Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

This is a story I wrote back in 2013 for Kedavranox. Since it's a gift, all the things I wrote here are catered to Kedavranox's taste, however I still hope it suits yours, too. :)

Thank you so much to my brilliant beta and first readers, as well as my lovely britpicker and cheerleaders (Sara's Girl, Eyms13, Geneva, Lusi), because without them I wouldn't have done this. Thank you to the mods for holding HD Erised Fest and for being so helpful—I really appreciate your suggestions!

Happy reading! ^^

30 Days of Reasons for Tomorrow

Harry was getting restless. Something was crawling under his skin, making him itch all over, and he tried hard not to move. He could feel his hands starting to shake, so he curled his fingers into fists.

"Could you please do something about it, Mr Potter?" Mrs Malfoy asked, dabbing her forehead with an embroidered handkerchief. It had been almost two hours since she dragged him outside to examine the gate of Malfoy Manor, and she couldn't stop fussing, pushing, or generally forcing him to bring the dead metal's magic back to life. Harry just wished she could do this another time, not now when he could hardly concentrate on his job.

"I think this might have something to do with the wards," said Harry. He wiped his forehead, too, knowing there must have been sweat there despite the cloudy November weather. "I'm not sure it'll work even if I charm it again."

"But you will be able to repair the gates, will you not, Mr Potter? Everyone talks about your expertise, I'm sure there must be some truth to it," said Mrs Malfoy softly, dabbing her cheek this time. Harry gritted his teeth at her obvious insincerity.

"Perhaps you should hire an expert on wards."

"Oh, I agree, I already told Draco to locate the best one in England."

"Then please contact me again when he's succeeded," said Harry. The shaking in his hands grew stronger, so he surreptitiously slid them into his cloak pockets. He was beginning to feel faint, his heart hammered loudly in his ears.

Mrs Malfoy nodded, looking sad. "Very well. I will have Draco contact you."

"Sorry I can't be of much help right now," said Harry, not at all meaning it. He closed his eyes for a moment to regain his balance, before adding, "I'll see if I can find anything at home."

Mrs Malfoy gave a soft hum, and Harry found her eyes on him disconcerting. "I'd really appreciate that." She folded her handkerchief, sliding it into her cloak pocket gracefully. "Shall we wait for Draco's return inside?" she asked.

Harry quickly shook his head. "No, if that's all, I need—must go home now. I have an appointment."

"But the sun is still high and I'm sure Draco will be—"

"—pleased if he doesn't have to see me," finished Harry. Maybe his tone was a bit too harsh, judging from the way Mrs Malfoy's eyebrows arched, but he couldn't be arsed right now. The sun wasn't even there, for fuck's sake. "Sorry, but I really need to go," he added. Not wanting to be held off any longer, he gave a curt nod and spun on his heels, hoping to Apparate once he was out of the wards' reach. He didn't expect to bump into Malfoy who had just materialised from Apparition, though.

"Ow, Potter," Malfoy said, his hands gripped Harry's shoulders. He looked like he was about to say something snappy, but thinking better of it. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Harry growled, extracting himself from Malfoy. Oddly, Malfoy was merely observing Harry with that look again—the look Harry had grown accustomed to this last year, ever since . . .

Shaking himself, Harry took a step back and clenched his fists tighter inside his pockets. He felt the length of his wand, pressing against the inside of his right arm, and concentrated on it, rather than staring at Malfoy standing in his all-black winter uniform. Harry resented the perfect fall of the material around Malfoy's body, and the way Malfoy's fringe tousled slightly. No doubt he had just come back from another exhausting case. Abruptly, Harry closed his eyes and willed his magic to Apparate him out of the Malfoy grounds.

He emerged in his flat, stumbling slightly. Rushing into his bedroom, he discarded his work cloak, robes and the rest of his clothes in haste. He chose a loose T-shirt and a pair of jeans from his messy wardrobe, carelessly pulling them on. He snatched his jacket and considered leaving his wand, but he didn't think he would be able to stand walking the distance with all the tremors in his limbs. Giving up, he took his wand and Apparated out of the flat.

The narrow alley was dark as always, even though the night hadn't come yet. It might be because all of the buildings in its surroundings shaded the sun, and the English weather itself didn't help much when it came to sunlight, obviously. Harry walked down the alley, his hand tracing the bricks on the wall. It was a Muggle area, and who would suspect that at the back of all the mighty office buildings, there was a small path that led to an empty yard? It wasn't that big, but enough to hold about forty to fifty people gathering there. Bottles of spirits cluttered in a corner, crates and empty boxes occupied the other. The walls around belonged to the office buildings, and they displayed interesting graffiti in bright colours. Drawings of naked women, and several male body parts as well as dirty words adorned the walls. Harry hooked his thumbs into his jacket pockets and smiled.

"Harry!" A man, Andrew, raised his hand. He flicked his brown fringe off his forehead and grinned crookedly. Next to him, another man with spiked, blond hair twisted his lithe body to look at Harry from under lowered eyelashes.

"Hullo, gorgeous," the blond man, Myer, purred.

"No one else here?" Harry asked, not even bothering to hide the way he ogled at them. He wrapped an arm around Andrew's shoulders, causing his fringe to settle back over his deep black eyes. Harry liked those eyes, especially in the dim light. They looked predatory and that thought alone could send a satisfying jolt down his groin.

"Sadly—or fortunately, no," replied Andrew, cupping Harry's cheeks and pulling him into a kiss. The kiss soon escalated into something more fervent, wilder. It was all about hands sweeping all over skin under jackets and T-shirts, tongues and saliva and the delicious friction as hips sliding against hips. Harry could sense the shaking in his hands subsiding, the itching replaced with something incredible surging through his veins.

"Mm, Harry," Myer said in a low voice. He watched Harry from where he perched on one of the crates, caressing his own neck. Harry lolled his head to the side, letting Andrew lick and suck at the length of his jaw, and enjoying the view of Myer seductively stroking himself. Harry moaned as Andrew bit at his earlobe.

"Do you want to go to my place?" asked Andrew before kissing Harry's lips again. Harry didn't answer for what seemed like forever, until Andrew pulled back and smiled.

"Yeah, yeah. Anything," Harry whispered, breathless.

"Do you want Myer to watch?" Andrew's eyes glinted with something sly, and Harry shivered.

"Thanks, mate, but I'll pass," said Myer from behind Harry, just before he felt strong hands kneading his arse cheeks. "Unfortunate, really, but I'll be here Saturday night. You'll come, won't you, Harry?"

"Mm-hmm," answered Harry, distracted by the feel of fingers trailing so near to the crease of his arse.

"Right. Come on, Harry," murmured Andrew against the skin of Harry's neck. "We'll have to do something with that arse of yours."

"God, yes," hissed Harry, as Myer slapped his arse. His nerves tingled with anticipation, and he nearly Apparated them to Andrew's flat. It wouldn't do to scare these Muggles away, he reminded himself. He needed to hang on to the last straw of his patience and hoped the short journey to Andrew's flat would be worth it. Judging from past experiences, he thought it would be.

Andrew chuckled. He kissed Harry hungrily one more time before tugging at his hand. "I'm going to make you scream," he said, pulling Harry faster towards the narrow way out, Myer's laughter echoing behind them. Harry struggled to control himself and eagerly followed Andrew. A good shag, that was all he needed. And usually it worked.

. .
. .

Harry knew he couldn't avoid Draco Malfoy forever, but when Malfoy opened the door to his workshop, Harry still felt the overwhelming urge to groan. Malfoy was looking immaculate, a sign that there wasn't any exhausting case involving Muggles today. Harry had to stop himself from asking why he could read Malfoy by merely looking at his uniform and hair, and he forced his eyes back down to the Snitch in his hands.

"I'm closed, Malfoy. Can't you read the sign?"

"Doesn't mean I can't come in, Potter. You didn't lock the door." Malfoy's lazy voice grated on Harry's nerves. "Mother told me to give you a message."

"And an owl wouldn't do?" Harry made a show of rolling his eyes as he put down the Snitch. Malfoy ignored him and picked up the winged object from the worktable.

"Is this supposed to be the rumoured new one from Oliver Quidditch?"

"Er. Yes?"

"So you're the one who charms them."

"Will charm them," corrected Harry. "I'm still designing the charm."

Malfoy hummed, bringing the Snitch closer to his eyes, letting the light from the Muggle lamp on the ceiling reflect on its golden surface. "It's much lighter. Will it fly as fast as has been rumoured?"

"I'm trying." Harry shrugged. "But you're not here to talk about that."

Putting the Snitch back down on the table, Malfoy gave a shrug of his own. "No, I'm not. But you'll appreciate my efforts to put your mind at ease in a moment."

"What do you mean?"

"The wards expert, Potter. The best one in Britain is out of the country, therefore I've had to settle on the second choice."

"The second—"

"Zacharias Smith."

Harry gaped. "Smith?"

"The one and only. Hufflepuff and a git to the bone."

"You're one to talk about being a git," Harry snapped. "Whatever. I'm a professional. I can work with him if I have to—I can even work with you, so that's saying something."

"Indeed, Potter, I'm sure working with Smith and I will satisfy your noble desire to straighten our twisted moralities."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

Malfoy did just that, shrugging a shoulder and proceeding to inspect all the trinkets in the glass display. He remained silent for long minutes, while Harry resumed work on the Snitch, almost forgetting Malfoy's presence in his workshop. When Malfoy finally spoke again, he tapped the glass softly two times. "Why did you choose to become a Metal Charmer, Potter?"

Harry swivelled on his chair so he could face Malfoy. "Because not many people want to do it."

Malfoy laughed at that. "Bloody Potter always wants to be the centre of attention."

"And why did you choose to be an Obliviator, Malfoy?" Harry asked through gritted teeth.

"There are two reasons," said Malfoy, lifting his forefinger. "One, I hadn't the privilege to choose like you." He raised his middle finger when Harry rolled his eyes. "And two, not many people can become an Obliviator."

"Really," said Harry flatly.

"I didn't intend to brag, Potter. It's just the way it is," said Malfoy simply, flipping the two fingers at Harry.

"I'm sure your mum would be very proud of your manners as a messenger."

"She doesn't need to know." Malfoy waved dismissively. "And actually, I'm not here only as a messenger."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on his chair. "Oh?"

"Saturday night," said Malfoy, his tone light and casual, yet he looked as if he was searching for something in Harry's face. "I'm wondering if you've got any plans."

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"You're joking. Although I won't object if that means you'll stay out of trouble."

Harry took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly. "I don't know what you mean."

"Potter, we both know what I mean."

"Then all the more reasons for you to shut up and let me be," snapped Harry.

Malfoy let out a long, suffering sigh. "It's not that simple. You're bound to break the Statute of Secrecy sooner or later. I've been trying to cover up for you, but it's getting difficult. You do realise that every use of magic in Muggle areas is monitored closely and that my department is in charge of taking care of every unfortunate outcome?"

"There won't be any unfortunate outcomes. I don't use magic in Muggle areas."

"You will," said Malfoy. "Believe me, I know how high the likelihood is for wizards and witches to break the secrecy if they are constantly surrounded by Muggles." When Harry opened his mouth to protest, he added, "I'm not talking about Muggles whose relatives are of Wizarding population."

Harry scowled. "I can take care of myself. You and your department can go fuck yourselves."

"Potter." Malfoy's voice turned grim. "You're not to use Memory Charms without supervision. I don't care if your Saviour status would save your arse in front of the Wizengamot."

Sighing, Harry rubbed the back of his neck. Malfoy always acted as if his job was so important and special, but it was too much to take right now. "I won't do anything. Happy?"

Malfoy looked unconvinced, but eventually he freed Harry from his scrutiny. "You know I'll come even if you don't want me to."

"You have too much free time."

"And you don't?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Whatever," said Harry, swivelling back to face his worktable. "You can tell your mum I'll be at the Manor on Monday."

There was a sighing sound, before Harry heard Malfoy walk away. Even when the door was closed one more time, Harry didn't hear Malfoy's answer, nor did he expect anything from Malfoy at this point.

Glaring at the Snitch in his hand, Harry knew he wouldn't be able to stop Malfoy from coming tomorrow. Maybe it was time to search for another place, where another similar group of people gathered. But Malfoy was keeping a close track on Harry's magic—the bastard was taking advantage of his job. So it wouldn't make any difference even if Harry picked a new location. He just had to learn to ignore Malfoy. But the thing was . . . why was Malfoy being so stubborn? Didn't he know that he was driving Harry crazy?

Resisting a groan, Harry glared harder at the Snitch and resolved to continue working later when his brain could stop thinking about Malfoy.

. .
. .

It would rain soon—the atmosphere outside was so gloomy that Harry thought it might already be midnight, even though it was barely eight in the evening. Checking himself in the mirror, Harry buckled his belt with effort. His hands were shaking again, although this time it wasn't that bad. Still, he could hardly wait until it was late enough for the Muggles to gather. He paced around, watching the clock ticking and finally giving up to his impatience when the clock struck nine times.

Apparating to the narrow alley, he breathed in relief when he heard the distinct conversation from the back yard. It looked like the weather hadn't stopped people from coming. Walking down the path, Harry found himself staring at the crowd of about forty people—mostly blokes who had drunk themselves silly and were fooling around in their equally silly outfits, hoping to look intimidating. Piercings, tattoos, spiked hair . . . everything that Harry saw in Muggle magazines about examples of 'Bad Boys'. The light from the electric lamps set in the four corners was bright enough for him to make out the people's faces. Squeezing himself through the small crowd, Harry finally caught sight of Myer.

"Harry, are you in tonight?" asked Myer with a wink. Harry grinned.

"Sure. Who's the opponent?"

"If you can defeat that lad—" Andrew said, appearing behind Harry and pointing towards a brown-haired bloke not so far from them "—and he should be easy for you—the money is enough for a week of partying."

"You know I don't need the money." Harry tilted his head to the side when the bloke met his eyes and scowled.

"Which is why we love you," said Andrew lightly. He flipped two fingers at the bloke and dragged Harry to a corner. Myer followed them with a smile that spoke of innocence, if one didn't really know him.

"It's starting," whispered Myer, gesturing with his chin. A tall, lanky man, whose hair was shaved clean, climbed on top of an empty crate that had been placed in the centre of the yard. The people around cheered deafeningly, until the bald man put his hand in the air. The cheers ceased just long enough for him to announce the bets and the rules, as well as the fighters and their opponents.

Harry tuned him out, as he had listened to the same thing over and over again for nearly a year, and his eyes drifted to a small area, oddly free of people. It was near the exit, and Harry knew, as always, that it was the effect of a Muggle Repelling Charm. If he squinted and concentrated just enough, he would be able to make out the person hiding under a Disillusionment Charm. It was always easy to spot Draco Malfoy despite the number of people gathering there, and Harry had made it a habit to watch Malfoy defiantly.

Malfoy was leaning against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. He regarded Harry with such intensity that Harry wondered if and when he would blink. It was as if all the Muggles around him were simply non-existent, and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. He closed his eyes, trying to focus his mind on Andrew's voice in his ear, reminding him not to underestimate the brown-haired bloke's right hook.

Harry didn't open his eyes again until his name was called. He flexed his jaw, marching forward to where the crowd had formed a circle. His opponent was waiting for him with a glower. Harry had only vaguely heard the bald man's shout to start, before he had to duck his head to avoid the fast blow coming at him. He had barely regained his balance, when a kick landed on his stomach. He groaned, but rolled away before another kick could crush his head. As he stood up, he pounded the bloke on the face, satisfied at the crack that signalled a broken nose. He jabbed at the bloke's stomach, not giving him any chance to tend to his bloody nose.

The crowd was cheering, and Harry was distinctly aware that he was grinning. He felt sweat trickling down his temples despite the cold weather. The thrill that surged through his blood, the adrenaline rush—they were just what he needed. The shaking in his limbs disappeared, replaced with something close to euphoria. He landed more blows, and received punches in return on his face and shoulders, but he was still grinning. At some point his body started moving on its own, led purely by instinct, for his mind started to picture only the blinding white. Like the one in King's Cross that time.

When the bright light faded, Harry saw his opponent groaning at his feet, hands covering his bloody face. The bald man took Harry's hand and pronounced him the winner. Harry took in the frenzied looks on the spectators' faces and the mad smirks on Myer and Andrew's, sensing his own heart beating excitedly. He faltered, however, the moment he saw Malfoy shaking his head. Harry bit his tongue, resisting lashing out in front of all the Muggles. This was what he needed—this and the sex—and like hell would he let Malfoy ruin this.

"Here's some ice, mate."

Harry blinked, trying to will his mind to function again. He accepted the dirty towel cocooning some ice cubes from Myer's hands and dragged himself away from the makeshift arena. "Thanks. No more rounds for me, then?"

"Oh, fuck, Harry. No, the next bloke is a fucking Rambo. That's Myer's job," said Andrew, flinging an arm over Harry's shoulders.

"I don't know whether I should feel touched or offended that you always give me the dangerous ones," said Myer, although, clearly, he didn't seem to mind having to fight the 'Rambo' at all.

Andrew laughed. "Make use of that karate kick of yours and . . ."

Harry turned another deaf ear when he noticed the crowd involuntarily splitting in two. Malfoy was walking towards him, his eyes narrowed and his lips pinched tight. He stopped an arm's length away from Harry, looking down as if he wanted nothing more than to beat the shit out of him. And if Malfoy had tried, Harry would have succumbed, for now that the adrenaline rush was subsiding, he could feel pain all over his body and his energy slipping away. But Malfoy merely stared at him with an expression that showed more contempt than Harry had ever seen during the war. And then he left—just like that.

"Harry?" Andrew shook his shoulder, but Harry could only hold his breathing. He watched until Malfoy's back disappeared.

Honestly, what did Malfoy want from him? Why couldn't Malfoy let him be happy? Why should he destroy the moment? And worse still, why did Harry let Malfoy affect him this much?

The rain started to pour down, but Harry couldn't really care less about what would happen to the next fights.

To be Continued

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