Another one! I just want to thank SnowWhiteOwl and LandlessLord for their continuous support, and everyone else who reviewed, favourited and followed! I also want to thank the guests for leaving a comment, since I can't reply with a PM!
Enjoy the next part!
Chapter 7
Falling Apart
Harry got out of bed and made his way down the stairs. He'd been dreaming badly again, and had woken up with a dry mouth. He desperately needed something to drink. Being in a rush, he didn't turn on the light and just tried to find his way through the dark.
He was looking at his feet, following the steps of the stairs when all of a sudden he bumped into something. He faltered, skipped a step and fell forward. Luckily, Harry was almost downstairs, so he didn't fall very deep. He didn't fall hard either, as he hit a soft, warm body.
Malfoy.
"For Salazar's Sake, Potter, can't you turn on a light!" Malfoy voice sounded from underneath him, and Harry could feel the warm breath through his hair.
"You didn't turn it on either," Harry fired back. He could see the contours of Malfoy's face in the light of the full moon shining through the window of the front door. Gradually, it downed on Harry. Malfoy was half naked, his bare chest touching Harry's. The contrast of the warm touch with the chilliness of the hallway sent goosebumps down Harry's body, his nipples stiffening.
"Would you mind getting off, Potter?" Malfoy asked dryly. Harry was still frozen, the wave of goosebumps passing by his crotch, having an unwanted effect. Harry jumped up, releasing Malfoy from his grip, but the damage was done. He'd jumped away two seconds too late.
Embarrassment written over his face, Harry made his way to the kitchen. Much to Harry's displease, Malfoy followed him, instead from heading up the stairs again. Harry knew Malfoy must've felt how he had gotten hard on top of the Slytherin. He avoided eye-contact filling a glass of water at the tab.
"Thirsty?" Malfoy asked. What a stupid question whas that? Seriously, why couldn't he just disappear again?
"Yeah," was all Harry said. The moment from before kept replaying in his mind, only increasing his erection. The fact that he was only wearing boxers didn't do his current state any good.
"I was too. You were talking in your sleep again." Why was the stupid ferret up for some small-talking, now of all times? Harry faced the sink, not wanting to turn around and show his erection to the man. The underpants would be virtually transparent.
"Oh," was all Harry could add. He didn't know what to say. Merlin, the only damn thing he could think about was the bloody Slytherin standing behind him in the kitchen and his anoying problem in his pants.
"No problem, though," Malfoy said, waving with his hand. Harry froze. Problem?
"What?"
"I'm just acting like you apologized for bumping into me like that." Harry quircked an eyebrow, wanting to spin around and punch the bloody bastard in the face, but instead just screamed at the kitchen tiles.
"I don't have to apologize! You were going up the stairs, you bumped into me."
"But I'm not the one getting turned on by it." Harry spilt his drink over his torso, gasping from both the cold water and the rudeness of the comment.
"I'm NOT turned on by you, Malfoy," Harry growled, putting down the drink and turning around to grab a towel. Now he was wet as well. Brilliant. Now his underpants wouldn't be virtually transparant, they just would be transparant. He'd better stayed in bed and waited for the morning to come to drink. Out of the blue, Malfoy's hand was on his erection, his breath falling on his cheeks. Harry didn't know where that had come from, dropping the towel in surprise.
"Then what's this?" Malfoy's whisper made Harry moan softly, nearly whimpering at the touch of Malfoy's large hands. He leaned backwards, into Malfoy's chest before he realized what he was doing.
"GET OFF, MALFOY!" Harry exclaimed, pushing Malfoy away at once. Who in the Wizarding World did he think he was? "How dare you touch me?"
"As if you had any objections. You liked it, Potter. Just admit it." Malfoy seemed way too confident, standing there in the dim kitchen. Harry, on the other hand, knew he was losing this fight.
"I'm not admitting anything, Malfoy. You're just putting words in my mouth."
"I can read body language, Potter. I know you liked it. Liar."
"Stop it!" Harry retorted, unable to come up with anything else. Frankly, he had liked everything about that moment. The way Malfoy had towered over him, bending down to be able to whisper in his ear. The way his strong arms were wrapped around him, touching him more intimate than anyone had done before.
"If you're still going to be stubborn, I'm going back to bed. 'Night." Now he was leaving? This guy was unbelievable. Harry remained immobile, facing the white tiles above the kitchen sink again. This had not just happened. This had not just happened.
But Harry's body was telling him otherwise. Sadly enough for Harry, he wouldn't be getting any sleep without getting rid of the problem in his boxers.
Draco was making a sophisticated dinner: salmon, stuffed with broccoli, topped with a cream sauce and mashed potatoes with cheese on top, that would go in the oven in a bit. The blonde was already getting hungry, preparing all the ingredients. He'd put on the radio, but much to Draco's dislike the new song of the Weird Sisters had been interrupted by The Wizarding Wireless Network News. As if Draco cared about all the new Death Eaters they had captured. They had imprisoned his mother and killed his father, that was more than enough.
The broadcast was over, and the Witching Hour was just about to start when he heard Potter enter.
"Look, I found this on the coffee table," the Survivor said, waving a paper in Draco's face.
"Yeah, it's mine," Draco responded, placing the paper on the counter before continuing to stir the cream sauce with his wand.
"What's MY DRAWING doing in the bloody Daily Prophet, Malfoy?" The front page of the Daily prophet was filled with a moving drawing of Hermione Granger, underneath the headline: "Boy Who Lived returns… as an artist!"
"You seriously need to do something about your temper, Potter," Draco responded, rolling his eyes as Potter got mad at him yet again. "It's getting out of hand." Of course, he'd known Potter would react like this. However, the urge to reveal Potter's beautiful work was stronger than the will to stay out of trouble. Not that he was in real trouble anyway.
"Don't you dare changing the bloody subject, Malfoy. You went and published my personal stuff, behind my bloody back!" Potter screamed. Draco turned off the stove and turned around, preparing to face a snorting Potter.
"Did you read the article? It says nothing but good stuff. The people are glad you're still alive. I did it for your own good."
"My own good? How could you possibly know what's good for me, Malfoy? Look at you." Potter's words came smashing in, but Draco tried not to show that he was the least affected by them.
"The only thing I can say is that you're doing way better since I got here. Maybe you need to stop shutting everyone out. Your drawings are beautiful. I even got a call from McGonagall. She didn't want to disturb you until now because she was convinced you needed some time. But now that she knows you're crawling out of your hole again, she suggested you should go to Hogwarts." This seemed to get Potter off the Daily Prophet matter.
"To do what, exactly?" Sarcasm dripped off his deep voice, turning Draco on and pissing him off at the same time.
"Be an art teacher, of course. I suggested it to her. She'll do a survey with the students to see what they think, but she agrees that the Wizards need a bit of creativity." Draco was starting to feel very good about himself, a hot glow gleaming in his throat.
"YOU SUGGESTED IT TO HER?" Potter roared. Draco looked up at Potter, quircking an eyebrow. The man could get angry about anything.
"Yes," Draco replied coolly.
"What else did you do behind my back, you horrible ferret! Mind your own business!" Potter's vocabulary had clearly increased since Hogwarts, but Draco wasn't intimidated.
"I was trying to please you, Potter. Just calm down. I thought you said you didn't care what they wrote about you? Ignore it, if you can't stand it. Don't blame it on me. I know it will do you good. You've always felt at home at Hogwarts, didn't you?"
"You can't know that." Potter was so defensive, it finally got on Draco's nerves. Couldn't he just say 'Thank you'? Nobody had asked Draco to do this! Still, he'd done it for Potter. To make him feel better.
"I'm not stupid, Potter. Stop suggesting I'm a moron, you brainless fool! I felt at home at Hogwarts. More at home than I ever felt with my father! That's why I figured you did too. Stop being an idiot. You're better than this! McGonagall knows it. I know it."
"You're impossible," Potter replied, throwing his hands in the air before leaving.
"You're the ones who's being impossible," Draco muttered under his breath. The man was getting on his nerves. It aggravated him that Potter could be like this. He already admitted that he knew Potter wouldn't be happy with it, but at least he'd expected the man to know the motivation to it. It was as if he had just handed him over to the Dark Lord.
Merlin. That man needed to get laid. Quickly.
LINEBREAK
"Potter. Dinner's ready," Draco called upstairs, when he'd placed the table. The food smelled delicious, and Draco was partly hoping that Potter would forget about the Prophet and just be normal. Not that Potter had ever been normal, but still.
Potter came bouncing down the stairs and took his seat, without speaking.
"Are you still upset?" Draco tried cautiously.
"Yes, Malfoy. It's the third time you did this. You crossed a line." Was he going to start ranting about crossing lines now?
"I like crossing lines. It gets you somewhere. Besides, I never thought you were someone to stick to the rules, Potter. Why so prudent all of a sudden?"
"I don't want people to talk! I hate it. I hate you!" Potter then stuffed his mouth with mashed potatoes, looking at his plate to avoid eye contact. Nevertheless, Draco had heard the tears in his voice.
"I'm sorry," Draco whispered, guiltily. Maybe he had taken the drawing thing a little too far. He owed the man an apology. Nevertheless, Draco did not regret his decision.
"Don't you ever buy that bloody paper again!" Potter snapped. This seemed to take Draco's guilt away again.
"I'm a grown man, Potter. I can buy whatever I want," he responded, quirking an eyebrow.
"Not with MY money." Potter was talking with a mouthful, probably something he picked up from the Weasel. However, Draco was too busy trying to make a statement to say something about it.
"What do you expect? That I go to Gringotts and drily ask the Goblins to take me to the Malfoy's vault? They'd arrest me pronto!"
"I don't care," Potter grumbled. Draco observed him for a moment, trying to figure out whether the man cared or not. He decided Potter actually did care about it, because otherwise he wouldn't have let Draco in. Then, something occurred to him.
"Talking about arresting. They're sending my mother to Azkaban tomorrow."
"What?!" The cutlery clattered on Potters plate, resounding awfully loud in the suddenly quiet kitchen.
"She'll have a hearing, then they'll put her in Azkaban. It's on page eleven," Draco explained, pointing to the Prophet with his fork.
"You didn't tell me that! She's not supposed to be in Azkaban. Merlin, she was the one who saved me!" Potter seemed out of his wits. He jumped up to get the paper from the counter and quickly read the article.
"Yeah. It's a bit too late for that now, isn't it," Draco whispered. Now that his thoughts were settled on his mother, he didn't feel hungry anymore. She'd always been nice to him. He had always respected her, and she had cherished him with all her heart. She was everything he could ever ask for in a mother. The thought of losing her tore his heart up with sadness.
"No!" Potter exclaimed. "When does it start? I'm going to the Ministry to put this right."
"You're what?" Draco asked, dumbfounded. Potter had completely lost it.
"She SAVED my life, Malfoy. She isn't supposed to be in Azkaban." Potter's hands made big gestures, convincing Draco all the more that he had indeed gone insane .
"Don't talk bullshit, Potter. She saved nobody's life."
"She did. I never told anyone. After Voldemort hit me with the Killing Curse, I woke up again. She had to check up on me, to confirm that I was dead. She asked me if you were still alive, and I replied you were. She told Voldemort I was dead. That's how I was able to kill him. Otherwise he would've just hit me again with the curse, and I would have been history."
Draco looked at Potter with eyes as big a saucers, finding it impossible to believe what he'd just told. Was there a tiny chance his mother wouldn't be sent to Azkaban? After all she'd done to help his father? Draco didn't dare to hope. He hadn't had hope since the Mark had been burned on his arm. But now that Potter had told him this, a tiny sparkle of hope flared up in his chest.
Potter could save her.
Harry walked through the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. As he had expected, a lot of people were surprised by his appearance. Many wizards just stopped talking to one another, to look at him, others greeted him with a curt nod.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter," a gentleman with a mustache said. Harry was sure he'd seen him before, but he couldn't remember his name. It had been too long since he'd last been around people.
"Morning," Harry responded, politely smiling back at the man while passing by. He was glad to make it to the elevators. There were only two people in it. They looked at him, Harry noticed their glances go up two inches to his forehead and then focusing back on him. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. At least Malfoy didn't do that.
Malfoy.
Harry had never seen him so stressed before. The blonde had tried to negotiate with him, but it was useless. Harry was desperate to make an appearance on the hearing of Narcissa Malfoy and he would do anything within his powers to prevent her from going to Azkaban. She, of all people, had not deserved this.
Malfoy had lent him a grey tuxedo, combined with a green blouse and black tie. Malfoy had adapted its size to Harry's body, using a spell Harry couldn't remember. Sometimes he still felt like he was eleven years old, ignorant of the variety of spells commonly used.
However, there was a tiny little voice in Harry's head, warning him that this was a bad idea. When Narcissa and Malfoy would be cleared of all charges, there was no reason for Malfoy to stay with him anymore. The thought latched itself to Harry's mind, while he went back and forth between contradicting emotions, resembling the movements of the elevator.
The elevator kept moving forward and backwards, occasionally up or down until they reached Level Ten, the department under the Department Of Mysteries. Harry got out, being grateful for not running into anyone he knew and marched to Courtroom Ten, the room where he had gotten his hearing back in the fifth year. Harry was getting nervous. He knocked before entering, but the Hearing hadn't started yet.
He took his seat, looking around the circular room. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic was sitting in the head chair. He recognized John Dawlish, the Auror that had assisted Cornelius Fudge in sending Dumbledore to Azkaban, who was sitting on his right side and Amelia Bones, the woman who had interrogated him during his own trial was sitting on Shacklebolts left side. The Wizengamot had seats on the left side of the courtroom, on the other side there were stands for the public, where Harry and other wizards were sitting.
Malfoy had wanted to come along, but that wasn't a very clever idea. Even though Harry would try to clear him and his mother of all charges, he didn't want any unnecessary spite. Harry was pulled out of his reverie when Narcissa was brought in. Harry noticed how thin she was. That was very saddening to see, as Narcissa had always been a beautiful and proud woman, slender, but not thin. They put her in the iron cage, even though the woman couldn't do any harm.
"Hearing of the twenty-third of August, Narcissa Malfoy, resident at Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England, is accused of supporting her husband Lucius Malfoy in following Lord Voldemort and his plans to kill Harry James Potter. Her son Draco Malfoy is still fugitive. Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; John Dawlish, Headauror; Percy Ignatius Weasley, Court Scribe, " Shacklebolt spoke. The beginning resembled Harry's hearing in a disquieting way. Harry looked back to the black cage, to the woman with the platina blonde hair. It was in a pitiful state, uncombed strands pointing in various directions. Narcissa looked terrified, clutching to the iron bars.
Harry waited for the hearing to reach the part where a testimony was allowed and stood up politely. Nobody expected someone to testify, there were harldy people there, except for the Wizengamot. Harry clared his throat and started talking. "I, Harry Potter, would like to make a testimony in favor of Narcissa Malfoy." Instantly, Narcissa turned to him, her eyes filled with tears, an expression of hope on her face.
"We are listening," Kingsley replied, nodding curtly.
"During the Second Wizarding War, Narcissa Malfoy helped me defeating Lord Voldemort. After Voldemort had cast the Killing Curse, I didn't die. It only killed the Horcrux that had attached itself to me. Voldemort demanded someone to check to see if I was still alive and Narcissa volunteered. When she saw I was still alive, she lied to Voldemort, declaring I was dead. That is how I was able to defeat Voldemort. If someone else had checked up on me, Voldemort might have killed me in the Forbidden Forest."
There was an intense silence while everyone in the courtroom tried to place that new piece of information.
"Thank you Mr. Potter. However, we feel that Narcissa handled with the intension of saving her family, not saving you. She might not have cared whether you were killed or not. We will discuss this in a moment."
"She saved my life," Harry replied politely. "And I want to say something on Draco Malfoy as well. Even though he's carrying the Dark Mark, Malfoy is not a Death Eater. I was there when he tried to kill Dumbledore. You know that Minister. He couldn't do it. Snape did it instead. After being caught by Snatchers and being brought to the Manor, Malfoy was the one who decided whether Voldemort would be called in or not, to kill me. He told them he didn't recognize me, but I know he did. He saved my life as well." Harry spoke while looking at Narcissa. Her eyes were filled with sorrow when he spoke about her son. The gratitude radiated off her frail body, hardly capable of remaining upright despite her efforts. Harry could only imagine what she had been going through the past two months.
"Thank you Mr. Potter. We will vote now."
Draco was pacing around the living room, looking at the digital watch under the television every ten seconds. Even though it was a Muggle device, he was grateful for it to be there. The Hearing had started at 10 o'clock. It was already a quarter past eleven, and Potter still wasn't back.
Draco's nerves were killing him. He was anxious for his mother to be punished and just hoped Potter's story would be good enough to discharge her of the claims. Draco had been begging to come along, but he knew he couldn't. Anyway, he was still waiting for Potter to come home and tell him either good or bad news.
No. He would tell him good and bad news. If his mother was indeed free to go, and Potter had managed to clear Draco's name as well, that meant he would be going back to the Manor. That also meant he wouldn't be able to see Potter anymore. As the though settled in Draco's mind, he tensed. It felt as if someone had just poured a cold glass of water over him.
Why was this such bad news? Draco would be lying to himself if he said he just stayed here because he had no place else to go. He'd also stayed because he liked being around Potter. He'd grown fond of him. Draco buried his hands in his hair in frustration.
Why did this have to be so difficult?
Why couldn't Potter just come home?
As if Salazar had heard his prays, Draco heard the front door swing open. As swift as a hawk, Draco ran to the hall, a questioning look on his face. This was it. The moment of truth.
Potter looked at him, a sad expression dominating his face. Draco's heart sank into his boots. No. this couldn't be true. Narcissa would be sent to Azkaban.
"What happened?" Draco questioned, the tension sounding through his voice.
"It's good. Narcissa is cleared of all charges, so are you. You don't have to hide anymore." The news made Draco's heart jump up, but at the same time, it slapped him in the face. "Narcissa was sent to St. Mungo's. I suggest you go ahead and clean up the Manor a bit until she can go home again." Potter sounded very cold.
"Thanks," Draco murmured, turning around and heading up the stairs. What had gotten into Potter? Was he still mad for publishing his picture in the Daily Prophet? The bottom line of what the Survivor had said was to get out of his house. He hadn't put it so literally, but that was what he meant. He had only let Draco stay here because he had no place else to go. And now he did.
Clean up the Manor. It had only been two months since they had left. There wouldn't be much to clean up. Two months. They had gone by so fast. Potter had changed so much in only two months. When he first arrived here, Potter had been an awful drunk, caught up in his own misery. Now, the man was working out again. He was getting better. Draco would not be around anymore to witness his progress.
Draco sank down on his bed – the bed the Hero had assigned him to have – and closed his eyes. The thought of leaving Potter behind was unbearable. His chest was aching, giving Draco difficulty to breathe. Slowly, tears appeared in his eyes. He tried to fight them off, but eventually they dripped on his cheeks, making their way down to fall off his chin.
He could just ask Potter if he could stay. He could suggest to come by every now and then. He could say he wanted to keep seeing him. But Draco didn't have the guts for it. Potter had rejected him several times already, so Draco didn't know what he would reply. The fear of receiving a 'No' was bigger than the urge to ask. The Golden Boy would probably just tell him to go. He would finally have his peace. Be alone, like he'd wanted ever since Draco moved in.
Draco shook his head. He couldn't stand to be in this place for another moment. He could breathe Potter in every inch of this room. He couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye to all of this. He got up again, tried to wipe his tears away and went downstairs.
He went to the kitchen hesitantly, where Potter was sitting. At first, Draco didn't say anything. Nothing came to his mind. What in Salazar's name should he say? 'Thanks for everything, bye' 'See you around?' or 'Have a good life.' Draco wanted to curse himself right now. He just wanted to rewind the time. Go back to their embrace, on the cold floor of the living room. Go back to their kiss, on the soft sofa. Potter's sweet smell hung around him, as if to say goodbye one last time.
"I'll probably go now. There's still a lot to take care of," Draco said, trying to sound calm. His statement was invalid: there was nothing to care car of. There wouldn't be anyone waiting to welcome him at the Manor. Draco only said that to cover up the miserable feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Potter wasn't supposed to know how he felt. The man had done his best to help him. He saved both of their lives, and he wasn't even forced to. He'd volunteered to help. Draco hadn't been able to stop him, the man had just run out the door like a headless chicken, saying his mother wasn't a bad person. Hearing that coming from the Golden Boy made Draco's heart flutter.
"Good. If you need anything, just say so." Potter's reply was very standard. What was that supposed to mean? It wasn't an invitation. It was more a sort of sentence you used when you have to say someone's welcome but you don't want them to come.
"No. I'll be fine." Draco turned around again, tears filling his eyes again. If someone could see him now. They would just laugh their asses off, realizing what a pussy he'd become. However, Potter was not to blame. The raven-haired man had told Draco from the beginning this was temporary, so the news didn't exactly come as a surprise. Nor did the heartache.
"Okay," Potter replied. Draco didn't look at him. He couldn't. He was afraid that his emotions would completely go out of control upon seeing the beautiful shade of green staring back at him. He just started walking away. Then hesitated.
"I-" Draco started, spinning around to face Potter one last time. He couldn't leave without looking into those beautiful puddles, at least once. However, the words got stuck in his mouth, and he didn't know what to say. "Take care."
With those words, Draco walked into the hallway. He could feel Potters eyes burn in his neck, but he didn't turn around. He wanted Potter to run after him, to pull him back and beg him to stay. But Potter wouldn't do that. He wouldn't want that. That's why Draco kept walking.
It was over now.
Harry sat down on his kitchen chair as Malfoy made his way up the stairs. The blonde could have shown a little respect. He had tried his hardest to help both of them. All he had gotten was a muffled 'thanks'.
Harry sighed. The thought of being alone again scared him. Who would he run to when his nightmares kept him awake at night? Who would prevent him from drinking whenever he pleased? Who would make those lovely dinners Harry always looked forward to? Harry never would have guessed he would get used to Malfoy's presence so easily. He was present in so many aspects of his life that it was difficult for the Gryffindor to exclude the blonde.
Harry heard steps on the stairs and waited for Malfoy to enter the kitchen. The blonde stopped in the doorway, avoiding Harry's gaze. "I'll probably go now. There's still a lot to take care of." Malfoy's voice sounded a bit off. That probably was because of the relief. Harry could only imagine what it was like to have his mother sent to Azkaban. That was even worse than dying.
"Good. If you need anything, just say so." Harry knew he should have said something else. What was he supposed to say? 'Stay.' Harry just wanted to scream the lungs out of his chest.
"No. I'll be fine." Malfoy turned around again. He hadn't even looked at Harry. The man was probably glad to leave. Who wanted to stay with him anyway? People hated being around him. "No one will ever love you." Besides, upon Malfoy's arrival here, Harry had said his stay would be temporary. He couldn't withdraw those words now, could he?
"Okay," Harry whispered in reply. He looked at Malfoy, who slowly started to walk away, his beautiful posture out of sync with the ugly building. Just when Harry was starting to lose the last trickle of hope, Malfoy turned around again, silver eyes clouded with sadness. Their eyes locked.
"I-" Malfoy stammered. Harry waited patiently for him to finish his sentence. Could it be? Would he voluntarily stay here, even though he wasn't fugitive anymore? "Take care." Malfoy turned away one last time, slowly disappearing in the hallway.
Harry looked down at his feet, tears starting to blur his vision. Why did he feel so bad? He should be happy that both Malfoy and Narcissa were alright. The thought of silver eyes and blonde eyelashes only increased the stinging ache in his chest. When Harry heard the door slam shut, he let go.
Tears streamed down his face, trying to grasp what was happening to him. Why did it bother him so much? Memories replayed in his mind, long arms wrapped around his chest tightly, the smell of Malfoy hanging around him. It was in the past now.
Malfoy was gone.
To be continued…
