Title: The Well 24/?
Author: eidheann
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,000 (~19,000 total)
Summary: Where there is a wish...
Warnings: angst.
A/N: Many thanks for the comments and support. As is probably obvious to those reading, the end is swiftly approaching. I'm keeping the final chapter count as ? just because it's always somewhat uncertain how much I'm able to progress the story each day.
Draco awoke to an otherwise empty bed, and though he could see the imprint of Harry's head on the pillow next to his, the place had long gone cold. He stretched and smiled at the twinge of muscles unused over the past year and burrowed deeper into the soft mattress. They had each been faintly tipsy when they left Pansy's after the reception, and Harry had stumbled into Draco leaving the floo in Grimmauld Place, landing them splayed together on the plush rug before the fire. What had started with a brief kiss was soon breath-stealing, and clothes we opened and pushed aside to be left in a trail between the study and bedroom.
His growling stomach finally dragged him out of bed, as well as the faint worry prompted by the empty space beside him. He dug around and pulled on a pair of Harry's pajama bottoms, wandering downstairs into the small kitchen still wiping sleep from his eyes, where he was greeted with the sight of Harry's arse sticking out of the cold cupboard. The kitchen table was piled with what must have been a dozen eggs, a mountain of bacon, and several loaves worth of toast. Also on the table was a copy of the Prophet, face down, though he could see the bottom half of a familiar set of robes in the picture on the fold. "Going a little overboard, aren't we?" He snickered when Harry straightened in surprise, hitting his head with a thunk and letting out a stream of profanity.
"Draco! Good morning!" Harry's face was flushed, and he clutched two jars to his chest like a lifeline.
Draco sighed. "The Prophet's that bad, is it?" Harry's guilty glance toward the paper was enough of an answer. He continued quietly, "I did warn you."
Harry set the jars down on the table, raspberry jam and marmalade. "You did. And I told you I didn't care. The article is actually kinda funny, in an overwrought-Rita Skeeter kind of way."
"Must have got her knickers in a twist missing out on that scoop." He smiled at Harry, seeing him relax at that.
"I'm not worried about Skeeter, I know how to deal with her." At Draco's raised eyebrow, Harry grinned. "Hermione."
He laughed in spite of himself. "If anyone could put that one in her place, it's Granger."
Harry nodded. "She's quite good at it, actually." Harry poured tea into a pair of mugs, adding sugar and passing one to Draco. "I don't care what the Prophet says, and I won't let them hurt you."
"What does the Prophet say?" Draco sat down at the table and pulled a plate over, filling it and spreading marmalade on his toast.
Harry sat down opposite and pulled the paper over, turning it to Draco long enough to see the picture and headline. The picture showed an embarrassingly open-faced Draco, staring at Harry like a besotted idiot, while Harry laughed at something, pulling Draco to him and wrapping him in a one-armed hug. It was incongruously Hufflepuff when paired with the headline above it proclaiming CHOSEN ONE IN SECRET TORRID AFFAIR WITH DEATH EATER. He laughed in spite of himself and Harry grinned across the table at him. "Yeah, it's all pretty much like that. The Boy-Who-Lived and death eater thing are mentioned pretty much every sentence. They don't accuse you of blackmail or Imperius or anything, though." Harry turned the page and continued, "they do seem to think you're just after my pretty face and body." He fluttered his eyelashes at Draco over the paper, and laughed when Draco threw an uneaten corner of toast at him. "That's honestly the worst of it."
Draco held his hand out, and Harry passed the paper across, filling his own plate as Draco skimmed the article. He was right, it was overwrought, but nothing near what he feared could happen. The entire piece had a tone of doom, of waiting for Harry to come to his senses, but Draco had lived with that feeling as well, both now and before Harry had left. The worst had happened once already, so he wasn't concerned by it appearing in the Prophet. "I think you're mistaken. It says here on page 3 that I used my pretty face and body to entrap you." Harry looked up, a fork-full of eggs most of the way into his mouth. "Here, 'and we hope that Harry will realize that a pretty face isn't everything and will come to his senses soon.'"
Harry leered at Draco, "Yes it-"
"Harry!" The shout came from the top of the stairs, and was followed by the sound of rapid footsteps. Draco turned in place, tensing and wishing he'd grabbed a shirt or his wand or something when he saw Ron's large frame in the doorway. "Oh what the fuck. It's true?" He was staring between them, half-clothed in pajamas, breakfast spread between them, a look of shock on his face.
Another rush of footsteps followed, and Hermione burst in behind Ron. "Ron! Wait a- oh." her face flushed with color as she took in Harry and Draco's half-dressed state. "Good morning, Harry. Draco."
"Draco? You're calling Malfoy Draco now too? What the fuck is going on?"
Harry stood and looked at Ron and Hermione. "Could you guys wait for me upstairs, please? I'll be right up."
Hermione pulled the still-sputtering Ron back upstairs, and Harry turned to Draco. Before he could speak, Draco whispered, "you didn't tell them, then?"
Harry ran his hand through his hair and sighed, "If you'll remember, I didn't realize there was anything to tell them until we were practically on our way."
He nodded faintly and stood. "I should get dressed."
Harry gave a distracted nod, his attention on the doorway. Draco hurried out, rushing upstairs and gathering his clothes. He didn't wait to dress, just grabbed his wand and disappeared with a pop. Harry's friends had found out, and they weren't happy. It was last year all over again.