Disclaimer: the world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and I´m just borrowing... even though I am very tempted to keep Draco, harhar.
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Hey all, here´s another story I´ve written a while ago; it´s a one-shot I decided to post now because I currently don´t have the time to update Wicked;
please note that the story´s AU, set some time after Harry´s become head of the Auror department (which supposedly was in 2007).
Furthermore, it is slash, containing a homosexual relationship between two men, and there´s also some mild cursing.
Don´t like, don´t read, all others: enjoy!
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A Good Cause
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Being an Auror was what Harry Potter had tried to accomplish ever since he had first had to think about future career aspirations. It meant working for the light side, trying to ultimately annihilate the last of Voldemort´s followers and prevent a new generation of dark wizards from rising by erasing the remainders of the Dark Arts.
It was a satisfying job, but also required much dedication and the will to work long hours if need be; a job that often couldn´t be timed by attendance clocks.
From the beginning, Harry had devoted himself to be good in his chosen profession, and he was. He quickly turned out to be one of the best in fact, thus he had become head of the department after a few years, the youngest ever.
He was happy about it, even if it meant still more work and considerably increasing long hours: he was doing it for a good cause, after all.
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It was on such a day when he flooed home tiredly; it was nearly eleven in the evening, and Harry rubbed his burning eyes behind his glasses after he had stumbled out of the fire, expecting the house to be dark and silent.
When he opened his eyes however, he found that the living room was illuminated by two small lamps, and his lover was sprawled out on the couch, one arm over his eyes, the other holding a glass. One of his legs had slid off the sofa, the other one was propped up with an angled knee, and he looked entirely uncomfortable.
When Harry approached him, wondering what might have happened, he simultaneously noticed the bottle of whiskey on the table and the stench of alcohol the fair haired man was exuding. Harry knelt down next to him and gently touched his shoulder: "Draco?"
Draco minutely moved his arm and peered at Harry with one eye: "Hey, luv... ´s up?"
"That´s what I wanted to ask you," Harry said, doing his best to keep a straight face.
"Nothin´," Draco slurred. "Jus´ hassm whiskey."
"I can see that." Harry nudged him until Draco sat up with an effort.
He was swaying, but proceeded to scramble to his feet nevertheless: "You, Hawwy Podder, hav´tibby the mos´beaudifulll man ´ve evver seen!" he announced, pulling Harry to his feet and into his arms.
Harry briefly wondered wether he´d forgotten their anniversary, but no- that was in autumn, months away. He tried to free himself of Draco´s grasp, but the blond was now moving in what seemed like slow dancing steps.
"Your sexsy," Draco slurred, beginning to fumble with Harry´s shirt buttons, "an´ your goode," he added, a little softer. "Your soul´s goode..."
"Why are we taking inventory of my character?" Harry asked, quickly pulling Draco back upright because the blond had stumbled and nearly pulled Harry with him.
"´coz... coz I don´t un´erstand..." "What do you not understand?" "Why he´s... why´s so diff´rent..."
As Harry was none the wiser after this, he gently steered Draco back onto the sofa and sat them down again."How much did you drink?" he then asked worriedly, looking the other over more closely.
Draco wore an elegant, now slightly crumpled shirt and a loosened tie along with dress pants; his eyes were blood-shot and a fine sheen of cold sweat stood on his brow.
Along with his messy hair he looked like someone who had been through the wringer. Or who had simply had too much alcohol, which was entirely unlike Draco´s normal self.
"Aff- afew glasses," Draco now replied, leaning sideways to rest his head on Harry´s shoulder: "´s odd. Room´s spinnin´..."
Harry still tried to get a grip on the reason for Draco´s lone boozing: "What´s up, baby?" he asked quietly, alternately stroking Draco´s hair and his sweaty forehead.
The blond man sighed, and Harry had already given up the hope of getting an answer, when Draco straightened up again and put the glass down with a shaking hand: "´s silly," he mumbled. "´s jus´... jus´ a day... stupid, fuckin´, ord´nary day..." He lay back against the sofa and put a hand over his eyes.
As he watched his lover, comprehension finally dawned on Harry.
He had forgotten about it, and then he had had to work late, today of all days... he turned around to Draco and gently took his hand away from his eyes: "I´m so sorry, babycakes... I forgot."
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Draco slumped forward into Harry´s arms as though all his energy had left him, and allowed himself to be held while tears began to pool in his closed eyes and trickle down his cheeks.
Harry´s embrace was warm and firm and full of love, telling Draco that he didn´t need to be strong anymore, he could just give way to his grief and let Harry take over.
He was dizzy from the alcohol and his heart had been aching all day, but right now he didn´t care, he was finally safe.
Harry softly murmured reassuring words into his ear, words of comfort and sympathy, until Draco calmed down.
"Come on," Harry eventually said when the sobbing had abated. "Let´s get you to bed, shall we?"
He slowly pulled his lover to his feet and half walked, half dragged him upstairs to their bedroom.
Draco still gave an occasional sniffle while Harry spelled his clothes off and some pyjama bottoms on him and tucked him in, but was quiet otherwise.
Harry then quickly changed as well and joined his lover in their bed, propping him up against his chest and forcing him to drink a glass of water; no hangover-potion in the world would probably be strong enough to help Draco on the following day, so Harry thought it best to take precautions.
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"Are you mad at me?" Harry asked tenderly after he had put the glass down.
"No," Draco´s voice was exhausted. "Your goode... `m mad at him..." He gave another low sniffle.
Harry gently reinforced his grip around the blond, because now it all made sense: "Yes," he whispered. "I know. I´m so sorry, my love..."
And he truly was, even though he had never been particularly fond of Narcissa Malfoy; he was sorry that he hadn´t been there for Draco, sorry that no one had been able to prevent Lucius Malfoy from murdering his wife, and most of all, that Draco simply couldn´t forget the anniversary of that dark day.
For him, it was as important as a birthday or Christmas, if without the positive connotations. Harry suspected that it had to do with self-preservation concerning his father, something Draco needed to remind himself of whenever he might feel sorry for Lucius, who was serving a life sentence in Azkaban.
Yet it pained Harry to see how much it took out of Draco every year, and it wasn´t any different on this particular day.
He placed a gentle kiss on top of the blond´s head, nuzzling his cheek against the soft, fine hair, silently vowing to himself that he would try to make up for it the next time; next year, he would be there for Draco, no matter how much work he´d have to postpone.
It would be for the best personal cause he could think of, after all.
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The End
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