again.
The sudden intake of breath told him when Harry saw the stains on the back of his jumper and knew his wounds had been reopened. "It'll be okay." He managed a grin, "I just can't lean against the tree." He could see the thoughts moving in Harry's eyes, behind the glasses. He wouldn't be able to sit up the whole time without leaning on something.
Harry helped Draco to the ground, but only by keeping his arm in place. Getting down was rarely the problem, Draco mused. He sat facing the tree while Harry leaned against it, then looked puzzled when the green eyes danced at him, matching his lover's grin.
"Turn around," Harry moved his arms in circles. "Lean against me. I'll be your armchair."
Draco nodded, understanding. A very small smile crept onto his face as he turned around and rested very carefully in Harry's embrace. It didn't hurt - not enough for him to want to move, anyway.
"Now, what was this you wanted to tell me?" Harry began, taking one of Draco's hands in his.
"Harry, the reason I survived all those years. The torture, the curses, the hexes, the charms. It was because of you. The image of you kept me alive, kept me going. I knew that I had to survive just one more week, one more day, another hour, another minute. Because I was going to see you again. Because you'd be there for me. You've always been there for me, keeping me going, keeping me sharp. At first, it was for hatred of you. Then, it was for love of you."
He could feel the dampness on his cheek from Harry's tears, where the dark-haired man leaned against him. But he never spoke. This time, it was Draco's turn.
"It began the night I told my father about us..."