Chapter Twenty-One
Draco was blinking entirely too fast for Harry's comfort. And his heart seemed to have stopped beating, as he couldn't feel a pulse in the wrist he was holding ever so carefully.
The man looked to be coming undone before him and he felt the compulsive need to be as gentle as humanly possible with this fragile wizard.
Surely this hostile intrusion meant that the blond returned at least one iota of the feeling Harry was currently combating with. Didn't it?
That thought passed only a moment before a hand passed his cheek with a perceptible crack of skin.
"What the fuck, Draco?" Harry screeched- tossing the hand in his back to its owner without paying any mind to its originally delicate classification. The former Gryffindor touched his reddening cheek with a wince and hissed at the biting burn radiating from the abused flesh.
"Oh, come off it, you ruddy ponce. I hardly touched you." Draco stalked off towards the kitchen and snorted while rummaging through Harry's cupboards. "Do you keep tea in here at all? Some host," he scoffed.
The damaged hero gaped in disbelief. "Where do you get off? You know, a 'thanks for saving me again, Harry' would have fared much better than a slap to my face and an insult to my living arrangements."
"Do you have tea or not? I haven't had a decent cup in over a week."
Conceding to the arrogant twat monopolising his kitchen, Harry rolled his eyes and melted into the loveseat facing the fireplace. "Left of the refrigerator, third drawer down. Should be a few options."
"You want a cup?" Draco offered, sifting haphazardly through the contents of the bin. Harry honestly felt a stab of surprise in seeing the domestic side of the blond filling the teakettle and knowing how to light a burner without magic, in his flat, with his stove.
Shaking himself from the near claustrophobic clutches of reality, "Do I have any jasmine chamomile left?"
"It's like you aren't even British, but yes, you have some of that left. Is it any good?"
"Considering I normally ingest flavours a similar to bile, I should say not," Harry answered ironically.
Draco didn't respond and sounded as if he'd located the mugs on his own, if the thud of glass hitting countertop was any indication.
At the kettle's whistle, Harry rose and staggered clumsily towards the kitchen. Somehow, the sight created an odd sensation under the man's skin. Here was Draco, making the pair tea as though it was routine. Like the years of hostility, previous months and this afternoon were a part of some far away past unknown to the picturesque couple in Harry's home. The feeling was a combination of uneasiness, excitement, fear and a touch of wonder. The man hadn't invited anyone to the piss poor excuse of a flat since he'd moved in.
Not including Sam, of course.
And Draco fit here—hunched over the countertop with his head in his hand, stirring spoonful's of sugar Harry never directed him towards into his tea.
It was so simple …
For now.
"It's unnerving, you know. The way you're staring at me," Draco murmured without moving.
"Why are you here, Draco? Did Elizabeth talk to you?" How could anything be worse than second-hand declarations of infatuation?
Turning slightly to raise one confused brow in contempt, the blond still stirred the contents of his mug. "I spoke to Elizabeth. Spoke to quite a few people actually."
If Harry were a violent man, a truer than false assumption about the hero, he would have returned the backlash bestowed upon him. However, because he convinced himself otherwise, Harry swallowed his agitation and ignored the burn in his palm resulting from snatching his cuppa too quickly.
Fuck, that's hot.
"Ever the absurdly perverse hero, eh, Potter? Put the cup down—there's no sense in burning yourself." The blond took the liberty of removing the mug from his hand and flipped the abused appendage palm-side up. Draco pulled his wand from his back pant pocket and cast a healing charm. His fingers trailed wispily over new skin while his blond brow furrowed in thought. "I talked to Elizabeth. She said you helped them the past few days. Kept Karina relatively entertained."
"And that's all?" he questioned quietly, mesmerised by the ivory fingers tickling his skin. "She didn't mention anything else?"
A pregnant pause followed. An upsetting and eerie bout of silence caused partially by the halting of Draco's ministrations and partially by the stilling of Harry's own heart in anticipation.
Without glancing upward, Draco continued the random pattern his hands were devising. "Should she have mentioned something else? She knows why you came back, doesn't she? You say you never stopped caring," he explained before Harry could refute it. "But, you care about Quidditch, and the kids at my centre. You cared about home and being with your own kind." Peaking beneath impossibly long and almost translucent lashes, Draco revealed a small yet hesitant smile. "What makes me different? What does she know that I don't?"
A surge of courage coursed through Harry's veins and he took one step forward, leaving only a breath of space between them. His eyes flickered back and forth from Draco's, searching for the same answers he'd been asked for.
With any luck, we have the same answers.
"Draco," he began seriously, wetting his lips in an attempt to buy himself a moment's time. "The reason I came back was because I couldn't let the first person I—"
"Back!" Sam called from the doorway of the next room. "Got another bottle of whatever you dropped on the way in." He stopped at the archway of the kitchen and tripped over his footing in what looked to be mortification. "And I can see I've interrupted. My apologies."
"Perhaps tomorrow would be a better time to return, Sam," Draco bit through his teeth, an oddly endearing string of jealousy marring his otherwise pleasant suggestion.
Harry watched on bated breath as the man raised his hands in mock surrender and backed away from the pair. "I'll leave the liquor. Merlin knows you'll need it more than I do."
At the very instant—when the bolts of the door locked shut—Draco thrust himself away. "So, how'd you meet him?"
"A pub. When I got back, I got inordinately pissed and ended up shacking at his place." The glare in Draco's harsh gaze encouraged more detail. "Nothing happened. I passed out and he didn't take advantage of it. Got him to look into the flat and that's it. Completely platonic."
The blond still seemed sceptical, but he shrugged his response before returning to his cup and giving Harry a wonderfully disregarding view of his back.
Somehow, this cold exterior emboldened the Man Who Lived and allowed him the mental strength to step chest to back with Draco. The body ahead of him tensed briefly and settled into the loose embrace.
He was cornered now. Harry's arms created a barricade between himself and the counter, forcing Draco to acknowledge his confession.
Inhaling deeply to calm his raging insides, the brunet mentally chastised himself for becoming distracted in the vanilla scent at the nape of Draco's neck. "I agreed to work with you under one condition, didn't I?"
The former Slytherin turned abruptly in Harry's arms with an incredulously hard glower. "I haven't lied to you at all. You know everything."
He fought the urge to smile at this dishevelled man and kiss the tip of his reddening nose.
I'll kill myself before I turn into a born-again Hufflepuff.
"Do I?" Eyes as grey as storm cast down and leftward. "Why are you here?"
"I asked you first," Draco murmured with a childish whine.
"My honesty wasn't part of the deal, if I remember the terms correctly. Yours, on the other hand, is under debate."
A smirk grew on Draco's face, reminding Harry of the Slytherin he was dealing with. "The way I remember it, O Chosen One, is that I made the decisions regarding what I would need to be honest about."
"A trade, then," Harry proposed. "My word for yours."
The blond pursed his lips in contemplation and nodded once as if to say, you first.
"Look, I don't understand everything, but I wanted to be there for you. You didn't deserve to lose everything you worked for because of a something you had no control over."
There really was something to avoiding visual contact while trying to evade a particular subject. Made the act almost too simple.
"You're lying, Harry," Draco accused, tipping the man's face at the chin to search for whatever lie he'd heard. "Or you're not saying everything. That's just as bad, you know." His free hand splayed over Harry's chest and the brunet's arms fell from their grip at the counter's edge. "If that's all there is, I'll leave. You can go back to the Burrow. You can come back to work. Everything can return to normal for you. But, whatever this was will go back to a professional partnership. Nothing more."
Harry weighed his options considerably. Normal was what he'd been searching for after the war.
Wasn't it?
Wants could change. Needs could change. And Harry wanted…
"I love you, Draco," he said flatly. A mere statement of fact so certain of its validity that it could have and should be marked in history. "And I'm sorry for whatever pain that causes you in the future, but I do. I l-."
Suddenly, his mouth became too occupied to speak. Draco's lips attached themselves timidly to Harry's. The brush was inquisitive and light—momentarily stunning the hero into paralysis.
Finally, after the fear melted away, Harry responded and placed his hands gently against the small of Draco's back, pulling the man against him smoothly. The blond seemed to be bolder as his swiped a playful, wet strip over Harry's bottom lip and clamped teeth over the flesh just hard enough to pull and release it.
With one more set of strong pecks, Draco grappled for Harry's face and broke the kiss, chuckling at the Man Who Lived while he groaned in protest.
A nervous fluttering settled again in his stomach at the realisation of his vulnerability.
"I had a feeling that was the case," Draco replied to his earlier sentiments smugly. "The gallant hero coming to rescue the poor and down trodden source of his affections."
"Lovely save from calling yourself a 'damsel in distress.'"
Draco's hands found their way into Harry's mane and tugged none too sweetly. "I'm most certainly not a damsel and I was hardly distressed."
"You're a class act. The only person I know who can be entirely ungrateful for having his life saved, hear, 'I love you,' and still be an arrogant prick about it."
Stepping backwards, Harry shook his head with a huff and paced towards his living room to fall back into the loveseat. Draco followed and towered over the former Gryffindor.
"I'm sorry, all right?" he groaned- examining imaginary dirt beneath his nails. "What am I supposed to say?"
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"If the appropriate response doesn't immediately come to mind, it would benefit both of us to forget the entire conversation." Harry shielded his face in his elbow and released a stuttered breath.
The silence stretched into an immeasurable amount of time and the brunet peaked from beneath his arm to find Draco still hovering over him.
"Damn it, Draco! Say something!" Anything.
"Maybe," he mumbled quickly— too quick for Harry's ears.
"Try again, but slow down. A speed just a tad slower than light and humans could potentially catch it."
Draco cleared his throat and began again. "I said, maybe I could possibly have feelings for you too."
An undignified snort rushed from Harry's nose, along with a hollow chuckle. "How romantic."
"Sorry I hadn't time to rehearse it, Potter."
"Go fuck yourself," the Chosen One suggested before rolling onto his side.
"Quit being so melodramatic. It's unbecoming." Harry didn't respond. Instead, he focused all of his energy on a tear in the couch. Otherwise, his magic may have spilled over—and he was trying to sell this flat after all. "Fine!" Draco bellowed. "I love you too, you limey twat."
Elizabeth shut her eyes tightly and reopened them to assure herself that she was not dreaming.
Oh, please let this be real …
Matthew, or Felix—as he'd been named—gaped in bafflement.
"Excuse me? My name is Felix. I think you're mistaken."
She shook her head in disagreement. "I know I'm not mistaken. Your name was Matthew."
"You're the girl from the cell—the one I was trapped with. Draco Malfoy saved you, didn't he? You're her, then. You have to be. I knew I recognised your voice."
We were—he was with me? That whole time … that was my brother … And I didn't …
"That was you?" she replied calmly, as if accepting each new bit of information. "Felix," she tried, the name tasting foreign on her tongue. "That isn't your real name."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. But, how would you know who I was?"
Even without his memory, Matthew was as polite as he had ever been before the war.
"You're my brother," she explained for his hearing only. "Come with me. I promise I can explain everything."
Seeming to humour the woman's wishes, the boy followed Elizabeth out of the party and into the gardens.
"Did Elizabeth just leave?" George questioned towards Hermione and Luna. "And Draco too?"
"Yes," they responded at the precise same moment.
"And this party is for them?"
"It sure is," Hermione agreed.
George snickered and took a long swig of his cider. "Glad we came. Cheers, everyone!"
The women laughed along with him. Hermione glanced downwards at her wrist for the time and finished her own beverage. "I should be getting back to Ron. He's probably fighting a cab driver in Time Square."
"That's happened already?" Luna asked, patting her belly in small circles.
"Twice," she confirmed cavalierly. "Only broke his jaw once, though. So far …"
For the remainder of the evening, Elizabeth and Matthew walked in circles through the random assortment of flowers. She told him of their life before the war, about losing him and the death of their parents. She explained her doubt of his existence. And he accepted every apology without fail. He couldn't hate someone he had no conscious memory of.
Needless to say, he was desperately lacking in the ability to comprehend this life he knew he must have had.
It hadn't occurred to him, though, that he would one day know his past. He assumed his life started over and it was always a bittersweet thought. On the one hand, he could be whomever he chose to be. On the other, he needed to forget everything he was.
Of course, that was easy enough considering his mind being wiped without his consent.
"That would make Karina my niece, wouldn't it?" Elizabeth nodded, staring at the boy with glassy eyes. "Are you upset, Elizabeth?"
"No, I just—I never thought I'd see you again," she reasoned, slipping her hand into his and squeezing tightly. "I know it will take time to convince you, but I know you're my Matthew."
Matthew shrugged and allowed her hand to stay in its place. "I believe you. How can I argue?"
"You're so calm."
"I don't know how to react. I never thought this would be what I was forced to forget. I figured I'd have a very basic family waiting for me out there—completely separate from the war."
Looking dejected, Elizabeth breathed a small sigh. "Are you disappointed?"
"Not at all. I'm processing."
And mentally reminding myself not to lose it.
At his feet stood colour-changing daisies. The boy marvelled at the complexity of the magic to someone of his magical standing. He hadn't used magic since he was captured. Matthew didn't want to be wrapped in that sort of life again. He was born from Muggles and could possibly convert back to a Muggle life when he was old enough to begin on his own.
With a sister, who was apparently still practising and a niece never living without other worldly experience, Matthew hardly thought a normal life was plausible.
At least I'm not alone …
"Can I meet them?"
"Who?"
The hand in his own slipped away and wrapped around its owner to shield her from the cold. "Our family."
Elizabeth smiled warmly and nodded once, her vision flittering towards the flowers beneath them as a flush of happiness crept over her cheeks.
"Of course you can. They've missed you terribly. I've missed you."
This is what it feels like.
To have a home.
"Ronald, I'm back!" Hermione called from the doorway, manually locking the hotel's creaking bit of wood with an audible bump.
Never again,she thought irately in reference to Molly's vacation 'expertise'.
"How'd the trial go?" her husband echoed from what sounded distantly like the television area.
"Fine," she assured, leaning over the couch to place a small kiss into his hair before pacing around to cuddle in beside him. "Draco's fine. The centre is still intact. He'll be working for the Ministry, actually. Part of his sentence, but I think it'll suit him. That whole snarky, higher-than-thou attitude will do well for him there."
Ron grunted his response and pressed a button on the remote, becoming aggravated when the sound disappeared. The witch rolled her eyes in amusement and picked the Muggle control from his grasp to undo the mute option.
"Dad just wants a report on Muggle equipment when we return. It's disgusting how he uses our 'honeymoon' for his studies. He'd rather live vicariously through us than try any of this out on his own."
The man was livid since day one.
He left London with a Malfoy in his future bedroom. Naked.
The plane was delayed an hour.
Seven hours were spent in the company of the harmonic melodies of an infant's piercing cry.
His ears never quite popped comfortably.
The Muggle film was some horrid tale about nine fellows trying to destroy a ring by walking into a volcano.
And finally after they touched ground, Ron nearly lost use of his left arm getting into a scrabble with the cabbie. Apparently you were supposed to tip the drivers, and it wasn't stealing or mugging in the stranger's opinion.
One Obliviate settled that dispute in a timely fashion.
Their hotel room was smaller than the pictures advertised. Molly arranged for the couple to see a few Broadway productions whilst they were away. One being Wicked—a show both witch and wizard found entirely inaccurate.
The Wizard wasn't even magical! He was a clever car dealer—if anything.
New York was dreadfully busy. It seemed as if everyone had somewhere to be, and they needed to be there this very instant.
At least the room was quiet enough.
Hermione may have pictured her wedding, but she never imagined the honeymoon.
Still wouldn't have pictured it like this.
"So, what are our plans for the evening?" she prodded with false eagerness. In all honesty, she wouldn't have minded cutting the vacation short. Or not having it at all.
Ron shrugged and threw his arm around the witch's shoulders. "We could always go to dinner. There's this breakfast place called Norma's, which is supposed to be amazing."
"Breakfast for dinner?"
"They call it brinner. But, we could see another show. The Lion King's out. It's about this lion who can talk and there's a monkey, I think." Reaching for the coffee table, the wizard snatched a pamphlet and scanned its contents. "At least that's what the flier's say."
Hermione truly believed her husband forgot her background. She was Muggle born. Of course she'd heard of the Lion King—knew the music even.
"Or," he continued, running a finger lazily up and down the length of her arm, "we could order room service and stay in tonight."
"Sounds incredibly dull, Mister Weasley," she teased and touched her lips to his chin playfully.
Bowing his head forward, Ron captured her lips chastely and stared seriously into her blackening depths. "I'm sure I could come up with something, Missus Weasley."
Blatantly ignoring the innuendo, Hermione cringed at the new name and visibly shook with disgust. "Please don't call me that. It reminds me of your mother."
"Please don't bring my mum into foreplay, Hermione. We'll have to go see the Lion King if I think on it any more than I already have." The witch smiled stood away from Ron, offering her hand to the man and hoisting him upwards before winding her fingers into his hair and dragging his face forward.
"I'll make you a deal," she mumbled as her lips touched his with each new syllable. "You never call me Missus Weasley again and I take you up on that staying in idea."
Ron leaned forward, looking rejected as Hermione teasingly detached herself and paced backwards towards the hotel's 'bedroom'.
With a few touch-up spells, the room was almost acceptable.
At the very least, it was cleaner.
Gracefully, Hermione maneuvered onto the cushion of the duvet and smiled seductively over her shoulder. Her husband gaped in return and she had to refrain from laughing.
Each time they slept together, Ron still seemed floored by the idea.
Of course, he would tell her later that he couldn't believe his luck- being with the brightest and most beautiful witch he'd ever imagined.
Hermione fell into the pillows and Ron followed, climbing—much less poised than his wife—to straddle the woman and create a cage atop of her.
The sky darkened to a purplish hue from the looks of the floor to ceiling window and traffic could be heard from miles.
Strangely enough, Hermione could only make out the steady pace of her own heart in her ears. Ron's hair fell over his eyes as his face dangled delicately over hers. She craned her neck upwards to capture his smirking mouth, but in payback for the earlier tantalising, he pulled away slightly to Hermione's efforts.
"If I didn't know any better," Ron murmured, pressing his lips to Hermione's jaw line, "I'd say you were a cat once."
The witch laughed lightly and threaded her fingers through his hair only to yank the man to eye-level. Producing the smallest of purrs, Hermione flipped the pair's position and trapped her wizard's hands above his head.
"You haven't seen anything yet," she promised. Every ounce of feline prowess seeming to caress each fibre of Ron's makeup.
Before he could rightly respond, Hermione dove towards her husband's mouth and took great advantage of his momentary shock to explore his mouth in earnest. Her tongue traced the roof of his mouth and the smoothness of his teeth and finished their exploration with a long and audible sucking of his tongue into her own mouth.
The man moaned softly beneath her and arched gently—the friction creating a much headier sound from both above and below. Releasing Ron's hands, Hermione felt through her clothes for her wand.
If she truly were a blushing virgin, perhaps she'd want the time physical clothing removal allotted. But, this wasn't a typical white wedding, and her husband was insatiable since they'd first come together following Hogwarts.
So, she vanished their clothing and Ron laughed deeply in his throat, the sound reverberating through his chest and into Hermione's.
Easily, she formed her body around his. They'd always fit so effortlessly. Always one-step behind the other—always alternating whom was in the lead and more than often side-by-side.
Ron rolled the pair onto their sides and the witch felt calloused fingers tickling the small of her back and lower still, causing an undignified squeak to escape her lips before biting her attacker in warning. This only served to urge him on further and press their lower halves closer still. His free hand snuck between them scratched teasingly at the sensitive skin below her navel. Hermione crooned in response, forcing his hand to apply more pressure.
The witch was hardly looking for something slow tonight.
Lying completely on her back, Ron smiled predatorily and began biting at Hermione's neck, the gesture providing an incredible distraction from the unexpected fullness she was suddenly experiencing.
"A little warning, you prat!" she complained half-heartedly, adjusting herself to accommodate for the intrusion.
Ron didn't rebut, he simply created a steady rhythm and groaned long and low. Hermione threw her head back and clawed deeply into his back for leverage.
His skin was slick with sweat and hers produced a glossy sheen over her heated body.
So … close …
Without realising her eyes were screwed shut tightly, she opened them to find Ron's face a mere breath away. As the last of her will crumbled, she latched her mouth to his and drown the earth-shattering shout brought on by ecstasy.
Exchanging her noises for his, Ron finished with the same intensity, breathing heavily and falling none too gently atop of his wife.
Still connected, Hermione wrestled with the tangled sheets and blankets to cover the couple and ran her trembling fingers through Ron's dampened hair as he snuggled into her neck.
"I missed you," Ron whispered into the hollow of Hermione's throat. "Is that stupid?"
The witch bit the side of her cheek and smiled into his hair with a kiss. "Not at all."
And this is where I—Draco Malfoy—died of mortification.
Normally, he would hex anyone with the gall to say that time stood still.
It literally stopped and never again would he ridicule the statement.
Instead of reacting excitedly and extremely off-balanced, Harry calmly sat straight and looked doubtfully at the man in front of him.
"I'm not lying, Harry. I'd have nothing to gain from it and you can give me some Versatrium later if that remedies the situation."
"Why?"
Oh, for pity's sake …Draco shook his head in disbelief, drastically wishing this man would regain some of that arrogant confidence he never seemed to shake.
"I didn't construct a fucking list, Potter. I just do." Crossing his arms to assert his pride, the blond stared incredulous daggers into Harry's eyes. "You really don't believe you're worth it."
Harry didn't answer, finding his hands more stimulating than the current conversation.
"What do we do now?" he finally said- quiet enough to be mistaken for a thought.
Draco extended his arm to Harry and he looked at it like it was some inconceivable alien encounter. "This is where you take my hand and we head for the bedroom."
"Draco, I don't think having sex is the best—"
"No," the former Slytherin interrupted, "I don't want to sleep with you." Noticing his offense, he immediately rephrased. "Right now, Potter. I don't want to have sex with you right now. I just want to lay with you. Talk about pointless things and have you whisper sweet nothings into my ear until I fall asleep."
A half smile formed on the corner of Harry's lips and he took the offered hand. "I don't think I'll be any good at it."
"The curse of being Harry Potter. You're good at everything. But, I'll warn you, if I wake up in the morning and you're not there, I'll rip your bollocks off with my bare hands. No pun intended—they'll be gone."
The former Gryffindor still wore his smirk casually and kissed the threatening blond's cheek.
"A fair deal, really."