Title: Being the Other Man

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters you see here. That belongs to JK Rowling and other wonderful people that are not me.

Warning: Yelling, Cursing, Angstangstangst. I also warn you that I am not well versed in House Elf speak...so it sounds a little more like Gollum than anything else. I apologize, haha. Otherwise, the usual non-beta'd, babbling diatribe as usual.

Summary: It all began with biscuits and hot chocolate.

Author's Notes: Hello Beautiful People and welcome to my next installment of Being the Other Man. I would, first off, like to thank those who reviewed on my last chapter. The response was, and is, definitely appreciated. Please don't stop reviewing, guys. It's amazing how a few well-placed words can make an author's day. So let me know what you guys think!

Being the Other Man
Chapter Six

Unfortunately, the plan to travel to Hawaii was stopped short when they realized, in order to travel such distances, they would be exposed to the public for far too long to not be noticed. Even under a glamour, their cover was blown within a day of going outside the house. Any form of magical travel was also a foolish notion, according to Draco, since the Heart-break curse took a few days to fully heal. Harry could easily suffer major heart problems if he attempted it. This inspired another bout of quarreling between the two men, that it would be a far better idea for Draco to go with an auror who was not already exposed. Draco shook his head and didn't even bother replying to the very logical thought process. There was something that the other obviously knew, but was holding back from Harry, who should be privy to such information since he was guarding the bastard. Until Malfoy opened his mouth, though, the disgruntled auror would have to remain in the dark.

Harry's head was still spinning at his decision to follow through with this insubordination against the Ministry. Draco had been right—a little too right—about his sudden dedication to following the rules to a T. The past five years had been a practice of following orders and slipping under the radar for Harry, which he had gotten rather good at until Malfoy had come back.

The two men now had to think of a new plan; although Harry had a suspicion the idea of Hawaii had been a whim on Draco's part. Gathering themselves around the table, Harry began the preparations of making tea, since it was likely to be a long night. Draco stayed silent at the table, presumably formulating a new plan. Harry was doing so as well as he kept his hands busy readying their tea, knowing that the decision would ultimately left up to him. With Draco's attitude, it was easy to forget that the blonde was the one in need of help. Sometimes, Harry felt this inkling that Draco thought it was the other way around, which was ridiculous. After all, the blonde stopped caring about Harry years ago, didn't he?

Didn't he?

Apparently, the noises the auror was making while preparing the tea was deeply disturbing Draco. "Could you stop that? Just sit down at the table," the blonde snapped. Harry slowly put down what he was doing and turned towards the other. Before he could reply, the other continued, grudgingly, "I'm a bit…apprehensive at the moment, and your milling about isn't helping. Just, please, sit?" Now silent for a completely different reason, namely confusion, Harry complied and let the kettle begin warming on the stovetop before sitting down across from Draco.

The silence that followed was heavy and echoed through the room like an overweight tap-dancer. Harry had difficulty thinking of an escape plan with such dead air, and the need to fidget was overpowering. Draco remained still as his eyes focused on the corner of the table. Not wanting to interrupt whatever the blonde was formulating, Harry did his best to focus anywhere other than him. He couldn't help that his traitorous gaze would travel up and down Draco's body, analyzing each individual feature with precision. Luckily he could only see so far as the table let him, otherwise the situation would have gotten uncomfortable. There were still other parts of the blonde's anatomy that had made Harry salivate when they were dating, however, and such parts were still as glorious. His eyes skated over Draco's hands that Harry imagined were as warm and inviting as they had been when they were dating. He looked over the way Draco's muggle t-shirt fit tight enough on his frame to show the lean muscle that lay dormant underneath. The man's facial features were pointy and jagged at first glance, although the porcelain skin that covered them was flawless, spare the slight scar on his left cheek from a slicing hex that healed incorrectly. Although the man was thin and wan from whatever trials he must have suffered, Harry knew for a fact that because of this pompous, bigheaded, Adonis of a man he would never feel lust, if not love, for any other.

Harry recalled his feelings of rage towards Draco at the beginning of their breakup. He'd seen that bastard blossom from the rat-faced brat he was into this beautiful piece of aesthetically pleasant wonder. He is mine, he remembered chanting in his mind, fading with time and hopelessness.

Even now, his heart pounded the mantra faintly with each heartbeat. Yet with each inhalation of breath, another traitorous memory would whisk past his brain to incur more pain. With that pain accompanied a high level of lust that had remained dormant ever since that day five years ago. From the sweet caresses and the lingering bruises of passionate lovemaking, Harry found himself being repeatedly bombarded by these visions. Still he remained sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the other, far more focused man across from him.

Was it him, or had it gotten rather hot in here? He stared down and realized that it quite possibly was just him if the tent in his pants was any consolation. Trying to will it down, he shut his eyes momentarily, thinking of the most horrible thing he could think of (which in the end turned out to be a rather twisted scenario of walking in on Filch and Slughorn and…what exactly was Mrs. Norris doing down there…?) before reopening them with his cheeks cooler than before. However, his eyes readjusted to seeing Draco staring right at him with the strangest look on his face, as if Harry was the most fascinating, confusing creature he'd ever seen.

They stared at each other for a long while, neither breaking eye-contact. Suddenly, they were startled by the tea kettle whistling that its contents were ready. Harry leapt from his chair and swiftly turned down the flames of the stove and prepared them two, steaming mugs of hot tea. Looking down, he silently thanked Merlin for the situation in his pants having calmed down in time to avoid inevitable embarrassment.

As they sipped at their teas, Harry tried to focus his thoughts on their escape. He was startled out of his planning by a sudden laugh from the blonde and cut his gaze up to meet Draco's, whose grey irises were clouded with a pained amusement. "What?" Harry asked when the other didn't bother explaining himself.

"I was just thinking about something," the blonde said quietly, after emitting another chuckle. "Remember when we were at the Aurors' Ball after our first year as partners, and we got Kingsley drunk?"

Harry remembered exactly what he was talking about. "You mean you got him drunk. I had nothing to do with it," he said, a small smirk twitching his lips.

"Oh, don't you go about twisting that sordid little event, Potter," Draco replied, "You were the one to distract the bugger while I tipped some Ogden's into his goblet. The act could not have been possible without you."

"I was congratulating him on winning Auror of the Year, you bastard!" Harry exclaimed, both corners of his mouth tightening into a smile. "You were always trying to prank someone. I'm surprised you never got along with George and Fred with how you were always up to something. Then again, it's probably all for the best. Hogwarts would have become a hazard to the Wizarding World, I'm sure."

Draco continued to chuckle, taking another sip of his tea. "Please, I wouldn't have associated with those heathens even if there was a chance to. They harassed each other just as much as they did anyone else. I'd rather be left alone to my own devices than a continuous target of their…creativity." Harry barked a laugh at that, and they both sat in a pleasant haze as they thought back on the twins and the ire they caused the professors (and Hermione). The few moments of quiet were alarmingly peaceful and forced Harry to realize two things. One, that he'd been rather uptight throughout their stay in this house, due to the blonde across from him—and two—that he was rather exhausted from the ordeal he'd just been through a little while ago. Trying to maintain clarity, while also fending off the tension he'd been holding for nearly a month now, he returned to formulating a plan for their immediate escape. But each thought lead to a dead end, so he decided that there wasn't enough information to form an appropriate plan. That only meant one thing could be done.

"Malfoy," Harry said, his voice shaking the blonde from whatever he was thinking. "In order to create a proper plan, I need to know why Montague is following you." Where there had once been amusement in Draco's eyes swiftly transitioned into irritation. "You know you should tell me. How else am I supposed to protect you?" Draco scoffed. "What?"

"Nothing," Draco bit out.

"No," Harry retorted, "You have to tell me. Why are you being followed?"

"You don't need to know," Draco snapped.

"God damn it, Draco!" Harry shouted, slamming the table with his fist in pent up frustration. "What is your deal?! You ask the Ministry for help, but don't tell them why you need help. That's fine, since apparently you don't want the Ministry knowing anything else about this mission. Then you get assigned to me, and you still don't tell anyone why you need the help. This is not fine, because I need to know what is going on!"

"Why the hell do you need to know, Potter?" Draco barked back.

"Because I'm protecting you, you twit!" Harry replied.

"The fuck you are! You can barely protect yourself!" the blonde retaliated. Harry hadn't realized he was standing until he stumbled back at the retort. He felt his chest aching again and his eyes burned with weariness. This was really getting too much, not to mention repetitive.

"Then why won't you let me go?" he asked, voice dull and exhausted.

"Couldn't I ask you the same thing?!" Draco fired back. He was also standing and, from the looks of it, was top-filled with anger. Even though Harry had learned over the years that the harsh things people say in anger should not always be taken seriously, such cutting words pierced through him in a way that the Heartbreaking curse could barely imagine.

"W-what?" Harry asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"If you weren't such a stubborn Gryffindor, this whole thing could have been avoided! You inflicted this on yourself, Potter, not me!" Draco wasn't making sense.

"Draco, what are you talking about?" he asked.

"It's you," Draco growled, grabbing the back of his chair and embedding his nails into the soft wood. "Why does it always have to come back to you?" Trying to amend the situation, Harry reminded Draco that he'd offered to have the blonde reassigned to another guard which only caused the other to scoff. "You just don't get it."

This rekindled the fury from moments ago into a glowing flame. "No, I don't, because you don't tell me anything! Tell me what's going on!"

"No!"

Harry was startled again by the harsh, yet childish, reply. No, Harry decided, enough was enough. "You are going to tell me right now, Malfoy, or I am going to go to the floo. I am going to go to the Ministry, and I most certainly will get you a different guard. I am tired of this shit, Malfoy!" Harry bellowed. His throat began to tingle at the end of his threat, causing him to cough a moment. In a quieter voice he said, "Why are you making this so bloody difficult, Draco?"

"Don't you trust me, Harry?" Draco asked. There was that funny word again: trust. The word was really starting to get on his nerves.

"No, I don't," Harry replied, crisply, "Since you have given me absolutely no reason to trust you to begin with." His fingers were trembling as he ran them through his hair.

"You're being ridiculous," the other chided. Normally, such a retort would have infuriated Harry, but he felt, genuinely, that enough was enough.

"Okay, Malfoy," he said, getting up without a second thought towards his half-empty mug of tea. Harry walked out of the kitchen, but was stopped by the blonde's surprised response.

"Okay? Okay? Is that all you have to say?"

Harry felt himself laughing, although he felt more hollow than anything. "Yes, Malfoy, that's all I have to say. Somehow, I have to figure out a place that we can go as soon as I am able, but," his grin tightened as he turned back to the disgruntled blonde, "I find myself a bit too ridiculous to think around you. I'll be upstairs." He continued to walk away, but stopped momentarily to add, "If you happen to think of anything, however, please let me know." With that, he went up the stairs and removed himself from the blonde's over-bearing presence.

When Harry reached his room, he took a few moments to calm down and force the awful turn in their conversation out of his mind. Although he had absolutely nothing to go on, it was apparent that he was going to have to make a makeshift plan. For a while, it seemed like nothing would come. In such an impossible situation, any possibilities were slim to none. Every lead he thought he could imagine had a fatal flaw in it so he'd have to scrap it. Beginning to grow desperate, he flopped upon his bed and pressed his palms into his eyes, shoving his glasses high unto his forehead. Whenever a seemingly impossible situation arose, he found himself thinking of his old and most beloved mentor, Dumbledore. Sometimes, he found himself talking to Dumbledore, as if he were still there (which inspired more than a normal amount of psychiatric tests provided by the Ministry, until they decided that as long as Harry did the job right he was allowed to be as loony as he liked). He liked to think that the dead wizard could still hear him and occasionally fancied that there was a reply that floated to Harry's ear on the breeze. He imagined that's how those who followed religion must feel when they chatted up their gods.

"Dumbledore," he whispered into the darkness. "I'm not sure what to do. Everything's getting so convoluted, although it would help if Malfoy even bothered to speak to me more than just to insult me." He took a deep breath, mentally chiding himself for not focusing on the task at hand. "But I'm not really sure what I should do. I don't know of any hideouts in America, and to apparate from here would be suicide unless I were…" he stopped momentarily as he got an idea. This idea suddenly grew like wildfire until the largest grin he could muster pulled on his lips. "…a house elf!" he exclaimed, jumping up into a seated position on the bed. He hoped to Merlin this would work, clearing his throat.

"Kreacher?" he called out into the darkness. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Kreacher?"

There was nothing. With a sigh, Harry lay back down feeling that the attempt had been wasted. He'd been sure that—suddenly, a popping sound rang out from behind him. The auror quickly turned at the sound of an irritated, croaking grumble. The oh-too-familiar sound was like music to his ears. "Kreacher!" he exclaimed with joy, hurrying over to the other side of the bed.

"Master," Kreacher said cordially, which wasn't quite as unusual since the Battle at Hogwarts. "Kreacher not seen Master in many years since he left the House of Black, oh yes. Now he calls me here? Why, Kreacher asks."

Harry quickly got down to business. "Kreacher, I need you to do something for me. Will you help me?" After a curt nod and a nervous rubbing of hands on the house elf's part, Harry quickly instructed him of what to do. "I need you to buy a portkey for me from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," he was so glad that the twins had managed to get a portkey distributing license, or this would have been damn near impossible. "Buy one that specifically goes to the shore of the English Channel. Here," he went to his bureau and pulled out a pouch with emergency funds and placed them in Kreacher's outstretched hand. "You must not reveal who you are buying this for, although I'm sure that Fred and George will figure it out soon enough. Do try to remain unseen, okay Kreacher? Can you do this for me?"

Kreacher puffed out his tiny chest as far as it could go with dignity. "Of course, Kreacher serves Master as is fit, he does." And with a pop, the eager house elf was gone. Harry slowly sank into the mattress in the wake of the house elf's departure. He hoped beyond hope that this could work. When they got the portkey, he could apparate the both of them to the caves where the fake locket had been discovered. He'd been back to the caves during his latest five years as an auror, doing some routine inspections of Voldemort's old stomping grounds. It was now a dormant habitat. At Voldemort's death, the Inferi once again were brought to peace and lay in the water as corpses, until the Ministry exhumed the bodies and buried them in a proper way as an order of one Mister Harry Potter. He was one of the only people who ever frequented the location, undaunted by the creepy atmosphere it possessed. For now, the location would have to do.

There was a lot that was bound to go wrong with this plan. Montague could find them in the caves. Harry, if what Draco said about magical travel was true, might suffer some sort of repercussions from the transport. However, this was the only way that Harry could think of in such a short span of time. If he suffered some sort of heart failure in his travels, Draco could apparate himself back to the Ministry easily once they were back in England. If Montague somehow found them, then Harry would find a way to face him head on and stop all of this madness so that he could return to his dull, weary life and finally rid himself of Draco Malfoy forever.