Draco doesn't flinch. When his best friend and only trusted acquaintance drops dead at his feet, on the floor of his home, cold stone where he's walked his very first steps, he doesn't flinch. Why would he? Rationality suggests him that Blaise had it coming, for a long time, more obviously than many other people, even if he has never been marked as a Death Eater or openly played along with the Dark Lord's plan. He's still a pureblood, though, and one proud of his lineage, family trees, one who has despised mudbloods and muggles and has never made a secret of that. Just like Draco back in school. But he has always been a good friend, loyal to Draco and Theo, and he has helped Draco through a lot since the day they have become friends.
And now, now he lays dead on the cold floor of Malfoy Manor, killed by the curse that the tip of a wan has let loose just a few seconds ago.
A wand which is held by a muggleborn wizard who looks to be on his late thirties, whom Draco has never seen before, and who's responsible for the killing of many other pureblood witches and wizards. He's been killing for some months now, randomly picking his victims from those who'd fought with and against the Dark Lord. There's no apparent pattern in his doing. He's killed Theo too, and Daphne Greengrass, and Draco's father, then his mother, and he's switched after that to the other bank of the river, to the supporters' of Potter. Ginny Weasley has died, and Hermione Granger was so severely injured that she's still confined in a special department of Saint Mungo Hospital. Potter has been utterly destroyed, testifying the killing of his fiance, and Draco has witnessed the reaction. The freshly nominated author's dignity has shattered in screams and cries and tears, and he's been alone in that very moment, his best friends both at the Hospital, one treated and the other attending to her, and Potter has been at the Ministry, alone, where Ginny has been killed in front of everyone. Draco has been the only one who's dared touch Potter, and drag him away from the crowd that had been gathering, shielding his former rival's dignity, as well as body's, from further threats.
Potter had already been in charge of the case of the mysterious killings, and Draco had already witnessed him working hard for securing the killer to justice. After that moment, Potter has started working even better, and, at some point, he's asked for Draco's collaboration. Draco had already lost both his parents, one of his best friend, and his current girlfriend's sister, up to that moment. He's broken up with Astoria, and obliged Potter's request. Blaise is the first, unfortunate killing the murderer has managed to accomplish, since they've started their collaboration.
And now the killer is standing right in front of Draco, in his very home, having somehow fooled the impenetrable wards of Manor, and with the dead body of Zabini between them.
Draco wishes failing saving others, and having Blaise back.
But he doesn't regret in the least the results he and Potter have achieved so far, even if now Blaise is dead.
They've started guessing by poor, dumb luck and have got luckier and luckier at guessing who the victims were going to turn out to be. Too bad that this time the murderer has recovered too fast for them, and has already re-planned another victim. Two, actually, or was he aiming just at Draco? Has Blaise just been killed for convenience?
"So, I was right, wasn't I?" Draco asks in his most calm and collected voice: "You weren't going after purebloods who hate mixed blood, or pureblood in general"
He isn't hinting to Blaise or himself, of course, but to the family of muggleborns that Draco and Potter has just saved a few hours before. A few means no more than two.
Talk about back up plan.
"No" confirms the wizard.
It's not the first time Draco has heard his voice, although he still doesn't know how to pinpoint it in his past. He knows he's already heard it, even if he doesn't know the man in front of him.
This man must be following some plan, some mysterious reason, but Draco hasn't found it yet. He's just been lucky, luckier than Potter alone, at guessing the moves the killer would make, up to now.
Is he going to die?
Is he going to die like this, in his very house, to which he's grown even more attached after he's cleaned it from every memory and contamination of the war?
His father was killed at the ministry, as Ginny Weasley, his mother in Diagon Alley, where Hermione Granger was attacked too. He, instead, he's going to die in his very, ancestral home, unless Potter does a guess as lucky as Draco's, and come to the rescue. Draco doesn't doubt that they've grown close enough for Potter to save him from his death. They've become friends. And this man is going to put everything to an end, killing Draco in his house, at twenty two years old, when he has managed to give back his family the prestige it has always had, after he's completed the four years training for becoming a basic healer, after he's found out he's a very good healer, and after he's become famous for helping out Potter with solving this difficult case.
Boy, but life is unfair.
"No, I wasn't" repeats the wizard, after almost a minute of absolute silence, when only the crackling of the fire in the hall fireplace has covered their thinking and staring at each other.
Draco is afraid, and he's afraid also that the guy is going to launch himself in a long, boring monologue. But Draco doesn't want to die, he needs to buy time, and he really wants to know the damned reason why he's been made an orphan.
The man smiles a sick smile: "I must admit it was, it still is, a much more dumb reason"
'Go ahead, gimme the monologue' Draco thinks. Anything that can buy him a mere moment to live more.
"Tell me" Draco prompts him.
The wizard's smile widens: "You want me to, right?" his dark eyes keep swirling all over Draco's figure, in a way that's not only sick, and that makes Draco uncomfortable not only because he's afraid to die: "Well, I admit it. It's quite appropriate that I tell you, coming to think about it. You're the healer, aren't you, after all?"
"Just say it" grits Draco between clenched teeth. The healer? What does he mean?
"I was bored. I was bored, and pissed at all those snobs stuck up sons of bitches who have always looked down on me. So I killed them. I've killed people you don't know, people you won't know ever, people you haven't looked for. I've killed them, and I liked it, and I decided to go on. But I didn't know whom I could kill. I hate everyone, and everything, as everyone and everything hates me back".
'This guy's crazy', Draco thinks, and doesn't care if he is not using a proper medical term for it.
"I started keeping track of names on the prophet. I saw names, I liked them, and I decided I could kill those people. I've managed to"
'My parents died because this man is a lunatic?' Draco is getting more angry than scared now. The fact that he just mentioned liking names of those who he killed definitely does not sooth his anger.
"I didn't like your father" the madman bursts out after a few seconds staring at Draco: "I didn't like his looks, even if his name was one of my favorite. He was too old. But you, I like watching you, and I bet I'll enjoy killing you even more. And I'm sure I'll enjoy killing Potter too"
Draco feels the wards of his home, tainted by this man who's crept his way through them, regrow strong and loyal to the Malfoy heir, and they tingle and tell him that someone, someone who Draco has once allowed to, wishes to cross them. And Draco recognizes the pull of Potter's magic signature, and silently orders the wards to let the Mighty Saviour in, so that he can save Draco's ass too. He keeps staring at the man in front of him, and hopes the wards obey as perfectly as before the man has tainted them, and bring Potter where he wants them to (behind Draco's attacker), on time. Before he's dead.
Jesus. He's never been so afraid of dying since the war, after Voldemort's defeat, and even then, it was a different, more childish, more selfish kind of fear to die. Now he's afraid of death as an end, as not being able to carry on his family legacy, and get vengeance. He can't die now, and surely not like this, to this asshole of a crazy maniac, 'and screw the proper, scientific term!'
"Why did you start killing?"
Draco feels Potter silently landing a few steps farther from them, behind the corner. Draco barely sees him, but Potter definitely sees the two of them.
He goes on buying time, as he can more or less recognize from the shadows Potter's eyes going bigger and bigger, as he takes in the situation and grips the hold on his wand.
"I told you" replies the killer, his lazy smile always there, and deep dark eyes traveling over Draco's figure: "I was bored"
"Why? Where were you?"
"Where do you think I was? In a fucking asylum, as every other crazy fucker like me!" the stranger gets angry in a second, and the topic seems to make him angrier and angrier, which could be both good and bad news for Draco: "in that godforsaken place where they'll never be able to cure me, just mock me, pretending they could"
And Draco is aware he's pushing his luck: "So, you're aware that you're mad"
The dark haired wizard swallows a mouthful of saliva and anger. He smiles sweetly, and winks: "Well, and you, are you aware you'll be dead in seconds?"
"Seconds?" Draco feels Potter repressing a facepalm, but goes on. He lifts a blond eyebrow and Potter is aiming at the wizard, thank god: "I feel them passing"
"I know" the wizard hesitates, still smiling sweet and sick, a soft expression crossing his face, like he's contemplating Draco as a rare piece of art he really can't get tired of: "It's just..." he bites his lower lip: "You're so beautiful. I used to think you're hot, but, the more I look at you, the more I realize how perfect you are. And it pains me so much that I have to kill you... But I have to, I need it"
"Why?" Draco's face is a perfect pokerface.
"Because I know the pleasure I'll feel killing you will be even greater" he replies. The wizard clears his voice coughing twice, Draco's eyes widen, and Potter's loud, deep voice fills up the silence shouting a powerful stunning spell. Draco's brain fails him a moment, ears filled with Potter's spell, eyes registering the body falling down. The wizard hits the floor, his wand clattering away from him, and Draco starts trembling without completely realizing it. Potter grabs at his arms, to steady him: "Malfoy! You hurt?" he shakes him once.
"No, I'm not" replies Draco, stuttering for a few seconds and then regaining control as always: "But that was damn too close" he mutters.
"Indeed" Potter agrees, then flips his wand at the killer and has him all tied up in a snap of his fingers.
He notices Blaise's dead body and grimaces, giving Draco a sympathetic expression: "I'm sorry for your best friend"
"Friends" Draco corrects, and sighs, walking through the open door leading to a dining room: "I need to sit a moment. And drink, possibly" he adds to himself, flipping his wand and having a glass filled of firewhiskey popping in his hand. He gulps it down, and another one, full, reappears: "You want one?" he offers to Potter.
The mighty Saviour nods and downs the shot in two swallows.
Draco's hand massages and pinching at the bridge of his nose: "I must call Saint Mungo for Blaise's body, and then I'd better call his mother" he removes his hand, and looks straight into Potter's green eyes: "can you deal with the ministry, please? I really don't feel like to. Also, I don't trust myself around that scumbag" he hints with his chin to the hall, and manages to stretch his lips in a tiny smirk.
Potter chuckles darkly: "I don't trust myself around him either, but, it's ok. Can I call from that fireplace, in the hall? Assuming you'll use this one"
Draco just nods: "Yeah, ok"
They're done in an hour.
Blaise's mother has just covered her eyes, politely and hastily muttering "Thank You, Draco, I'll call you back" before disappearing.
Draco really can't blame her for trying to salvage some dignity after losing her only son. She's a pureblood through and through, after all.
The mediwizards have taken Blaise's body into custody, and other aurors, Potter's colleagues who Draco has been working with for the last months, have apparated, taken the tied body of the killer, still unconscious, and brought him to a cell waiting for him. The Minister too has stopped by, muttering a few words to thank both Draco and Harry, the auror and the collaborating civil who apparently might as well join the force, and "I'll think about it, Minister".
Draco has retreated to the chair in the dining room, the one he's sunk into right after Potter has come to the rescue, and now Potter is staring at him, just like an hour ago.
"How about getting drunk?" suggests Draco after a while, standing up and walking to the hall.
The same hall where he and Blaise were attacked.
The same hall that he could still see from that chair.
The same hall-oh, fuck, he can't stay in this room and hall any longer, not even for a second, and he can't stay sober for longer too.
Potter seems to appreciate the suggestion quite a lot, judging by the fervent 'yes, please' he answers with.
"Let's go somewhere more comfortable, then" Draco guides Potter over the stairs, along the first floor, to the fine, luxurious, rich and warm red room he's always pictured in his own mind as the perfect setting for a porn movie.
And, even so, it's right there he's leading Potter now.
The odd...
The room itself is big and tall as any other on this floor of the Manor, but the reddish draping, ebony piece of furniture, the dim lights from a few tiny lamp and the big fireplace roaring with flames, all makes it look like it's less tall, and very, very cozy.
Potter likes it so much that he even lets slip out a 'wow', impressed, and he's usually quite parsimonious about complimenting Malfoy Manor and any other Malfoy possession. Or Draco himself.
Draco sits on the plush, thick red carpet right in front of the fireplace like he's always adored doing when he was sure his parents couldn't find him there laying on the floor since he's been old enough to appreciate a comfy place with such a warm environment. A bottle and two glasses pop out of nowhere and land on a silver tray, right between Draco's crossed knees and Potter's sitting figure.
"Ah! I really don't understand why the hell did your family even keep house elves for, with all the apparition and conjuring you're doing" Potter mutters with a cheeky smile.
"Prestige" answers Draco flatly but grinning back, pouring whiskey in the big glasses and offering one to his guest.
They cling the glasses together, something that Potter likes doing and that Malfoy always imitates with a smile, like he's well aware he's pissing off his parents by doing such an informal, anti-etiquette thing, and he hides the smile behind the glass. He doesn't mean disrespect to his death parents. Just a well-earned 'fuck off' to the annoying manners they've forced upon him, and that didn't save them, or any of his friends, from dying. And who the fuck cares if you die gracefully and properly or not?
He savors the taste of the drink, closing his eyes and fixing them on the flames once he reopens them.
"I've got plenty of time to get drunk" Potter half-whispers, as to justify why he's not swallowing down all of the alcohol like he usually does.
He lies on the carpet, mirroring Draco, similarly propped up on an elbow: "There's no way I'm going home tonight. If you don't mind"
"Be my guest. Literally" Draco leans more comfortably on his side, stretching his long legs, unaware of the almost jealous look Potter throws at him every time he sees those long limbs, that make Draco Malfoy so impossibly tall: "I feel the same, by the way"
Potter grimaces: "You know, I though that, once I've taken down Ginny's assassin, I'd stop feeling like this. Missing her so much, feeling like her ghost is still lingering in that damned house..."
Draco lets his eyebrows bolt up and down: "Between your parents and her, I'd say that that house, and Godric's Hollow in general, really doesn't suit you" he comments, trying to loosen up the Saviour's mood and mysteriously managing: "Yeah" Potter grins wider: "and Grimmauld Place wasn't that much better, you know?" he smile sadly and gulps down the whiskey: "all the people who's lived there, fought for the order, and now are dead..." he shakes his head and holds his glass for Draco to refill it. He promptly does, as well as his, and offers a toast: "to the ghosts we should start living without".
Potter's glass clings again against his: "And to us attempting a new life, maybe" adds, and they drink.
Draco remembers reading a witty passage in one of his favorite books, where the author advised against getting drunk in company of someone you could find sexually enticing, if both of you lost someone dear, and feel like taking the memory away for a while. That doesn't stop him, though, from indulging in the companionship he's experiencing with Potter, and, Merlin, isn't that amazing? It only took both of their lives to crumble and fall apart, for them to be friends.
They go through the whole bottle in a comfortable silence, interrupted here and there by comments that reveal how more and more drunk they're getting, and that are more and more hilarious because of that.
By the end of the bottle Draco lies on his back, arms on his chest, long legs bent, knees in the air, and Potter is sprawled on his stomach, legs crossed and feet in the air like a girl at a sleepover. Propped on his elbow and caressing Draco's whitey blond hair with one hand.
Draco closes his eyes and basks in the attention he's deprived himself of since the moment he has simultaneously left Astoria and engaged the searching for the killer with Potter.
He lets out a tiny smile, one that no sir, it's not dreamy at all, and Potter snorts lightly: "I remember seeing Parkinson combing your hair like this, your head in her lap. I've always assumed you didn't like your hair to be stroked"
"Ah man, you were so wrong" mutters Draco in a low, content and almost purring tone: "you're good at this, you know? Better than Pansy. It's very... relaxing" he confesses. Potter's better than Astoria too, although he's never saying that aloud.
Potter chuckles drunkenly: "It's also so soft..." he digs his nose within the blond mane and chuckles again: "and it smells like vanilla"
Draco makes half a snort, half a chuckle: "Vanilla? I don't think so, Potty. They seriously can't smell like vanilla"
'Nothing about me can smell like vanilla' he smugly thinks.
Potter sniffs again: "But it's what I smell, though"
"Your nose must be drunk too, Potty"
"Aggh!" Potter sighs "You'll never call me Harry, will you?" says a frustrated Harry Potter.
Draco opens his eyes, and it's weird because the very first thing he can see are Potter's eyes, right above his own. He smile a little serious smile: "Do you really want me to?"
His eyes are big and green, a dark green.
Astoria were almond shaped, and green too, but a lighter shade. They looked so seductive and sexy.
Potter's look like they can pierce his soul, like they can reach through him and the only thought makes Draco shudders.
He's not sure if it is in a bad or good way.
"Yes" Potter admits, with a somewhat pained expression: "Yes, I do. I lost Ginny, and I have to start back my whole life, I seriously don't want to refresh past tension between me and people I'm friend with, now" Draco swallows under Potter's honest smile, silent: "Don't you get it?" goes on the Saviour, smile soft and distant.
"What?" whispers Draco.
Potter comes closer to Draco's face: "You were my plan B, dumbass. After her"
And Draco knows who's 'her', doesn't need to ask for a clarification.
Because, really. He totally knows what Potter means, what he feels.
He smiles, and whispers back: "You were mine, too"
Potter keeps staring and smiling, and under those eyes Draco grows hungry of an hunger he's not felt in months.
He rolls over and sits, Potter's face following him, his back straightening as well.
"Can I kiss you?" asks Draco.
His voice has always been steady and clear, something Draco has always took pride on. With Astoria, it was soft and sexy and smooth and charming.
Now, it's only hoarse and revealing how much he's struggling with desire.
Potter is still smiling, and then he nods.
Draco leans closer, tentatively kneeling in front of the raven haired man. He leans down to his face, hand sneaking behind, fingers grasping hair. He kisses Potter, he kisses Harry Potter with a peck on his lips, and then another, and another, and another again, and his tongue slips past Potter's parted lips and the Saviour moans, and Draco loses it. Because he's kissing Harry Potter, his brain thinks. And then, his brain can go fuck itself, because Draco's so not caring about 'who' he's kissing, what's the implication of it, he only cares that the kiss is amazing and the body against his is so hard and hot and perfect.
He pushes Potter down on the carpet, still attached to his mouth, ravishing him, hands going everywhere. Potter's legs open for Draco's body, and close again over his strong back, encasing him, protecting him, while the Saviour's strong hands claws at Draco's shoulders, under his white shirt. And Draco doesn't know if he's more turned on by the hard definition of the muscle of that chest and arms, or the strong legs keeping him down. He doesn't know if it makes him feel more protected, or just plainly turned on. Maybe both.
They go on, moaning and kissing and grinding, erection against erection, and Draco slips a long fingered hand between them to unbuckle his pants and Potter's jeans. He grinds and grinds and grinds, and Potter moans in his mouth, still kissing him, open mouth, until the Saviour's hand grasp Draco's shoulders and push him up. Draco stops, panting, eyes lust blown, and gets up on his elbows.
"Up" Potter pants, and Draco gets on his hands and knees, Potter's hands letting him go just for that. Then, Potter's strong hands reach for Draco's suit pants and tug harshly at the button and unzip them. Potter gapes, he fucking gapes, and Draco smugly smirk, because Potter's eyes are on his freed dick, and Potter was totally not expecting him to go commando under the pants of the suit.
"Fuck, yeah" Potter murmurs, and his strong hand grasp so not gently at Draco's dick, fisting and sliding his thumb up and down its head, and Draco gasps and cants his hips, fucking Potter's fist, and then he dives down, capturing the Saviour's mouth again in another heated kiss, and he tries to force his body to lift an hand, balance himself on the other one and on his knees, and freaking tug down Potter's jeans and see Potter's dick, and touch him and fist him and, Merlin, something, something to have him writhe like Potter's having him now.
He manages to slip an hand inside Potter's black boxers and tug them down, jeans opened, and fuck, he knows he's good and he's got nothing to be shy of, but, fuck, how's that even possible that the man has that in his pants? Potter's cock is fucking huge, it's easily ten inches, and it's also thick and amazing, especially in contrast with his not that tall size, not that bulky figure. And, Merlin, but Draco loves it.
He dives down, not for Potter's mouth but for that piece of divinity of a manhood, and licks at the head, teasing Potter.
The Savious lets go of Draco's dick, and arches on the floor, allowing Draco to suck on him properly.
Sweet Mother of Merlin, but Potter tastes good too...
Draco swallows him whole and sucks and licks, one hand at the base of that cock, the other one down his own, desperately fisting himself while Potter fucks his head.
Oh, Merlin, oh Merlin, he's gonna come, he's gonna come, he's gonna come and Potter too, he's gonna make Potter come down his throat...
But Potter has a better plan, and he pulls on Draco's hair so hard that he can't but let go of that dick and stop sucking, and for a moment their eyes meet, and something in Draco's must have Potter's courage or dedication or plan or idea fly out the window, because he moans at him, noticing Draco's other hand still jerking his own erection. He growls, he fucking growls like a freaking tiger, and, hand still in Draco's fine hair, which is so turning him on more by the way, he throws Draco on the floor on his back, next to him, and mounts him, sliding both their cocks against each other and encasing them in one of his big, strong hands.
He jerks them off with steady, fast and expert movements, and Draco's fucking his fist and moaning, mouth open wide without him being able to close it, and he arches his back and Potter throws his head behind and there's light and pleasure and white and cries...
Silence.
They lay panting there, Potter on top, both shivering, the high annihilating the drunkenness. When their eyes meet, they feel so aware of who they are, what they've said, what they've done. That they're Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter and they've just jerked off each other, Draco sucked off Potter too, on a freaking floor.
And what does Potter do?
Potter smiles, shy: "So. Can I ask you out for tomorrow night?"
Draco starts laughing so hard that he rolls over his side, still under Potter's legs and body, and he hits his forehead on the carpeted floor with a soft 'thud', while Potter's content with hugging him tightly and smiling, Draco definitely doesn't mind.
He likes that.
A lot.
He pulls himself back up and smirks: "Smooth, Potter, really smooth"
He props himself on his elbows and pecks Potter on his nose, and stares at those vividly green eyes: "Harry" he corrects himself after a few seconds.
Potter, no, Harry, smiles so bright it's amazing he even needs light to see.
"So? Tomorrow? Is it a yes?" prompts a happy Harry Potter.
Draco nods: "Yes, it's a yes, and yes, tomorrow"
"Good" Potter says, so content with himself that Draco can't refrain from kissing the smugness off his face.
Then they reach Draco's bedroom and slip together under the silky sheets of his bed, and hug, and fall asleep.
Together.
Both thinking that, considering it was only a plan B, it worked better than the A.