WARNING: Slash, AU, ooc. T for now, although that might change.
DISCLAIMER: I, alas, do not own anything or anyone recognizable from the phenomenal works of J.K. Rowling. They are her characters, and I shall return them to her when I'm finished.
A/N: This is now a complete story, but it definately works as a one shot. I promise, you won't hurt my feelings if you stop after chapter one. Enjoy!
Waiting
I wonder if he remembered to take his cloak. I normally wouldn't care about such a thing. He's a grown man, and one who learned to take care of himself at an early age. But it's pouring down rain outside, and he's never been known to remember such simple things as drying charms. Or warming charms. Or shield charms to keep the rain off of him in the first place. So I sincerely hope he's remembered his cloak, and I'm obsessing over it like a girl. Harry Potter has turned me into a woman. That's just great.
I'm sitting in the library, staring out the window. To be perfectly honest I'm staring out at the front yard waiting for him to come home. Honesty, however, makes me sound like a lovesick puppy, so I've decided that I'm sitting in the library instead of in the living room because I need the books for research on my latest potion. But that excuse is wearing thin, and truthfully I'm worried. I've no idea where he's gone, only that the Ministry needed his help. Normally he'd send a message as to where he's gone off to and when he'll be back, but not this time.
Three hours ago the Minister's head popped into the fire. Two hours and forty-five minutes ago Harry rushed out with his boots untied and his shirt on backwards. He wasn't wearing a cloak. Shit.
An hour later, I decide that if he comes back alive I might just kill him. I've begun to pace at this point, and I'm sure the carpet here will need replacing. I consider waking Uncle Severus, but I just can't bring myself to do it. He worries about Harry almost as much as I do, but the war took a lot out of him, and I decide he needs the rest more than I need the comfort. If Harry's not back by breakfast I'll tell Severus. I consider fire-calling Hermione, but if Ron were out too she'd have called me by now. Again, there's no point in waking them up to worry with me, especially with Hermione being as pregnant as she is. I'm amazed the woman can get out of bed, much less get any work done. And Ron might curse me for waking her up. I begin to bite my nails, and continue pacing.
The rain has turned into a light mist, and dawn is beginning to break. I'm exhausted, worried, and ready to break down. Malfoys do not break down. I'm nearly ready to concede defeat and do it anyway. I've already broken most of the Malfoy 'laws', so what's one more? I catch sight of reflection in the window, and quickly look away. My hair is a complete mess, my pajamas in disarray. I look like a raving lunatic. I feel like a lunatic. It's official; Harry Potter has driven me completely mad.
I've stopped pacing in favor of collapsing on the sofa. For the first time, I allow myself to actively contemplate the thought that Harry might not be coming back. I have no idea what I would do without him, without his smile and those sparkling emerald eyes. He's brilliant, brave, and has the biggest heart I've ever encountered. And when you add to all of that the fact that he's ridiculously handsome, even when he's just woken up and has morning breath, it's no wonder I've become a complete wuss around him. I realized long ago that Harry has me complete whipped, and I'm more than all right with that. Especially since I have him whipped as well. I'm not at all certain of why Harry fell in love with me, but I know he has. There's not a doubt in my mind that we'll be together until death. My only fear is that death will come too soon.
Harry still hasn't returned. The sun has fully risen, and I can hear the house-elves in the kitchen preparing breakfast. The fire has all but burned out, and I shiver in the chill it's left behind. I hear footsteps coming to the library, and I can't put off telling Uncle Severus any longer. He moved in with us temporarily after he finished teaching, and never left. Not that Harry or I want him too. He's the only real family I have, and he and Harry have become good friends over the years. They bicker almost constantly and occasionally throw hexes, but we all know how attached to each other they really are.
Severus enters the library, and settles on the sofa beside me. He looks me over, and I know I don't need to tell him what's happened. "How long has he been gone?" he asks. "Since midnight", I reply. Six hours, I add in my mind. Six hours and fifteen minutes. Now we're both staring into the dying fire.
Ten minutes later an elf appears with breakfast and a copy of the Daily Prophet. The paper tells us nothing. Breakfast goes untouched.
The house is nearly silent until nine. I can hear Sirius and Remus heading for the library, and I vaguely remember Harry saying something about meeting them this morning. Sirius laughs at something, and a spark of anger shoots through me. I've just turned to face the doorway when they walk in. They look at me, then Severus, and the smiles are wiped from their faces. They sit on the loveseat, and Remus asks, "How long has he been gone?" "Nine hours", I reply. They both look a little shocked, and then the worry sets in. They too settle in to wait.
Noon comes and goes, and the lunch tray goes back to the kitchen untouched. I can tell the house-elves are getting restless, but I can't bring myself to try to calm them. Honestly, I'm afraid if I open my mouth I'll begin to cry. Malfoys don't cry.
Dusk is coming on, and for the last few hours I've been preparing for the worst. By the looks on their faces, I can tell that the others have been as well. Remus, having lost Sirius for so many years, looks the most worried. He knows better than anyone what I'll go through if Harry doesn't return. Not that he and Sirius will be much better off. Harry is, for all intents and purposes, their son. Their only child. The elves relight the fire. Dinner is ignored.
Just before ten, I feel the wards shift. I'm exhausted, and for a moment I think I'm dreaming. Then I hear footsteps on the gravel. I shoot out of my seat and run for the window, and thank Merlin there he his. My wonderful, infuriating, beautifully alive Harry is coming up the walk. Then I'm running, running as fast as I can, running to the man I love. I tackle him, and we fall to the ground limbs tangled. His arms wrap around me, and it feels as though he'll never let go. He's holding me so tightly that for a moment I can't breathe, but I simply tighten my grip too. I never want to let him go again.
Some time later we make it to the library sofa, and I realize that Harry is a mess. His clothes are torn; he's covered in dirt and blood, and his eyes…. They look dead. Then he looks at me, straight in the eyes, and I see a spark. Tiny, but real, and I can breathe again. He has obviously been through something, but he's come back to me and he'll be all right.
Hours later, when he's finished telling us all of the horrors he's witnessed in the last twenty-four hours, our little party breaks up. Sirius and Remus head upstairs to one of the guest rooms, too drained to make it home safely. Throughout Harry's story they'd held tightly to each other's hands, and I'm not at all sure which of them took it worse. They each hugged Harry before they left, whispering things in his ear that I sincerely hope he took to heart. They love him fiercely. Severus left the library soon after, hugging us both tightly before he went. He was silent, but he doesn't have to say anything. We both know he's there if we need him.
I help Harry up the stairs, and lead him straight to the bathroom. I turn on the bathtub taps, and then turn to him. He's looking straight at me again, and as always when he does that I feel as though he can see through me and read my soul. I step toward him, and pull him to me for a long moment. Then I carefully step away, kiss him softly, and remove his shirt.
He has scratches all over his chest, and as I walk behind him I see the same is true of his back. He's been put through hell, and I'm suddenly very happy that these are the worst of his physical injuries. It could be much worse. It has been much worse. I circle around him, coming to a stop in front of him again, and push him into sitting on the toilet seat. I kneel in front of him and untie his boots. He lets out a hiss as I remove them, and once I peel his socks away I can see why. He's got huge blisters on his feet, and they've been rubbed raw. I make a note to myself to remember to heal them as soon as I've got him cleaned up. I stand and gently help him to his feet. I'm right in front of him as I unbutton and unzip his pants, staring him in the eyes. Undressing him has never been less erotic, and he knows it. Still, I see that spark again, and hope flares inside me once more.
Once I've got him fully undressed, I help him into the bath. I very nearly smile when he closes his eyes and sighs in satisfaction as the warm water eases his muscles. I grab the shampoo, and begin the process of cleaning him up.
Half an hour later Harry is washed, dried, and his blisters have been healed. He's still sore, but tired as we both are there isn't much to be done for it. I feed him a pain relieving potion and promise myself that I'll give him a backrub in the morning. Then we collapse into bed, where I pull him to my chest and cling to him until sleep finally takes over.