I posted this chapter, but for some reason nobody could see it. So...here I go again...
Sorry for the horribly long wait. I was first packing for college, then moving, then unpacking, buying books...GOING to class. The list goes ON and ON. And then I had a bit of beta trouble. Only one beta reviewed this and then I tried my best to objectively beta it myself... Is that possible? Anyway, if you find a mistake, PLEASE message me. Thank you and enjoy.
Oh, and I don't own anything and you should review. KAY. HAVE FUN.
Harry lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He could hear Draco's soft breathing in the small bed across from his.
"Bloody hell…" whispered the raven haired man. Here, in the dark, he felt like a kid again. It was just like the nights he had spent awake at Hogwarts, dreading his eventual death. Only now, he dreaded speaking to Draco Malfoy. How had he come to this point? Somehow their rivalry had morphed into this sick obsession. Or…was it sick? Was it really? Sure, he had kissed Draco while the man was crying, having a meltdown, and was stark naked… But he did it out of an impulse to heal, to nurture, and to protect.
"Stupid…"
If that was all true, then why did he feel so dirty?
Harry rolled over to glance at the sleeping body in the bed by the window. The blond was on his side, his slender body illuminated by the stars while his skin transformed into porcelain under the moonlight. Harry let his eyes linger on the light scars marring the man's otherwise flawless chest before bringing his gaze to pale, grey orbs. Draco Malfoy was fully awake and openly staring.
For all of his courage fighting horribly talented dark wizards, Harry could find none of it in that particular moment. All he could do was stare, too terrified to speak, and too stubborn to be the first to look away.
The two stayed that way, lost in each other, until sleep overcame them both.
"YOU DID WHAT?"
"Shhh! 'Mione! He is still sleeping! We didn't get to sleep until this morning." Hermione shook her head, causing embers to fly out of Harry's fireplace. "Careful."
"You kissed him while he was naked and sobbing? What on Earth…"
"You don't understand! He seemed so helpless. And what he was saying... That night in the bathroom…" Harry hesitated. He didn't like talking about the time he had nearly killed Draco. "I hu-… I hurt him so badly. I didn't know what that spell would d- I never wante- I think he thinks that I wanted to kill him. I think he might believe that I'm upset that he didn't die that night. I can barely live with knowing the damage I did. I see those scars ALL the time. I did that. I BRANDED him just like Voldemort branded me. Every time he looks in the mirror he has a visual reminded of what I DID to him. And… I…" Harry's voice broke.
"Harry, I thi-"
"Shh! I hear him. He's up. I have to go!"
Harry got up from his kneeling position in front of the fire and hurried to the cozy kitchen where he had breakfast made. After casting a quick warming charm, he set a plate of bacon and eggs on the dining table just as Draco stepped out from their shared room.
He looked amazing. He was wearing a dark green jumper that hugged his muscles accompanied with a dark pair of jeans. His hair was not slicked back in its usual fashion, but rather slightly tousled. He looked relaxed, and almost… Muggle. Something had to be wrong.
"Morning. I made breakfast." Draco threw a sneer in Harry's direction and sat down.
"How domestic of you, Potter."
"Are you alright? Your hair-"
"Noticing my hair now, are we? Honestly, Potter. Just because you like it up the arse doesn't mean you have to be such a stereotype." Draco took a bite of his eggs as Harry turned three shades of red, his complexion rivaling that of an embarrassed Ron.
"I thought that you might not be feeling well."
"It's the latest look. SURELY, you must know that. If I know, then you, being bent as a boomerang, must know." He smirked and took another bite.
Harry stood and walked to the kitchen sink, doing his best not to stomp his feet on the way. He threw in his plate, still filled with food, and huffed. He huffed like an angry, little kid, and Draco Malfoy heard every second of it.
A pompous voice called over from the dining room table.
"Having a fit, Potter? Angry because I won't give you a good shag?"
A lump formed in Harry's throat, but he ignored it, preferring anger to this feeling of rejection. He marched to the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.
Draco washed the dishes slowly, angrily berating himself.
"What a great job, Draco. You little shit." He sighed. "Just because you like it up the ass…Stupid. Bent as a boomerang. Who says that? God. Angry because I won't give him a… GOD." A dish slipped from his grasp and broke in two within the sink. Seconds later, the bedroom door opened and a frazzled Harry Potter stepped out.
"Are you alright?! What happened?"
"Don't get your knickers in a bunch, Potter. I simply dropped-"
"MALFOY!"
Finally. This is what he had been waiting for: The moment they would go back to their yelling and insults. At least this was familiar. At least this didn't leave him with an overwhelming sense of guilt. Last night, Harry had kissed him in a moment of complete anguish and vulnerability. That slight brush of lips against lips sent Draco into a whirlwind of emotions. He spent the night, and much of the morning, crying about his dead mother, his uselessness, and his guilt, because he was amazingly happy that Harry Potter had kissed him. Then, early this morning, they had shared a tender moment when they fell asleep gazing into each other's eyes. But Draco didn't deserve this and he SHOULDN'T be so focused on Harry when his mother had just- When there was a killer out there and his son was at school and- When his life was such a mess.
"I DON'T CARE HOW DISGUSTED YOU ARE WITH ME! I AM YOUR AUROR, YOUR PROTECTOR, AND YOU SHALL TREAT ME WITH RESPECT!"
"Oh, posh. You just wa-"
"I don't want to hear it. I know you are going through a lot, but I'm not going to put up with your attitude this time. Not about this subject." Potter waved his wand, repairing the broken dish, and returned to the bedroom.
What in the name of Salazar Slytherin was that? Disgusted? Draco was far from disgusted… He just couldn't help but lash out. It was all he knew how to do and now that he was so confused, he clung to his snide remarks. It was the only familiar thing in a sea of uncertainty. Harry could not be his lover. That was not how the world worked. He needed his enemy. He needed a semblance of normalcy now that his rock was gone.
Draco had spent all day switching from snarky comments to complete silence and Harry could not figure out what was going on. The blond had stopped making fun of Harry's sexuality, but he continued to make fun of Harry as a person. He was obnoxious, pompous, rude, and reminded Harry of his first year at Hogwarts more and more with every passing moment. All the Gryffindor could think was that Draco Malfoy must still be terribly depressed about the death of his mother. Harry knew what it was like to live without parents and he figured that this immense loss, plus perhaps a sense of being violated by Harry the night before, must be causing the moodiness and the random hours of silence.
Perhaps if Draco had some fun… If they left the flat and went somewhere other than the Ministry… It might be dangerous, but maybe if they used Polyjuice…
"Draco." Draco looked up and arched an eyebrow. He was in a silence mood. "Would you like to go to The Three Broomsticks?" Draco shrugged, stood, and grabbed a cloak.
"Hold on. I'm going to floo 'Mione and ask for a bit of Polyjuice potion." Draco nodded and sat back down.
This would help. It had to help.
A tall, dark haired wizard clung on to another tall wizard with auburn hair. The dark haired man waved a glass of firewhisky about as he spoke loudly, slurring his words.
"Thisssh s'fantaaassstic. Ah feel s'mush be'er!" The Auburn hair seemed bemused, though uncomfortable by the other man's close proximity.
"Alright, why don't we go home now, Christopher?"
"Christopher? Who the bloody hell is that?" Christopher's eyes widened suddenly and he leaned into his friend, burying his face against his chest and giggling. "Oh, riiiiiight. Shhhhhh. It's a seeeeecret."
"Ok. Let's go."
"You're s'warm Harry…" Christopher's friend stiffened.
"It's Harold. Remember? Harold."
"Mmm…yes. Harold. My Harold…" Harold sighed and Christopher nuzzled a cold nose against his neck. "Smell good…"
"Come on now. Let's get you home."
"No!" Christopher pulled away violently, stumbled, and tripped over a chair, landing flat on his back and taking down two people with him. Harold sprang into action. He pulled up his friend and apologized to others around him as he pulled Christopher toward the door of the Three Broomsticks, hoping to get to the nearest apparition point, and finally, home. His friend was much too drunk and their latest swig of Polyjuice was about to wear off…
"You! Were you lookin' at my friend 'ere?!" Christopher yelled at an unsuspecting man, sitting at the bar.
"Chris…"
"Were you?! Well, you can get lost! Go on! All you lot can sod off! All of you!" Harold tugged Christopher more forcefully, causing the man to fall against him. Christopher threw an arm around him and yelled out, just as Harold began to feel his skin shift back to its normal state, "This man s'MY property! Our kiss proved it! I proclaim him as mine. Harry bloody Potter s'mine and I shall do with him as ah please."
Silence. Nobody spoke, nobody breathed. All they did was gape at the two men whose bodies were finishing the transformation back to their original states. They were very obviously Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. The first was pissed drunk, with his arm draped around the second, a look of determination on his face. The second was holding up the first, terror apparent in every portion of his body.
There was a click of a camera and suddenly the silence was broken, setting free a wave of flashes, gasps, and shouted questions. The uproar was earsplitting. It was as if hell has broken loose right there in The Three Broomsticks.
Harry Potter turned on the spot, ignoring Wizarding courtesy, and apparated out of the establishment and into his flat.
"Fuck."
"Yes, let's."