Thank you again for all the reviews!

I should mention that I am going on vacation this next week, so there won't be any updates until probably next Monday. On the other hand, this is the last chapter of Siege Mentality, so you won't have to wait on this story.

Part XI. Courage.

"I think it was possible that you were in Malfoy Manor most of the time, though obviously you moved around at some point and transformed the other pieces of land where the Aurors were found. Otherwise, there's no reason that my trying to Apparate to Malfoy Manor should have found you."

Draco had to smile as he listened to Harry's chattering. Harry was flipping through a book in the Manor's real library, all the time reciting his theory about where Draco must have been traveling in terms of the real world whilst in worlds of his own creation. He wasn't completely like the Harry Draco remembered, who had treated his knowledge of the Dark Arts as if it related to his job alone and didn't like doing research about other forms of magic.

But then, he mused, as he stretched his arms over his head and came to stand behind Harry, I never knew him this well before.

"I think that my imagination must have interacted with reality at some level, though," he said, and traced one finger down the spine of the book Harry held. Harry promptly stopped chattering and watched the movement of his finger with great interest, Draco noted, hiding a smirk. "I certainly couldn't have imagined books with the answers in them when I didn't know what the answers were myself. And I didn't remember the books that well. I hadn't been in this library in years."

Harry exhaled. "I was trying not to think about that," he said, and captured Draco's hand and squeezed.

Draco stared at him. "Why ever not? You want to know what to say to the Aurors, after all, and you know that they're going to ask you how my ability works."

"I know." Harry ran a finger along the veins in the back of Draco's hand and refused to look up. "But if you can interact with reality on some level, then they might try to say that you were conscious of what you were doing when you killed those Aurors. I was hoping that we could prove that you were solely in a world of your own creation, with no way of perceiving who they were."

Draco swallowed. He still hadn't come to terms with the thought that he had killed, yet, but he knew that he wouldn't get around it by avoiding it. "Let me worry about that," he said, and squeezed Harry's hand back. "I know that you'll explain as well as you can. I know that you won't let me go to Azkaban as a murderer."

Harry looked up at him and smiled. "No. If actual Dark wizards can be excused that on account of madness, then you'll be excused it on grounds of possessing a rare magical talent."

Draco shuddered and tried to joke as best he could. "Just don't let any Healers from St. Mungo's look at me. They really would be trying to figure out how to study me through the talent, and if that's the price of staying out of Azkaban, I don't want it."

Harry laughed and embraced him, so hard that Draco had to struggle to breathe for a moment. "I won't let that happen."

There was a depth of fervor in his voice that stole Draco's ability to joke about it.

"But it would help," Harry went on in a more brooding tone, "if we knew why you saw the Aurors and so many of those around you as beasts."

"I've been thinking about that," Draco said.

Harry went still in the way that had once frightened Draco as much as it impressed him, because it meant Harry was about to attack a Dark wizard, and he didn't ever want Harry to think of him that way. "Yes?" he whispered.

"My mind's capable of drawing on my imagination as well as reality," Draco said. "In fact, that's why this became a problem in the first place. Uncontrolled perceptions and desires interacting with what was actually there."

"Yes," Harry repeated, and shifted a little. Draco knew that he was getting impatient, but he had the ability to hold still and listen when he really wanted to demand answers. Draco hid a smile. He also knew that Harry would probably misunderstand if he was to see Draco smiling now.

"And I remember being terrified of whirlwinds when I was a child." Draco sighed. "My mother read me a book that had moving pictures of them. Enormous columns of pure wind, dark enough to see, ripping cities apart. Add claws and teeth to that picture, and it wasn't so far from what I saw when I first looked at you."

Harry nodded. "Yes. That would make sense, and when I tell Kingsley what else I discovered about your talents—"

"What else you discovered?" Draco drew back and glared at him.

"Well, I had the original idea, after all." Harry blinked innocently at him. "And I was the one who noticed that the Black ancestors referred to this variation of the Metamorphmagus talent with a sort of code—"

Draco tackled him, sending him sprawling to the floor and books flying everywhere. Harry dragged himself up and retaliated, and after a moment the wrestling match turned into something far more pleasant.

*

Bring him in, Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes. That was all Kingsley had written in answer to Harry's letter that told him what had happened in broad outline and that they were back in the real world. And, well, that was unnecessary. Did Kingsley really think that Harry would attempt to run off to Australia with Draco, even if he was guilty? He would want Draco to either have a normal life or pay for his crimes, depending on his innocence.

"Draco?" he asked, wandering down the corridor to the kitchen, Kingsley's letter still swaying from his hand. The owl that had taken his message, as well as the one that had brought Kingsley's answer, definitely wasn't imaginary. Harry swatted at the mess left on his arm by the bird's landing and grimaced in disgust. Then he remembered he was a wizard, as Draco would say, and spelled it off.

"Hmmm?" Draco looked up from a plate of toast. Harry barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes. Draco's house-elves had been so madly glad to see them that they kept trying to spoil both Harry and Draco, but they'd discovered soon enough that Harry really didn't do well with spoiling. Draco, though, had shamelessly put them to work making him plateful after plateful of buttered toast.

"Will you be ready to leave soon?" Harry took a seat across from him, and snorted when he noticed that Draco was reading the latest Daily Prophet. Of course he would decide that he had to know current events the moment he was back in Britain, even though he wouldn't know the events of the three years before that very well—or however long he had spent trapped in his wild talent. "I have the feeling Kingsley's getting impatient." He tossed the letter at Draco, who caught it and read through it without changing his expression.

"I'll leave when I'm done with breakfast." Draco put the letter on the table and turned back to the Prophet and his toast.

Harry leaned back in his chair and surveyed Draco thoughtfully. Draco still hadn't talked with him fully about what it meant that he had probably killed the Aurors who had come after him and some of the people caught up in his imagined worlds. He didn't appear to be suffering, but Harry had learned that Draco sometimes purposefully hid that suffering so that no one could accuse him of self-pity. Harry didn't know if he had come to terms with his "responsibility" for that or not.

He didn't really know what it had been like for Draco. He hadn't known that Draco had ever felt so uncomfortable in his own family that he would need to ask his ancestors for something to "prove" that he was supposed to a Black. He didn't know how long ago Draco's talent had manifested; Draco still hadn't hinted at that, and he could have spent a long time in France coping with it before he had returned to England. Maybe no one had even noticed if he'd started transforming the land in someplace sufficiently isolated.

He didn't know. He wasn't sure that Draco would explain it to him even if he asked.

But…

But Harry thought that he owed it to Draco to keep trying to find out, and to help him live with it if that was necessary. He was the only one who had somehow managed to share enough of Draco's perceptions to really reach him. He would keep trying, and he would stand between Draco and a hostile world if he had to.

If Draco wanted him to.

Sitting there, Harry felt some of his worry lift. He might not understand what everything was like with Draco, and he might not be sure that Kingsley would even attempt to understand, but he had his own determination to stand by Draco, and that was going to happen no matter what else happened. That was enough.

*

"He's not a murderer."

It took Draco a mighty effort to keep his hands folded in his lap instead of clawing at the arms of the chair he sat in. He'd been sitting here and listening to Harry make that statement, or variations of that statement, to Kingsley Shacklebolt for hours now.

And still Shacklebolt hemmed under his breath, and glared at Draco, and especially looked at his left arm, as if he thought that Draco's talent was somehow connected to being a Death Eater.

No, Draco thought, as he met the man's eyes for a moment and then looked away, as if he thinks that once someone does one evil thing, he's always evil.

Draco couldn't afford to show his contempt for the very notion, or for the whole system of Ministry bureaucracy. He had to go through with this if he wanted a chance at a normal life. So he stared at his feet and let Harry stand up for him.

He hated it. But sometimes things he hated had to happen.

"He killed three Aurors," said Shacklebolt. His voice had finally started to crack and rise slightly, and Draco felt a small shiver of triumph that he was equally careful to keep off his face, along with his impatience in general. "You would call someone else who had done that a murderer, Harry."

"Not if they were mad," said Harry. "Not if they were under the Imperius Curse. And I think Draco was dreadfully close to that when I found him." He paused and then leaned forwards. He should have been the more impressive figure anyway, since he was standing up and Shacklebolt was sitting down, but Draco thought he grew in stature as he stood there, drawing strength and passion into him with one furious breath. "Can you think, sir, how much strength it would take to survive something like what Draco survived? Being transported from place to place on a whim, always believing that beasts were chasing you and would kill you if they caught you? Knowing any reprieve was temporary? Not being able to realize what was going on? I might have helped Draco get out of his predicament, but he was the one who had to survive until I got there. He's the strongest one in this room."

Shacklebolt paused before he answered, as if he were overwhelmed by Harry's putting it that way. Draco knew how he felt. He was as staggered as though someone had punched him in the gut.

At last Shacklebolt said, "You cannot be certain that he can control his talent yet."

"No," Harry agreed. "That's why he'll stay with me until you can work out whether he'll need a trial." From the tone of his voice, Draco knew that Harry didn't feel that way. "I can't ask anyone else to take the risk."

"And you don't know how large an area he can control?"

"Were there any reports of strange activity in Wiltshire while we were in Malfoy Manor, sir?" Harry cocked his head politely to the side, as if he were actually interested in Shacklebolt's answer.

"No," Shacklebolt said slowly. He seemed to be feeling out the question for traps.

"Well, then." Harry clapped his hands together, smiling. "I think it's fair to say that any area Draco creates is extremely limited in scope. There are people living not too far from Malfoy Manor—wizards who would have been able to feel the operation of wild magic. The area he creates is about the size of a house, then. And you know I live fairly far from my neighbors. If Draco stays in my house, then it's unlikely he'll harm anyone else."

Draco blinked and swallowed. Shacklebolt was less dignified and let his mouth fall open. The next moment, he closed it and shook his head. "I can't ask you to take that risk, Harry."

Harry looked at him mildly, raising his eyebrows slowly enough that Draco could tell the gesture conveyed extreme contempt. "You don't have to ask me, sir. I'm volunteering for it."

Shacklebolt shook his head again, eyes fastened to Harry's face. They were intense, as though he were trying to convey some message Draco couldn't understand. "It's still not something that I should allow you to do," he said.

Harry must have caught the message, because he smiled more broadly. "But you're going to allow me to do it anyway, aren't you, sir?"

"I must be mad." Shacklebolt looked at the report that Harry had spent most of last night writing, before Draco enticed him into bed and gave his hand better things to hold than a quill. "But yes, if you think you can live with him, keep him safe, and keep his magic from slaughtering anyone else, all right."

Draco flinched at the word "slaughtering," but noticed that Harry had turned and looked at him just as Shacklebolt said it. The expression on his face was strong, and calm, and soothed Draco's feelings enough that he could sit upright a moment later and look evenly back. Harry gave him a small smile that curved the left side of his lips, and which Draco had already come to realize was just for him, then turned back to Shacklebolt. "All right," he repeated. "I think we'll both agree to that."

This time, Draco saw no need to look away when Shacklebolt cast a doubtful glance at him. He was the strongest person in the room. Harry had said so, and he ought to act like it.

Besides, it's not everyone who has Harry Potter on their side.

*

"I don't remember this."

Harry turned to smile at Draco as he unlocked the front door of his house. "I moved a year or so after you went over to France," he said, touching his wand to the plate by the door to activate the modified Muggle lighting. "There were a few too many threats from insane Dark wizards intent on taking over the world."

Draco stood in the middle of the drawing room and looked around as though he didn't know whether to find fault with Harry's taste or not. Harry leaned against the wall and tried to conceal his amusement. Everything was the way he liked it to be: plain white walls, brilliant wizarding landscapes that shimmered and moved with what looked like sunlight, large lamps everywhere and a chandelier overhead. It wasn't the height of fashion, and Draco would probably scold him for having only four chairs in the entire enormous room, but Harry didn't entertain huge gatherings of people. He'd never seen the need for more of it.

"You could make this so much better," Draco said at last.

"Actually, it improves a lot just with you standing in the middle of it," Harry said, as blandly as possible.

Draco turned and faced him. His eyelashes were fluttering a little and his breath was coming so fast that one would have thought they hadn't fucked in an entire day. Harry went to him and kissed him gently on the side of the mouth, stepping away when Draco tried to snog him.

"We should contact Hermione soon," he said, walking into the kitchen. "She'll know more than I do about legal precedents for wizards with wild talents."

"You aren't worried, are you?"

Harry paused and turned to face Draco. There was a faintly accusatory sound in his voice, and he had his arms folded as if he was cold. But Harry knew perfectly well that Warming Charms had sprung to life as soon as they entered the house and would keep them comfortable until they departed. It was an expensive modification that an enormous blizzard during the last winter had persuaded him to get.

"About acquitting you?" Harry shook his head, eyes fastened on Draco's face. "Not a bit."

"But why?" Draco turned away from him and stared into the drawing room as if he were contemplating rearranging the furniture. "I have one mark against me in my reputation already. Most people will want to see me charged with murder when they figure out what I did. I'll probably be tried by the Wizengamot, and you don't have as much influence with them as you do with Shacklebolt."

"All that's true," Harry said calmly. "But you've forgotten one thing."

"What's that?" Draco sounded sulky.

Harry slid his arms around his waist. Draco started; he obviously hadn't heard Harry walking towards him. "I'm here for you," Harry whispered. "I love you. I won't let them condemn you because of your name or your reputation alone. We'll find out all the pertinent facts we need to, and we'll use them. We'll stand up to this and fight this, Draco, and I don't care what they do to me. If you could be strong enough to survive what you did with your sanity intact, I can be strong enough to survive this fight and not back down."

And he kissed Draco before he could object.

*

Draco wanted to say that sometimes being strong wasn't enough. He wanted to pull back and complain that even Harry's name had to reach a limit to its power some time. He wanted to whinge about the Wizengamot being such a hard opponent to defeat, and how his parents would want him to hide, and how Harry's friends would react when they discovered that he was dating Draco and not just friends with him, and—

But the kiss made it awfully hard to say any of that. Or believe it, for that matter.

And after what felt like years and had been months of running through forests, through deserts, and over mountains away from beasts, Draco thought he could relax and depend on someone else's assurance for once.

Especially the one person who sees as I see.

Especially when I'll join my strength to his.

So Draco closed his eyes and leaned forwards, hands braced on Harry's chest as he returned the kiss, giving as good as he got.

End.