Chapter 18 – Part 8

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They were frozen. Everything was frozen, everyone was frozen, time had stopped and the only thing that still breathed was Draco himself – and he was doubting his ability to do such a thing.

They were frozen. Frozen in that position. Mouths locked on each others. Harry's eyes weren't quite closed, his eyelids were flickering, almost inpercieveably, but Draco could see them. Weasley's hands were on his knees, but they slid up to his thighs, curved confidently over his hips and were suddenly squeezing Harry's butt.

And then they unfroze and their mouths started to move. Their tongues must be touching. Touching, caressing, tangling.

Harry's tongue working, just as it used to work in Draco's mouth.

Draco felt his breath catch and his lower lip began to tremble. Don't cry, don't you fucking cry. His face felt contorted. Don't you fucking cry. He knew he looked stricken. Don't you fucking cry.

Harry and Weasley pulled apart, a thin trail of spit glistening in the strange blue lights above the bar, connecting them like some kind of transparent umbilical cord before it finally broke and slid down their chins. Weasley looked questioning and said something, and Harry wiped his chin and replied, and then they both laughed.

Draco wanted to vomit, but he knew if he tried he would only dry heave. His stomach felt twisted, as though someone had reached in and turned it over with painful efficiency. He didn't want to see this. He didn't want to see their mouths on each other, he didn't want to see their mouths moving, he didn't want to see that sight replayed in his mind over and over again.

But he did see it. He did see it and it hurt and it burned and it ached and ached and ached.

Don't you fucking cry.

But Harry said he should come.

Don't you fucking cry.

But Harry said they could talk. Harry said he should come. Harry said…

Not his Harry any more.

He hardened his face, or at least tried to. He shouldn't be here. This was not his world. Draco Malfoy did not belong here in a sleazy gay bar in Hogsmeade. Draco Malfoy did not belong at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was Draco Malfoy, Lord of the Manor, and he belonged there, surrounded by his many possessions and tended to by his servants. He would leave this place and return there tonight. He would return to the place he belonged. He would return to the life he was supposed to live.

Draco Malfoy would survive this. He would become the man that his father raised him to be. He would become powerful and fearsome. He would control his business and those around him with the power of his will and the depth of their fear. He would take many lovers, one after another and he would draw them to him with his charms, draw their sympathy with his scars and discard them as efficiently as he would discard a broken quill. He would draw pleasure from them, perhaps even comfort and like his father he would grow more beautiful as he grew older and he would arrange to marry a Pureblood Witch and he would produce an heir and the cycle would start again.

And that was the way of things, that was how it was meant to be.

There were many who said that a life without love was a life not lived, but he would not live that life. Not any more. For the entire of his life Draco had lived in terror of physical pain. His father had only ever hit him once in his life that he could recall. He was four and had released the family House Elves and his father had been so angry. He could still remember the anger, and he could still remember the fear he felt. He could imagine that his father's victims had encountered that anger and he could pity them that. Lucius had beaten him almost senseless, and instilled in him a terror of pain. It wasn't until years later that he discovered that physical pain could be endured. He had endured it, and he had survived it. It was emotional pain that killed. It was emotional pain that caused you to slice open your arms, it was emotional pain that caused you to walk into the sea without hope, it was emotional pain that caused you to stand in a sleazy bar in Hogsmeade gulping for air and crying despite telling yourself not to fucking do it.

He was crying and he realised it now. He was gulping for air and his face was hot and wet and people were looking at him and judging him because he had lost and some red haired Weasley had taken the one thing he had loved more than his father and he had nothing except the length of his life ahead of him.

Draco drew a shuddered breath.

And Harry had turned his face and had seen him and panic crossed his features and he was moving and Draco saw Harry's mouth form his name but he didn't hear the words.

It was time to go. Time to go and get Miss Kitty and go home. Time to become himself again. Time to turn and run away, because he simply couldn't stand here anymore.

It was time to go.

*********
"Well?"

Harry wiped spit from his chin with the back of his hand. In all seriousness it wasn't that bad. Actually it had been pretty good, but it was just the wrong person. He shrugged, "it was alright."

"Alright? " Fred looked genuinely miffed, "That was more than alright mate, that was fantastic!"

"Yeah, it was good...but it was like…" Harry tried to think of the right words, "It was like kissing a…brother."

Fred's face now changed and he gave Harry a mortified glare, "Bloody hell Harry, that's sick!"

"I know! But that's what it felt like!"

"Well, thanks a lot!"

They both stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

Fred looked over at the dance floor and his eyes widened. "Well, it looks like you won't have to go back to the castle to talk to Draco."

"Huh?"

Fred nodded towards the dance floor, "he's right there."

Harry's head jerked around and his eye caught Draco's. "Oh fuck…oh Gods…oh fucking shit!" He felt dizzy, as though he would fall off the stool.

"What?" Fred looked from Draco back to Harry. "What's wrong?"

Harry slid off the stool, Draco had already turned and had fled the door. "He saw us!"

"Yeah, so? You said yourself that it was like kissing a brother!"

"But he doesn't know that!"

"And might I remind you that you're not with him any more? You can kiss anyone you want and he can't do anything to stop you!"

"I gotta go…"

Fred grabbed his arm, "Harry, don't go running after him, you didn't do anything wrong. If he can't accept it's over then it's his own problem."

"You don't understand…"

"Don't understand what? You don't want to upset him? You asked him to come and he said no, you didn't know that he was going to just turn up – and even if he'd come with us, you can do what you want! What do you plan to do, walk on eggshells for the rest of your life in case he gets upset?"

"You don't understand that I was going to try and sort things out with him," Harry cried, "and now he thinks I've been out slobbering all over you!"

"It was hardly slobbering."

Harry pulled his arm out of Fred's grasp, a desperate noise escaping from his throat.

"Just calm down," Fred reasoned, "it's not that bad, but if you go running after him now you'll look guilty."

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"Yes it does. You're all upset, you'll look like you're making excuses."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing, he would be making excuses; he'd be on his damned knees begging for forgiveness! He was almost jumping with his desperation to run after Draco and explain that he'd been a damn fool.

"Look, at least calm down before you go after him, you're not going to do any good if you start blubbering at him."

"Well I'm going to do more good blubbering at him than I am standing here arguing with you!"

"It's not as though cheated on him or anything, God Harry, just calm down."

"Fucking hell Fred, when did you stop giving a shit about how other people feel? You think it's a good thing that Draco has run off thinking that I've been here snogging you all night? Hasn't anyone ever hurt you?"

"Well firstly, I do care about how other people feel, and I personally don't care what Draco Malfoy thinks so no on that score – and yes, of course someone has hurt me, but I'm telling you now, running after him while you're hysterical isn't going to do any good."

"I'M NOT FUCKING HYSTERICAL!"

"Yes," Fred nodded, "you are."

Harry snorted and made that same desperate noise again, bouncing on his heels and feeling sick. "I have to go, I really have to go."

Fred finished the last of his drink; "fine, go," but by the time Fred had finished his words, Harry was gone.

*********

Draco emerged from the heat of the club with the same relief a suffocating man feels when drawing a vital breath. The air outside was cool and crisp. It wasn't raining, for the first time in a long time, it wasn't raining. Not that rain mattered, it was cool and he could breathe at last – and there weren't dozens of people out here staring at him. The street was quiet; any stray couple must have found their way to a darkened alley or some such place that wasn't so public. And so the street was deserted and Draco found himself alone and trying to breathe.

He reasoned that he should just Apparate and go home. He didn't need to go back to the castle, there was nothing there that could not be packed up by a few considerate House Elves and forwarded on to the Manor. Those self same House Elves would no doubt take care of Miss Kitty until she could be sent to him.

But Miss Kitty was a small thing and she wouldn't understand if he didn't come to get her. He would go to the castle now and collect her, and then he would go. It wouldn't take any more than twenty minutes, and then they would be on their way.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. He needed to thing rationally. But closing his eyes only brought the image back with full force. The image of them.

"Fuck! Harry…" He ran his hand through his dirty hair and just wanted to sink into the street and howl. It was out of the question of course. He was Draco Malfoy, he wasn't going to throw himself onto the cobblestones and scream. He couldn't stop himself from crying however, and as much as he tried to stop himself and simply breathe, he couldn't stop the tears. And so he was standing there in the street like some heart broken fourteen year old girl after a shitty Valentine's Day.

Damn him. Damn him for doing this. Damn him for saying he should come here. Damn him for making him feel this way.

Draco wiped his nose unceremoniously on his sleeve and his shame mounted as he truly realized just how he looked. Of course Harry had found someone else. Of course he was in there kissing some Weasel Boy. At least the Weasel Boy was showered and dressed and he'd shaved and done his hair and smelled of some kind of cologne. Draco was wearing one of Harry's old Weasley jumpers, the one with the big hole in it and now it had snot up the sleeve – and the shirt he had on underneath hadn't been washed. The jeans were dirty and he smelled like stale sweat and he didn't deserve anyone to love him.

He gulped a noisy breath and looked towards the shadow of the castle. He just had to go.

"Draco?"

He whirled around, jerking his chin in the direction of the voice. Not Harry's voice. Not Harry coming to get him or explain or hug him or apologize. The man who had spoken was taller and older and his voice when he uttered Draco's name was strangely elated in its surprise. Draco didn't know the voice and yet it was familiar, as though he remembered it from some half remembered dream. The man stood tall and straight. Taller than Draco, which surprised him because he was tall himself. He was hooded and cloaked, his face obscured by shadow. In his hand he carried a bag from one of the local stores; he had obviously been doing some kind of after hours business.

"It is you isn't it?" Once again, the voice was elated, "Yes of course it is, how could you not be, you look so very perfect."

"Do I know you?" Draco's voice was shaky, slightly hoarse. He sniffled involuntarily and narrowed his grey eyes.

"You look just like him, so incredibly like him." The man approached, one hand outstretched and Draco instinctively stepped back before that hand could touch his wet face. "But you're crying!" He sounded astonished, as though the idea of tears being shed was astonishing, "what devil dares cause such misery to make an angel weep?"

And Draco suddenly knew who this was. "You," he stepped back again, knowing he should just turn and run back into the bar, "You're the Curator…from the Museum."

"I have to say, this is only the second time I have seen you in the flesh and you take my breath away." Semeuse pushed the hood back a little, as though to get a better look. "Do you believe in kismet Draco? You being here, alone in this street, so obviously distressed. You look like a little urchin who requires rescuing. This was meant to be My Little Dragon. "

"I…" Draco found the handle of his wand in the pocket of his robes, "I need to go now, I'm expected."

Semeuse smiled, knowing full well that the boy's fingers had just curled around his wand. He stood still, staring at the child. Not really a child at all, he was a man in every sense of the word. But he was Lucius' child and the opportunity was too perfect to pass up. He pushed gently and unnoticed into the boys mind and found the evenings events fresh and vivid there. He smiled again, fatherly, almost predatory. "No one is waiting for you Draco. My sweet beauty, a fool has caused you to weep – and yet, what sweeter sight could be seen than that of an Angels tears?"

"I have to go." Draco frowned and made to pull out his wand and Semeuse breathed out a long slow breath, a whisper seemed drawn out beneath it and Draco felt his body shudder and relax; his wand fell silently to the street.

"No one would miss you my darling one. No one cares. Except me. Except your father. You are alone Draco," Semeuse breathed the words and drew closer, "By some twist of fate some fool has left you alone." Semeuse extended his long fingers, his cool palm finding Draco's cheek and caressed it with reverent fascination.

Draco shuddered and tried to pull back, and found that his limbs would not cooperate with his mind.

"Don't fight the charm Draco, you will only hurt yourself."

Draco blinked and tried to quell the rising panic. Someone would come out soon, someone would find them. Harry would come out. He had gotten up when he saw Draco in the club, he would come after him. He would. He had to. Harry had saved countless people; surely he would spare a minute to save some pathetic ex-lover from this man.

"He is not coming for you, my darling." Semeuse traced a tear track with a boney finger, "He doesn't love you any more. He has moved on and found someone else. He was never worthy of you my love. He could never keep you, he did not deserve something so close to perfection, and he could never hold on to something so divine."

"I just want to go home," Draco murmured, his voice suddenly flat, "please just let me go home."

"You look so much like him." For Semeuse it was wondrous, as though he had found the greatest of hidden treasures. "You have his features, and yet you are more delicate I think, tainted by your mother's blood." He slid his hands over Draco's waist and was surprised at just how slight the boy was, the oversized jumper was misleading. "How like Angels you both are. You are, both of you, far too perfect for this realm; you belong with your own kind on the celestial planes, but I am the lucky one - I get to keep you both."

What was it about him that attracted utter nut cases? First Regina and now this freak. Or perhaps it was his father that attracted the nut bars and he just got caught in the cross fire. Draco was fully aware of just who the Curator was referring to when he referred to him, and while Draco knew that the men of his family were good looking, to suggest that they bore some kind of celestial visage was a little far fetched. More than a little, it was downright ludicrous.

"Your father loves you Draco…" Semeuse soothed, his hands caressing that slender waist, "he was willing to do so much to protect you." he moved one hand back to Draco's face, delicately rubbing his thumb across Draco's soft mouth, "But you are so very delectable, you are like him, the sweetest morsel on a platter and irresistible. How could I leave you here? My Angel will get over it, he might even learn to enjoy it. You might even learn to enjoy it, Draco. Imagine it sweet one, you are perfect – and he is beyond that plane – and so you would be the perfect compliment to each other, the only real compliment to each other that is possible. The two of you, entwined, swimming in oceans of pleasure, how erotic, how sensual, can't you just see it Draco?"

Draco's mouth opened and closed and then he realized exactly what the Curator was implying.

Oh yeah, he's a nut bar, this is just great. First Harry leaves me for some Weasel Boy and now this old pervert wants to watch me fuck my father – I have the best luck.

"He's my father." But of course the Curator already knew that, and Draco knew that the Curator knew that. Still, it bore being said, just to ram the point home, perhaps illustrate just how very sick the concept was.

"He's perfect, Draco – and you're perfect. Think about your life, think about who you are and how you were raised. Only the best will do for you, and he is the very best." Semeuse smiled, grasping Draco behind his head, tangling his fingers in his pale hair. "I know who your lover was, a hero, our hero. Harry Potter. I can see how you mistook him for the best you could possibly have, but he was there all along, right under your nose. I am only going to help you find him. He loves you, and I love you, and that is all that matters."

"How could you love me, you don't know me."

Semeuse actually shrugged, "beyond your beauty my sweet, your mind means little to me."

Draco almost smiled, he had always suspected as much. He tried to pull himself out of the Curator's grasp and found that he could indeed move again. He stepped back, pulling himself from the old man's hands. If he could move fast enough he could get back into the bar. The Curator was an old man, Draco could get away, even if it did mean leaving his wand lying there on the ground.

Then again, what was the old man going to do? Snatch him off the street? Even if the Curator used Imperio to control Draco, forcing someone to Apparate was risky at best and trying to Apparate with someone could spell disaster. Then again, he could have a Portkey and Draco was basically fucked unless he got inside. Draco also knew that age was not something that he could really count on as a factor to slow the man down. Anyone who knew Albus Dumbledore knew full well that when it came to Wizards, with age came power.

But if the old buzzard was so powerful, why would he choose to be a Museum Curator?

Because he's a fucking freak, that's why!

"Don't walk away, Draco. There is nothing to hold you here. You are alone, Draco, desperately alone, and I can feel your pain. What drove you from that bar right now? I can see it, Draco, he broke your heart, he doesn't love you, but then, how could he? He doesn't understand you, he doesn't understand where you come from, he is a half blood, he has no concept of your life and the beauty that dwells within you."

"Harry understands me…he…"

"He left you, Draco."

Draco frowned and stepped back again. How did he know these things? Another proficient in Legilemancy? Or something else?

"Everyone leaves you in the end Draco, they always will. There is only one who would never choose to be apart from you, and I have him…he missed you so much…"

"He doesn't want me to be near you. He doesn't want me to be anywhere near that museum."

That was surprising, and Draco had the mild satisfaction of seeing the Curator look a little shocked. "I see Lucius has been testing his boundaries, I'll deal with him later." He smiled wanly. "He likes to try me, it's like a game to him." He noticed the look on Draco's face, "You thought it was a dream did you? Oh no, it was very much him. He is perfectly conscious, didn't you know? I did think that the little Elf spy would have told you that much – or perhaps he told your greasy Godfather and the message was not passed on. Perhaps they didn't think you deserved to know. Perhaps they didn't think you important enough to know. It doesn't matter either way, Lucius is mine, Draco, and I will not give him up simply because his whelp misses him."

Draco blinked back fresh tears and hardened his face.

"But what a beautiful whelp you are Draco." Semeuse reached for him again and his fingers closed around the fine chains that hung around Draco's throat. He pulled the two pendants out from beneath Draco's shirt and inspected them thoughtfully. "You love beautiful things Draco," he murmured, "and so do I, you see, we already have this in common."

Draco frowned. The pendants were his mother's locket which he agreed was beautiful, the other was a tiny vial of Navitas, hardly a thing to gush over. Harry hadn't come out of the club yet and Draco finally began to doubt that he would. Perhaps he just didn't care – it didn't matter anyway, he had to try and get himself out of this situation, he just wasn't sure how. "Just leave me alone," he said firmly, his voice full of false bravado, "I have to get back to the castle, I'm expected."

"I can't leave you alone, Draco." The Curator's voice was lilting, hypnotic; Draco recognized the trick from his last encounter with the man and stepped back again. "Don't walk away little one, you can't, you belong with me – and your father."

Draco had heard enough, he couldn't stand any more and it would be better inside the club than it was here with this man. He turned to go, forgetting that the Curator still held the pendants in his hand.

Semeuse yanked hard on the chains, jerking Draco's head back and causing him to catch his breath painfully in his throat as the chains gave way with a snap. Semeuse raked his fingers through Draco's hair and snapped his head back.

Draco vaguely heard the pendants hit the ground and his body was pulled back so that the Curator was pressed hard against his back. The old man's free hand snaked around his body and Draco felt the sharp tip of a wand dug hard into his ribs.

"I told you, Draco, you belong with me." Semeuse pulled a little harder on Draco's hair, pulling his head back and causing an involuntary yelp to escape his lips. "Don't fight me, Draco, you can't win."

Draco lashed out hard, kicking back, the heel of his boot connecting with the Curator's shins, eliciting a groan and a sharp tug on his hair. It didn't matter, let the bastard pull most of his hair out, it would grow back.

But the man was far stronger than he looked and the arm around Draco's waist tightened and the wand under his ribs dug in deeper.

Oh Gods, I'm not going to get away from this freak.

And then Harry came out of the club, running, looking frantically around, so intent on finding what direction Draco went in that he didn't see at first what was right in front of his eyes.

Oh thank you God, thank you God, thank you God.

"It's time to go little one," Semeuse whispered, his eye on Harry who had finally seen and was reaching for his wand.

"HARRY!"

Semeuse actually managed to chuckle in Draco's ear before he dug the wand harder into his ribs and whispered "Stupefy."

Draco slumped into the Curator's grasp and Semeuse smiled at Harry, even as Harry opened his mouth to utter a curse. He touched the clasp on his cloak and before Harry could finish his curse they were gone, vanishing into the night air with nothing to prove that they had even been there, save the two pendants and Draco's wand lying on the ground.

Harry stood alone in the cold night air, his heart pounding in his chest and the desolation of despair settling quickly into his gut.

********

NOTES:
Thanks to Ann for Betaing, it was a very long chapter and it no doubt gave her grief.

Only two more chapters to go! And an epilogue…

Az