Title: "Cui Prodest"
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: hard R (overall)
Timeline: post-HBP
Summary: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. Please R&R!
Pairings: Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny, minor Ron/Hermione (in various chapters), etc.
Disclaimer: 'Harry Potter' belongs to JKR. The song 'Do This Anymore' belongs to Nickelback. The title for the chapter comes from a song by Muse. Hell! What is here that belongs to me!?
Special thanks: to my brilliant beta Lady Domino. Without her, it was a number of words. Now – it is a story.
A/N: This idea has been pestering me for a while. I planned it to be a one-shot but it seems to have grown far longer. My work controls me… again! Enjoy!
CUI PRODEST
Chapter 1
Loneliness Be Over
Left on an eastbound train, gone first thing this morning.
Why's what's best for you, always the worst thing for me?
They had another fight, and Draco stormed out of the small hotel room and into the night. Harry lowered himself on the bed, shaking nervously. Incomprehensible! What cruel fate made this decision for him? What imbecile puppeteer with a twisted sense of humour brought this responsibility upon him? To look after the Malfoy heir, to hide him from the cold-blooded shadow that would suck out his soul for such a morbid thing – to escape the Death Eaters' justice.
Harry hated it almost as much as he hated Malfoy himself. He could admit to it freely now: there were times when he wanted the bastard dead, sprawled at his feet, covered in blood, his expressive grey eyes lifelessly dim, his marble skin coated with a net of thin red scratch-marks and cuts. The closer he felt Voldemort's presence, the colder Harry was becoming. The harder his heart turned. His flagging sympathy for Malfoy, when he had failed to kill Dumbledore had gradually flowed into resentment, disrespect for having ruined such an important task, and then, all of a sudden, to grudge in its worst way. Harry was unnerved by these feeling at first, then ultimately frightened. He could not tell where he himself ended and Voldemort began.
Malfoy sought refuge and found it. Harry boiled with rage when those soft-hearted people, members of his Order – his Order – offered a Malfoy protection. Malfoy lived in a hotel and none other than his eternal school enemy was assigned to protect him.
No matter how much Harry protested, no one would listen.
They fought. They screamed at each other. They hurled plates and various small pieces of furniture at each other.
Harry understood the reason perfectly well. He could explain why he always was the one to initiate the fight. He knew why Draco never resisted. It wasn't that hard, was it? After all, 'Malfoy' was a synonym for 'aristocratic reserve'.
They loved to see each other go mad. They couldn't stand the peace, the quiet, the boredom of a normal conversation. Each would throw punches and sharp insults at his adversary, and they would both enjoy the brutality of it all. They would scream until their throats were sore. They would run short of breath. Their muscles would ache. But if they truly wanted to hurt each other, they would go for their wands. And they never did.
When am I gonna learn? Why? Cause I'm tired of hating.
When will it be your turn? Why? Cause I'm tired of waiting.
Harry chased him to the outskirts of the city and shrieked: "How the fuck dare you walk out on me? We haven't finished yet!"
His gaze slid over Malfoy, standing still by the water. His sleeve rolled up; Voldemort's Mark was exposed. He was letting the soft breeze blowing from the pond caress his pale skin. Harry seemed to know the feeling. The Mark hurt and scorched the skin around and underneath itself almost like his own lightning bolt-shaped scar.
He approached the boy and stood quietly beside him. Drained of emotions and strength, he just wanted to keep quiet while it was still possible. He felt too dependant on his quarrels with Malfoy… on Malfoy himself.
He patted Draco's shoulder lightly. "What is it?"
"Sick of it," a muffled response came. Harry arched his eyebrows. "Sick of you. Of your blasted Order. Of V-Vol… Well, you know."
"If that pleases you, I'll have you know that I can barely stand your company as well."
"Then we are both lucky," snorted Draco.
Behind them, birds chirped in the trees. A plump duck splashed clumsily through the water. Some kids threw crums of bread in its direction. The duck eyed the dainties cautiously, then dipped its rounded beak in the water and swallowed. It uttered a satisfactory quacking and headed towards the children, eager for more food.
A gaggle of teenage girls, perhaps a bit younger than Harry and Draco who were passing by, eyed up the boys. "And the blond one has a cool tattoo," Harry heard them giggle.
"How long am I to stay there?" Draco inquired, suddenly, breaking the silence that stretched between them; a yawning gulf of words unsaid. His voice made Harry shiver. He eyed his golden-haired nemesis hesitantly, then shrugged.
"I don't know. You can't leave anyway. You've nowhere to go. In fact, I'm not sure I–".
He mumbled the last words so quietly that he himself couldn't understand whether he had spoken them out loud. Malfoy cocked his head. The wind ruffled his hair, and a single sunbeam slid along his fringe and transformed it into a stream of liquid gold. The boy looked breathtakingly handsome.
"Come again, Potter," he demanded.
"I don't want you to go," Harry confessed. The situation was awkward and he had recently been plagued by strange feelings and emotions he was never accustomed to dealing with. He prayed something would happen to save him from burning and shrivelling into ashes in the flames of his own shame. Unexpectedly, Draco gave him a helping hand.
"No one else to fight with?" he asked in sympathetic mockery. Harry blushed and slapped him on the elbow.
"Exactly!"
No I don't, no I don't, no I don't,
Well, no, I don't find faith in your forced feelings,
Not fooled by your misleadings,
Won't buy this line your selling,
Tired of this lie your telling.
I won't, I don't, no I won't do this anymore!
Harry stood in the shower, minutes stretching endlessly in slow motion, and let the water wash away his fatigue. He shut his weary eyes with such force that painfully bright flares exploded before his sight.
Malfoy hadn't really been himself that day. Funny. He'd acted almost… pleasantly. They'd almost worked out a civilized conversation. Harry could never understand whether Draco meant what he said or whether it was just another complex mannerism of his. Harry hated feeling helpless. But he just couldn't decipher the real Draco amidst all that teasing, acting and pretence. Maybe that was what it meant to be a Malfoy, to hide yourself beneath different miasmas of behaviour and to permanently confuse.
Harry's eyes were burning, stinging from the water's hot touch. He looked up, opened his mouth and took a deep breath. Water streamed down his face, boiled all around him, leaked through the splinters in the cubicle walls. Harry pressed his forehead to the heated plastic. His hair glistened, glued to his skull like damp film.
The door slid open. Cold air burst into the cubicle. Harry looked up. Malfoy's pale face appeared in puffs of smoke in the doorway.
"Do you mind?" Potter hissed and seized the door, hoping to shut it before even a glimpse of him could be caught.
Unfortunately, Malfoy thrust his leg forward quickly enough to prevent him from doing so. Water dripped down on his newly polished shoe. With a curved grimace of distaste, he ignored the fact and uttered casually, "Just got a message from your Order. It concerns my family. I hope you don't mind. I took it upon myself to read it. My mother's in France and all my bank accounts have been closed."
"I'm very sorry," said Harry impatiently. "What do you want me to do about it?"
"Talk to your precious Order, of course! I want my money. You have connections in the Ministry, don't you?"
Harry shook his head, searching for the right words. Finally he drew out spitefully, "Fucking extortioner! Close the door, now!"
Draco examined him as if aware for the first time how embarrassing the situation must have been for Harry, and nodded.
"Fine. There's nothing to look at, anyway."
Before Harry could hit him, he pranced out of the bathroom, his laughter echoed in the hall. Potter punched the wall hard with his fist and spat:
"For a moment I thought I saw a human being inside you."
She says I'm only tellin' half of it.
That's probably coz there's only half worth tellin'.
And every time I try to laugh it off
That's when you turn around and wind up yellin'.
"Ginny, what are you doing here?" Harry asked wearily.
It had been a dreadful day. It had seemed inevitable that soon forces of the Order would clash with the Death Eaters. But no one had been keen enough to foresee the loss would be so unbearable. Many of those Harry barely knew fell. Many of those he'd known very well fell too. Too shocked to focus on business, too drained to think clearly, Harry lay on the bed in his recently rented apartment (he hated to endanger the Order and appeared in its headquarters at Grimmauld Place only if the matters pressed him to do so), staring blankly at the ceiling.
Nothing mattered.
Ginny sat down and intertwined her fingers with his own. He raised his hand, causing hers to follow, and marvelled how coarse and rough it was next to her delicate one. He planted a brief kiss on the hollow between her thumb and forefinger.
"I know we've agreed not to see each other more than it's necessary," she said quietly, "but I fear for you. You've grown so detached. I hardly recognize you now."
He sighed. How was it possible to explain why he became so unsociable; how could he tell her that the only place that made him feel like home was that wretched hotel room where every single thing exhaled the aura of the man he hated more with every breath he took? How could he comfort her, tell her that after the war was over he would be the same, swear that he still loved her with all his heart?
"Ginny, I… I don't know what to say."
In fact, he had nothing to say. He didn't want to talk. He cradled her in his arms, and they lay silently on the bed.
"It feels like you're hiding something from me," Ginny said. Her voice sounded dull and expressionless. Harry could only be lost in conjectures about her inner turmoil that she was so lucky to hide. Of the two of them, she was the stronger now.
"Nothing," he muttered stubbornly and clenched his teeth.
Ginny sat upright and remained still for a few minutes. Harry touched her shoulder lightly. She looked so fragile he was afraid she'd snap in two under his touch. A porcelain doll with her inherited flaming red hair, her beautiful watering eyes, her lips that always reminded him of rose petals… He kissed her temple and whispered that he loved her. And then, that she had to go. And then, that he loved her, again, and that he always would. She forced a smile and left.
When am I gonna learn? Why? Cause I'm tired of hating.
When will it be your turn? Why? Cause I'm tired of waiting.
Darkness veiled the city. Every street-torch burnt out, and night swallowed the suburbs. All that could bring out hope was gone in the fog.
Harry entered the hotel room with a package of food from the local supermarket. It was dark, curtains down just as he had requested. An intensive smell of nicotine pervaded the air. Harry sneezed, unprepared.
Loud German music was playing nearby. Harry looked out of the window. It was beginning to rain. He scanned the street, then shut the window, relieved to have seen nothing suspicious.
"Malfoy."
No response came. Harry tried again. Music, now hushed a bit, mixed with the suffocating silence, creating an odd and eerie atmosphere. Harry noticed a flicker of light underneath the bathroom door.
"Malfoy! It's me, Potter. Let me in."
The music swelled louder. Harry stretched his neck to check if he had indeed closed the window. Its rough rhythm along with the harsh disturbing words in a language he didn't know penetrated within his mind. It buzzed inside his skull. Harry pulled the door-knob.
"Malfoy! Draco… I need to know if you're okay."
He stepped back as the door half-opened. Draco lounged in the cubicle, holding a bottle of ice-tea, dressed in soft cotton shirt and loose pants. Harry lowered his head and muttered, "Have you been smoking?"
"They have." For a moment he stared at Potter with that impassive gaze of his, making him flinch. "A couple of Voldemort's servants, lower rank, perhaps. What would my father say? The Dark Lord's become too desperate because of you, Potter. Filling his ranks with scum. And this guy in the next room…"
"What about him?" asked Harry, not quite sure if he could still catch up on the conversation.
Draco was neither drunk, nor drugged, to his knowledge. But the way he was talking… and suddenly it hit Harry: the boy was extremely scared, out of himself with abysmal fear that feasted upon his very gut and stole his breath.
"…killed himself," Draco went on. Harry blinked. "With a gun. Damn it, I heard the shot. And you know what… these Muggles… their little thundering sticks… It's the worst sound in the world. It tears the thin air apart. It hits your very brain on the rebound, it thunders in your ears. It makes you sick."
"Don't think about it," Harry whispered mindlessly.
He patted Draco's shoulder carefully. Malfoy gripped his wrist and guided his hand to his chest. Harry didn't resist. His palm touched the fabric of his shirt; the boy's heart was thumping – Potter felt it through the barrier of material and skin and ribs. It never occurred to him that a powerful wizard could be so frightened by a Muggle weapon. But Draco's expression was that of genuine fear. Evidently he'd rather face several Killing Curses cast by the most elite of the Dark Lord's minions that hear that sound again.
They continued in silence until Harry asked, "Who was here?"
"Some werewolves. Greyback's lackeys. Idiots; ferocious and carnivorous idiots with hens' brains." As always, Draco's appraisal was superior but accurate. Harry grinned at that.
"Your attitude's not getting us anywhere safe, you know," he chided in a soft voice.
No I don't, no I don't, no I don't,
No, I don't find faith in your forced feelings,
Not fooled by your misleadings,
Won't buy this line your selling,
Tired of this lie your telling.
I won't, I don't, no, I won't do this anymore!
Harry didn't know why he stayed for the night. When the pale morning glow lit the room, he woke up to find himself curled up on the couch under a warm blanket, his glasses placed on the nightstand under his very nose, making it easy for him to locate them. Harry hated waking up to obscurity, pitifully shortsighted as he was.
He saw Malfoy hunched over the table, scribbling some kind of a note. It took the best of Harry to get up noiselessly and approach him. He looked down over Malfoy's shoulder but he had no time to distinguish anything in the boy's neat calligraphic writing. Swift as a flying arrow, Malfoy squared his shoulders and whirled on him.
"What is that?" Harry inquired in a steady Auror's tone.
"Nothing that would be of your concern," was Malfoy's reply. He crumpled the sheet of paper and shoved it into his pocket, then smiled welcomingly as if daring Harry to try and extract it from there.
Potter gulped nervously. Then turned away. Behind him, Draco snorted. Did he ever understand what power he had upon his forced protector? Once again, Harry loathed him for it – as much as he resented himself at the moment. He hated the other so passionately that he considered bringing a gun and firing it in the air in front of Malfoy, if not shooting him.
Suddenly He span around and pinned Malfoy to the floor. The blond glared at him, wide-eyed with amusement, making Potter even more resolute. He thrust his hand into the pocket of Malfoy's pants and stroked his hip unwittingly in search for the accursed paper. Draco licked his lips, then put his mouth to Harry's ear and whispered, "Look thoroughly, or you'll miss something important."
Shudders ran through Potter's body. It took a lot of reserve to ignore the taunt. He bit his lip and continued searching. Something soft enveloped his fingers. He took it out, a silken handkerchief, and threw it on the coach. Draco laughed huskily. His breath tickled Harry's skin. Despite himself, the boy ended up blushing violently.
Malfoy arched his back, trying to shift underneath Harry, and pretended to be upset at the failed attempt.
"Don't move!" snarled Potter and punched him in the ribcage. Draco whimpered and laughed hoarsely again, unable to restrain himself. "Are you really enjoying yourself?"
"Hell, yes! One look at your face–. Ouch!"
Harry leaned heavily on his victim and moved his hand faster. His cheeks flushed. He lowered his face to Malfoy's one, half sensing their breath mix, their pulse quicken. Draco raised his upper body as much as he could possibly do with Harry lying atop him and turned his hips a bit.
Harry stiffened, concentrating on the outrageous depth of the pocket instead of some alluring hardness he was feeling against his hand.
"Why are you so tense?" Malfoy wondered in a mockingly innocent tone.
At last a scrap of paper revealed itself to Harry. He sat upright, his back painfully rigid. He mastered his breath and examined the white field of the note with interest.
1 French loaf of bread
1 blood pudding
half a cheese
1 bottle of mineral water
2 packets of apple juice…
Harry paused, uncertain.
"What's that?"
"What does it look like?"
"A grocery list!" Indignant, Harry leapt away from the youth and eyed him spitefully. In a smooth, liquid motion, Malfoy was back on his feet in an instant. "All that – because of a simple grocery list!? I can't believe it."
"I was bored," Malfoy shrugged.
His playful mood, however, was contagious. Potter jumped him, putting all his exasperation into a series of hard blows. They rolled on the floor, overthrowing each other in turns, gaining and losing control in a blink of an eye. His breath shaky, Harry collapsed on top of Malfoy and was aware of the double entendre of their position. Draco's knee was squeezed between his thighs. His hand clutched the fabric of the t-shirt on Harry's shoulder; the other rested on the small of his back, threatening to slide even lower.
"Stop that, please," Potter demanded at once.
Malfoy's lips curved into a teasing smirk. "Stop what?"
"Release me!"
Once the grip on his limbs loosened, Harry rose and almost hardly rushed to the door, muttering under his breath, "You're a sick fuck, you know that?"
"Tsk, tsk, language, Mr Potter," Draco responded in Professor Snape's taunting classroom manner.
She says I'm only tellin' half of it.
That's probably coz there's only half worth tellin'.
And every time I try to laugh it off,
That's when you turn around and wind up yellin'.
It was never that hard before. Harry feared that constant battles had turned him into an immature emotional cripple for he found it hard now to make himself feel something for just about anyone. Hours passed by, turning into days, blending into nights. The skies remained starless and blurry. Taking off his glasses, Harry seated himself into a big armchair in Grimmauld Place's living room and stared blindly at the walls.
"We've been delayed," Hermione said. Her disembodied voice woke him up and forced to look up at her. "I've checked all the notes; apparently we're on the right track. We can go after the Horcruxes now."
Harry nodded, dazed. To finally lay his hands at least on one piece of Voldemort's wretched soul would be… He struggled to find the word. Nothing seemed to fit. Ron's hand on his shoulder snapped him back to reality.
"You all right, mate?"
Harry nodded, his expression grave and aloof. Apparently, Ron knew nothing of his little tiff with Ginny, and he intended to keep it that way. Playing the hard part of an overprotective older brother, Ron occasionally got carried away.
"Guys, could you–?" Harry tousled his raven hair nervously. "Could you give me some privacy?"
When they left, puzzled by his odd behaviour, he half-lay in the arm-chair, clutching his wand, just thinking and asking himself,
When am I gonna learn? Why? Cause I'm tired of hating.
When will it be your turn? Why? Cause I'm tired of waiting.
Probably never…