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Harry's gotten what he wanted – he's in charge of the Droods. No, that isn’t true. He never wanted to run the family; he just hadn’t wanted Eddie – the man who’d killed his father – running it. Either way, Harry's ended up in charge. And he's terrible at it.
He can command a unit in battle and do it well. He can also – much to his own surprise – manage the day to day running of the Hall. What he apparently cannot do is the larger scale stuff – the logistics and the strategy to win not just battles but the war.
They are losing. Droods are dying. The whole world is going to die if they can’t stop the Loathy Ones.
He’d step down in a heartbeat if there was anyone else for the job. Well, there’s the Matriarch, but he isn’t even going to consider giving her back power, not when his grandmother’s first action would be to have him declared rogue and Roger executed.
She might be able to handle this. She might be able to save the world from the Loathy Ones. And yet, there is no way he’s letting her out of her room.
Well, he’s never claimed to be a good person.
But is he really dismissing something that might improve their chances of saving the world for his own sake? No, or at least not exactly; if it were just that he’d be declared rogue, he probably would go ahead with reinstating the matriarch. The truth's worse: he’s risking the world for someone who’s likely a spy sent from Hell. ‘Hell always lies,’ that’s what they say. ‘Except when the truth will hurt you more.’ He knows he can’t trust Roger. (He thinks about that other line the Droods like to quote: ‘Never trust an elf.’) He wonders if he is mad. His family certainly wouldn’t understand. But he doesn’t understand them either. Maybe that’s why he’s doing such a bad job at leading them. He swears, dropping the latest stack of reports onto the dresser.
Hands snake around his middle. Thin lips press against his neck.
Almost against his will, Harry finds himself leaning back into Roger’s embrace. He doesn’t even know if the half-demon is still reporting to Hell. And – God help him – he can’t bring himself to care. The body pressed against his is warm. Roger smells of sulphur, smoke and blood, and Harry wonders when the fuck that scent became comforting.
“I need to work out how to defeat these things,” Harry says, though he makes no move to pull away or pick the files back up.
“You need a break,” Roger replies. “Come to bed with me.”
Harry shakes his head. “I need to finish this.” But he is still leaning against Roger.
“Yea…” Roger replies in a tone that suggests the opposite. Another kiss warms the skin just beneath his left ear. “You haven’t slept in what, two, three days? You’ll think clearer if you do.”
“You haven’t slept either,” Harry protests. Even to his own ears, it sounds weak.
“Yea; I’d really like to. And you need to. Don’t humans eventually just drop dead if you stay awake too long?”
Harry’s mouth twists into a half smile. “That takes a lot more than three days. Besides, I’d pass out long before dying became a concern.”
Roger hums. “Not buying it,” he declares. “Come on!” He releases his hold on Harry in favour of tugging him lightly towards the bed.
Harry lets himself be guided into sitting on the side of the matrass, Roger drops down beside him. And maybe he is as exhausted as his brother/partner/only friend thinks because he says, “I’m not you know… human. At least, not any more than you are.”
Roger stills, watching him with a curious look on his face but says nothing.
Harry isn’t sure what possesses him to keep talking, but he does. “There was a reason I was kept away from the rest of the family, even before my father realised I was gay. It was the same reason the Matriarch never approved of my mother.”
Roger sits silently, doesn’t ask.
Harry could drop the subject. Instead, he says, “My mother’s an elf.”
Whatever reaction Harry expects, it isn't for Roger to shift closer, one hand wrapping around his back and simply say, "Huh. I guess that's one more thing we have in common."
Harry gives a short, harsh laugh. "What, being half breeds?"
"Yea."
Harry doesn't know what to say to that.
“Come on, half-elf or not, you need sleep.” Roger tugs off his jacket.
Harry lets him. "You don't care?"
Roger slides off the bed to sit in front of Harry, starts untying his shoes. "I care that it'd paint a target on your back if your family found out. How many of them know?"
"Just the Matriarch and the Armourer. I don't think Jack's going to tell anyone." And his grandmother - safely locked in her rooms - can't tell.
"Good."
Later, they are lying in bed. Harry has slept, if only for a couple of hours before the nightmares dragged him back to wakefulness.
All his dreams recently tend to be set in Ghoulvilles, with the overarching theme of him failing to save the inhabitants, who then turn to Loathy Ones and attack him. Beyond that, the details vary.
Sometimes it’s Drood Hall that has become the Ghoulville.
Sometimes his mother is there, lost in the shifting confusion, unable to find her way home.
Other times, he’s the one lost, and she is somewhere far away, calling for him.
In the scenario that woke him that night, Roger was being dragged away by a crowd of Loathy Ones as Harry chased after them but - no matter how fast he ran - could not catch up.
He holds the still sleeping half demon close, watching him. He looks different in his sleep, younger. Every so often, he flinches or grimaces. When he does, Harry holds him tighter, whispers that it’s okay, that he has him, and Roger, without waking, presses even closer against him.
Harry doesn't want to even consider what type of dreams Roger might have.
If he really is a spy, Harry's not sure he could hold it against him. More damningly, he isn't sure if he cares. Do Roger's motives matter so long as he's there, and wants to be there, with Harry? Harry doesn't know.
He's risking everything for a man most of his family would happily murder if given the chance. And maybe that's wrong, but he doesn’t regret it. Maybe he is wrong. He isn’t human, not fully. So, does he think like a human? He knows his family don’t approve of so many of his choices, suspects they’d approve even less if they knew the full truth.
He doesn’t care!
He is loyal to his family, but as an abstract concept; the individual members mean little to him. Even though he's leading the Droods, most of them still see him as an outsider. And Roger… he can’t help but believe that Roger really does care about him, even if he has been sent by Hell. No one else does, not really. Harry doesn’t have anyone else. He isn’t letting go of Roger. Whatever happens, he isn’t letting go of him.