Title: The Trick Is To Keep Breathing
Author: Miss T
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Genre: Romance/Future-fic/Horror
Notes: This story is based on one of my favourite adult-books of all time -
Drawing Blood by Poppy Z Brite. The story is not exactly the same, just based
around it, although some of it is very similar. I thought it was a good
Harry/Draco plot, and I hope you all like it! Please please please take my
recommendation of reading Drawing Blood... it really is good.
The Trick Is To Keep Breathing
Chapter Two - Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
You know you can't hold me forever
I didn't sign up with you,
I'm not a present for your friends to open
This boys too young to be singing the blues
So goodbye yellow brick road...
I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the yellow brick road...
- elton john - goodbye yellow brick road
Harry didn't know where he was going, but he kept driving. As
soon as he had left the outskirts of city London, the roadways seemed to get bumpier
and smaller, and there was more greenery - grass, trees, a lake here and there.
He was dimly aware of the radio playing in the background, dimly aware that he
was humming along to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Rolling his eyes and
looking forward at the trails his headlights made, Harry squinted his tired eyes
at the small sign ahead. He was entering a village. Maybe he could stay in a
hotel or something until the morning - it had been a long day. He would need to
phone Andrew and Doug to tell them what had happened, well... to a certain
extent, and tell them to run the shop on their own for a couple of weeks or so.
Sighing and following the road into the tiny village, Harry was struck by how
secluded it was. And how... familiar.
Shaking his head, Harry parked his car in a small area outside of the main
street, taking note that there seemed to be no cars in this village.
Traditionalists. Harry thought to himself, shrugging. Who needs a car in
a village this small, anyway? Everything's right at your doorstep.
Shoving his keys into his back pocket, Harry proceeded to walk down the
narrow lane and into the main part of the village. Glancing at his watch, Harry
growled inwardly. 11 o'clock. I'll be lucky if any of the B&B's have vacancies at
this time of night.
As Harry walked past a small pub, he suddenly felt a strange pang in his
throat. God, I need a drink. He thought to himself, stopping abruptly and
turning back to the squat building.
Upon opening the doors to the pub, Harry was greeted with the warm mist of pipe
and cigarette smoke, of gentle chit-chatting from locals sitting on stools and
at tables, sharing drinks and jokes. It was the type of people that made
Harry's heart suddenly jump into his throat. Witches and wizards lay in
clustered in groups, unaware of Harry's presence, talking happily within
themselves. Grab a beer. Just grab a beer and get the hell out of here.
Harry swallowed audibly and advanced to the counter, where he sat on a
stool. Digging into his pocket, Harry retrieved a small bag of galleons he
always kept with him in case of emergencies. And here was me thinking I'd
never have to use them.
"Hello, young man, what can I do you for?" The friendly barman asked as he
wiped some glasses clean with a rag.
"Just a butterbeer, please." Harry muttered, placing the money on the counter.
"Right you are." The barman replied, flipping the cap off from a butterbeer and
handing it to Harry, who drank eagerly. As the thick clouds of smoke and low
mumblings of conversation swam around his head, along with the butterbeer, Harry
realised how tired he was.
"You're new here." The barman asked curiously.
"Yeah. I just arrived." Harry replied, sipping his beer. The barman let out a
low chuckle. "You know, I've had this conversation already today. A young man
about your age came in earlier this evening in the same state."
Harry smiled politely, but continued to sip his drink. "Is that so." He replied,
his tone uninterested.
The barman nodded and flung the rag over his shoulder, placing his hands on the
counter in front of him and leaning towards Harry.
"You're not the only famous one to walk through these doors today, Potter." The
barman said lowly, smiling. Harry looked up from his drink with wide eyes. "How
did you..."
The barman sniggered. "Name's Martin. What, you think an old chap like me
doesn't read the papers? I know you left your home, Harry. Damn shame, that -
how they drove you out. I'm surprised you found your way here, though. I
recognised you straight away."
Harry sighed and placed his beer on the counter, looking down at his hands. "I
just had to get away from their hounding, you know."
Martin nodded sympathetically. "I understand. Listen, mate, have you got
anywhere to stay tonight?" Harry shook his head.
"Well... I would say you could stay here tonight, lad - but we're fully booked.
You know how it is." Martin said. Harry nodded and fingered at the label on his
beer bottle.
Martin looked around nervously before leaning in again towards Harry. "I don't
suppose you could do me a favour, could you Harry?" He asked. Harry raised a
questioning eyebrow. "A favour?"
Martin nodded and folded his arms over. "There's a young man living in an
abandoned mansion at the top of the village." Martin explained about 'David'
briefly, not running over the finer detail of why he was actually staying
in the mansion, and who he actually was. "He has no food, and I'm
presuming no running water either. I picked up a few things for him before I
opened up today - food, water, some blankets. Do you think you could drive up
there and take it up to him? I mean, I have to look after the pub and I don't
want him going cold and hungry tonight."
Harry eyed the barman uncertainly. "Alright." He said after a while. Here
goes the brave Gryffindor front again.
"He won't hurt you." Martin laughed.
"What is he doing there, anyway?" Harry asked, finishing the last of his
butterbeer.
"I think I'll leave that for him to tell you. But don't worry, he's a nice lad."
Martin motioned Harry towards the back of the bar where he handed him a large
bag filled with food, water and blankets. He then gave Harry the directions to
the manor - it sounded not too far from here, and it was apparently very hard to
miss, anyway.
Martin was right. The large gates leading towards the mansion were overgrown
with weeds and plants, evidence that it hadn't been lived in for a few years.
Sighing and rolling his eyes, Harry pulled out the bag from the passenger seat
in his blue Ford, locking the door and heading up towards the entrance gates.
Something about the motif on the gates sparked recollection in the back of
Harry's brain, but weeds covered most of it, so he really couldn't see it
properly anyway. Shrugging and walking through the gates, Harry's jaw dropped as
he looked at the large white building ahead of him.
The upstairs windows were all blacked out, along with some of the downstairs
ones. The door looked as if it once shone brashly in the daylight sun, but it
was faded and looked sad in the night time light.
When he approached the door, Harry noticed that it was ajar. Swallowing down the
lump that had formed in his throat, Harry rapped his knuckles on the solid wood.
Clearing his throat, Harry managed a hoarse, "Hello?"
After thirty seconds and yet no answer, Harry took in a deep breath and let
himself in. Why why why am I doing this? Why do I have to be brave? Why
couldn't I have been sorted into Hufflepuff?
As Harry let himself into the large entrance hall, it took a second or two
for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Fingering his glasses uneasily as the
bag still lay in his arms, Harry cleared his throat again. "Hello?"
Yet, no one answered. There was a large double staircase in front of him,
elegant - but sad and dim looking. Abandoned. Harry suddenly felt a large pang
of dread hit the base of his stomach, and decided that he would just set the
bag down in the middle of the floor, and get the hell out of this place. There
was something very wrong here.
Just as he was leaning over to place the bag down, a pale form appeared from the
left side of the staircase. Harry let out a stifled scream and dropped the bag
with a thud at his feet, the sound echoing throughout the halls. The pale figure
began to walk down the stairs and out of the darkness towards him, and as the
form was washed over with the light from the window, Harry felt his heart stop.
Draco Malfoy stood shirtless in front of him, long blonde hair the colour of
moonbeams spun freely down to his shoulders, grey eyes transparent and wide.
There was a clear bottle of alcohol raised in his right hand, and he looked
utterly mad. Harry hadn't seen, or spoken to Malfoy since the end of sixth year,
where he was mysteriously lifted from Hogwarts. He remembered seeing the papers
at the beginning of seventh year, reading about the tragedy at Malfoy Manor, and
for a second Harry's brain froze. He was in Malfoy Manor.
Harry stood motionless as he couldn't find the words to form on his
mouth, couldn't bring himself to speak Draco's name. By the murderous look in
Malfoy's eyes, he looked ready to kill. Harry wasn't ready to die. And
especially not by the hands of Malfoy. Suddenly, Draco snapped his free
hand out and grasped Harry's wrist. Think, Harry think! Harry thought to
himself frantically.
"MALFOY!" Harry screamed. "DON'T!!"
Draco wavered for a second, but his grip only got tighter on Harry's wrist. The
glass bottle in his hand was still upraised, ready to strike at any given
moment.
"Malfoy!" Harry said feeling his voice quiver. "I got sent here to help
you! Don't hurt me!"
Draco's eyes suddenly became less glassy, and he blinked a few times and let go
of Harry's wrist. Taking a step backwards, Draco dropped his arms by his side
and looked at the floor.
"Malfoy? Do you know who I am?" Harry asked attentively.
Draco's head snapped up and Harry instantly recognised that flash in the pale
boy's eyes from years ago. "Of course I know who you are, Potter." Harry's
eyebrows shot up in surprise. Draco's voice was quiet and deep, different to
when he last heard the whiney tones of his school rival. After a minutes
silence, Draco sighed. "You must think I'm mad."
Harry let out a quite snort of laughter. "A bit." Draco narrowed his eyes and
said nothing, so Harry finished his sentence. "It would help if you put that
away." Harry nodded towards the glass tumbler still in Draco's clutch. Draco
frowned and glared at the bottle, suddenly unsure of how it got there in the
first place. "Sorry." He mumbled, placing the bottle on the floor. "I'm sorry."
He repeated.
Now this is bizarre. Draco Malfoy apologising to Harry Potter. As if my day
couldn't get any odder.
Harry suddenly felt a pang of sympathy in his heart as he looked at Draco's
skinny body. This was not the boy he remembered from three years ago. God,
Lucius had really destroyed him.
"Well, put it this way, Malfoy. That's the only time you've ever apologised
after threatening me." Harry said. "There's nothing I can do but forgive you,
I'm afraid." Harry tried smiling at Draco, who stood with his arms folded over
himself. A small momentary smile appeared on Draco's lips before it faded into
oblivion.
"I can explain." said Draco quietly.
~~~|~~~
When Draco realised what he was doing it felt like the world
had come to a standstill. His head felt light and airy, possessed... it wasn't
him at all. He didn't know what came over him when he almost attacked Harry, he
wasn't even sure he knew it was Harry until his old school rival spoke.
"I'm okay, Malfoy." Harry said calmly, pushing up his glasses. "You don't have
to explain anything."
Draco noticed that Harry's hands were shaking slightly as he fingered at his
glasses and hair, and his face had took on a weird pale glow in the dimness. He
suddenly remembered a time back in their second year at Hogwarts, when Harry had
been cornered by Mr Filch about the writing on the wall and Mrs Norris - the way his eyes shone
like a deer caught in headlights - this is what Harry looked like just now.
Scared.
"No, Potter." Draco said quietly. "I want to talk. I need to."
Harry shifted on his feet uncomfortably for a few seconds before nodding and
chewing on his bottom lip, a habit that hadn't left him since he was 13.
Draco nodded towards a doorway on the left. "Here, follow me." Draco's voice was
distant, but Harry none the less followed the other young man through the door,
that led into a large empty room with nothing but a piano inside. Draco then
continued to walk towards two large patio doors. "Let's go outside." He muttered
as he slid open a door, stepping out into the night. Harry reluctantly followed,
and sat down beside Draco on a white stone bench at the front of the garden.
Hedges and trees spread out before them, leading out into a large orchard,
the light of the moon spilling over the leaves and foliage like silver water. Harry also noted
that Draco's shirtless body gleamed under the night's sky, making his skin look
almost translucent.
"You know about my family." Draco said flatly.
Harry nodded.
So Draco went into the tale about his version of events, not really knowing why
he felt it was okay to tell his arch enemy his sordid secrets, but something
about the way Harry was looking at him as he spoke made him feel at ease for the
first time in years. It was like carrying a huge weight off his back.
Once Draco had finished talking, he leaned back against the bench and sighed
deeply, closing his eyes. Harry bit his lip unconsciously as Draco's long
platinum hair wisped in the wind and fell back behind his neck, exposing his
delicate features. "I don't know why I told you that, Potter." He sighed. "You
must think I'm even more odd than you already thought."
Harry couldn't help but smirk. "Possibly." Harry said. "But I understand. I
understand what it's like to lose something."
Draco didn't know what to make of Harry's words. Frowning, he opened his eyes
and scanned over Harry's features. Harry was now looking down into his hands.
"You know, I never ever thought I would see you again, Malfoy." Harry said
quietly, laughing.
"Likewise, Potter." Draco said, raising an eyebrow and sitting up.
"And I'm really surprised you're not as hostile as you used to be." said Harry.
Draco smiled sadly in response. "Maybe there's more to life than pettiness,
Potter."
Harry's eyebrows shot up again in surprise.
"But it doesn't mean I'm going out of my way to be nice to you, Golden Boy.
You're still a prat." Draco finished quickly.
Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, of course. And you're still an arrogant
git."
Draco smiled. "Absolutely. Old habits die hard, Potter."
Harry tore his gaze away from his pale companion to look up at the sky. The
stars shone silvery blue amongst the velvety blackness, the moon round and full.
"So what are you doing with yourself these days, Potter? Auror yet? Working for
that damn school?" Draco asked, looking up at the sky with him.
"No. I live in the muggle world. I work in a music shop." Harry replied.
Draco turned and faced Harry again. "You live in the muggle world?! You work in
the muggle world?! Why?"
Harry sighed. "I'm fed up of being The Boy Who Lived." He answered shortly.
Draco knew that was a statement that begged no questions, so he kept his mouth
shut. Maybe another time. Another time? Draco, you really are crazy. Potter's
leaving after this little chat.
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a bashed packet of cigarettes.
Pulling one out, he let it dangle between his lips before fishing out his
lighter.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "And since when did we start smoking, Saint Potter?" He
asked, humour lacing his voice.
Harry lit the cigarette and took a deep drag before answering. "Since we forgot
how to relax." He replied quietly, taking another drag. Draco raised his
eyebrows and smiled, watching Harry puff away, the white smoke plunging out from
his mouth and nostrils and fading away into the night.
"Do you want one?" Harry asked as the cigarette he was currently smoking wiggled
between his lips.
"I've never smoked before." Draco answered, suddenly looking at the open packet
with awe. Harry frowned and took the half smoked cigarette out of his mouth.
"Here... try it." He said, handing it to Draco, who warily placed it between his
elegant fingers. He glared at it for a couple of seconds before looking back up
at Harry.
"It won't kill you." Harry laughed, then frowned. "Well, not immediately." He
finished, smiling. Draco continued to look down at the white stick as he placed
it between his lips, sucking softly at the tip, feeling the moisture from
Harry's lips taint his own. As the smoke filled his mouth it tasted smooth and
hot at first, so he immediately breathed it in, letting it fill his lungs. All
of a sudden, he realised that no oxygen had gone in with this suck of nicotine,
and he let out a chesty sequence of coughs, frowning. Harry laughed.
"Don't worry, you'll get used to it." Harry said, lighting up another cigarette
between his lips. Draco shrugged and took another drag of his own, leaning back
and letting the smoke flow out of his mouth with a little more relaxation. "So."
He said, taking another drag. "Why are you here, Potter?"
Harry leaned over Draco as the pale boy lay across the bench. "The wizarding
press found out where I live." Harry said.
Draco pursed his lips together and exhaled through his nostrils. "Don't like the
attention, do you, Potter?" He asked rather sardonically.
"I don't actually." Harry replied flatly.
"On the run, then?" Draco asked, sitting up again. Harry looked down at his
hands, his cigarette still hanging from his mouth.
"Well I've been hiding from this place for three years, Potter. I got bored."
Draco drawled, nodding towards the house.
"So bored you thought you would make a pretty picture with my carnage against
the doorway?" Harry asked, looking up.
Draco shrugged. "I wasn't expecting company."
Harry let out a snort of laughter. After a moment or so, Draco returned with a
smile, then a little giggle of his own that went straight to Harry's heart.
Clearing his throat suddenly, Harry stubbed out his cigarette and straightened
his face. Draco continued to smile, and Harry felt very strange... so he shifted
around uncomfortably. Gods, he has changed.
"Potter, where are you planning on sleeping tonight?" Draco finally asked
after a good few minutes of silence.
"Err... well, my car." Harry replied, scratching his head.
"You can stay here if you like." Draco blurted out, before he knew what he was
saying. Harry raised his eyebrows and Draco suddenly regretted his words. "That
is..." He began.
"Thank you." Harry replied softly. Draco let a small smile creep onto his face.
He cleared his throat and stood up. "Well, I'm going to take a shower... feel
free to roam about the house... makes no difference to me now, really." Draco
said, as he vanished through the threshold, leaving Harry sitting on his own.
Harry frowned. This was all so very... odd. But something was keeping him here,
and he knew for sure it wasn't Draco. Something he couldn't explain was keeping
him from leaving, and Harry didn't know if he liked it. He didn't know if he
like it at all.
~~~|~~~
to be continued...