Chapter Seven recap:

Draco didn't know what to do, even though he heard the footsteps approaching; he still didn't know what to do. But when he saw her, he lost control. And on an impulse, he found himself complimenting her. It was neither cool nor suave: "Hey. You're beautiful."

And then it started. He grazed her neck, and he went loose. He couldn't stop, wouldn't stop; she reacted so perfectly. And even Weasley's name did not deter him from conquering her. Even she couldn't stop him by himself.

No.

What brought everything into a chilling stop, a halting screech, was his own self, his own unconscious desire, his own unwavering need. "'Miney."

And the world twisted, after that.

And however nasty what happened next, it was also a catalyst. At least he had Ronald Weasley safe.


This chapter:

Point of view – Harry's with a little of Draco's.

Setting: Grimmaulds Place— Lobby/living room/reception area/living room. Is that enough:P

Characters involved: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. And oh, an unconscious Ronald Weasley.


Chapter Eight

Harry stood, leaning on a post of the staircase, unable to believe what he was seeing. He squinted, but the image didn't go away. Instead, it only got more real: Harry was now hearing sounds.

"Stupid bint," he heard a lazy slurr. "Geroff my head!"

Then came the slow heavy pants. Huo. Huo. Huo.

Even more unbelievable was that the next body started murmuring, "'mione..."

Harry then heard a derisive snort. "Aww, quit your yappin', Weasley!" Draco scowled, or at least Harry thought Draco did, but then again it was quite difficult to discern their reactions when he was fourteen bloody feet away from the flat-on-the-floor bodies. "Haven't you heard? Hermione Granger has been fhucking dead for three years already! Killed by an unidentified Death Eater!" he snapped, his right arm slapping the ground, covering the tone of anguish underneath his words.

Now Harry was downright confused. Last time he heard from Draco, the pureblood was cursing him and Ron, on the verge of losing his vocal cords. What the hell was that? It surely wasn't a snapping Draco before. Merlin, Draco wasn't even standing. Harry squinted, but the distance kept him from seeing something definitive.

And he was randomly spurting out Hermione's name. By God, what the hell was wrongwith Draco? And how did he manage to bring back Ron? It wasn't that Harry was neither happy nor relieved to see Ron in one piece, because he was. It was just that Draco's actions were very unusual. The operative word was 'unusual', heightened with an adverb 'very'. Typically, Draco tended to brag about his expeditions and bark at Harry for his stupidity. Unless Harry missed it, he was hearing none. Which brought the word 'unusual' to another whole level.

Harry, resolute on getting to the bottom of this, started towards the stairs. On the second that he realized that Ron might have been injured, he quickly covered what was left of the stairs and ran to Ron's side, kneeling down.

Another drawl came from Draco. This time Harry heard a bitter resentment— of what, he couldn't particularly fathom.

"Stoophid, Weas-ly. S'not a good dwinken buddy, Potteh. Duno how hiyu lhive with him." Draco jerked a thumb towards Ron's unmoving body, looking calm, not the least perturbed.

It took Harry exactly five seconds to repeat Draco's words quickly before he grasped the ex-Slytherin's implication and current state. He was drunk! And he brought an injured Ron to a bar?

Indignation flared within Harry. "You dense, faggot-"

Draco scoffed upon hearing the alternate term for homosexual, and hearing it from someone who had more chance of being one was highly insulting. "I am not-t gay, Potteh," he told him, leaning on his right arm for support."

"-dim-witted, bloody, arsehole! You brought Ron to a bar when he was injured?" Harry shouted, unaffected by Draco's glare, who was now sitting on the ground. Harry never thought he'd see the day that a Malfoy was voluntarily sitting on the floor. Without any complaints!

"He," Draco motioned to the red-head, "wash nhot inchured, Potteh. He was prit-teh-ly, and conveniently, unconscious." Draco closed his eyes before his tone turned accusing, rubbing his temple with his index and middle finger. "The lea-heast he cud' have dawn was listen to me talk after I saved his fat arse. The bah-stud just slept!"

Harry, for the first time in his life, didn't know whether to laugh at Draco's absurdity or shed tears in exasperation. "I don't believe it. There is just no bloody way that you're drunk," Harry muttered darkly.

Draco gave a broken, amused laugh. "Try me, Potteh. You whana smell my lahove-ly breath?"

Harry was tempted to replace the smirk on Draco's face with one of pain. He was seriously considering doing something that would hinder Draco from producing smart-assed people like himself. God forbid, Harry thought, horrified just thinking of the poor kids who would be completely confused when they grew up.

"Daddy, what is smart-ass?" a pretty little boy with silver-blue eyes and pale blond hair asked as he tugged at Draco's dress shirt.

"It means you're smart, and people envy you," Draco replied, smiling a triumphant grin as his eyes began to shift towards Harry. "Just like Potter. He's jealous of you, son."

The kid silently kept alternating his gaze between the two men, before grinning himself. "Hah!" he said, proud and happy, his index finger pointed to Harry. "I'm better than you!"

God forbid, Harry thought again as his mind slowly got rid of the image.

"Malfoy, am I the one who's irrational? You are sitting on the floor. The filthy floorYou do remember you hate filthy things, right?" Draco opened his mouth to retort when Harry held his ground, raising a hand to indicate he wasn't done. "You were supposed to bring back Ron here. And thankfully, you did. But you were not –I repeat: NOT— supposed to bring him to a bar! He was unconscious. Unconscious! U-N-C-"

Draco groaned, not believing what was happening to him. "Gawd, Potteh. You shound like a pharrot. You," he said with his index finger pointed, "do nhot need to repeat every bloody word you say." He stopped, helping himself stand. He sniffed and continued by saying, "You have the ghall to bloody inshult me when you're—" index finger raised "— the reason your friend was in trouble! Geez! You are worse than the mudblood! Do you actually know that?" By that time, Draco was breathing heavily, his face hinting that he was at the end of his patience.

Harry couldn't respond. He simply just couldn't. Draco never ever said the word 'mudblood' after... well, after he shifted allegiance. What the hell was wrong?

"Besides," Draco further slurred, his vision blurring a bit. "If I knew the Weashley wash in a" –sway- "cruc-i-al cond-dition, I would have brought him here directly. But give me some" –sway—" credit, Potteh. He wasn't."

The man-who-lived knew that Draco was dangerously about to fall... some time soon. With a tired voice, he addressed the ex-Slytherin, "Go on, Draco. There's an empty room there. Youcan stay there if you want, instead of Apparating back to wherever." And disfigure, slice or whatever yourself. He knew that Draco was a man who rarely asked for anyone's help, so refrained from helping him towards his room."Gin will be here later with food. You can wake up by then."

His ex-nemesisnodded curtly at him, then walked languidly towards the stairs. When Draco reached it, he could only stare.

What was this? 12 feet?

A groan.

He took a deep breath and began to climb up, slowly, seemingly effortless. Just like the Malfoy way. Hey, even though he was fighting alongside Potter, it didn't change the fact that he was still a Malfoy.

Meanwhile, Harry was still beside the red-head, who was still unconscious. The green-eyed man sighed forlornly, thoroughly perplexed at what he was to do. He wasn't a Healer, for God's sake. And he was too anxious to cast any healing spell, since his heightened nervousness might only worsen Ron's condition. And Ginny wouldn't be back till around ten in the morning, which left Harry quite clueless at what to do.

And yet, the grey-mattered organ, also known by most as the "brain", was able to think of something. Harry was a half-muggle. He wanted to slap himself silly for not thinking of it sooner. Potions would take nights to prepare; and magic was simply out of the question. A sly grin made its way towards Harry's face.

That's why I love technology. Fast and easy.


A/N: Please tell me what you think by clicking the purple button over there. points over the to south west direction Yes!

Thank you for your reviews, everyone! I hope you're still enjoying the story. If you spot anything, just tell me.

And I'll try to reply to your reviews or PMs asap since I'm swamped with a lot of things right now. In fact, in a week, I've only read two fics. At the moment, I'm not feeling too good, the obvious case being 'colds'. Uh, I've got my retreat in two weeks, and next month is our first College Entrance Exam, and I haven't started reviewing, yet. I mean, I know the basics-- but our exams include everything we tackled and will be tackling from first year to fourth year in subjects such as Science, Math, and English. I'm glad I don't have to review English anymore.

Anyway, tell me what you think, again.

The next chapter is on Meredith. Solo chapter, so it's a bit angsty, I think.