Hello, Internet! I have missed you all so very terribly! I know that it has been practically centuries since I've updated this story, so I won't take up too much time here with non-story-related words. I will say a real quick sorry now for my prolonged absence, and the rest of the apologies and excuses shall all be at the very end.
I hope everyone remembers where this story left off because that is pretty much right where it picks back up. Prepare for tons of drama, heaps of hurt feelings, a minor revelation or two, and some hardcore misunderstandings. Also, a bit of hardcore making out. I shall leave it up to you to find out who is involved in the dramatic makeout.
Time for one vague warning and a smidge of caps lock, and then onto the new chapter!
WARNING—What is a story without a bit of drama?
AMONG THOSE KILLED
Chapter 14—A Better Resurrection
I have no wit, no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numb'd too much for hopes or fears;
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;
I lift mine eyes, but dimm'd with grief
No everlasting hills I see;
My life is in the falling leaf;
O Jesus, quicken me.
"A Better Resurrection"—Christina Rosetti
oOo
The pub was noisy and already crowded, despite it still being a rather early hour for a Friday night. Raking his eyes over the steadily growing throng, Draco spied a table along the wall and hurried toward it, lowering into the seat with stiff movements. His stomach was twisting with nerves at the thought of the upcoming meeting with Wisp. What news did the man have? Would Draco finally have his answers? Would the mystery finally be solved beyond any shadow of a doubt? Would he now be able to sleep at night, having achieved some sort of closure to the persistent grief still haunting his every step? Would Pansy have the vengeance she was owed? Would Draco have the vengeance he craved?
"What'll it be, love?"
Draco blinked, startled by the sudden barmaid appearing in front of him. How long had she been standing there?
Shaking off his surprise, he ordered two of Wisp's usual's, lapsing once more into troubled silence in the wake of the woman's departure. He held himself tensely, sitting uncomfortably straight in his chair and feeling jumpy and more than uneasy at the presence of the loud crowd around him. By the time the woman returned with the drinks, he was beginning to feel a restless sort of itch spreading along the skin of his forearms, but he held himself all the more rigid and tried to ignore it.
As she walked away, he considered spelling the alcohol from his foamy glass of lager, but after a moment decided against it. He needed something to help the impending reality he would soon be faced with upon Wisp's arrival—if the man would ever actually arrive, that was.
Just as Draco was beginning to grow impatient—after all, who was the one being paid?—the chair opposite him was pulled out with a screech and Wisp was suddenly seated across the table from him, grinning darkly.
"Malfoy," he greeted, whispering several spells over his ale and casting a muffled silencing charm around them.
"Well?" Draco demanded, far too impatient to be anything less than direct. "What did you find? Was he in Azkaban?"
Grinning around several large gulps of his drink, Wisp shook his head. "Gone," he replied simply.
"Gone?" Draco echoed, hands trembling. He had not truly allowed himself to believe that it was possible. Cyril Crabbe? He would never have suspected a Death Eater of being responsible for the murders of so many Slytherins—and all for the memory of Vince? Why? "How does one break out of Azkaban?" Draco knew it had been done before, of course. He had learned to his horror just how possible it was to break out of the wizarding prison when his mad aunt had been set loose on the public once again. But how had Cyril Crabbe done it? There was no Dark Lord to help him escape this time.
No, it made no sense.
Wisp opened his mouth to speak but Draco continued before he could. "And how would nobody have known? These attacks have been happening for months. How would he have been gone for months without the public being made aware?"
Grin widening, Wisp drained the rest of his glass and gestured for the barmaid to bring another. "You see now, that is the interesting bit, right there." He paused, to Draco's growing frustration.
"Well?" Draco snapped, losing all composure. What was interesting? What had the man found?
"You see," Wisp glanced around as he leaned closer, "there was someone in his cell. Someone who looked a lot like him. But," he smiled a toothy, dangerous grin, "it definitely wasn't him."
"Who was it?" Draco asked numbly. Was it really possible? "Are you saying he used Polyjuice to escape?" If that was what Wisp was indeed about to inform him was how the man had broken out, Draco was not sure he would believe it. The amount of Polyjuice it would take for someone to assume Crabbe's place in prison for months would be astronomical. It would not and could not be possible.
"It was a guard," Wisp answered, but fell silent as the barmaid returned with his drink, smiling prettily at him as she set it on the table. "Cheers, pet," he grinned, lifting the glass in a salute and causing a blush to spread across her dark skin as he looked her up and down.
Draco drummed his fingers impatiently on the table until she walked away. "Well?" he began immediately, leaning in across the empty space and lowering his voice, despite the privacy ward still in place around them. "It was a guard?"
Nodding, Wisp took a gulp. "One of the guards, Imperiused to take doses from a store of Polyjuice somehow being smuggled in to him."
"For months?" Draco could not believe it. It seemed unfathomable to him. How had Crabbe managed it? Who had helped him? He had to have had help from the outside; there was no way he would have been able to pull off such a feat on his own from behind prison bars.
"Well, you see now," Wisp lowered his voice as he also leaned in closer, "that's the thing. He hasn't been in there for months. I've checked the work records of all the guards, and the one that I found in Crabbe's cell had not missed a single day of work in almost a year until a little over three weeks ago."
"But then, who killed the others?" Draco felt strange; it felt like his body was full of lead. His limbs felt heavy and weighed-down, and there was an uncomfortable heat curling low in his gut. Was it maybe not Cyril after all? Was he innocent? Or was he working with the attackers? Had he paid someone off at the start, perhaps, and then broken out of Azkaban to finish the rest?
"You sure sent me on a bloody mystery here, Malfoy," Wisp grinned as he saluted Draco with his glass, "and I'm afraid I don't have all the answers yet."
"What did you do with the guard?"
"I managed to break the Imperius curse placed on him, which wasn't easy, by the way, but once I found the information I was after, I put him back under and left him there. If I'm going to be looking for Cyril Crabbe, I don't want the Ministry getting in the way and fucking everything up.
"And honestly," he continued, looking Draco in the eye, "his mind has been completely shattered by the strength of the original curse. He doesn't know who put it on him, or when, or even where he is. He's like an empty shell now, able to do nothing but follow the instructions of the curse."
"And you can't find who put him under?" Draco shivered at the image his mind conjured of a vacant-eyed man sitting empty and hollow surrounded by darkness in Cyril Crabbe's rightfully-earned place in prison, but he shoved the vision aside.
Finishing his drink before shaking his head, Wisp gave him an odd look. "There was something else of interest that I found," he said lightly, waving his empty glass at the waitress with a large smile. He made them both wait in silence as she brought over another, lingering even longer than her previous visit and attempting to make small talk with Wisp, who was indulging her with a roguish grin.
Unable to contain his impatience, Draco instead forced himself to focus his mind on the task of attempting to sort through everything that Wisp had told him up to that point. Cyril Crabbe was no longer in Azkaban—Draco knew that and could accept that as fact. But had he only been free for a few weeks? Or had he been switching guards in his place to diffuse suspicion? But wouldn't Wisp have found evidence of that on the work records? Who was his outside help? Who had smuggled in Polyjuice Potion and who had the motive for doing so? Draco was not aware of any friends that Cyril still had—most of the Death Eaters were either in Azkaban or dead, including the man's wife and only child. And even if Vincent or his mother had been alive, knowing what Draco knew of Cyril, both of them would have been more than happy to leave him to rot behind bars. Who would want him free and who was capable of placing a guard under a strong enough Imperius to shatter his mind? Whoever it was had to also be responsible for brewing the staggering amount of Polyjuice it would take to keep the guise up. Who had the means and just exactly how many people were involved?
And most importantly, where was Cyril hiding? Surely, he wouldn't be hidden in Vincent's childhood home. That would be far too obvious for someone clever enough to pull off everything Wisp had been describing. Perhaps his mysterious friends were housing him? It had to be somewhere close, though. Someplace sheltered and hidden, yet close enough to be able to execute the planned attacks without drawing attention. He had to be somewhere that he could keep an eye on the others.
But was Cyril even the one responsible?
With a cough, Draco's attention was returned to Wisp. The barmaid had wandered off and they were alone once again—if the blond could somehow manage to ignore the large mob pressed around them.
"What was it that you found?" Draco asked casually, lifting his glass to take a small sip of his lager but regretting it when his hand shook as he lowered it back to the table.
"Well," Wisp began, copying Draco and taking a much larger swallow, "he's been receiving visitors. One visitor, actually. For nearly the past six months, at least once a fortnight, he receives a single visitor, according to the log one usually has to sign when visiting someone in Azkaban." His words were accompanied by a wide grin, letting Draco know that Wisp was one of the ones for whom that rule did not apply.
Impatience seized his entire body in a fierce grip; Draco felt frozen with anticipation. Who was it? Who was visiting Cyril? It was obviously whoever had broken him out, but who was it?
"The name," Wisp continued slowly, as though Draco's nerves weren't already on edge enough, "is impossible, though."
The words shocked the blond into releasing a strangled laugh. "This entire fucking case has been impossible."
Nodding his agreement, Wisp smiled dangerously. "Yes, it has been. But this is where it gets even more interesting."
Swallowing a growl, Draco forced himself to sit back and regard Wisp as coolly as he was able. "Who is it?" he asked in a clipped tone. The man was clearly enjoying dishing out the answers one tiny slice at a time, and Draco knew that he only had so much patience. He was controlling himself for the moment, but if Wisp used the word interesting one more time, Draco would not be responsible for his actions. He needed to know now.
"The mysterious visitor…" Wisp murmured, tapping a finger against the table in thought. "I've checked the records, and it's always him. But how can it be? It's not possible, and there's just no way. And yet, all wands are required to be presented upon entering the building and held while any visitors are allowed access to the inmates. So how could Azkaban be fooled? How could the magic be fooled?" His eyes were unfocused and Draco knew that Wisp was mostly speaking to himself.
Resisting the urge to reach out and shake the other man in order to remind him of Draco's presence, the blond instead settled for taking a sip of his beverage and setting the glass down with a loud thud. The sound snapped Wisp's attention to himself and he smirked internally.
Outwardly, he remained his cool composure, raising a single eyebrow and asking Wisp, yet again, "Who is it?"
A toothy grin spread across Wisp's face, as though the name he was about to speak was giving him joy in its absolute impossibility. Who had been visiting Cyril for months? Who had broken him out? Who in the entire world wanted him free and for what purpose? The force of the questions swirling through Draco's mind threatened to overwhelm him completely.
Burying them for the time, he waited as patiently as he was able to for a response.
But when it came, it knocked him into open-mouthed shock. No, he's wrong, Draco thought dizzily. That's fucking impossible. I know for a fact just how impossible that is.
The serious look in Wisp's eyes, however, and the man's reputation for finding impossible answers sent Draco spiraling even further into shock. The single name he had spoken was still reverberating through his dazed skull, bouncing around in nonsensical echoes.
"Vincent Crabbe."
The three syllables dropped into Draco's stomach like heavy stones. Vincent Crabbe? How could that be? Vince was dead; Draco knew that to be fact. He had been there, after all, he knew exactly what had happened to Vince. He had been there in the room as he died, had seen the hungry inferno that devoured the other boy with his own eyes, felt the searing heat of the flamed dragons swooping above his head, breathing in the heavy smoke from the twisted burning animal shapes of the sentient fire chasing them, shrieking and crackling and growing closer and hotter, until it felt like Draco's skin was going to blister and peel right off his charred bones, until he was nothing but ash, and the blazing creatures would surely devour that as well—just as they had devoured Vincent. He was gone forever, never to return. It was not possible that he was visiting his father in Azkaban more than three years after Draco had witnessed him die.
"No," he whispered, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat. "No, that's not possible."
"It's really not," Wisp agreed, "and yet…" He made a wide gesture with his arm before taking a gulp of his remaining ale.
"I saw him die," Draco's eyes narrowed. "I know it's not Vince. Someone is clearly impersonating him."
"Are they impersonating his wand, as well?" Wisp asked quietly, sipping his lager and peering curiously at Draco over the rim of his glass.
"Well…" Draco was at a loss for how to respond. Vince's wand had been destroyed, lost forever in the flames that had consumed its owner. Hadn't it? Hadn't they both? Hadn't Draco seen it with his own haunted eyes?
"Has he continued visiting the entire time the guard has been in Cyril's place?" he asked instead, leaning in close and attempting to focus his mind away from the painful memories of being surrounded by blistering walls of heat and flame that echoed back to him the sounds of his own panicked screaming.
With an internal shake, he banished the dark thoughts and focused on Wisp, who was nodding and opening his mouth to respond. "Like unpredictable clockwork. He shows up when he wants, and always leaves before the hour's up."
"Is that where you are planning on apprehending him?" At the grin spreading across Wisp's face at the question, Draco smothered the urge to roll his eyes. "You shall be paid for it, of course."
"I'll get you whoever it is," he agreed, draining his glass and glancing around the room for the barmaid.
But before Draco could ask any more questions or demand any further information, a heavy hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder, startling him and causing his head to automatically whip around in surprise. Glancing up a lean body clad in familiar Muggle denims, his wide eyes snapped up to meet the furious green gaze of Harry Potter.
oOo
The pub was far too loud and far too crowded, in Harry's opinion. He could feel a faint pounding near his temples, the beginnings of a distant headache. Glancing around, he sighed. He had no idea what time Rhys was supposed to show up, or what the man even looked like. Dean and Seamus were both there, however, and Samaira had promised to alert him the instant Rhys walked through the door.
All he had to do now was wait.
With another sigh, he tapped his fingers impatiently against the farthest corner of the curved wooden bar he was seated at. He took a swallow of his butterbeer, wishing it was stronger, wishing he wasn't on duty and could order firewhisky. He felt as if he needed something to loosen the tense coil of stress, dread, sorrow, regret, envy, guilt, shame, arousal, anger, desire, hatred that had all been curling and tightening within him throughout the past several days. He felt it sitting heavy and acidic in his stomach like a lead weight, the virulent solidness reminding him of nothing but Draco.
Would Malfoy actually allow him the chance to apologize? Would he allow Harry to speak and would he actually listen? Would Harry be able to make Draco see, make Draco understand? Would Draco forgive him? Would Draco maybe even return the apology? Had both of them simply crumbled under the confusing situation and lashed out at one another in stress?
For the thousandth time, Harry wished for Hermione's Time-Turner from third year. What he wouldn't give to be able to go back in time several days, back to when he and Malfoy still got along, when Draco trusted him and could actually stand to be in the same room as the brunet. Back to before Harry had destroyed everything—back to before Harry had kissed him.
He felt a sharp pain take residence in his heart at the thought of how much Draco now obviously regretted everything that had happened between them—every kiss, every touch, every whisper shared between them. The way Harry had stretched atop him and pressed his body tightly to the one panting beneath him…He could still feel Draco, rocking against him, moaning his name, warm palms exploring the bare skin of Harry's back underneath his t-shirt. The sounds and sighs and breathless whispers that Draco had made…
"What are you thinking about?"
A shadow fell over him momentarily before the long figure dropped nimbly into the seat next to Harry. Caelix was peering at him curiously, one dark eyebrow lifted.
"Oh, er, nothing," Harry stammered, flushing deeply and taking a drink, only to choke on the mouthful of butterbeer he was unable to swallow correctly. "Just the case, you know?" he rasped, eyes watering as he drew in harsh breaths.
"Right," Cae grinned, turning to face the barmaid as she drifted over to him. "Vodka tonic," he addressed her.
Seconds later, it was placed in front of a smiling Caelix, and Harry frowned as the man took a generous swallow. Why was Harry on duty in a pub, again?
"So, we're at this particular pub why?" Caelix wondered, sipping at the clear liquid and chewing on the end of the tiny black straw floating between clinking ice cubes.
"I…well…" Harry rubbed the back of his neck.
When he had written Caelix earlier that afternoon, asking if he would meet the brunet later in the evening at the Den, he had left out the part about how Harry was going to be there in an official capacity. Would Caelix be upset? Did he see the meeting as a date? Did Harry see it as a date? He was not yet sure; he hadn't decided. All he knew was that he and Cae needed to talk, and Harry needed to be honest. Caelix would understand his confusion, right? Caelix was kind and understanding, empathetic and genuine. Harry would be lucky to be with someone like Cae—if only he could be sure. If only he could be certain of his feelings, his intentions, his sincerity, the things he wanted from life, the paths he was treading. How could he ever be certain of anything? He had been certain that Draco cared for him, only to be painfully proven wrong. How could he again trust the same sort of situation so soon?
"Yes?" Caelix prodded, jabbing the ice around the glass with his straw as he waited for Harry's reply.
"I need to speak to one of the regulars, actually," the brunet admitted, taking another swig of butterbeer in an attempt to cover up the awkwardness of having to admit to the other man that Harry was at the pub for work. "One of the blokes that comes in has some sort of past with Zabini and might be able to answer a few questions we have about his activities over the past few months. He vanished less than a month before the attacks started, and has left zero trails anywhere in all that time, like he just completely disappeared until a few days ago."
"Do you believe Zabini responsible?" Caelix asked in surprise.
Harry shrugged. "We've been focusing this whole time on outside sources that would want vengeance against the Slytherins. We haven't actually looked at any of the remaining Slytherins that might hold a grudge against their fellow housemates."
Caelix appeared doubtful. "But why would Zabini be seeking such violent retribution? Whoever is killing them off is seriously angry about something."
"Well," Harry lowered his voice and leaned in closer, "he and Draco had this huge falling out a few months back, and that's when Zabini vanished. What if that fight was what pushed him over the edge, so to speak, and he decided that all of Slytherin had to pay?"
Caelix toyed with his straw for a moment, attempting to force an ice cube to the bottom, only to have it slip out and bob back up to the surface time and again. "Do you mean to say that they broke up?"
Harry felt his eyebrows lift in surprise. "Yeah," he admitted. "And it was a nasty break up, too, from what I've heard. What if Zabini snapped? Maybe he couldn't take losing Draco, coupled with all the guilt and anger, and he just flipped and went mental and started hacking all his old housemates apart?"
Caelix stared at him.
"I wouldn't be surprised if it was him," Harry grumbled under his breath. "He's obviously a bastard and most likely unstable."
"Harry, what…" Caelix paused to finish off his drink before continuing, "what exactly is the problem between you and Zabini? You two seem to really hate one another, but Ron said that you hadn't ever really spoken before a few days ago."
"We just…don't like each other," Harry struggled for words. He did not want to explain to Caelix what the real problem between him and Zabini was, but he knew he needed to. He needed to tell him everything. But maybe he shouldn't start by attempting to explain the Painful Triangle of Unreturned Feelings he had found himself trapped in alongside Zabini and Malfoy.
What shape did that make what he and Caelix were in? To figure that out, Harry would have to first figure out just what exactly he and Caelix meant to each other before he could figure out shapes regarding it. Harry sighed. Why was everything so difficult? Why did everything hurt so much? Why did every outcome bring with it such sorrow?
"Does it…" Caelix took a breath, staring resolutely down at his glass. "Does it have to do with you and Draco?"
"Me and Draco?" Harry echoed, heart hammering.
"Harry," said Caelix in a firm voice, turning on his stool to face the Auror directly. "I know. I mean, I don't actually know, but I know, you know?"
"I—look, Cae—" Harry began but paused as Samaira suddenly appeared in front of him.
"Harry," she said in a low voice, leaning toward him. "Rhys just sat down, right over there," she pointed toward a table where a younger crowd of six or seven people were sat. "He's the reddish-blond with short hair."
"Okay, thank you," he nodded, smiling tightly at her. She smiled back, staring at him for several moments before turning away.
Facing Cae, Harry ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Erm, I need to go talk to him. It's important, I'm sorry," he apologized, guilt churning through him. "But I'll be back soon, and I promise we'll talk, and I promise I'll tell you everything. Yeah?"
"Yeah, all right," Caelix agreed hesitantly.
Harry opened his mouth to say Merlin knew what, when he felt a presence approaching from behind and turned to face it instead, relaxing as he took in Dean's beaming face.
"Hullo, Harry," Dean greeted cheerfully. "Hullo, friend of Harry," he added, leaning around Harry to peer at Caelix.
"Oh, er, this is Caelix," Harry introduced awkwardly, gesturing toward the pierced man. "Cae, this is Dean. We were in the same year in Gryffindor together."
"How do you two know each other?" Dean asked curiously.
There was an awkward pause before Harry responded. "We work together."
"Oh, you're an Auror?" Dean stepped closer to address Caelix, who was staring at Harry oddly.
"No, I work in MEA," Caelix turned on his stool to face Dean more directly, hurrying to continue his explanation at the confused look on Dean's face. "Magical Evidence Analysis. I'm a Tracer," he grinned. "I prefer the lab to the actual danger associated with being a crimson. I leave that sort of risking-your-life business to Harry, here," Cae nodded toward him.
Dean chuckled. "To be honest, that sounds a lot more interesting to me than fieldwork. Most of the lads in our year ended up becoming Aurors. But Seamus and I decided that owning a pub sounded better than spending our days chasing after hexes."
"You own this place?" Cae sounded surprised. "That's impressive, considering how young you are." He glanced pointedly around at the swarm of people surrounding them. "You two seem to be doing quite well at it."
"Thanks," Dean smiled, but it faltered as he looked away. "Seamus had some relatives die in the war, and a few of them left him a bit of gold. He wanted to put the money toward something beneficial, something to help everyone and bring people together and make them all happy," the smile from earlier returned, stretching Dean's face wide. "And of course, the very first thing he thought of was a pub."
"And what else can better benefit society by uniting everyone than a pub?" Cae grinned.
Dean laughed. "It was the only thing we could think of, as well."
"I've always heard that Gryffindors are a selfless lot," said Caelix seriously, earning another chuckle from Dean.
"We all help out in different ways."
"Well," Harry interrupted, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, almost as though he was intruding on them. Had they forgotten he was still there? "I'm just gonna go talk to Rhys, then," he said, swinging his arms. "I'll be back in a bit, Cae, yeah?" He started to head off, but Dean called his name and he paused.
"Did you see who else showed up tonight?" he asked in a low voice, stepping close to Harry.
The Auror automatically glanced around. "Who?"
"Malfoy," Dean nodded toward the far wall. "He's here with the same bloke as last time."
The same bloke? Harry felt a pained fluttering drift through his midsection. "Just the two of them?"
Dean nodded.
Frowning, Harry raked a hand through his hair. "Okay, thanks." He turned away from Dean, making his way through the thick crowd spilling across the floor. As he neared the wall Dean had indicated, Harry's heart began to pound. Who was it Draco was meeting with? Was it a business associate, like the previous time he had left the Manor unescorted? Or was this something more personal? Was Draco maybe possibly there on a date?
As the familiar blond hair came into sight, the painful fluttering from earlier returned, like butterflies with razor wings floating through Harry's intestines, slicing his insides to shreds. Draco Malfoy was sitting at a table, leaning in toward a good-looking man with shaggy brown hair. The man was grinning widely, and Harry felt anger rise within him like a burning flame.
Stalking over toward the two, Harry felt his hurt and rage worsen with each quiet footstep. The loud hum of the crowd around him fell mute to his furious ears, as though a heavy curtain had been dropped on the throng. Had Draco really blown Harry off to meet up with a date? Had he refused Harry's apology in order to make it to meet his lover on time? Had he really left the safety of the Manor just to meet up with that man? How important was the stranger to Draco if he was willing to risk his life just to have a drink with him? He was willing to risk his life to see that man, and yet would not give Harry even two minutes to apologize to the blond?
Who the fuck did Draco Malfoy think he was?
Reaching out one arm, Harry clamped a hand around Malfoy's shoulder in a vicelike grip. Draco's head automatically whipped around and glanced up to meet Harry's gaze. The man looked confused for the briefest of moments, eyes flicking around as though making certain there was nothing else out of the ordinary within sight before darting back to rest on Harry.
"Potter," he said in a low voice, eyes narrowing at the hand Harry still had on Malfoy's shoulder. "What are you doing here?"
"No," Harry argued in a soft voice, "What are you doing here?"
Malfoy's only response was to glance between Harry and the man seated across the table from himself uneasily.
"And how do you know Harry Potter?" the man asked in interest, his voice friendly, but his eyes narrowed as he addressed Draco, almost as though he was accusing him of something.
Harry finally released his hold on Malfoy's shoulder.
"From school," Draco responded, taking a sip of his pint. The drink surprised Harry. He had never seen Draco drink ale before or ever imagined the blond would swallow anything as common as pub lager from on tap. Was he attempting to impress the man seated across from him?
"Can I speak to you, Draco?" Harry asked coolly as he folded his arms. His body felt tense and stretched tight, like a spring pulled too far apart, straining to snap back together again.
With another uneasy glance at the unknown man, Malfoy shook his head. "I'm in the middle of something, I'm afraid. It will have to wait for another time."
"It won't take long," Harry insisted, eyes narrowing dangerously. Malfoy shot another nervous look at the stranger across from him.
"By all means," the man cut in, pausing to drain his glass, "go speak with your school friend. I should be going anyway. I have busy days ahead, as you well know. You'll be hearing from me," he addressed Draco with a grin, and Harry felt jealousy claw sharply at him as Malfoy nodded and relaxed, appearing relieved.
As the man passed Harry, he tilted his head to peer at him, lips spread wide across a smiling face. There was something that Harry didn't like about his smile, though. There was a challenging tilt to it that seemed almost taunting. Almost as if the man was grinning about a secret that he knew and one that Harry did not. Was the secret about Draco? Was he smiling because he knew of Harry's feelings for the blond and knew that they went unreturned because that man was secretly the object of Draco's affections?
But the next second, the man was gone, and Draco was glaring at Harry. Harry returned the glare whole-heartedly. "I'd like to speak outside, Malfoy, if you don't mind."
"Why?" Malfoy drawled, though he dropped a handful of coins on the table as he rose from his seat and gestured for Harry to lead the way. "Afraid your adoring public will witness you make a scene?"
Gritting his teeth, Harry swallowed the urge to snap at him, instead focusing on winding his way through the thick field of bodies blocking his path. Finally, they made it to the blessed coolness of the outside. The sun had long set, leaving the world cast in darkness and waning moonlight. A light breeze stirred the dead autumn leaves lining the worn road, dragging across the cobblestones with a dry, scratching rattle. A wooden sign creaked in the distance.
Harry led them around the side of the building into an empty alley cobwebbed in shadows. Turning to face Malfoy, he found the blond halted several feet away, face hooded in darkness and hidden from view.
Neither man said anything.
The silent stand-off was broken by Draco. "What the fuck are you doing here, Potter? Are you following me?" Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy continued. "Did you follow me from the Manor? Do you not trust me not to get myself killed? Do you not believe me capable of leaving the house without needing your constant protection? Or is it that you really don't trust me?" His tone turned strange, sounding almost wounded. "You suspect me of something, is that it? And followed me in an attempt to catch me in some sort of illegitimate act? You think I'm the one behind all this, don't you? God, do you really hate me that much, Potter? Am I still just nothing but a Death Eater to you? How fucking dare you!"
"No, Draco, that's—" Harry tried, insides suddenly raw with squirming guilt and chest still hot with anger, but Malfoy interrupted.
"No, Potter!" he snapped, fists clenched by his side. "I don't care, and I don't want to hear it! You've already done enough tonight."
At that, Harry's teeth clenched together. "Oh, I'm so sorry for interrupting your date, Malfoy," he drawled sarcastically, adopting the most scathing tone he could.
"Oh, fuck you!" the blond snapped. "I don't have to fucking explain myself to you!"
Gritting his jaw, Harry tried for calm. "Yes, you fucking do," he growled—so much for calm. "When I'm the one assigned to watch out for you, you fucking do."
Malfoy barked a sharp laugh. "Right," the sneer could be heard, even if it could not be seen in the darkness. "The only reason you care. I remember. We wouldn't want my death to reflect badly on the Golden Boy's golden record, now would we?"
"No! I—"
"I. Don't. Want. To hear it," Malfoy repeated, breathing heavily. His face was still hidden in shadows, but Harry could imagine perfectly the way his silver eyes would be flashing, could imagine the alabaster skin of his face darkening to a delicate pink the way it did when the man was truly angry.
God, Draco was beautiful.
And beautiful Draco was the same Draco who had turned away from Harry and taken several steps out of the alley.
Hurrying after him, Harry called out, "Draco, stop! Look, I'm sorry! That's not what it is at all!" Reaching out one hand, Harry grabbed him by the shoulder and swung the blond around to face him. "I care, I really do! I—"
"Just shut UP!" Everything else Harry had been about to say was cut off by Draco launching himself at him. As a pair of lips suddenly attached themselves to his own, Harry gasped in shock. Two hands tangled themselves in his hair, tightening painfully and tugging him closer. Draco bit Harry's bottom lip, his tongue sliding into Harry's mouth when the brunet made a noise of surprise. The shock quickly wore off enough for him to wrap his arms around the blond as he responded to the passion of the kiss. It was angry, demanding, open-mouthed, rough. Malfoy tugged on the thick black strands of hair caught between his fingers, pulling sharply and forcing Harry's head to tilt at an angle so Draco could deepen the kiss.
Harry grasped at the infuriating robes covering the muscled skin of Draco's back, scratching and clutching bruises into him. He pressed himself more fully into the warm body plastered directly against his own, feeling as though he could never be close enough to the other man. Malfoy's chest was hard against his own, rising and falling rapidly as he exhaled sharp pants that were swallowed by Harry. Harry could feel all the blood in his body beginning to pool in his groin and felt Draco hardening against his hip.
A sharp pain flared suddenly as Draco pulled harshly on the hair in his grasp, dragging Harry's head back far enough to whisper angry words against his lips. "Goddamn you, Potter."
The next second, Harry felt a warm mouth close over the skin of his throat. He breathed out a soft moan as teeth dragged over the flesh before Malfoy latched onto a spot and bit. Harry made a startled sound that was half-gasp and half-groan, clutching Malfoy even more tightly to himself. He had never had anyone bite him before, never had anybody be rough with him. He felt dizzy with arousal. Who would have guessed he would enjoy being bitten?
Tilting his head further back, Harry slid a hand into Malfoy's hair to hold his head in place. He felt Draco's lips curve into a smirk against his throat before pressing several soft kisses to Harry's neck, making Harry frown in confusion. Where had the roughness gone?
Without warning, Draco suddenly bit down hard, earning a startled moan from the brunet. Draco rolled the flesh of Harry's throat between his teeth, and Harry felt his hips jerk forward in response. "God, fuck, Draco," he panted, rocking his hips and wrapping one arm around the other man's narrow waist.
"That's the idea, isn't it?" he growled against Harry's throat before attacking his mouth once again.
And Harry had never felt anything like it. He was drowning in sensation. He had never had anyone kiss him so forcefully, so passionately, as if attempting to impart their entire being onto him through the raw fury of a kiss. He had never had anyone clutch his entire body to them so tightly, so possessively, as if they would never let go. He had never felt such burning arousal licking its way through him, searing through his veins with such fiery consuming need. He needed Draco.
Draco's hands were everywhere, his hips were fitted firmly against Harry's own, his tongue felt as if it was pressing into every centimeter of Harry's mouth. The initial fury of the kiss had not slowed any, and he slid his palms down Draco's back, gripping his arse securely and trying to drag him even closer. He squeezed roughly, grinding against the other man as Malfoy moaned into his mouth, arching into him.
"God, I fucking want you, Draco," Harry murmured, the words swallowed somewhat by Draco's lips. Malfoy's only response was to roll his hips sharply, tearing a deep groan from Harry's throat.
"Here to speak to one of the regulars, are you, Harry?" a voice asked, slicing sharply through the air and causing Harry and Draco to wrench apart. Glancing up, Harry felt guilt douse him like a bucket of ice water.
Caelix stood just outside the door of the pub, staring between them with disbelief pouring from his widened eyes. "How's that conversation going?" he asked in a strange tone. Harry couldn't decide if he sounded more incredulous, betrayed, or upset.
Lowering his head, Harry glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eye. The man was staring between Harry and Caelix with a sharp comprehension, and the more time passed, the icier his expression became.
"Were you on a date, Potter?" Malfoy asked in a quiet voice, the words trembling with frozen rage. "Have I been nothing but an intermission on your fucking date?"
"I—Draco, no, I—" Harry began wildly, unsure of how to fix the situation. What could he say to make things right? How could he explain to either of them what had happened? He didn't even know himself. Everything had just happened—he certainly hadn't planned anything!
"Are you here on a date, Potter?" Malfoy demanded, crossing his arms and glaring viciously.
"No—" Harry answered.
"Yes," said Caelix.
"Well, which is it?" Draco scowled, swinging his frosty glower between the two of them.
"Was this not a date, Harry?" Caelix asked softly, speaking down to the ground as he crossed his arms defensively over his chest.
"I—well—the thing is…" Harry stammered, feeling nearly dizzy with how hard his heart was hammering. What the hell had he been doing? What had he been thinking? Had he really been about to get off with Malfoy right outside the pub that his sort-of-maybe-date had been waiting patiently inside of? How could he do that to Caelix? How could he do that to Draco?
But Harry hadn't been thinking. Not with his larger brain, at any rate. Draco had just turned and kissed him out of nowhere, kissed him so brilliantly, so sinfully, a kiss full of fire and a primal angry lust that had taken Harry's breath away, and he had been lost. He had been swept away in the intoxicating feel of Draco Malfoy's body pressed so intimately to his own. Without hesitation, he had given himself over to the furious tide of passion that had threatened to drown them both in white-hot flames of desire and sheer unadulterated need.
"Fuck you, Potter," Malfoy spat angrily, turning to stride away before Harry's words made him pause.
"Fuck me?" he began furiously, taking a step toward the blond. "You were on a date as well, you fucking hypocrite. Don't act as if I'm the only one in the wrong here!" His words were venom, his tone acidic and harsh. How dare Malfoy point his smug finger at Harry and lecture him about ethics and morality when he was guilty of the exact same thing? After all, he had been the one to kiss Harry this time, not the other way around.
"Who the fuck ever said that was a date, you infuriating fucking idiot?" Draco shouted, gesturing back toward the pub.
"I know what I saw, you liar," Harry fumed, fighting the urge to either stamp his foot or else maybe pull out his wand. All the previous hurt and anger he had felt upon first learning about Draco's date had resurfaced in an instant. "And I know that's not the first time you've met that bloke for a drink, so spare me the dishonesty." Malfoy looked surprised, mouth dropping in disbelief as Harry continued to spit poison. It felt just as it always had between them—vitriol and violence, rage and cutting words. They were Potter and Malfoy, and they had always hated one another.
"Was it not enough, having only me and Zabini interested? Was it not enough attention for you, only the two of us? Is it even more fun for you with another man involved?" Harry's voice turned cold. "Are you really that lonely and pathetic?" He paused to feel a surge of sickening pleasure at the sight of Malfoy's stricken expression, and his mouth opened again as he found himself unable to stop spewing malice like scorching bile rising deep in his throat. "Is Zabini next on the list? Are you not going to call it a night until you've whored yourself out to all three of us in turn?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry knew he had gone too far. A pained expression crossed Draco's face in a quick flash like a lash from a whip, accompanied by a visible flinch.
"Fuck you, Potter," he repeated in a whisper, and before Harry could leap forward to stop him, he turned on his heel and vanished with a loud echoing crack.
Silence settled atop the darkness, heavy and smothering, pressing into Harry from all sides and making him feel as though he could not breathe properly. Regret tore through him with a sharp agony that made even his bones ache. Why had he said those things? He had been so angry and hurt…And still was, as a matter of fact. Draco hadn't exactly been guiltless, after all.
But the hurt in those grey eyes…
With another burning pang of remorse, Harry recalled that he had been intending to apologize to Malfoy for upsetting him only just the previous afternoon. Sighing heavily, Harry fought the urge to tear out handfuls of hair. He supposed he would add this latest indiscretion to the growing list of things he needed to apologize to Draco for. But would it even help? Everything Harry had done so far had only made things worse, for everybody around him. Maybe the best thing for everyone involved would be if they cut Harry out of their lives completely in order to save themselves from his cursed existence.
But he could not just leave things like that with Draco. He had to find him and he had to apologize, even if the blond would not listen or accept it. Harry couldn't blame him if he chose not to. But he would try, at least. With a new determination, Harry nodded to himself and turned to Disapparate, but paused mid-spin as he noticed Caelix still standing several yards away, staring right at him.
Fuck. How had Harry forgotten about Caelix? Was it actually possible for Harry to be even more inconsiderate of the people surrounding him than he already was? No wonder Ginny had moved so far away immediately after they ended their relationship. Christ, even Harry wished he could move away from himself.
Biting his lip nervously, he tucked his wand out of sight and approached Caelix at a slow pace, stopping a good distance away.
"Cae—" he began, taking a deep breath. "I'm so sorry. Really. I'm so fucking sorry, I never intended any of this to happen. But I can explain," his words started to come faster as his voice became louder and more earnest, "I swear I can! Well, maybe I can't, really, so much, 'cos I seem to be complete shit at explaining myself, but I can try. I just—I never meant—I'm really sorry," he trailed off in a whisper, feeling a burning in his throat. He found that he was unable to look the other man in the eye, and settled instead for speaking to the ground beneath the feet of the familiar scruffy shoes he would recognize anywhere.
When had everything become so complicated? When had every decision led to such misery? When had Harry started hating himself for his actions?
"Why did you invite me out tonight?" Cae's words were quiet and unsure. "Did you know he was going to be here?"
"No! I swear—"
"What were you expecting tonight, Harry?" The softly spoken words made Harry pause. "What is this to you and what exactly were you expecting to happen?"
"None of this, I swear!"
"What, then?" Cae's words were still so quiet, and it only served to make Harry feel worse. He would prefer for Caelix to yell and scream, shove him away, tell him he was a horrible person. But his voice was so small, his words holding more sadness than Harry had ever heard in Cae's normally cheerful tone.
"I—I'm not sure," Harry admitted with a grimace. "I honestly am not sure what this is or how I feel about you. I intended to tell you everything tonight—be completely honest and confess to everything. This was not how I was intending you to find out about it," he ducked his head, face flushing.
"You…kissed me back, though," Caelix seemed to struggle with words for a moment. "You're not sure of your feelings toward me at all?"
"No, I mean…" It was Harry's turn to wrestle with words. "I know that I'm attracted to you," he kept his gaze fixed on the ground as he spoke, "and I know that I liked kissing you, and I like you, I do, really, but…" He gestured behind him toward the space he and Draco had taken up together so recently.
Cae's shoulders slumped. "But…you like Draco. More," he added dully.
"Well—I—it's complicated," Harry's lips seemed to trip over the words as they stumbled from his mouth.
"Yes, because of Zabini and whoever Draco had been in there with earlier tonight, right?" Caelix wrapped his arms more fully around his thin torso. "And because of me. I complicate things."
"No, Cae!" Harry exclaimed, striding closer to grasp the man's upper arms.
"Yes, Harry," Cae sighed. "Look, I am sure of my feelings, and I do know that I complicate things. Clearly, you're confused and have yet to figure out really anything in regards to the situation. I mean, obviously you've known Draco longer, and in a lot of ways, you've always known him a lot better. And honestly, based off of things I've heard from Neville and Ron and Hermione and Luna, it's not surprising that the two of you would end up having feelings for one another. I'm sure just about everyone saw it coming."
"That's not true," Harry argued, dropping his hold on Caelix in surprise. He had certainly not seen it coming. He would never have guessed that he would one day end up falling for Draco Malfoy, of all people. "We used to hate each other, Cae. Like genuinely loathe one another. For Christ's sake, I sliced his chest apart in a bathroom! He broke my nose on the train! He called Hermione a Mudblood for years and wrote a song about Ron being poor that he got all of Slytherin to sing at Quidditch matches! He faked an injury third year in order to get Hagrid's hippogriff executed! He made Potter Stinks badges during the Triwizard Tournament and passed them around the school! He sold made-up stories about me to the Daily Prophet when we were fourteen! He's the most spoiled, entitled, arrogant, irritating fucking prat I've ever met!"
Breathing heavily and attempting to calm himself, Harry waited as his rant was met with silence.
"Yeah," Cae finally said, tone dripping with sarcasm. "It sounds like you have zero feelings at all in regards to him."
Harry could only stare. He had no idea how to respond to that, to any of it, to the entire situation. He didn't know what to say next; he was not even sure how he felt. "Cae, I'm sorry."
"I know, Harry," Cae answered in a sharp voice.
A thick silence fell between them. With every passing second, Harry could feel himself growing more uncomfortable as the air around them grew more and more strained. Should he break it first? What should he say? What was the right thing to add? How else could he explain himself? Was there any way to make anything better? Would it be better for Caelix if Harry was to leave?
As though reading his mind, Caelix swung his arms for a moment before striding past him without a glance. "I need to go," he said quietly, and without another word, turned and vanished, leaving Harry all alone in the suffocating silence of his own anguished remorse.
oOo
So much drama, my goodness! I did promise plenty. And there is only more to be had.
Speaking of promises, I did promise apologies and excuses, and here they are—I know that this chapter was extremely long in coming, and I am so very sorry for the wait. To those of you and my mother who've been wondering where I've been, I was neither in jail nor rehab nor lying wounded in a hospital somewhere. I've been more or less ok, and I am sorry to everyone for the lack of contact. Life is nothing but brief interludes between extreme dramas and unnecessary badness, and the bad tends to overwhelm almost everything it encounters, and as a result, outlets such as writing get pushed further and further back. Sometimes it's impossible not to let all the little daily grievances overshadow everything else.
Continuing with the sorrys, I would also like to apologize for how terrible I am at responding to all you lovely people who have left comments for me. I really do love and adore them, and I know that I'm the worst at responding. I don't believe in smartphones or the owning of a smartphone or really owning anything that unnecessarily high-tech, so I'm pretty limited in my chances to go online. I'm pretty shit all round at responding to any sort of text or email or general sort of greeting. I very much live tucked away in my own little world, living within my own interests and ignoring everything else. But I really will try to be better at responding to comments, because I treasure them down to my very soul! I do so love knowing what everyone is thinking.
Buuuut anyway, back to the story! I promise that things won't stay bad between Harry and Draco for too much longer. Soon will come loads of apologies and kind words and all sorts of super gay, super graphic pornography. But until that future arrives, let our boys pretend to hate each other. Some people just don't know how to handle their feelings. And try not to judge Harry too harshly, we all say horrible things we instantly regret, especially to the people we care about the most. After all, who's never told someone they genuinely love to fuck off and die before? If you never have, those are some damn tame relationships and I sincerely admire your calm.
But changing the subject away from angry love, what does everyone think of Wisp's news? How many of you out there have been missing Crabbe? How many of you out there suspected Crabbe? And how many of you out there suspect and miss him even more now? Will Wisp's answers ever actually seem to answer anything, or will they only lead to more questions? Just some things to think about before the next update...
real quick p.s.—
Draco's behavior and the fact that he was the first to snap was mentioned by someone, and I would like to remind everyone that he is still grieving and to take that into account in regard to his anger and rather contradictory feelings. Having lost my own Pansy not too long ago, I can tell you from personal experience that grief usually manifests itself as nothing but pure, unbridled rage, towards absolutely just everything in the world and every single person in sight. But our boys won't hate each other forever, I promise! Soon they will both sit down and talk it out like rational human beings. Cross my Slytherin heart! Later, lovers :)