Confession Is Good For the Soul, Part IIa
Sep. 6th, 2006 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
annafugazziHey! Here are parts IIa and IIb of Confession Is Good For the Soul, which was supposed to be a one-shot, which became a two-part one-shot because I couldn't quite finish it in time for the fic exchange it was supposed to be a part of [never end a sentence with a preposition], but then each part turned into two parts because livejournal had a meltdown re. the length of my posts.
So in a way, this is a four-part one-shot.
This has been beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
caliopeamphora and naatz, so any remaining mistakes are my own. If you spot anything that needs improvement or correction, or have any Britpicks, I'll worship you.
Here's the previous chapter(s):
Part Ia
Part Ib
Part IIa
Sunday
"Confidotuom. I wanted to play professional Quidditch after school. After the war was over."
"Really?"
"Yeah. My father had a friend, Seeker for Puddlemere, Gary Astons-"
"Not the one who was killed by Aurors on the Hogsmeade raid, was it?"
"Yeah, that one. Anyway, he'd told me that I had a lot of talent and potential – maybe not enough for first string on a really good team right away, but definitely good enough for the Wasps, as an alternate. I held on to that, repeated it to myself during a lot of the time I was in hiding. And I practiced whenever I could do it safely. It was something to aspire to, you know? Trying out was going to be one of the first things I did, once my name was cleared."
"So what happened?"
Draco shrugged. "I lost my nerve."
"In the try-outs?"
"Never even got there. I'd circled the dates on my calendar; there were five try-outs scheduled right after the trials, when I was finally exonerated. Two of them were after I got the Order of Merlin."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Why didn't you go?"
He shook his head. "I pictured being in front of all those people, doing my best and failing, or doing my best and getting in but having people say I'd got in on my name or my fame. Or doing my best and succeeding, but still not being picked for security reasons or for political reasons... and I just never went."
Harry was gazing at him seriously. Too seriously, and Draco had to look away from the sympathy in his face. "Probably doesn't count as all that earth-shattering, I know. But it... was hard. Watching those dates go by, finally realizing I was never going to go. I never even told anyone I was thinking of trying out. Didn't want to talk about it, have them ask how I did, anything like that."
Harry nodded. Draco picked up his wand and did the necessary spells. Definitely a marked reduction in the aura. He started to write down his observations as Harry got up and went to get them both tea.
"D'you think your dad would've been proud of you if you'd made it?" he asked as he sat back down.
"Probably not," Draco said absently, nodding his thanks for the tea and continuing to write. "He didn't think Quidditch was a suitable occupation for a Malfoy. Then again, by that time his main occupation for the last four years had been growing his hair, so his opinion might have changed. Or not. Don't suppose I'll ever know."
Harry nodded thoughtfully, resting his chin on his hand as he slowly stirred his tea. "I wanted to play Quidditch too," he said quietly. "After everything was done, I mean. I didn't have the choice," he made a vague gesture at his leg. "But I'd also wanted to be an Auror, since before leaving Hogwarts. After the war, it didn't sound all that attractive. I'd pretty much already been an Auror forever; I wanted to do something with my magic other than use it to track and fight Dark wizards. Besides, I figured after Voldemort, hunting down old men smuggling flying carpets into the country probably wouldn't hold much appeal."
"No, I suppose not."
"And I was... tired. And..." he trailed off, observing the swirls of brown and white in his cup, his eyes distant as he seemed to try to find the right words. "And scared."
"Scared?" Draco repeated after a long pause.
"Yeah, scared."
"After everything you went through?"
"I survived a lot of horrible stuff. I fought incredibly powerful people and won, time after time. And every time I looked back and saw how narrowly I'd escaped, I knew it was mostly luck."
"That's rubbish."
"No, really," Harry took a sip of his tea. "Luck and a prophecy."
"The prophecy didn't say which one of you would be killed; it just said one of you would kill the other."
"Which means that every time I survived against Voldemort I could tell myself it was because of my skills or strength, but every time I survived against somebody else – Quirrel, or your father, or Bellatrix – I probably could've defended myself with a limp quill and still got away. Because they couldn't kill me, because of the bloody prophecy."
"Rubbish," Draco repeated bluntly. "If nothing else, they could've left you incapacitated and easy for Voldemort to finish off. That would've satisfied the prophecy just as well."
"Maybe." Harry sighed. "But I'd had a lot of narrow escapes. I didn't want any more. I wanted a job where I could go to work and be pretty sure I'd come home at the end of the day."
Draco nodded. "So you became a mediwizard."
"Yeah. About as far from dealing with Dark Wizards as possible."
"Why didn't you do Healer training?"
"Two years studying, plus another three of apprenticeship? And getting an E in Potions NEWTs? You're dreaming."
Draco smiled and made one final notation on his report before taking a sip of his own tea.
"It's not that I regret what I didn't do," Harry said quietly. "I like being a mediwizard."
"Yeah, it's not a bad career."
"Just wish I'd chosen to do this only because I wanted to, and not because I couldn't play Quidditch and I was too scared of being an Auror."
"Yeah, that's the problem," Draco nodded. "Neither of us has a bad job, but... they're still not what either of us ever planned to do with our lives, are they?"
"No, they're not." Harry shrugged. "Could've been worse, though. We both could've ended up hating the jobs we ended up doing."
"I suppose so."
"Did you ever think you'd be a Healer, when you were growing up?" Harry asked.
"No. I always thought I'd follow in my father's footsteps." Draco smiled wryly. "This is better."
"Yeah, I suppose so." Harry toyed with his spoon thoughtfully. "You know, I wouldn't have guessed in a million years that you'd ever go into Healing. I didn't know what to think when I found out you were coming to Muckle Roe."
Draco hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Actually, I've always wanted to ask... why did you welcome me into the clinic like you did? I would've though that would've been the perfect opportunity to get back at me for a lot of things."
Harry's eyebrows went up. "Why would you think that? I didn't make things difficult for you during the war, did I?"
"We were in contact a grand total of three times," Draco pointed out. "And the situations weren't exactly conducive to working out any old grudges, for either of us."
"The war was over," Harry said simply. He hesitated, then went on. "Actually... to be honest, I did a bit of digging on you before you got here. Found out you'd done really well in Healer School. Got nothing but praise from your teachers and your supervisors at St. Mungo's. It looked like you were really trying to get past your... well, your past. I was trying to do the same thing." Harry shrugged. "I didn't see any reason to make things unpleasant for you."
Draco nodded thoughtfully and took a sip of his tea. This wasn't the right time to tell Harry that he was still grateful for that. There was no need, and he certainly didn't want the warm glow that Harry's smile would give him if he said anything of the sort.
In fact, it had been a bad idea to ask the question in the first place, because hearing that Harry had taken the time to look up Draco's record instead of just assuming he was the same person he'd known before the war... that he'd understood what it was like to want to start over...
And all of that on top of knowing now that Harry also knew what it was like to have to leave behind childhood dreams, and settle for just doing the best you could with what was left of you...
Damn it to hell, this was even worse than thinking of how fit Harry was, how green his eyes were and how nicely he filled his jeans. Now he was just feeling warm and... understood. Basking in Harry's approval like the pathetic lovesick idiot he was turning into.
He sighed deeply as he glanced at his report and realized the last sentence he'd written was gibberish, and picked up his quill once more.
Harry stood up. "Here, you finish up your notes, I'll get us some breakfast."
"All right. Thanks," he said, and tried to take comfort in the fact that the confession he planned for noon should have little or no unwanted emotional consequence whatsoever.
***
"Confidotuom. I went Muggle for about six months, after the war."
"What??" Harry's teacup rattled and spilled a bit as he put it down.
Draco smirked at the shock on Harry's face. "I did. I was living in London and one day I wandered out of the wizarding areas. Started getting to know Muggle London and decided to see if I could live there."
"Why in buggery would you want to do that?"
Draco laughed at Harry's complete bewilderment. "Why wouldn't I?"
"They're... Muggles," Harry said, and Draco raised his eyebrows.
"Weren't you raised by Muggles?" Harry looked at him askance and Draco chuckled. "Sorry. I've heard about your relatives. Still, you've been friends with Muggle-borns all your life, surely you aren't prejudiced against them?"
"That's Muggle-borns. Not Muggles."
Draco tilted his head quizzically.
"I'm not saying Muggles are inferior or anything," said Harry defensively, mopping up his spilled tea. "Just... why would you want to live with them?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Harry looked at him, at a total loss, and Draco took pity on him. "I... I was tired of the looks, the idea that anybody who looked at me knew who I was. I was tired of the Howlers and the marriage proposals and knowing that half the wizarding world thought they knew me, just because they'd read all sorts of rubbish about me, for good or bad. I wanted to see what it was like to not have anybody recognize me."
"You could've gone somewhere else in the wizarding world, then. America, the continent... even here."
"Not the same. I'd always be spotted as a foreigner, by my accent if nothing else. In Muggle England I could be just a regular person."
"Did it work?"
"Oh yeah."
"What was it like?"
"Horrible."
Harry laughed. "I can imagine."
"I've no idea how those people survive entire lifetimes without magic. I mean, it was a fascinating challenge in its own way, I suppose, but god, so bloody inconvenient. No Impervious, no Apparition, no Accio. It rains and you get wet, unless you've got an umbrella. You have to walk or drive everywhere. You have to go pick up things from across the room." He shook his head. "And can you imagine trying to live in Shetland as a Muggle? Without Lumos, half the year you're almost always in pitch black, and right now without Nox Fabrico it's daytime for about four months."
Harry grimaced and nodded. "What I can't stand is how... dead everything is in the Muggle world. Did you notice that? You walk into a home, and nothing moves. Nothing talks to you, nothing looks at you... it's like being in a bloody cemetery."
"At least cemeteries have statues you can talk to."
"Muggle ones don't."
"Oh. No, I suppose not." Draco tilted his head, puzzled at Harry's manner.
"What?"
"It's just surprising to hear you saying things like that about the Muggle world. I guess I thought you'd be at home in it."
"God, no. I hate it. Never go there if I can help it."
"It didn't tempt you to leave the wizarding world after the war?"
"I thought of leaving the country, but never going Muggle. For one thing, I'd be a cripple."
"You could still use the compensation spells."
"Too much trouble making sure they were hidden, or I didn't relax and let them drop," Harry pointed out. "So what happened? Why did you leave?"
"Oh, just got tired of it." Draco realized he'd been talking for a few minutes and started. "Bugger – Finite Incantatum," he said, ending the Trust Spell and lighting Harry's aura.
"Any improvement?"
"Mmhmm..." He squinted in concentration. "That one didn't do much, but overall you're getting better. I may not have to fellate any cucumbers after all."
Harry laughed. "So did you learn anything?"
Draco frowned, puzzled. "Yeah, you're better."
"No, I mean about Muggles. About yourself."
"About Muggles, yeah, I suppose so. They're bloody unfortunate sods who take five times as long to do half as much as we do. About myself..." he trailed off and mulled it over a bit, then shrugged. "Nothing that the war hadn't already taught me."
Harry gazed at him thoughtfully.
Draco looked away, not particularly wanting to go down the conversational path of his war experiences. There was a brief silence, broken only by the scratching of his quill as he wrote down the results of the latest confession.
"My turn," Harry said.
"Mm, yes. Do tell," Draco put his quill away and sat back with a smirk.
Harry rested his chin on his hand. "It's interesting, isn't it? Thinking about things you don't normally talk about. Asking yourself why not, why you keep them private. Wondering what it'll feel like after you've shared them with somebody. It's... interesting." He took a small sip of his tea.
Draco smirked. "Harry, if this doesn't lead up to a very interesting confession involving a selkie or a succubus, I'll be incredibly disappointed."
"No, it's not... it's not anything that strange... well. Maybe." Harry stirred his tea, and Draco could almost feel him tensing up slightly before he finally spoke. "I... I like speaking Parseltongue."
"What??"
"I like it. It's... it's interesting, talking to snakes. It's a very... unique language."
Draco blinked. Of all the...
"I know, you probably think it's quite bizarre to confess to that."
"It's a rare talent. Why wouldn't you like it?"
"See, I didn't know it was bad, the first time I used it in public. I didn't know Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth, let alone that Voldemort was. I didn't even know that when I spoke to snakes I was speaking a different language; I just thought it was something strange that I could do, that probably scores of other wizard folk could too."
"Erm, no."
"Well I found that out, didn't I? Everybody looked at me like I was Jack the Ripper. I got the impression that it wasn't something to be proud of."
"Ah. Yeah, I suppose it wouldn't be, to a lot of people. Especially that year." And Draco was absolutely not going to think about the first time he'd seen Harry speaking Parseltongue, because Harry had been twelve at the time and he was definitely not in any way shape or form going to think of that twelve year old child as hot. That speccy boy had nothing to do with the man Draco and Gwen had seen, not three weeks ago, softly speaking to one of the garden snakes near the clinics. With an absorbed, peaceful look on his face, and a tongue that was doing things that...
Augh, not so good to think of that tongue right now either. Draco's arousal had been shockingly sudden at the time; he'd had to discreetly adjust his trousers, and had the strangest flashback to that time when Marcus Flint had taught some of the younger Slytherin boys a spell to get rid of unwelcome erections, and Adrian Pucey had stepped in and said, "Don't bother, unless you're desperate. It'll hurt like a kick in your bollocks and probably make a mess in your pants. Just thank god for robes, or put a stack of books in front of yourself if you're out of uniform."
Well he wasn't wearing a robe right now, and he didn't have any books. Thank god for kitchen tables.
"So you're still self-conscious about it?" he asked, and Harry shrugged. "Is that why you looked so embarrassed the other day, when Gwen and I saw you speaking to that snake?"
Harry nodded. "It's... it's one of the only things Voldemort left me that I actually appreciate. And it's fascinating, what snakes speak about. D'you know they have insults?" He smiled to himself, gaze turned inwards. "The stripey one that lives under the blueberry bush hates the garter by the aconite, they're always competing for mice. The other day she called him a-" Draco had no time to brace himself before Harry hissed, strange syllables passing through his lips and leaving Draco unexpectedly hard as a rock and flustered as hell. "It means 'soft-shelled wet-skinned tadpole.' He got really angry. Called her a," and again with the hissing; Draco firmly clamped down on a whimper. "'Female so stupid she'll eat her own eggs.'" Harry's eyes were dancing with humour, and Draco returned his smile wanly. Harry pressed his lips together, his face going blank, clearly thinking he'd made Draco uncomfortable.
"Erm. Sorry." He ran his hand over his hair, and before Draco could figure out a way to let him know he wasn't put off by the Parseltongue – while still not encouraging Harry to say any more so he wouldn't come in his pants – Harry cleared his throat. "So, erm. Why did you leave the Muggle world? Did you mean to only stay six months?"
Draco blinked, off-balance. "No, I thought... to be honest I didn't put a time limit on it."
"What did you do?"
"Lived like a Muggle."
"How, though? Did you just go to their restaurants and clubs, or go to school, or what?"
Draco smiled. "Ah. No."
"What did you do?"
"This should count as a confession, actually. No, probably not."
"Oh, so it's something you haven't told people about, but it has no emotional weight for you to use as a confession?"
"Not now that I've told you I was a Muggle, no."
"Now I'm dying to know."
"I worked."
"Worked?" Harry's eyebrows shot up. "As what?"
"Lumberjack."
"What?"
"No, I'm joking. Exotic dancer."
"What??"
Draco laughed. "No, god. Taxi driver. And I'm serious this time."
Harry blinked. "You're taking the piss."
"I'm not. I already knew how to drive, didn't have to talk to people, got to spend a lot of time by myself or observing Muggles without having to interact with them, and I could very easily use magic to figure out where I was without anybody seeing me use it. It was perfect."
"You drove a taxi."
"Yeah."
"Bloody hell."
"Not a bad job, really. It was one thing I didn't mind at all about being a Muggle."
"So what did you mind? Computers, telephones? Light switches?"
"Oh, I mastered light switches just fine. Did pretty well with most of it, as a matter of fact. I managed to convert money into Muggle currency, and I rented a flat, and signed a lot of their weird little contracts. Had a bit of trouble with their bank machines, but really if you think of them as particularly stupid metal goblins, you're fine. Same with their internet – it's just a wireless on a flat piece of glass. Mice are just oddly shaped plastic wands that you move in a bizarre way, but it's just point and click instead of swish and flick, isn't it? Though it was a real bother remembering to contain my magic around electronics. I shorted out quite a few of those bloody boxes."
"So it wasn't the computers that did you in, then?"
"No. It actually was the bloody lights that finally did it for me. I mastered the switches, hadn't said Lumos in days, I came home, flicked the bloody thing in my front hallway – and it didn't work. I ignored it and just used Lumos spells, then another light went out. Then the one in the study went – and I couldn't do Lumos there because magic interfered with the computer and the telly. I tried everything. I was even thinking of moving out when my next door neighbour popped in. I guess I'd been swearing for a while, and she wanted to get some sleep."
"What did she do?"
"I'd gone on the internet, believe it or not. Asked what would make a light not work. Tried to figure out if the switch was broken, if the power was down, everything... and then this girl comes in, takes one look around, flicks the switch, asks me if I've changed the light bulb. Well of course I'd no bloody clue what she was talking about. So she looked at me like I was an idiot, went over to one of my lamps, took the light bulb out, screwed it into the broken light, and of course, there was light. I moved out the next day."
Harry laughed. "It's so funny, the things that trip you up, going from one world to the other. I still envy half-bloods sometimes."
Draco blinked. "You are a half-blood."
"No, I mean half-bloods who grew up knowing both worlds, like Seamus Finnigan. I was in the same boat as Hermione or any other Muggle-born when I first came to Hogwarts; the simplest things caught me by surprise. Still do, sometimes."
"She didn't seem to have much of a problem with any of it. It drove a lot of us in Slytherin crazy, that a Muggle-born could do so much better at school than us."
"I can imagine," Harry chuckled, and drained his teacup. "That's Hermione, though. Drives people mental wherever she goes." He stood up. "So, finished your notes?"
"Oh – oh, yeah, I am," said Draco, and carefully rolled up his scroll. "We should get lunch."
"Yeah I was just thinking that too," said Harry, and they got up to get themselves sandwiches.
"Actually, I suppose I did learn some things," said Draco, uncomfortable with silence as they worked and still somewhat uneasy over the whole Parseltongue experience. Though happily, he'd at least brought his body under control. "I learned a lot of self-discipline. Not that I bothered to do things the Muggle way when I was by myself, but it was a bit trying sometimes, remembering to not do magic in public. That discipline helped, later, in Healer training."
"Yeah, I suppose it would. Can I have the butter?"
Draco passed it over. "Did you ever want to go back to the Muggle world?"
"No. Nothing there I'd want. Other than computers. I mean, I grew up knowing about computers, but by the time I'd gone to Hogwarts, most people had computers but not so much internet access. So I do get curious about the internet. But otherwise, I've never thought about going back." He cut a few slices of tomatoes. "It would be nice to be anonymous, though. Not have anybody care who I am."
"Yeah, that was the best part for me."
"Although coming to Shetland does that pretty well too, doesn't it?" Harry said, spreading the tomatoes on top of the butter.
"Yeah, it's nice to be apart because you're a foreigner, not because of who you are."
"I haven't noticed the foreigner thing as much, to be honest."
"You've been here longer," Draco pointed out.
"Learned the language a fair bit, too."
"Really?"
"You should try it. It's not really that difficult."
"Oh... um. No, I don't..." Draco trailed off, reluctant to admit that he had indeed studied a bit of Shetlandic in his scarce spare time. It was nice, having some secrets. And he didn't particularly want to make a fool of himself telling anybody he understood or spoke Shetlandic, then getting things wrong. He cleared his throat and murmured a toasting spell at his bread, then started slicing into a piece of leftover mutton. "So it's just computers you miss, then?"
"Nothing else worth missing." Harry waved his wand at his sandwich to warm it up. "And I was definitely glad I was in the wizarding world when I was dating Robin. I mean, I didn't even think about being discreet, other than keeping out of the way of the Prophet. But right at the time we were dating, a Muggle man was beaten almost to death in London, just for being out in public with his boyfriend. Robin and I had been out walking down Diagon Alley at the exact same time." He shook his head somberly. "It was... it was a little sobering. That could've been us."
Draco stopped in mid-slice. "Could've... you mean Robin was-"
"A bloke, yeah," said Harry, heading back to the kitchen table with his sandwich. "I remember thinking at the time, I sometimes feel like I have to hide the scar or look like someone else in Diagon Alley, so I won't feel like people are watching me, but at least I never have to pretend to be a girl when I'm with a bloke, just to not get beaten to a pulp."
"So... Robin was male." A faint scent of smoke startled Draco and he looked down at the cinder that had been his toasting bread. "Shite, Finite Incantatum," he murmured, and tossed the bread into the trash.
"Yeah, I'm bi." Harry frowned, looking at Draco. "Oh. Sorry, thought you knew that. There's more bread in the-"
"Yeah, I've got it," Draco got himself another slice and decided not to risk the toasting spell again. "No, I didn't know."
"Oh. Damn, what a waste of a perfectly good confession, then," Harry grinned, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Except, not really, as I don't much care who knows that. Sorry, I really thought you knew."
"No."
Harry suddenly seemed to register Draco's unease, and his eyebrows drew together. "Erm... it doesn't bother you, does it?"
"What? No, no. It's just a bit of a surprise. I didn't know you dated men."
"I usually date women. Just not exclusively."
"Since when?"
"Since... erm... six, seven years ago? I was with Ginny on-and-off since Hogwarts, though, and we didn't see a lot of people other than each other. I've only dated..." he narrowed his eyes and appeared to be thinking. "Four blokes. I was with Robin the longest. Three months, give or take a bit."
"So, not at school, then."
"No, though I knew since fifth year."
Draco raised his eyebrows.
"Erm. I had a bit of an... incredibly stupid crush on a classmate," Harry smiled ruefully.
"Really? Who?" Draco asked despite himself.
"Oh god no," Harry laughed, blushing. "It was embarrassing." He took a large bite of his sandwich.
"Come on."
He swallowed. "As in, more embarrassing than Ron and Lavender Brown."
"Oh Merlin, it wasn't Longbottom, was it?"
Harry laughed. "God, no. I thought it was just the craziness of the year, but the craziness left and the attraction stayed. Nothing ever came of it, though." He took another bite. "Shouldn't you test-"
"Right." Draco took out his wand, taking refuge in automatic action and frowning as the aura came to light. "That didn't do as much as I'd hoped."
"Bugger."
"Yeah." Draco made himself keep his voice light and his eyes on his work. "Sorry, I'll have to go over... I must've done something wrong..."
"Right." Harry finished his lunch and stood up. "I know, never disturb a Healer in deep thought. I'm going for a walk. D'you want a warming charm on your lunch?"
"Yeah, thanks. I'll probably be a while."
Draco waited for Harry to leave the room and put his head on the kitchen table, barely stopping himself from banging it onto the hard surface in frustration.
Harry was bi. And he'd said it so casually. Didn't even think about it. Assumed Draco knew.
This was absolutely not fair. He was stuck, in Muckle Roe Quarantine House, with Harry Potter, who was single and gorgeous and who actually understood, deep down, so many things that Draco had resigned himself to never being able to tell another person, but found so easy – and pleasant – to talk to Harry about. Harry Potter, who also seemed to get more outrageously clueless by the minute, who had just hissed Draco into an erection he could've pitched a Quidditch Cup tent on, and then oh by the way, told him he was bisexual.
And Draco was running out of confessions almost as quickly as he was running out of sanity.
He headed for the loo, firmly shutting the door behind himself and noting ruefully that although he'd been able to dampen down his arousal enough to make it through lunch without embarrassing himself, the moment the bathroom door shut behind him, there he was again. Hard as a rock, and not even thinking of Jessica would make this go away.
Fuck. He touched himself through his trousers, swallowing back a moan and not even bothering to try to control the images his mind came up with. And, no surprise, there was Harry and some faceless man, walking down Diagon Alley, holding hands. Yes, gay wizards sometimes got annoyed stares from some of the older folk, but being openly gay in public was no more serious a social faux pas than snogging in public was for heterosexual couples, so there they were.
In his mind, Robin looked a great deal like the Kestrels Keeper. Ironic, seeing as how that's who was shagging Harry's ex-girlfriend, not Harry himself. But there were Robin and Harry, walking down Diagon Alley, and Harry was smiling and maybe leaning close to kiss him, and Draco cast a Silencio around himself automatically as he opened his trousers and finally felt some relief.
He closed his eyes. Image of Harry and Robin, smiling, maybe Harry whispering in Robin's ear, tongue appearing between his teeth as he whispered Parseltongue, and Draco breathed in deeply, guiltily allowing the image to build, what would it be like to hear that himself, Harry's mouth close to his own ear, and of course Robin was gone, he'd known that wouldn't last long no matter who he imagined Robin to look like, now it was Harry holding Draco, and putting his hand down Draco's trousers and whispering in his ear, and Oh god.
Hearing that tongue hissing incomprehensible syllables, imagining it hissing in a slightly more intimate setting no, do not think of Harry giving you a blow job, he's your co-worker for the love of there he was, kneeling before Draco, grinning up at him and taking Draco into his mouth, as Draco whimpered and felt pressure and pleasure building up almost maddeningly, and Harry pulled away long enough to hiss something at Draco and the feeling of his mouth and tongue and the sound and the sheer power of Harry's magic had Draco biting back a cry as-
Fuck, this was impossible, Draco thought as he panted, his knees feeling weak and his libido almost stretched to breaking. Damn it.
***
"Confidotuom. Not sure how much this will help, but I'm bi too."
"Really?" Harry laughed. "So it really doesn't bother you, then."
"No, it really doesn't. I've known since around third or fourth year."
"Well it's not really that big a thing here, is it. Though I had no idea you were. Wait – wasn't there that rumour that you'd dated Justin Finch-Fletchley after the war? I just thought it was because he had a bit of a," he cleared his throat, "reputation."
"Just a bit. I didn't date him, though. We just went to a lot of the same parties."
"How many blokes have you dated?"
Draco paused, thinking. "Erm... five? Six? Depends on what you mean by dating, I suppose. Some were just one-nighters." He ended the Confidotuom spell, lit Harry's aura. "...and that really didn't help much."
"Blast. No change?"
"Almost none."
"That's too bad. It does seem to be getting better overall, though."
"Yeah, we could probably Floo back to the clinic and test it on a couple of the-"
"Erm, no, that Kneazle of Brian's nearly took my eye out last test. I'd rather wait till all the purple's gone, if it's all the same to you."
"Yeah, that's fine." Draco took a deep breath. "All right, well, I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this one, but here goes-"
"Wait, don't you have to wait-"
"Latest scroll from St. Mungo's said they've determined it doesn't make a difference if you do a new confession right after an ineffective confession." Draco smirked cynically. "Personally I think they made up the whole 'wait a few hours between confessions' because they just didn't have time to do one confession after another with the same patient, what with caring for quite a few people other than their aura patients. Then they got two new cases, put some Healers on it full time, and surprise surprise, they're now saying you probably don't have to wait."
Harry nodded and looked at him expectantly, and Draco took a breath to steady himself. Because damn, he really didn't want to do this one. Unfortunately, it really seemed that confessions with "little or no unwanted emotional consequences whatsoever" weren't going to do the trick – or at least, they weren't going to do it fast enough to keep Draco from going insane in this blasted quarantine house. And this was a big confession, and could quite possibly clear the last of the taint off Harry's aura. Certainly worth it if it got them out of here.
But damn it, he still really didn't want to do it.
"All right. Confidotuom." He took a deep breath. "I'm in the middle of getting a divorce."
There was a profound silence as Harry stared at Draco.
"Oh my god," he finally said softly. "You... I had no idea."
"Well, no. Nobody's supposed to. But it's happening. She's moving to London and I'm staying here. And I would very much appreciate it if you didn't say anything about this at work."
"No, no of course not," Harry said quickly. He paused for a minute, then spoke up hesitantly. "What happened?"
Draco smiled ruefully. What a simple question, and how complicated the answer had been to figure out.
"Did you know Muggles have this expression, 'men always marry their mothers'?" He shook his head. "First time I heard it, I thought, well, that explains a great deal of why the Muggle world is such a mess."
Harry chuckled. "And ours isn't?"
"Good point," Draco admitted. "Anyway, I thought it meant something, you know, rather disgusting, but no, they just believe that men often end up marrying women who remind them of their mother. Happens in our world too, obviously. Very common. Just not very smart, when your mother was Narcissa Malfoy."
"Y'know, I wondered about that. She's quite pretty, but every time I saw Jessica she looked... erm..."
"Like Shetland had a noxious odour that no amount of freshening charms could get rid of?"
"A bit, yeah," Harry chuckled. "I take it she didn't like Shetland, then."
"'Didn't like' doesn't do it justice. She's about as fond of Shetland as you were of Dolores Umbridge."
Harry frowned. "But you're only here for two more years."
"It's not just Shetland."
"What is it, then?"
"She... she wanted to marry the Malfoy heir. Live in the old purebred wizarding society the way it used to be before the war. I thought I did too, but..." he trailed off. It felt strange, saying this out loud, when he'd only really thought it to himself. Such a huge revelation, that had taken so long to be understood and accepted, and shaken his world and destroyed his marriage. And it could be expressed in so very few simple words. "I've no use for it any more. Even if I did, what's left of that world after the war doesn't have anything I want. I'm fine here. I like being a Healer, and I don't particularly want to try to re-create something that has no meaning any more."
"I see."
"So she's divorcing me. She's going back to London, then probably flitting off to the continent. She has connections in Marseilles; I'm sure she'll find some nice young heir over there and get what she wants out of life."
Draco firmly ignored the pity on Harry's face as he ended the Trust Spell and checked his aura, then grimaced in annoyance. "What a surprise, that helped a good deal."
"Why did you get married to her, anyway?" Harry asked curiously, as if Draco hadn't spoken.
Draco pressed his lips together as he started to write. "Why does anybody get married? Seemed the right thing to do at the time. We just realized too late that we really weren't looking for the same things out of life at all."
"When did you meet her?"
"The year before I went into Healer School."
"Didn't that give her a bit of a hint that maybe you weren't interested in the same things? I can't imagine too many Malfoys have gone into Healing."
"Oh no, she encouraged me to do that."
"Really? Why?"
"Well, it was Healer School or a Potions Master apprenticeship. Or doing nothing, but Jessica didn't want that any more than I did. I mean, I didn't have to work for a living, but I didn't want to just sit and spend what was left of my family's money. That wasn't going to get me accepted anywhere other than among other people who were doing the same thing. And they were rather... pathetic, really. All of these people, who used to have so much power and wealth, but now... far, far less wealth, and almost no power at all. Sitting around, still trying to pretend nothing had changed."
"Sounds depressing."
"It is. Neither of us wanted that, so we both decided to do something with our lives. She's an artist; rather highly regarded. I was leaning towards Potions Master, but she pointed out that if I did that, there would still be some doubt about me. Potions Masters may be highly respected, but even if I did nothing but make medical or cheering potions, there would probably still be rumours that I was making illegal potions on the side, or doing some kind of Dark magic. With Healing, that was far less likely. It's doing something for the public good, and it's difficult, and it's far less likely to result in anybody being suspicious of me."
"Is that why you went into it?"
"It's sound logic. I went into Healing and everything seemed to be working out relatively well." He sighed. "The problem is that we wanted different things from it. She was happy to come to Shetland for my training, at first. Said it would make my 'social rehabilitation' even more credible if I did a difficult apprenticeship in the middle of nowhere. Nobody could accuse me of partying in London and scraping through just by getting lost in the St. Mungo's shuffle."
"What changed her mind?"
"She started talking about our triumphant return to London, and I realized I didn't want to go back. I like it here."
"Really?"
"Really. It's small and dull sometimes, but it's still much better than London. I don't want to go back to the parties and Ministry functions and lord it over the poor sods who are still under suspicion and falling farther out of relevance every year. I don't even want to lord it over the new people in power who thought they were finally done with the Malfoys." He shrugged. "She does."
"Wow."
"So. She's off in London, getting ready to move back there. We're selling the house in Lerwick and I'm moving at the end of the month."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"Sounds very... civilized. I thought divorces were a bit more dramatic."
"Tell me you can picture Jessica getting dramatic."
"Point. Where are you moving to?"
"Clett Head. I found an old house that's been abandoned since Gridenwald, but it's still a beautiful place. Almost no Muggles to be seen. If I ever get tired of it, I'll probably go back to Malfoy Manor, but for now, I'm happy to let that sit empty."
Harry shook his head. "I never would've pegged you to be the type to settle in Shetland."
"No, I wouldn't have either."
"Clett Head. There's some beautiful land out there. You can just go out there and breathe fresh air. It's so quiet you can hear yourself think. I was looking out there before I found my place at Benbridge."
Draco blinked, surprised. "That's on Papa Stour island, near what the Muggles call Kirstan's Hole, isn't it?" Harry nodded. "I've been there. Didn't see your house."
"No, it's Unplottable. I've always lived in Unplottable land."
"Ah. I'll probably make mine Unplottable too, once I've moved in."
Harry nodded. "Shetland's a beautiful place. Jessica doesn't know what she's missing."
"No. I don't much feel like telling her, either."
"Did you try?"
"Not very hard," Draco admitted.
"I love it here." Harry smiled as he spoke, and a dreamy, faraway expression crept over his face. Draco felt his heart give a little lurch. "And I love my place. It's mine. It's not somebody else's family home, or something I inherited from my parents or from Sirius, or a school where I'm only allowed to stay as long as I'm a teacher or a student. It's a place I made my own. It feels like putting down roots. My roots, nobody else's." He breathed deeply. "Feels clean."
Draco swallowed hard and looked down. Fuck. When did Harry get eloquent and thoughtful? When did he gain a link to Draco's mind and heart that let him say out loud what Draco only thought to himself?
He made himself smile at Harry and stand up. "It's almost dinner time. D'you want me to make it?"
"Oh, I already made sandwiches, I'll bring them out. And speaking of my place, I should go back to check on my plant-watering spell. D'you want to come with me? I'll show you around my land."
No. No, very bad idea. Watching Harry talk about his home was excruciating enough. Actually going there would be the height of stupidity.
"I'd love to," he said.
On to Part IIb.
So in a way, this is a four-part one-shot.
This has been beta'd by
caliopeamphora and naatz, so any remaining mistakes are my own. If you spot anything that needs improvement or correction, or have any Britpicks, I'll worship you.Here's the previous chapter(s):
Part Ia
Part Ib
Sunday
"Confidotuom. I wanted to play professional Quidditch after school. After the war was over."
"Really?"
"Yeah. My father had a friend, Seeker for Puddlemere, Gary Astons-"
"Not the one who was killed by Aurors on the Hogsmeade raid, was it?"
"Yeah, that one. Anyway, he'd told me that I had a lot of talent and potential – maybe not enough for first string on a really good team right away, but definitely good enough for the Wasps, as an alternate. I held on to that, repeated it to myself during a lot of the time I was in hiding. And I practiced whenever I could do it safely. It was something to aspire to, you know? Trying out was going to be one of the first things I did, once my name was cleared."
"So what happened?"
Draco shrugged. "I lost my nerve."
"In the try-outs?"
"Never even got there. I'd circled the dates on my calendar; there were five try-outs scheduled right after the trials, when I was finally exonerated. Two of them were after I got the Order of Merlin."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Why didn't you go?"
He shook his head. "I pictured being in front of all those people, doing my best and failing, or doing my best and getting in but having people say I'd got in on my name or my fame. Or doing my best and succeeding, but still not being picked for security reasons or for political reasons... and I just never went."
Harry was gazing at him seriously. Too seriously, and Draco had to look away from the sympathy in his face. "Probably doesn't count as all that earth-shattering, I know. But it... was hard. Watching those dates go by, finally realizing I was never going to go. I never even told anyone I was thinking of trying out. Didn't want to talk about it, have them ask how I did, anything like that."
Harry nodded. Draco picked up his wand and did the necessary spells. Definitely a marked reduction in the aura. He started to write down his observations as Harry got up and went to get them both tea.
"D'you think your dad would've been proud of you if you'd made it?" he asked as he sat back down.
"Probably not," Draco said absently, nodding his thanks for the tea and continuing to write. "He didn't think Quidditch was a suitable occupation for a Malfoy. Then again, by that time his main occupation for the last four years had been growing his hair, so his opinion might have changed. Or not. Don't suppose I'll ever know."
Harry nodded thoughtfully, resting his chin on his hand as he slowly stirred his tea. "I wanted to play Quidditch too," he said quietly. "After everything was done, I mean. I didn't have the choice," he made a vague gesture at his leg. "But I'd also wanted to be an Auror, since before leaving Hogwarts. After the war, it didn't sound all that attractive. I'd pretty much already been an Auror forever; I wanted to do something with my magic other than use it to track and fight Dark wizards. Besides, I figured after Voldemort, hunting down old men smuggling flying carpets into the country probably wouldn't hold much appeal."
"No, I suppose not."
"And I was... tired. And..." he trailed off, observing the swirls of brown and white in his cup, his eyes distant as he seemed to try to find the right words. "And scared."
"Scared?" Draco repeated after a long pause.
"Yeah, scared."
"After everything you went through?"
"I survived a lot of horrible stuff. I fought incredibly powerful people and won, time after time. And every time I looked back and saw how narrowly I'd escaped, I knew it was mostly luck."
"That's rubbish."
"No, really," Harry took a sip of his tea. "Luck and a prophecy."
"The prophecy didn't say which one of you would be killed; it just said one of you would kill the other."
"Which means that every time I survived against Voldemort I could tell myself it was because of my skills or strength, but every time I survived against somebody else – Quirrel, or your father, or Bellatrix – I probably could've defended myself with a limp quill and still got away. Because they couldn't kill me, because of the bloody prophecy."
"Rubbish," Draco repeated bluntly. "If nothing else, they could've left you incapacitated and easy for Voldemort to finish off. That would've satisfied the prophecy just as well."
"Maybe." Harry sighed. "But I'd had a lot of narrow escapes. I didn't want any more. I wanted a job where I could go to work and be pretty sure I'd come home at the end of the day."
Draco nodded. "So you became a mediwizard."
"Yeah. About as far from dealing with Dark Wizards as possible."
"Why didn't you do Healer training?"
"Two years studying, plus another three of apprenticeship? And getting an E in Potions NEWTs? You're dreaming."
Draco smiled and made one final notation on his report before taking a sip of his own tea.
"It's not that I regret what I didn't do," Harry said quietly. "I like being a mediwizard."
"Yeah, it's not a bad career."
"Just wish I'd chosen to do this only because I wanted to, and not because I couldn't play Quidditch and I was too scared of being an Auror."
"Yeah, that's the problem," Draco nodded. "Neither of us has a bad job, but... they're still not what either of us ever planned to do with our lives, are they?"
"No, they're not." Harry shrugged. "Could've been worse, though. We both could've ended up hating the jobs we ended up doing."
"I suppose so."
"Did you ever think you'd be a Healer, when you were growing up?" Harry asked.
"No. I always thought I'd follow in my father's footsteps." Draco smiled wryly. "This is better."
"Yeah, I suppose so." Harry toyed with his spoon thoughtfully. "You know, I wouldn't have guessed in a million years that you'd ever go into Healing. I didn't know what to think when I found out you were coming to Muckle Roe."
Draco hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Actually, I've always wanted to ask... why did you welcome me into the clinic like you did? I would've though that would've been the perfect opportunity to get back at me for a lot of things."
Harry's eyebrows went up. "Why would you think that? I didn't make things difficult for you during the war, did I?"
"We were in contact a grand total of three times," Draco pointed out. "And the situations weren't exactly conducive to working out any old grudges, for either of us."
"The war was over," Harry said simply. He hesitated, then went on. "Actually... to be honest, I did a bit of digging on you before you got here. Found out you'd done really well in Healer School. Got nothing but praise from your teachers and your supervisors at St. Mungo's. It looked like you were really trying to get past your... well, your past. I was trying to do the same thing." Harry shrugged. "I didn't see any reason to make things unpleasant for you."
Draco nodded thoughtfully and took a sip of his tea. This wasn't the right time to tell Harry that he was still grateful for that. There was no need, and he certainly didn't want the warm glow that Harry's smile would give him if he said anything of the sort.
In fact, it had been a bad idea to ask the question in the first place, because hearing that Harry had taken the time to look up Draco's record instead of just assuming he was the same person he'd known before the war... that he'd understood what it was like to want to start over...
And all of that on top of knowing now that Harry also knew what it was like to have to leave behind childhood dreams, and settle for just doing the best you could with what was left of you...
Damn it to hell, this was even worse than thinking of how fit Harry was, how green his eyes were and how nicely he filled his jeans. Now he was just feeling warm and... understood. Basking in Harry's approval like the pathetic lovesick idiot he was turning into.
He sighed deeply as he glanced at his report and realized the last sentence he'd written was gibberish, and picked up his quill once more.
Harry stood up. "Here, you finish up your notes, I'll get us some breakfast."
"All right. Thanks," he said, and tried to take comfort in the fact that the confession he planned for noon should have little or no unwanted emotional consequence whatsoever.
"Confidotuom. I went Muggle for about six months, after the war."
"What??" Harry's teacup rattled and spilled a bit as he put it down.
Draco smirked at the shock on Harry's face. "I did. I was living in London and one day I wandered out of the wizarding areas. Started getting to know Muggle London and decided to see if I could live there."
"Why in buggery would you want to do that?"
Draco laughed at Harry's complete bewilderment. "Why wouldn't I?"
"They're... Muggles," Harry said, and Draco raised his eyebrows.
"Weren't you raised by Muggles?" Harry looked at him askance and Draco chuckled. "Sorry. I've heard about your relatives. Still, you've been friends with Muggle-borns all your life, surely you aren't prejudiced against them?"
"That's Muggle-borns. Not Muggles."
Draco tilted his head quizzically.
"I'm not saying Muggles are inferior or anything," said Harry defensively, mopping up his spilled tea. "Just... why would you want to live with them?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Harry looked at him, at a total loss, and Draco took pity on him. "I... I was tired of the looks, the idea that anybody who looked at me knew who I was. I was tired of the Howlers and the marriage proposals and knowing that half the wizarding world thought they knew me, just because they'd read all sorts of rubbish about me, for good or bad. I wanted to see what it was like to not have anybody recognize me."
"You could've gone somewhere else in the wizarding world, then. America, the continent... even here."
"Not the same. I'd always be spotted as a foreigner, by my accent if nothing else. In Muggle England I could be just a regular person."
"Did it work?"
"Oh yeah."
"What was it like?"
"Horrible."
Harry laughed. "I can imagine."
"I've no idea how those people survive entire lifetimes without magic. I mean, it was a fascinating challenge in its own way, I suppose, but god, so bloody inconvenient. No Impervious, no Apparition, no Accio. It rains and you get wet, unless you've got an umbrella. You have to walk or drive everywhere. You have to go pick up things from across the room." He shook his head. "And can you imagine trying to live in Shetland as a Muggle? Without Lumos, half the year you're almost always in pitch black, and right now without Nox Fabrico it's daytime for about four months."
Harry grimaced and nodded. "What I can't stand is how... dead everything is in the Muggle world. Did you notice that? You walk into a home, and nothing moves. Nothing talks to you, nothing looks at you... it's like being in a bloody cemetery."
"At least cemeteries have statues you can talk to."
"Muggle ones don't."
"Oh. No, I suppose not." Draco tilted his head, puzzled at Harry's manner.
"What?"
"It's just surprising to hear you saying things like that about the Muggle world. I guess I thought you'd be at home in it."
"God, no. I hate it. Never go there if I can help it."
"It didn't tempt you to leave the wizarding world after the war?"
"I thought of leaving the country, but never going Muggle. For one thing, I'd be a cripple."
"You could still use the compensation spells."
"Too much trouble making sure they were hidden, or I didn't relax and let them drop," Harry pointed out. "So what happened? Why did you leave?"
"Oh, just got tired of it." Draco realized he'd been talking for a few minutes and started. "Bugger – Finite Incantatum," he said, ending the Trust Spell and lighting Harry's aura.
"Any improvement?"
"Mmhmm..." He squinted in concentration. "That one didn't do much, but overall you're getting better. I may not have to fellate any cucumbers after all."
Harry laughed. "So did you learn anything?"
Draco frowned, puzzled. "Yeah, you're better."
"No, I mean about Muggles. About yourself."
"About Muggles, yeah, I suppose so. They're bloody unfortunate sods who take five times as long to do half as much as we do. About myself..." he trailed off and mulled it over a bit, then shrugged. "Nothing that the war hadn't already taught me."
Harry gazed at him thoughtfully.
Draco looked away, not particularly wanting to go down the conversational path of his war experiences. There was a brief silence, broken only by the scratching of his quill as he wrote down the results of the latest confession.
"My turn," Harry said.
"Mm, yes. Do tell," Draco put his quill away and sat back with a smirk.
Harry rested his chin on his hand. "It's interesting, isn't it? Thinking about things you don't normally talk about. Asking yourself why not, why you keep them private. Wondering what it'll feel like after you've shared them with somebody. It's... interesting." He took a small sip of his tea.
Draco smirked. "Harry, if this doesn't lead up to a very interesting confession involving a selkie or a succubus, I'll be incredibly disappointed."
"No, it's not... it's not anything that strange... well. Maybe." Harry stirred his tea, and Draco could almost feel him tensing up slightly before he finally spoke. "I... I like speaking Parseltongue."
"What??"
"I like it. It's... it's interesting, talking to snakes. It's a very... unique language."
Draco blinked. Of all the...
"I know, you probably think it's quite bizarre to confess to that."
"It's a rare talent. Why wouldn't you like it?"
"See, I didn't know it was bad, the first time I used it in public. I didn't know Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth, let alone that Voldemort was. I didn't even know that when I spoke to snakes I was speaking a different language; I just thought it was something strange that I could do, that probably scores of other wizard folk could too."
"Erm, no."
"Well I found that out, didn't I? Everybody looked at me like I was Jack the Ripper. I got the impression that it wasn't something to be proud of."
"Ah. Yeah, I suppose it wouldn't be, to a lot of people. Especially that year." And Draco was absolutely not going to think about the first time he'd seen Harry speaking Parseltongue, because Harry had been twelve at the time and he was definitely not in any way shape or form going to think of that twelve year old child as hot. That speccy boy had nothing to do with the man Draco and Gwen had seen, not three weeks ago, softly speaking to one of the garden snakes near the clinics. With an absorbed, peaceful look on his face, and a tongue that was doing things that...
Augh, not so good to think of that tongue right now either. Draco's arousal had been shockingly sudden at the time; he'd had to discreetly adjust his trousers, and had the strangest flashback to that time when Marcus Flint had taught some of the younger Slytherin boys a spell to get rid of unwelcome erections, and Adrian Pucey had stepped in and said, "Don't bother, unless you're desperate. It'll hurt like a kick in your bollocks and probably make a mess in your pants. Just thank god for robes, or put a stack of books in front of yourself if you're out of uniform."
Well he wasn't wearing a robe right now, and he didn't have any books. Thank god for kitchen tables.
"So you're still self-conscious about it?" he asked, and Harry shrugged. "Is that why you looked so embarrassed the other day, when Gwen and I saw you speaking to that snake?"
Harry nodded. "It's... it's one of the only things Voldemort left me that I actually appreciate. And it's fascinating, what snakes speak about. D'you know they have insults?" He smiled to himself, gaze turned inwards. "The stripey one that lives under the blueberry bush hates the garter by the aconite, they're always competing for mice. The other day she called him a-" Draco had no time to brace himself before Harry hissed, strange syllables passing through his lips and leaving Draco unexpectedly hard as a rock and flustered as hell. "It means 'soft-shelled wet-skinned tadpole.' He got really angry. Called her a," and again with the hissing; Draco firmly clamped down on a whimper. "'Female so stupid she'll eat her own eggs.'" Harry's eyes were dancing with humour, and Draco returned his smile wanly. Harry pressed his lips together, his face going blank, clearly thinking he'd made Draco uncomfortable.
"Erm. Sorry." He ran his hand over his hair, and before Draco could figure out a way to let him know he wasn't put off by the Parseltongue – while still not encouraging Harry to say any more so he wouldn't come in his pants – Harry cleared his throat. "So, erm. Why did you leave the Muggle world? Did you mean to only stay six months?"
Draco blinked, off-balance. "No, I thought... to be honest I didn't put a time limit on it."
"What did you do?"
"Lived like a Muggle."
"How, though? Did you just go to their restaurants and clubs, or go to school, or what?"
Draco smiled. "Ah. No."
"What did you do?"
"This should count as a confession, actually. No, probably not."
"Oh, so it's something you haven't told people about, but it has no emotional weight for you to use as a confession?"
"Not now that I've told you I was a Muggle, no."
"Now I'm dying to know."
"I worked."
"Worked?" Harry's eyebrows shot up. "As what?"
"Lumberjack."
"What?"
"No, I'm joking. Exotic dancer."
"What??"
Draco laughed. "No, god. Taxi driver. And I'm serious this time."
Harry blinked. "You're taking the piss."
"I'm not. I already knew how to drive, didn't have to talk to people, got to spend a lot of time by myself or observing Muggles without having to interact with them, and I could very easily use magic to figure out where I was without anybody seeing me use it. It was perfect."
"You drove a taxi."
"Yeah."
"Bloody hell."
"Not a bad job, really. It was one thing I didn't mind at all about being a Muggle."
"So what did you mind? Computers, telephones? Light switches?"
"Oh, I mastered light switches just fine. Did pretty well with most of it, as a matter of fact. I managed to convert money into Muggle currency, and I rented a flat, and signed a lot of their weird little contracts. Had a bit of trouble with their bank machines, but really if you think of them as particularly stupid metal goblins, you're fine. Same with their internet – it's just a wireless on a flat piece of glass. Mice are just oddly shaped plastic wands that you move in a bizarre way, but it's just point and click instead of swish and flick, isn't it? Though it was a real bother remembering to contain my magic around electronics. I shorted out quite a few of those bloody boxes."
"So it wasn't the computers that did you in, then?"
"No. It actually was the bloody lights that finally did it for me. I mastered the switches, hadn't said Lumos in days, I came home, flicked the bloody thing in my front hallway – and it didn't work. I ignored it and just used Lumos spells, then another light went out. Then the one in the study went – and I couldn't do Lumos there because magic interfered with the computer and the telly. I tried everything. I was even thinking of moving out when my next door neighbour popped in. I guess I'd been swearing for a while, and she wanted to get some sleep."
"What did she do?"
"I'd gone on the internet, believe it or not. Asked what would make a light not work. Tried to figure out if the switch was broken, if the power was down, everything... and then this girl comes in, takes one look around, flicks the switch, asks me if I've changed the light bulb. Well of course I'd no bloody clue what she was talking about. So she looked at me like I was an idiot, went over to one of my lamps, took the light bulb out, screwed it into the broken light, and of course, there was light. I moved out the next day."
Harry laughed. "It's so funny, the things that trip you up, going from one world to the other. I still envy half-bloods sometimes."
Draco blinked. "You are a half-blood."
"No, I mean half-bloods who grew up knowing both worlds, like Seamus Finnigan. I was in the same boat as Hermione or any other Muggle-born when I first came to Hogwarts; the simplest things caught me by surprise. Still do, sometimes."
"She didn't seem to have much of a problem with any of it. It drove a lot of us in Slytherin crazy, that a Muggle-born could do so much better at school than us."
"I can imagine," Harry chuckled, and drained his teacup. "That's Hermione, though. Drives people mental wherever she goes." He stood up. "So, finished your notes?"
"Oh – oh, yeah, I am," said Draco, and carefully rolled up his scroll. "We should get lunch."
"Yeah I was just thinking that too," said Harry, and they got up to get themselves sandwiches.
"Actually, I suppose I did learn some things," said Draco, uncomfortable with silence as they worked and still somewhat uneasy over the whole Parseltongue experience. Though happily, he'd at least brought his body under control. "I learned a lot of self-discipline. Not that I bothered to do things the Muggle way when I was by myself, but it was a bit trying sometimes, remembering to not do magic in public. That discipline helped, later, in Healer training."
"Yeah, I suppose it would. Can I have the butter?"
Draco passed it over. "Did you ever want to go back to the Muggle world?"
"No. Nothing there I'd want. Other than computers. I mean, I grew up knowing about computers, but by the time I'd gone to Hogwarts, most people had computers but not so much internet access. So I do get curious about the internet. But otherwise, I've never thought about going back." He cut a few slices of tomatoes. "It would be nice to be anonymous, though. Not have anybody care who I am."
"Yeah, that was the best part for me."
"Although coming to Shetland does that pretty well too, doesn't it?" Harry said, spreading the tomatoes on top of the butter.
"Yeah, it's nice to be apart because you're a foreigner, not because of who you are."
"I haven't noticed the foreigner thing as much, to be honest."
"You've been here longer," Draco pointed out.
"Learned the language a fair bit, too."
"Really?"
"You should try it. It's not really that difficult."
"Oh... um. No, I don't..." Draco trailed off, reluctant to admit that he had indeed studied a bit of Shetlandic in his scarce spare time. It was nice, having some secrets. And he didn't particularly want to make a fool of himself telling anybody he understood or spoke Shetlandic, then getting things wrong. He cleared his throat and murmured a toasting spell at his bread, then started slicing into a piece of leftover mutton. "So it's just computers you miss, then?"
"Nothing else worth missing." Harry waved his wand at his sandwich to warm it up. "And I was definitely glad I was in the wizarding world when I was dating Robin. I mean, I didn't even think about being discreet, other than keeping out of the way of the Prophet. But right at the time we were dating, a Muggle man was beaten almost to death in London, just for being out in public with his boyfriend. Robin and I had been out walking down Diagon Alley at the exact same time." He shook his head somberly. "It was... it was a little sobering. That could've been us."
Draco stopped in mid-slice. "Could've... you mean Robin was-"
"A bloke, yeah," said Harry, heading back to the kitchen table with his sandwich. "I remember thinking at the time, I sometimes feel like I have to hide the scar or look like someone else in Diagon Alley, so I won't feel like people are watching me, but at least I never have to pretend to be a girl when I'm with a bloke, just to not get beaten to a pulp."
"So... Robin was male." A faint scent of smoke startled Draco and he looked down at the cinder that had been his toasting bread. "Shite, Finite Incantatum," he murmured, and tossed the bread into the trash.
"Yeah, I'm bi." Harry frowned, looking at Draco. "Oh. Sorry, thought you knew that. There's more bread in the-"
"Yeah, I've got it," Draco got himself another slice and decided not to risk the toasting spell again. "No, I didn't know."
"Oh. Damn, what a waste of a perfectly good confession, then," Harry grinned, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Except, not really, as I don't much care who knows that. Sorry, I really thought you knew."
"No."
Harry suddenly seemed to register Draco's unease, and his eyebrows drew together. "Erm... it doesn't bother you, does it?"
"What? No, no. It's just a bit of a surprise. I didn't know you dated men."
"I usually date women. Just not exclusively."
"Since when?"
"Since... erm... six, seven years ago? I was with Ginny on-and-off since Hogwarts, though, and we didn't see a lot of people other than each other. I've only dated..." he narrowed his eyes and appeared to be thinking. "Four blokes. I was with Robin the longest. Three months, give or take a bit."
"So, not at school, then."
"No, though I knew since fifth year."
Draco raised his eyebrows.
"Erm. I had a bit of an... incredibly stupid crush on a classmate," Harry smiled ruefully.
"Really? Who?" Draco asked despite himself.
"Oh god no," Harry laughed, blushing. "It was embarrassing." He took a large bite of his sandwich.
"Come on."
He swallowed. "As in, more embarrassing than Ron and Lavender Brown."
"Oh Merlin, it wasn't Longbottom, was it?"
Harry laughed. "God, no. I thought it was just the craziness of the year, but the craziness left and the attraction stayed. Nothing ever came of it, though." He took another bite. "Shouldn't you test-"
"Right." Draco took out his wand, taking refuge in automatic action and frowning as the aura came to light. "That didn't do as much as I'd hoped."
"Bugger."
"Yeah." Draco made himself keep his voice light and his eyes on his work. "Sorry, I'll have to go over... I must've done something wrong..."
"Right." Harry finished his lunch and stood up. "I know, never disturb a Healer in deep thought. I'm going for a walk. D'you want a warming charm on your lunch?"
"Yeah, thanks. I'll probably be a while."
Draco waited for Harry to leave the room and put his head on the kitchen table, barely stopping himself from banging it onto the hard surface in frustration.
Harry was bi. And he'd said it so casually. Didn't even think about it. Assumed Draco knew.
This was absolutely not fair. He was stuck, in Muckle Roe Quarantine House, with Harry Potter, who was single and gorgeous and who actually understood, deep down, so many things that Draco had resigned himself to never being able to tell another person, but found so easy – and pleasant – to talk to Harry about. Harry Potter, who also seemed to get more outrageously clueless by the minute, who had just hissed Draco into an erection he could've pitched a Quidditch Cup tent on, and then oh by the way, told him he was bisexual.
And Draco was running out of confessions almost as quickly as he was running out of sanity.
He headed for the loo, firmly shutting the door behind himself and noting ruefully that although he'd been able to dampen down his arousal enough to make it through lunch without embarrassing himself, the moment the bathroom door shut behind him, there he was again. Hard as a rock, and not even thinking of Jessica would make this go away.
Fuck. He touched himself through his trousers, swallowing back a moan and not even bothering to try to control the images his mind came up with. And, no surprise, there was Harry and some faceless man, walking down Diagon Alley, holding hands. Yes, gay wizards sometimes got annoyed stares from some of the older folk, but being openly gay in public was no more serious a social faux pas than snogging in public was for heterosexual couples, so there they were.
In his mind, Robin looked a great deal like the Kestrels Keeper. Ironic, seeing as how that's who was shagging Harry's ex-girlfriend, not Harry himself. But there were Robin and Harry, walking down Diagon Alley, and Harry was smiling and maybe leaning close to kiss him, and Draco cast a Silencio around himself automatically as he opened his trousers and finally felt some relief.
He closed his eyes. Image of Harry and Robin, smiling, maybe Harry whispering in Robin's ear, tongue appearing between his teeth as he whispered Parseltongue, and Draco breathed in deeply, guiltily allowing the image to build, what would it be like to hear that himself, Harry's mouth close to his own ear, and of course Robin was gone, he'd known that wouldn't last long no matter who he imagined Robin to look like, now it was Harry holding Draco, and putting his hand down Draco's trousers and whispering in his ear, and Oh god.
Hearing that tongue hissing incomprehensible syllables, imagining it hissing in a slightly more intimate setting no, do not think of Harry giving you a blow job, he's your co-worker for the love of there he was, kneeling before Draco, grinning up at him and taking Draco into his mouth, as Draco whimpered and felt pressure and pleasure building up almost maddeningly, and Harry pulled away long enough to hiss something at Draco and the feeling of his mouth and tongue and the sound and the sheer power of Harry's magic had Draco biting back a cry as-
Fuck, this was impossible, Draco thought as he panted, his knees feeling weak and his libido almost stretched to breaking. Damn it.
"Confidotuom. Not sure how much this will help, but I'm bi too."
"Really?" Harry laughed. "So it really doesn't bother you, then."
"No, it really doesn't. I've known since around third or fourth year."
"Well it's not really that big a thing here, is it. Though I had no idea you were. Wait – wasn't there that rumour that you'd dated Justin Finch-Fletchley after the war? I just thought it was because he had a bit of a," he cleared his throat, "reputation."
"Just a bit. I didn't date him, though. We just went to a lot of the same parties."
"How many blokes have you dated?"
Draco paused, thinking. "Erm... five? Six? Depends on what you mean by dating, I suppose. Some were just one-nighters." He ended the Confidotuom spell, lit Harry's aura. "...and that really didn't help much."
"Blast. No change?"
"Almost none."
"That's too bad. It does seem to be getting better overall, though."
"Yeah, we could probably Floo back to the clinic and test it on a couple of the-"
"Erm, no, that Kneazle of Brian's nearly took my eye out last test. I'd rather wait till all the purple's gone, if it's all the same to you."
"Yeah, that's fine." Draco took a deep breath. "All right, well, I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this one, but here goes-"
"Wait, don't you have to wait-"
"Latest scroll from St. Mungo's said they've determined it doesn't make a difference if you do a new confession right after an ineffective confession." Draco smirked cynically. "Personally I think they made up the whole 'wait a few hours between confessions' because they just didn't have time to do one confession after another with the same patient, what with caring for quite a few people other than their aura patients. Then they got two new cases, put some Healers on it full time, and surprise surprise, they're now saying you probably don't have to wait."
Harry nodded and looked at him expectantly, and Draco took a breath to steady himself. Because damn, he really didn't want to do this one. Unfortunately, it really seemed that confessions with "little or no unwanted emotional consequences whatsoever" weren't going to do the trick – or at least, they weren't going to do it fast enough to keep Draco from going insane in this blasted quarantine house. And this was a big confession, and could quite possibly clear the last of the taint off Harry's aura. Certainly worth it if it got them out of here.
But damn it, he still really didn't want to do it.
"All right. Confidotuom." He took a deep breath. "I'm in the middle of getting a divorce."
There was a profound silence as Harry stared at Draco.
"Oh my god," he finally said softly. "You... I had no idea."
"Well, no. Nobody's supposed to. But it's happening. She's moving to London and I'm staying here. And I would very much appreciate it if you didn't say anything about this at work."
"No, no of course not," Harry said quickly. He paused for a minute, then spoke up hesitantly. "What happened?"
Draco smiled ruefully. What a simple question, and how complicated the answer had been to figure out.
"Did you know Muggles have this expression, 'men always marry their mothers'?" He shook his head. "First time I heard it, I thought, well, that explains a great deal of why the Muggle world is such a mess."
Harry chuckled. "And ours isn't?"
"Good point," Draco admitted. "Anyway, I thought it meant something, you know, rather disgusting, but no, they just believe that men often end up marrying women who remind them of their mother. Happens in our world too, obviously. Very common. Just not very smart, when your mother was Narcissa Malfoy."
"Y'know, I wondered about that. She's quite pretty, but every time I saw Jessica she looked... erm..."
"Like Shetland had a noxious odour that no amount of freshening charms could get rid of?"
"A bit, yeah," Harry chuckled. "I take it she didn't like Shetland, then."
"'Didn't like' doesn't do it justice. She's about as fond of Shetland as you were of Dolores Umbridge."
Harry frowned. "But you're only here for two more years."
"It's not just Shetland."
"What is it, then?"
"She... she wanted to marry the Malfoy heir. Live in the old purebred wizarding society the way it used to be before the war. I thought I did too, but..." he trailed off. It felt strange, saying this out loud, when he'd only really thought it to himself. Such a huge revelation, that had taken so long to be understood and accepted, and shaken his world and destroyed his marriage. And it could be expressed in so very few simple words. "I've no use for it any more. Even if I did, what's left of that world after the war doesn't have anything I want. I'm fine here. I like being a Healer, and I don't particularly want to try to re-create something that has no meaning any more."
"I see."
"So she's divorcing me. She's going back to London, then probably flitting off to the continent. She has connections in Marseilles; I'm sure she'll find some nice young heir over there and get what she wants out of life."
Draco firmly ignored the pity on Harry's face as he ended the Trust Spell and checked his aura, then grimaced in annoyance. "What a surprise, that helped a good deal."
"Why did you get married to her, anyway?" Harry asked curiously, as if Draco hadn't spoken.
Draco pressed his lips together as he started to write. "Why does anybody get married? Seemed the right thing to do at the time. We just realized too late that we really weren't looking for the same things out of life at all."
"When did you meet her?"
"The year before I went into Healer School."
"Didn't that give her a bit of a hint that maybe you weren't interested in the same things? I can't imagine too many Malfoys have gone into Healing."
"Oh no, she encouraged me to do that."
"Really? Why?"
"Well, it was Healer School or a Potions Master apprenticeship. Or doing nothing, but Jessica didn't want that any more than I did. I mean, I didn't have to work for a living, but I didn't want to just sit and spend what was left of my family's money. That wasn't going to get me accepted anywhere other than among other people who were doing the same thing. And they were rather... pathetic, really. All of these people, who used to have so much power and wealth, but now... far, far less wealth, and almost no power at all. Sitting around, still trying to pretend nothing had changed."
"Sounds depressing."
"It is. Neither of us wanted that, so we both decided to do something with our lives. She's an artist; rather highly regarded. I was leaning towards Potions Master, but she pointed out that if I did that, there would still be some doubt about me. Potions Masters may be highly respected, but even if I did nothing but make medical or cheering potions, there would probably still be rumours that I was making illegal potions on the side, or doing some kind of Dark magic. With Healing, that was far less likely. It's doing something for the public good, and it's difficult, and it's far less likely to result in anybody being suspicious of me."
"Is that why you went into it?"
"It's sound logic. I went into Healing and everything seemed to be working out relatively well." He sighed. "The problem is that we wanted different things from it. She was happy to come to Shetland for my training, at first. Said it would make my 'social rehabilitation' even more credible if I did a difficult apprenticeship in the middle of nowhere. Nobody could accuse me of partying in London and scraping through just by getting lost in the St. Mungo's shuffle."
"What changed her mind?"
"She started talking about our triumphant return to London, and I realized I didn't want to go back. I like it here."
"Really?"
"Really. It's small and dull sometimes, but it's still much better than London. I don't want to go back to the parties and Ministry functions and lord it over the poor sods who are still under suspicion and falling farther out of relevance every year. I don't even want to lord it over the new people in power who thought they were finally done with the Malfoys." He shrugged. "She does."
"Wow."
"So. She's off in London, getting ready to move back there. We're selling the house in Lerwick and I'm moving at the end of the month."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"Sounds very... civilized. I thought divorces were a bit more dramatic."
"Tell me you can picture Jessica getting dramatic."
"Point. Where are you moving to?"
"Clett Head. I found an old house that's been abandoned since Gridenwald, but it's still a beautiful place. Almost no Muggles to be seen. If I ever get tired of it, I'll probably go back to Malfoy Manor, but for now, I'm happy to let that sit empty."
Harry shook his head. "I never would've pegged you to be the type to settle in Shetland."
"No, I wouldn't have either."
"Clett Head. There's some beautiful land out there. You can just go out there and breathe fresh air. It's so quiet you can hear yourself think. I was looking out there before I found my place at Benbridge."
Draco blinked, surprised. "That's on Papa Stour island, near what the Muggles call Kirstan's Hole, isn't it?" Harry nodded. "I've been there. Didn't see your house."
"No, it's Unplottable. I've always lived in Unplottable land."
"Ah. I'll probably make mine Unplottable too, once I've moved in."
Harry nodded. "Shetland's a beautiful place. Jessica doesn't know what she's missing."
"No. I don't much feel like telling her, either."
"Did you try?"
"Not very hard," Draco admitted.
"I love it here." Harry smiled as he spoke, and a dreamy, faraway expression crept over his face. Draco felt his heart give a little lurch. "And I love my place. It's mine. It's not somebody else's family home, or something I inherited from my parents or from Sirius, or a school where I'm only allowed to stay as long as I'm a teacher or a student. It's a place I made my own. It feels like putting down roots. My roots, nobody else's." He breathed deeply. "Feels clean."
Draco swallowed hard and looked down. Fuck. When did Harry get eloquent and thoughtful? When did he gain a link to Draco's mind and heart that let him say out loud what Draco only thought to himself?
He made himself smile at Harry and stand up. "It's almost dinner time. D'you want me to make it?"
"Oh, I already made sandwiches, I'll bring them out. And speaking of my place, I should go back to check on my plant-watering spell. D'you want to come with me? I'll show you around my land."
No. No, very bad idea. Watching Harry talk about his home was excruciating enough. Actually going there would be the height of stupidity.
"I'd love to," he said.
On to Part IIb.
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no subject
Date: 2006-09-13 05:42 am (UTC)Wow, this discussion of how a wizard would feel about the Muggle world is brilliant. I've never seen it described like this.
God, this fic premise is just.... Man, I wish I'd thought of it. :(
Harry pressed his lips together, his face going blank, clearly thinking he'd made Draco uncomfortable.
Awwww, I just want to hug him. :P
"I worked."
"Worked?" Harry's eyebrows shot up. "As what?"
"Lumberjack."
"What?"
"No, I'm joking. Exotic dancer."
"What??"
Draco laughed. "No, god. Taxi driver. And I'm serious this time."
Harry blinked. "You're taking the piss."
"I'm not.
Gah! More edible dialogue.
I love all the chuckling, it's so like that British show I used to watch... OMG, that's FUDGE! Robert Hardy! That's where I knew him from. I'm an idiot! Sorry, sorry.
Yeah, I knew you did that, used a gender-ambiguious name - Robin. LOL. *g*
Draco swallowed hard and looked down. Fuck. When did Harry get eloquent and thoughtful? When did he gain a link to Draco's mind and heart that let him say out loud what Draco only thought to himself?
That's lovely.
Heh, wanna come back to my place, bouncy, bouncy?
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 03:35 am (UTC)Thank you!
It's kinda weird... I really, really, really got to like this fic while writing it, so I wasn't sure if it would just be one of those things that you really ought to keep to yourself because you're too close to be objective and cut out stuff that really needs cutting. Because a little healthy dissatisfaction with a project can really improve it, IMHO.
So it's nice to see other people like it too :)
God, this fic premise is just.... Man, I wish I'd thought of it. :(
::snicker:: Me too. It was all from a prompt, from somebody else.
Wow, this discussion of how a wizard would feel about the Muggle world is brilliant. I've never seen it described like this.
I think I first saw something like it in Transfigurations, and teaches Muggle Studies. Or possibly this fic where Draco comes back to Hogwarts and has a fling with Justin Finch-Fletchley. He says something like, "Muggle photographs are so eerie. You move and they don't look at you. It gives me the creeps."
Damn, I wish I could remember the name of that one. It had a lot of really good lines. Including a part where he calls Hitler "Mad as a bag of frogs" and another where Dobby says, "Master Draco is having relations with... a weasel?"
"NO, god no. Although Master Draco is apparently having relations with a male, Mudblood Hufflepuff, so Master Draco's standards are evidently slipping."
Heh, wanna come back to my place, bouncy, bouncy?
LOL!!! My floormates and I used to say "BOUNcy BOUNcy" all the time in university :D :D :D
no subject
Date: 2006-10-10 09:34 am (UTC)And Harry's confession about liking to speak Parseltongue made me ~ warm-hearting -it's so innocent, and I don't know, but trusting with little things seems to me more difficult, when reveal a big and serious secrets.
O, and you've got me in this - "No, I'm joking. Exotic dancer." – (you fooled me completely – just i thought – o, please , not here – the next line made me giggling)
Interesting, how Harry's desire for his own home suits to him – free start, being regarded only for his own, not for name of the Chosen one (I was thinking it would be precious to him to keep family house, to feel himself part of family tree ) and, it's bizarre, but it's recalling the beginning of this part, when Draco remembered why he didn't went to try-outs.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-13 03:07 am (UTC)Actually I got the idea from another fic (can't remember the name, unfortunately) where at one point Harry is sort of thinking of nothing in particular, and for some reason he recalls the first time it struck him how out of place he felt in the Muggle world: in his aunt's kitchen one summer, all of a sudden getting creeped out over the fact that nothing was interacting with him. I think he had some sort of panic attack, feeling really paranoid that all the kitchen tools were trying to fool him into thinking they were inanimate or something.
I thought it was brilliant. I didn't think my particular take on Harry fit the whole anxiety attack and paranoia thing (though whoever wrote that story made it very realistic) but I figured that kind of thing could very believably feel really distasteful to him. Where the Weasleys would see it as interesting, Harry would see it in a negative way, as yet another thing about the Muggle world that he never wanted to experience again.
And Harry's confession about liking to speak Parseltongue made me ~ warm-hearting -it's so innocent, and I don't know,
I always wondered how he'd feel about speaking Parseltongue, actually. In canon he seemed to see it as a cool thing, and in fics he often does it and doesn't really have an emotional reaction to it, but I wonder how much the whole Heir of Slytherin thing would've affected his attitude towards it.
O, and you've got me in this - "No, I'm joking. Exotic dancer." – (you fooled me completely – just i thought – o, please , not here – the next line made me giggling)
LOL!
Interesting, how Harry's desire for his own home suits to him – free start, being regarded only for his own, not for name of the Chosen one (I was thinking it would be precious to him to keep family house, to feel himself part of family tree ) and, it's bizarre, but it's recalling the beginning of this part, when Draco remembered why he didn't went to try-outs.
Yeah, pretty much. They both need a new start.
Confession is Good for the Soul 2a
Date: 2007-12-07 12:11 am (UTC)