Title: "Cui Prodest"
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: R
Timeline: post-HBP
Summary: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. + The Dark Lord steps in. Bow to his will!
Pairings: Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny, minor Ron/Hermione (in various chapters), etc.
Disclaimer: 'Harry Potter' belongs to JKR. Unfortunately. We all know that, don't we?
Special thanks: to my beta Lady Domino. You're the Guardian Angel of this story, honey!
A/N: A million thanks to those who reviewed. You guys are the best! Now here's a little surprise at the end that will reveal much more about Draco. Enjoy!
Chapter 4
Pride And Prejudice Of Draco Malfoy
Set me free,
Your heaven's lie!
Lacuna Coil. 'Heaven's a Lie'
From the roof of the block of flats the whole city resembled a mass of greyish beads scattered about chaotically as if flung down by some petulant child. It was beautiful. Not as beautiful as Egypt seen through the miraculous Muggle telly-window, but beautiful in its own special morose way. It was a city of fog, rain and gas fumes; futuristic, yet its roots ran deep into the past.
The spotted owl hooted persistently. Draco finished the letter and folded it carefully. "Here you are, girl," he whispered. The bird spread its wings and disappeared amidst the clouds.
Standing by the window of his bedroom, Harry caught the glimpse of it. He let Hedwig leap off his forearm as she started into the air, tracking the other bird.
Draco didn't see that but he knew Potter wouldn't miss the opportunity. 'Good, let him try and break his teeth,' he thought vengefully. Potter thought he was cunning. Well, Draco was always willing to prove him wrong.
He returned to the flat and found it empty. A note written in Potter's rough handwriting was attached to the fridge.
'Gone on the Order's business. Be back soon. Don't do anything stupid.
Harry.'
"Okay, Mummy, I'll try!" Draco laughed.
He noticed that the toy bear was missing. Uh-huh, Order's business, sure-sure! He wondered what Harry saw in that bony dull Weasley redhead. She was cute in her own way but no more than that. Granger, on the other hand, was blossoming with years. But frankly speaking, Draco couldn't picture any girl at Potter's side. It just seemed wrong for a hero like that to have a girlfriend. Potter was not meant for love. He belonged not to one person, but to the whole big bright beautiful world he would have to save over and over, like Jesus Christ, or Albus Dumbledore, or Superman (that last name came from a movie Draco saw on TV the day before). 'Goddamn Godric Gryffindor in the flesh!' Lucius used to say.
On the journal table Malfoy noticed a small book in white paperback cover. The title written in intricate black letters said: 'Pride And Prejudice'. The first lines didn't really impress Draco. It was a banal women's novel, but stubborn as he was, Draco had made up his mind to educate himself in Muggle culture. You had to start somewhere. Despite his prejudice, Draco ended up completely engulfed in reading.
By the time Potter returned, Draco had already swallowed half of the novel. The youth observed him for a moment before asking what he was reading. Draco showed him the cover, expecting nasty comments which were not long in coming.
"Oh, I see you've finally found yourself an upstanding model of behaviour to look up to. It's a girly book. How come you're reading it?"
Draco shrugged, seemingly unaffected. "I was bored. Hey, by the way, it's a girly book! How come you own a copy?"
"Er… it's Hermione's favourite writer. She must have left it here."
Potter disappeared in the kitchen, not eager to go on with this discussion. Draco resumed reading but curiosity hindered his attempts to concentrate. He had his own melodrama to go through.
Sitting by the window with a mug of steaming coffee in his hands, Potter looked anything but happy. Well, at least, the bear was nowhere to be seen, so the Weaslette must have at least accepted the present. Draco frowned.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Oh come on, Potter! You know what I'm interested in. Spare me this moment of humiliation and spill it quickly."
Harry laughed humourlessly. "Truth is, I didn't get to talk to her."
"You what?"
"I was scared. I asked Ron to tell Ginny that I–."
Draco snorted loudly, assured in his supreme disdain for such indecisiveness.
"Will you ever change, Golden Boy? Don't be such a wimp! It doesn't become you. You're not Longbottom, after all. Funny that Weaselby hasn't cast an Avada Kedavra on you yet for playing such games with his little sister!"
Flooded with coffee smoke and the pungent smell of Chinese food, the flat was gradually sinking into the pre-nocturnal haze. Hushed voices floated forth from the telly, consuming the living room. Harry sat on the couch crossed-legged in Turkish fashion, pale and miserable, thinking about the girlfriend whom he did not have the courage to speak openly to and his bird that was still missing. Draco smiled moodily. He doubted whether the bird was coming back at all.
The smoke grew more intense. Draco poured himself a cup of coffee and took a tour around the flat as he usually did when he wanted to rummage through Potter's stuff. The table in the Golden Boy's bedroom was mercilessly flooded with papers; at a closer look, Draco saw they were photographs. He picked one up at random. The woman on photo was smiling, spinning and throwing her arms up in a monotonous, inelaborate dance. Her hair swung around her like flaming petals. She sank down, laughing. Her plain white dress stretched down a bit. She beckoned someone to come near. Probably the photographer. And then she danced again, and she sat on the floor again, and she invited him to come over again.
Draco scattered the photos around and pulled out a heavy book covered in leather. The same woman smiled at him from the front page. This time she was not alone. A good-looking bespectacled man was next to her, and together they were holding a little boy whose innocent green eyes mimicked those of his mother. The woman looked slightly older and the man had that strangely familiar glimmer in his eyes. The baby's forehead was clean, yet Draco felt something was missing.
He realized Potter had been standing behind him for a little while. His attention was fixed on the picture. The family waved at him happily, and he allowed himself an estranged smile.
"Is that your mother?" asked Malfoy, showing as little curiosity as he possibly could. Potter nodded. Draco noted, "She's beautiful," and then, before the youth could say anything – "for a Muggleborn. And don't worry: you look nothing like her."
Harry snorted. With his back on Malfoy, he spoke, emphasizing the name: "You know, Draco, next time you say something nice, you might just not want to spice it up with your everyday doze of sarcasm. For a change.
"Well, pardon!" Draco grinned. "Old habits die hard."
He resumed studying the photos. The album wasn't much of an interest, packed mostly with images of Hogwarts, Weaselby and Granger, the rest of the Weasley clan, some adults unfamiliar to Malfoy and, surprisingly, of Harry himself, clumsy and reluctant to be photographed (he no doubt was resenting being the 'art' of unyielding Colin Creevy). Those separate photos were older, scratched in places, with crammed corners and uneven handwriting upon the backside. Draco opened the empty pages of the album and began to fill it in.
Potter's mother had red hair… No wonder he'd fallen for the Weasley girl.
That simple process suddenly appealed to Draco greatly. He found comfort in sorting the pictures, flashing through the different periods of various lives and wondering what that red-haired fairy was really like.
This brought up the misery for his own mother. Cold, and arrogant, and beautiful like an Ice Queen, Narcissa cherished her son with a motherly passion that no one would have ever guessed lurked beneath her reserved façade. They had never had a family album. Come to think of it, the Malfoys' pictures only appeared regularly in the chronicles of high society, newspapers and (not so pleasant a fact) in the Aurors' 'Most wanted' top list.
But none of these pictures were self-made.
Draco imagined what it would be like to have such an album.
The rustling of the blinds caught his attention. Harry's blasted bird had returned. Draco frowned. A few drops of blood over the snow-white feathers, scratched wing… The owl was safe and sound save for a few clues to the hardships it had gone through while spying after Dandelion. Honestly, had Potter seriously planned to intercept his mail? Draco pretended not to have noticed.
Draco finished the book in two days, mainly because he was too distracted by bickering with the owner of the flat about cleaning (he hated living in a pigsty but he had already humiliated himself by playing a servant once and he did not intend to do it again) and arranging the album. Finally everything was ready. Draco examined the result of his work; it satisfied him. From the corner of his eye he caught Potter staring.
"I didn't realize… I just…" the Golden Boy murmured and looked at Draco helplessly.
"No need to thank me."
Harry sighed and trotted after his lodger.
"You know, Malfoy, I need to tell you something… and I think I don't know where to start."
"Stop mumbling and start from the beginning," Draco stated coolly, chewing on an oversized apple. Funny but Potter's fridge was swarming with apples. Was it some kind of disease?
"I have to leave for a while. For a… considerably long while. Ron, Hermione and I are going somewhere, you see–."
"What does it have to do with me?"
Harry scratched the back of his head thoughtfully and said:
"I will be absent for a long time. Someone else will be looking after you. Someone from the DA. Luna, perhaps. Or Neville. Scratch that; he can't stand the sight of you."
Draco snorted. "I don't care as long as I stay here and don't go back to that wretched hotel. Or better yet–."
"No!" Harry interrupted, knowing what the blond was artlessly playing at. "Unless you've finally decided to cooperate."
Draco shook his head. Flashing him the 'I-thought-so' look, Harry strolled away to his room.
Had Malfoy been told before that the news of Potter's departure would cause such an inner turmoil in him, he would have laughed and forgotten it in an instant. But now he just paced about the room and couldn't calm down. Judging by the sounds coming from Potter's lair, he was packing. Rapid footsteps that almost mimicked those of Malfoy, light curses indicating that the Golden Blunder-head had apparently lost something again. Draco's heart sank. He could not imagine anyone else in Potter's place, especially that half-witted Lovegood girl.
Draco walked into Potter's room resolutely. Harry was fussing about a small bagpack, throwing his clothes in there in disorder. He didn't lift his head to greet Draco but merely acknowledged his presence with a brief inaudible 'Humph'.
"I was just…" Malfoy stumbled.
Mesmerized, he could only devour Potter with a hungry stare. Harry hunched over a huge pile of clothes, his shoulderblades moving lazily underneath the fabric of his t-shirt. So unjust! How could such a petty, awkward creature be so wickedly beautiful!?
"I was wondering when exactly you were leaving," Draco blurted out.
"Oh, er… the day after tomorrow."
His efforts became all the more desperate. Draco cut the distance separating them and almost wrapped his arms around Potter's body. The youth tensed. Draco dipped his hand into the pile of clothes and rummaged through it, pressing himself tighter to the quivering body that stood in his way.
"Looking for this?" he asked softly, holding a comb with a broken tooth.
"Yeah, thanks," the gasping answer came.
Draco covered Potter's hand with his own. That was not right. Being so close, drawing his scent in forcefully, almost tasting the anxiety he radiated… Such a sharp stab of desire pierced him that Draco was appalled by it.
"I thought maybe… just maybe… I could, you know… go with you."
Harry moved back a few inches. They both gasped, losing control. Draco was growing harder; his fingers entwined with Harry's, the other hand stroked the young man's hip. Harry attempted to shift in his embrace, but Draco's touch paralyzed him. He was only able to whimper helplessly as jolts of pleasure shot through his body.
Malfoy's lips travelled gently along his neck, not touching his skin but letting his breath tickle it lightly. The tip of his tongue painted soft moist dots on Potter's jawline.
"N-no," Harry breathed stubbornly.
Malfoy sucked at his earlobe playfully.
"Why not? My talents can be of use. For example…" He directed Harry's hand into the vortex of fabric and fished a wallet out of it. "You keep losing stuff. I could find everything you've lost."
"That's what I have Hermione for. She can be very–." Another sharp intake of air. Trembling harder. Draco resisted the urge to hurl him on the bed and…
"Yes?"
"Very donnish," Harry finished the sentence.
He turned round at last and faced Malfoy. Green eyes met the grey ones. Their breath mixed as they stared at each other. Harry licked his lips inadvertently; they gleamed wet, driving Malfoy insane with desire.
Run away from that revolting, unnatural, wonderful feeling…
"Well, so much the worse for you," Draco whispered and walked out. Behind him Harry collapsed on the floor with a quiet groan.
The blond's face brightened into a nasty smile.
'Legilimens!'
"No, please, not these memories! Don't… no!"
He pressed his forehead to the glass of the phone booth and slid down to the ground, cold, moist asphalt beneath him. The apparatus above him kept ringing.
One thought was pulsing in his head. 'Oh God, oh God, oh God! I failed. He'll kill me, he'll kill my entire family.' And he was alone in the centre of a grim, extinct city. He did not know what it was but he was terrified. He screamed again, "Help me!"
'Legilimens!'
"No, please, please, please, stop!"
These were happier memories. He was running, the wind in his hair, spring mud staining his expensive trousers. He took out his wand and wrote on the garage wall: 'Veni, vidi, vinci', the huge red 'V's' melting in the sun. Such were all the Malfoys. They came, they saw and they inevitably conquered.
'Legilimens!'
Someone was pulling his memories out of him, and it hurt so much. He cried out and he dropped on the ground, panting.
"Stop! Stop! Stop!"
Feeding ducks. Children in the park. And Potter told him he didn't want him to go. But Potter was leaving. The blasted git was leaving! Leaving him alone.
Draco awoke with a start, exhaling sharply. His heart pounding, he could still hear the sharp telephone ringing and the gunshot. Bang! Bang-bang in the dark!
An owl knocked on the window. Dark grey and pretty large, it was by no means his old acquaintance, the spotted Dandelion. Draco dressed with deliberate slowness and slipped outside quietly.
The Dark Lord stood motionless, obscured by shadows, waiting for the visitor to initiate the conversation. Draco greeted him formally and gave him a stiff bow. The older man's thin lips moved for an instant, forming a repulsive smile.
Bitter taste filled young Malfoy's mouth. His heart was banging like a miniature bomb ready to go off.
"What would you have me do, my lord?" he asked in a weary voice.
"I see you have learnt of father's tragic demise," said Voldemort. "My condolences. But things are not going very well for us, the living, my young servant. I would like to know why."
All this time Draco had visited the Order of the Phoenix only once: the first time he contacted it. After that he was forced to take up his residence in those dreary Muggle hotels. He changed his quarters rather frequently, visited mostly by Potter alone or in the company of the shabby Professor Lupin whose dejected air infected Draco with a state of horrifying fatigue. Lupin rarely opened his mouth. When he did talk, he was extra-careful not to divulge anything vital.
Once Potter brought his mistrustful girlfriend. The miniscule redhead eyed him suspiciously but never uttered a word, not even 'hello'.
Now that Draco resided at Harry's, he saw no visitors at all. Potter used to disappear for a while, to meet his friends, for sure. But Draco didn't dare shadow him.
He reported thoroughly to his master and waited for further instructions. The Dark Lord stepped back into the shadows, not even the dreary flash of his scarlet eyes visible, and pondered the matter in silence. Meanwhile Draco mustered his courage and murmured:
"I want out."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I don't want to do this anymore."
A slight frown distorted the smoothness of Voldemort's hairless eye-brows as his face re-appeared close to Malfoy's face.
"What makes you think I shall let you go?" he chuckled.
Draco smiled. "Because next time I might drop by with half the Order to cover my back. They think I'm on their side, remember?"
"No one is irreplaceable, young Malfoy," said Voldemort, leaning into him menacingly. "Not even your father. And he was the closest thing."
Draco's lips trembled. He dug his nails hard into his palms.
"It would take ages to infiltrate another agent into that troublesome organization," he stood firmly by his final line of defence. "And none would get this far. I am indeed irreplaceable for you, my lord."
Voldemort considered the statement moodily. His bloodshot eyes turned to regard his young minion once more. Draco felt his cheeks flush crimson for no reason. Voldemort's stare awakened the deepest and the most cryptic excitement in him.
"Give me that which I desire most," he whispered at last, his breath tickling Draco's bare neck, "and I swear I shall no longer pursue you or any of your kin."
Realization swept over the youth in a blood-red tide.
"Betray Potter."
"What do you care about him? Does he care about you?"
Draco swallowed, his forehead damp with sweat.
'Fuck off, Malfoy! I'm only doing this because they made me!' Harry Potter had snarled at him. His guard. Yeah, right!
Harry Potter had comforted him after the young man's suicide back in the hotel.
Harry Potter's groin pressed to his; arguing; giving him shelter; looking at him with raw need. Harry Potter rejecting his friendship on the train all those years ago. Harry Potter filling every blank in the shattering world.
The scent, the taste, the touch.
Draco shook his head. "He doesn't trust me."
An amused chuckle escaped Voldemort's lips. "You don't have to have him trust you to manipulate him with your special, sensual grace. You have the charm, young Malfoy. That which I can never use against my beloved enemy."
The observation sent hints of arousal through Draco's body. The image of Potter trying to efface himself in the shower – and failing miserably – popped into his mind. Voldemort scoffed, and Draco knew he should shield his mind better.
"Deal?"
Draco's steel eyes narrowed to slits. He extended a hand and whispered, "Deal."