Disclaimer: We do not, sadly, own any HP character.
Westkitsune: and certainly not Draco, -whines- We were supposed to post the whole story on Christmas, but cause we're busy we're just setting up the first chapter only today and FFn has a three-day can't-post-anything for new members. ELIE made this one, edited by me, and I will make the second one, edited by her.
ELIE: Maybe we could make it into a post-Christmas fic thing. Next, this is my first time writing a Harry Potter fic. So if they're OOC or if I got some of the information wrong, please don't hate me. I stuck with the Harry in denial, Malfoy constantly annoying angle. I don't Draco to be suuuper uke, if you know what I mean. I've quite based it on SasuNaru…
Westkitsune: I think it's brilliant anyway. Whelp, I'm off to write the second chapter. This is dedicated to every story I've ever reviewed or watched - I think if you know me or my name is there in your stats then I'm talking about you.
As/N: This story is inspired by an existing short shounen-ai manga under the same title. It was one of the four parts of the compilation, and just reading the story made us smile. This is a joint work by Westkitsune and ELIE. Hope you enjoy! Oh, and if you loved this please visit other fanfics made by us, on our specific accounts.
BEYOND MY TOUCH
Chapter 1.
There were very few things that surprised Harry Potter. After all, in all his years as an Auror, he was granted access to some of the most gruesome, breathtaking and traumatic scenes ever to cross this wizarding earth. Almost nothing had the ability to make his eyebrows shoot up. But like most things, there was an exception.
And Harry became aware of it just now.
"Dead… How could the fucking bastard be dead?" Harry muttered to himself as he fished for his key in his pocket. In front was the black door to his flat, with the walls covered in chipped white paint and set on one of the outskirts in the city. He continued on muttering as he kept on searching for the elusive key.
Of course, at this point in time, Harry was no longer surprised. He had recovered from the initial shock and was now experiencing denial. You can't really blame him for his reaction. After all, compared to the others, Harry's reaction was quite tame. But all the same, he could never deny the fact that he was surprised. Shocked, even.
But Draco Malfoy, the one who constantly picked on him, bullied him and considered him his greatest rival, dead?
Everything was happening too fast.
Harry managed to open the door with his now-found key and he then navigated himself in the dark place. He was too lazy to turn on the lights and too shocked about Malfoy's death to stop his muttering.
He went on about his disbelief after hearing the news that Malfoy was dead. He even managed to mention what a prick he had been when he was alive. But he still couldn't believe that he had kicked the bucket and was no longer among the living. He imagined his life after Hogwarts and he surely imagined the git to be there. He, as usual, would be a prat and would try to beat him in everything he'd do. It seems he assumed too much.
He finally turned on the lights—just because he realized he didn't know his flat that well. Harry automatically picked out his schedule for that night - make a sandwich for dinner, watch a bit of television and then turn in. This day was surely unlike any other, he needed more rest than usual. When Harry swept his gaze across the room, he noticed a few very odd things. For one, the place was clean. Well, as cleaner than yesterday anyway. Also, the furniture was rearranged. He could've sworn that small bookshelf was somewhere near the door. But probably the oddest thing inside the room was the presence of a certain individual.
Draco Malfoy was standing in front of him, one hand on Harry's couch, the other on his own hip with that same, lazy smirk pasted on his face. He blinked when the light turned on and turned around at the sound of a squeak behind him, and then grey eyes clashed with green.
"Oh fuck it," Draco muttered. He was sure Potter heard him because his eyes widened right after Draco said it. It was obvious that Potter was currently speechless and was trying hard to grope for the words to accurately describe what he wants say.
Draco watched as the brunette tried to find the words that were obviously lost to him—just for the heck of it. Finally, after being convinced that Potter was not going to say anything sensible soon, Draco sighed dramatically and said. "I was thinking of a perfect entrance when you turned on the lights. You have the worst timing as usual, Potter."
"What the hell are you doing here?" Harry finally said, evidently flabbergasted.
"That's not a very nice welcome," Draco told him.
"Who ever said you were welcome? What are you doing, acting like you own this flat?"
"Oh come on Potter, there's no need to be like that," Draco told him pointedly. At this point, he managed to sit down on the couch he was previously struggling hard on pushing.
"You… You…" Harry searched for the words. "You're supposed to be dead!"
"I am. Haven't you heard of the news?" Draco merely smirked.
"Well, yeah. But you're not supposed to be in my living room!" the brunette pointed an accusing finger at the blonde, who seemed unaffected by all of this.
"That is up to me, now isn't it?" Draco's smirk widened. He was having so much fun teasing the Boy Who Lived. It brought back such sweet memories.
Of life.
Of living.
Oh come on, I've told myself about this at least a hundred times, Draco told himself silently. Time to grow up, Malfoy.
"Let's take this slowly," Harry instructed Draco, to which the blonde replied with a nod. "You died. You had some unfinished business and now it's preventing you from crossing to the other side. Is that right?"
The two were now seated opposite each other. Harry was now back to his sensible, calm self and was trying to figure out the how's and why's of Draco's presence in his living room. So far, they were doing great. But now Harry has to find out what's pulling Draco back. He does want him to have eternal rest. Even Malfoy deserves that much.
"Exactly," Draco replied.
"What exactly is that 'unfinished business' that's holding you back?" Harry inquired. He leaned just a bit closer to Draco. Draco, of course, was aware of this. He covered his blush by smiling slyly.
"I want to snog you," he replied with a grin.
It took exactly two and a half seconds before Harry could find his voice. It took another two seconds for Harry to figure out exactly what to reply to Malfoy's previous statement.
"What?" his eyes promptly bugged out at Malfoy's words and he could've sworn his voice raised a pitch higher than intended.
"I said, I want to snog you," Malfoy grinned lazily, batting up his long eyelashes at him. Harry frowned. The bastard was enjoying this!
"Why the hell would you want to do that?" the brunette demanded.
The Slytherin merely shrugged. Harry knew that Malfoy was teasing him. It was clearly written on the prick's pouty, adorable face! But Malfoy must know that he was no pushover. He was Harry Potter. He didn't get teased.
"Then you'll have to wait 'til Hell freezes before you can go to the other side." Harry told him pointedly and then stormed off to his bedroom, slamming the door shut on the way.
How wrong was this? It was Harry's flat and he was the one who stormed off. Malfoy should be the one leaving! Not that his presence was entirely unwelcome… but everything was happening too fast for his liking. And now Malfoy wants to snog him? Where did that come from? And since when?
Dear Lord.
"Potter,"
Harry whipped his head at the sound of his name. He found a sort-of-transparent, sort-of-not Malfoy in front of him. It was only then that Harry realized that he was taller than the said Malfoy by a few good inches. But that was totally irrelevant to the situation at hand. The blonde peered up at him through the fringe on his forehead, and when silence stretched on the smaller man fidgeted and blushed awkwardly.
"Malfoy," he said—just to be able to say something.
"I'm determined to wait," Malfoy told him, his face dead serious.
"For what?" It was stupid of Harry to even ask when he knew the answer. But he wanted to be sure.
"For you to snog me," Draco replied, his face still devoid of emotions save for grim determination. Harry fancied that he saw something soft pass through those orbs.
"Suit yourself," Harry shrugged and headed back to his flat.
"Good morning!"
Harry recognized that voice and that blurry figure even without his glasses. There was no mistaking that shock of platinum head. But he still couldn't imagine Malfoy with a voice that cheerful. It simply didn't match his evil and scheming image of him from before. He scrambled in his bed to sit up and then he narrowed his eyes at Malfoy.
"Exactly what the hell are you holding?" Harry asked suspiciously.
"Woke up from the wrong side of the bed, didn't you?" Malfoy shook his head. "You'll know what I'm holding once you put on your glasses,"
Harry grumbled but obeyed. He grabbed his glasses from his side table and rammed it up his nose. Yep, Malfoy was right. He did recognize what the blonde was holding.
It was breakfast.
"You can cook?" Harry asked incredulously.
"Of course," Malfoy replied matter-of-factly, as if it was common knowledge.
"Are you sure this is edible?" the brunette narrowed his eyes at the tray Malfoy was holding.
"Are you questioning my cooking skills?" Malfoy asked, obviously insulted.
At this, Harry came to realize a few—but very important—things. First off, no one ever cooked anything for him. Ron's pathetic attempt to try to practice on cooking for Hermione at Harry's house is not considered cooking at all. It fell on the category "creating chaos." Besides, the final product looked nothing like normal.
Secondly, he realized that there was more to Malfoy than what he let people think. Harry knew that Malfoy was more than the stuck-up brat he met at Hogwarts before. And that much was proven when he got to know him better. Now, cooking breakfast for him—when he was a ghost—and being kind enough to tolerate his bastard-ness, he realized that there was more to know about Malfoy than he thought.
Third and last, he was never greeted "good morning" the first thing he woke up. Until now, that is. He never let people stay in his flat unless for work-related purposes. The only exceptions to this were Ron and Hermione. And now Malfoy was added to the list. He gave a glance at the apprehensive look that Draco was giving him and felt something stir in his chest.
"Well?" Draco snapped.
"I'm going to eat it," Harry told him, and then grabbed the tray from his hands.
Draco smiled smugly.
"Would you mind if I asked you to buy some Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans?" Draco asked while his hands were busy fixing Harry's books in alphabetical order.
It was quite some time after Harry first saw Draco's ghost in his living room. In the end, Harry decided to let him stay. He was the reason why Draco couldn't "pass over," so to speak. In return, Draco tried to help him maintain the flat, tried being the operative word.
Draco once attempted to cook dinner for him, only to burn the chicken they were supposed to have. That one time Draco managed to prepare an edible breakfast for Harry, he used the instant kind of hotcakes, the bread on the counter and the left-over orange juice. Although not entirely his work, Harry still appreciated the gesture (though he was not about to tell Draco just that).
Also, Draco had the annoying habit of annoying Harry whenever he could. He would follow him to work, infuriate him and then leave. And because he was a ghost, he could appear almost everywhere he wished. This, needless to say, annoyed Harry to no end.
That part about Draco waiting for Harry to snog him was a complete lie. Harry would've expected utmost patience from Draco, hearing those words but it seems that Draco had no idea what he was talking about when he let go of those words. He nagged Harry to no end, even made a top ten list on "Why You Should Snog Me," and never failed to remind Harry every single day about it.
Even Harry Potter had his own limits.
"Yes," Harry snapped at him. "I do mind,"
"All I'm asking for is one pack," Malfoy pointed out.
"Malfoy, you've been asking one too many things this week,"
"What the hell are you talking about? No, I haven't!" Draco retorted hotly.
"Yes, you are!" Harry told him. "First, you ask me to call you by your first name—"
"Which you are yet to do," Malfoy reminded. Harry glared at him.
"Then you ask me to buy a whole new wardrobe because my current one sucks—"
"Well, it does!"
"You also asked me to buy new wallpaper because the walls clash with the couch—"
"I still don't understand why you have absolutely no color coordination,"
"And now you're asking me to go out of my way to buy some candy?!"
"Bertie Bott's is not just candy!" Malfoy told him hotly. "I happen to like them very much!"
"Well frankly, I don't care what you like!"
"I think I've gathered that much," Draco snapped at him. His glare met Harry's and the two were now engaged in a fierce glaring battle of some sort.
"This is stupid. I'm going to work," Harry said through clenched teeth. He grabbed his coat and left Malfoy with the dictionary in his hand.
Why does that prick have this much effect on me? Harry grumbled as he stared at the pile of paperwork on his table. He hasn't done anything productive so far because this morning's argument kept replaying in his mind. They fight, of course. It's practically automatic that every time they're in the same room, fighting is inevitable. I can't even work because of him!
Tired and resigned, Harry decided to leave the paperwork for tomorrow. There was no way in hell that he would be able to work with him and Draco in not very good terms. He then decided to go home, confront Draco and settle this whole snog-me-or-I'll-stay-here-forever thing.
Not that he didn't like Draco.
He liked Draco, actually. He hoped that at the end of Hogwarts, they'd be able to be good friends. But fate was too quick for both of them and now, Draco was dead. Harry thought that that was the end of it. That the friendship he and Draco shared—although brief—would be enough to last his lifetime. And yet, fate managed to surprise him once more by bringing Draco to his flat, claiming that he needs to snog Harry to be able to cross over to the other side.
Did he want to snog Draco?
He didn't know, really.
Once Harry reached the same black door that leads to his flat, his hand automatically went to his pocket, searching for his key. He was already thinking of what he'll tell Malfoy. He'd open the conversation with: "That fight this morning was completely immature." Depending on Malfoy's reply, he may or may not apologize.
He hoped he'd apologize. He didn't want to keep fighting with Malfoy. It was affecting his work. And dammit, it was making him feel certain feelings such as guilt and the desire to ask for forgiveness. Feelings he'd rather not have, thank you very much.
Harry opened the door. 'You can do this,' he chanted to himself like a mantra. His heart gave a little leap as he saw Draco in the middle of the room, arranging the magazines that were lying on the floor that morning. He was determined to start the conversation while Draco was determined to ignore him.
Harry opened his mouth to speak when he saw something very, very weird.
"Malfoy, what's happening to your hands?" Harry asked, almost urgently.
"What about my—oh fuck!" Malfoy stared at his hands in horror.
His hands were fading.
To Be Continued
Westkitsune: Well dearer, Harry's been a right bastard to Draco all this time, what will happen now that Draco's' fading? Dum dum dum!
ELIE: Please review!