CHAINS OF EARTH CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mar. 29th, 2010 08:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesFor some reason you were disturbed by where I ended the last chapter. *is perplexed* *dodges tomatoes* :D
Luckily,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alaana_fair cranked out this beta like WHOA. She so rocks. *nods a billionty*
Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Eleven
Whether outwardly or inwardly,
Whether in space or time,
The farther we penetrate the unknown,
The vaster and more marvellous it becomes.
- Charles A. Lindbergh
Draco stood in frozen shock for a moment and then he was assaulted with images. Potter standing before a familiar wall, looking upset and distracted—he runs a hand through his hair and frowns. The scene shifted to Potter fairly blazing with rage; Draco was so ensnared by the intensity of the man that he forgot to take note of the scenery until it was too late. Potter holding a white feather and smiling dreamily as he runs a finger along the spine. The look in his eyes is maddeningly seductive—
The images ceased as suddenly as they began, allowing Draco to register the pressure of Harry Potter’s lips against his. The kiss was not at all tentative. Although gentle, it was a Gryffindor kiss, straightforward and hiding nothing, placing weapons into Draco’s hands without reservation.
Before Draco could fully process Potter’s sudden baring of his soul (although his first impulse was to wrap his wings around the man to see just how far his inclination would take him), the Auror broke the kiss and stepped away.
“I’m sorry, I… Well, now you know,” Potter said, eloquent as usual. He looked wonderfully flushed and somehow boyishly vulnerable with snow catching on his fringe and eyelashes. “I’m sorry. I should go.”
Before Draco could reach out a hand to stop him, Potter Disapparated.
Shit.
Draco touched his tongue to his lips and tasted Potter there. His thoughts were whirling. He had never dreamed that Potter might feel that way about him. It was insane. Insane and… electrifying. Draco smiled, suddenly feeling he could fly without wings, but since he possessed those he laughed aloud and shot skyward, where he made several high-speed loops before dropping back to the balcony with renewed determination. He had to find the idiot.
As soon as he entered the room, he realized he had no idea where the Auror lived.
But Granger did.
In moments his head was in the fireplace and he bellowed for the bushy-haired woman.
She padded into view, clad once more in a dressing gown, although this one was an unbecoming mauve shade. Draco grimaced.
“What the hell?” she demanded. “I just left you two… has something happened to Harry?” She threw herself to her knees.
“I don’t know, he’s acting… not himself,” Draco admitted.
“Is Harry still there?”
“No, that’s the problem. I need to know where he is. You know where he lives, correct?”
“Come through, I hate talking like this.” She got to her feet and stepped back, so Draco Flooed into her living room. If anything, the books seemed to have multiplied. Even the couch was covered, but he was not in the mood to criticize her, for once. His mind was too occupied with Potter. Why had Potter kissed him? It was ridiculous.
“What is it?” Hermione asked. “Did you two have another row?”
Draco shook his head and realized it had probably been a mistake to seek out Granger. She would never simply tell him where Potter lived. First she would require every bloody detail and demand why Draco needed to see him. He debated what to reveal and gnawed his lip in indecision.
“What, then?” she asked.
“Potter has gone round the bend. I think he needs to be taken to St. Mungo's for a thorough mental examination.”
Granger actually smiled and the lines of tension in her pose relaxed. “What has he done this time?”
“He kissed me.”
Granger’s smile widened and then she burst into very inappropriate giggles. “Did he, now?”
Draco scowled. “I don’t think you quite understand the severity of this situation.”
She schooled her features into a serious mien, but her brown eyes still glinted with humour. “Of course. I’m very sorry. Please go on.”
“What do you mean, please go on? That’s it. Potter kissed me, so obviously he’s gone mad.”
“I see. Don’t you think it’s possible that he’s simply attracted to you?”
Draco gaped at her. Her calm acceptance was unexpected. “Of course not,” he snapped. “The Chosen One does not go around kissing men and especially not former Death Eater men. It is not acceptable. He is the Ministry’s Golden Boy; he would be drummed out of the Auror Division in shame.”
Granger laughed; actually laughed. “Honestly! Do you really think they would dare to oust Harry Potter because of his sexual preferences?”
“Yes,” Draco said flatly.
She shrugged. “Some of them would. But Harry has never given a tinker’s dam what anyone thinks about him, other than those he is closest to…” She trailed off and a concerned look crossed her face. Finally, Draco thought. “It is odd that he kissed you, though.” She held up a hand at Draco’s nod of acknowledgement. “Not because it’s you, but because I didn’t think he was ready to reveal his feelings. Something must have happened. He was acting strangely tonight. I noticed it, but I thought he was simply reacting to his injuries. I should have known better.”
She gnawed her lip and Draco blurted, “What feelings?”
Granger cocked a brow at him. “I think it’s best if you get that directly from Harry, don’t you?”
Draco scowled. He knew damn well she knew more than she was willing to divulge. “Fine. Tell me where I can find him.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“Confront him, of course, and demand to know why he’s been acting like such a bloody prat if he has feelings for me. Which sounds like an utter load of tripe, by the way. I think he must have received a Bludger to the head in some form.”
“And if he really does care for you? What then? I’ll keep you from him forever if you plan to hurt him.”
Draco gaped at her, but he turned away and pretended to examine a seascape painting on the wall. The placid scene did nothing to calm his nerves. He thought back to the kiss and admitted that it was possible—just possible—that Potter was attracted to him. But, why? It made no sense. Potter had always hated him. The very idea was ridiculous.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Draco admitted.
“But you’re not interested?” she prodded gently.
Draco turned around to glare at her. “How the bloody hell should I know? I only learned of his insanity a moment ago! And it doesn’t make a damned bit of difference if I am interested or not! He is the fucking Chosen One! I am a former Death Eater and a bloody freak! It. Cannot. Happen.”
He turned around to deliver the last of his diatribe and her lips thinned. “I don’t suggest you put it that way to Harry. He can be rather obstinate when someone tells him something can’t be done. You will only succeed in making him more determined.”
The thought of a determined Harry Potter made Draco’s throat close up for a moment and an image returned to him of Potter blazing with rage. The very idea of such power turned to passion… Draco’s wings folded around himself as if to shield him from the possibility.
“Perhaps you should go home and give it some thought. Right now you don’t seem to be thinking very clearly and, obviously, Harry is out of sorts. If you feel the same tomorrow, I’ll take you to him.”
Draco did not want to wait; he wanted to see Potter now, but he realized she was right. He had to think of a way to convince the idiot that anything untoward he felt for Draco was irrational. It was even possible that his new accoutrements and abilities had something to do with Potter’s attitude. Perhaps the Anakim were more like the Veela than they had thought? He suggested the idea to Granger.
She smiled again. “I think it’s more the blond than the wings,” she said cagily and then laughed at his baffled expression. “Just go home. I’ll be at the Manor in the morning and we’ll figure something out.”
Draco sighed, knowing he would get nowhere else with the obstinate woman. He nodded curtly at her and went home.
~~ O ~~
Hermione tried to Fire-call Harry the minute the flames abated after Draco’s departure. As expected, Harry’s Floo was blocked, which meant he had probably set Anti-Apparition wards, as well. Something was definitely wrong. She debated storming over there and banging on the door until he was forced to let her in, but then he would just be in a snit and not tell her anything, anyway. She thought it might be more productive to do some investigative work.
She Flooed to the Ministry and, after a few quick probing questions to Harry’s co-workers, discovered that Harry had gone to the Weasleys after leaving the office. With a sense of foreboding, Hermione wondered who she should contact next. Certainly not Ron. And Ginny had placed herself firmly in Ron’s corner after Harry had tried to break it off with her. Hermione suspected one or both of them to be the cause of Harry’s current frame of mind.
Arthur was a possibility, but getting him away from Molly’s watchful eye would be nigh unto impossible before morning. Molly had made her feelings about Hermione’s “betrayal” of Ron quite clear. She had received no contact from Molly whatsoever, even on her birthday. It had been no surprise to Hermione, of course, and she refused to let it sting. Molly still tried to bring Harry back into the fold, most likely for Ginny’s sake, hence the continued invitations to family dinners.
George was the next logical choice. His irrepressible good cheer had dimmed with the death of his twin, but it had not disappeared. He treated Hermione the same as he always had, much to her relief. Unfortunately, he did not answer his Fire-call.
Hermione was stumped for a moment and then remembered Bill. He was regularly invited to the family dinners, according to Harry. He still worked at Gringotts and she certainly had his Floo-address handy. She had never forgotten it after the hectic time following the war. Although she was a bit nervous at calling, she stuck her head into the fireplace and almost cringed when Fleur answered. The French girl still rubbed Hermione the wrong way, even though she was always polite enough.
Hermione made up a song and dance about needing to talk to Bill about a case regarding access at Gringotts, making it sound boring enough to quickly cause Fleur's eyes to glaze over. She departed and Bill's face appeared.
"I lied," she said quickly in a low tone. "I need to ask you about Harry."
"Where are you?" Bill asked.
"At the Ministry. Department of Law Enforcement private Floo."
Bill turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. "Fleur, I need to go to the Ministry for a moment. I'll be right back."
Hermione pulled away from the fire and Bill stepped from the flames.
"Tell me what happened tonight," she said grimly.
~~ O ~~
Draco Flooed home and nearly ran down his mother when he exited. He righted himself and barely refrained from cursing.
"Draco!" she cried. "Did you leave the house?"
Damn. He was well and truly caught.
She glared at him. "Were you out with Harry Potter?"
Draco stared at her, wondering at her tone. She had hired the man, after all. Why would it upset her to think he gone somewhere with the Chosen One?
"No," he said truthfully and then winced, uncertain how to come up with an alternative. How would he explain his absence?
"You went OUT?" Her tone was shrill and she looked almost panicked.
"No one saw me, Mother," he said dryly.
"How can you be certain? Where did you go?"
"I went to check on something," Draco said vaguely. "I was quite safe and our little secret is quite safe, as well. Trust me to use my own judgement on that, at any rate."
She wanted to prod; Draco could see it in her face. She wanted desperately to know where he had gone, but he was suddenly just as adamant not to tell her. Two sets of determined eyes stared each other down and Narcissa looked away first. Draco's satisfaction warred with his relief.
"Your judgement might not be enough," she snapped. "This came while you were gone."
She handed him a rolled scroll and he took it willingly enough before frowning. He had seen the official Ministry seal enough times. The golden coloured banding around it revealed that it came from the Department of Law Enforcement’s Azkaban Division. Draco opened it with a sense of foreboding.
“When?” she asked quietly.
“Next week,” he replied.
His mother buried her face in his hands and Draco suddenly had a whole new reason to see Harry Potter.
~~ O ~~
Bill looked at Hermione curiously as he exited the flames. He looked as handsome as ever. The scars had faded and merely served to make him look slightly dangerous, an air he cultivated, she knew.
“Spill it,” she said without preamble. “I want to know what’s happened.”
“Where is Harry?” Bill countered.
“Home. On lockdown. He won’t answer to anyone.” Except Draco, she added mentally, but she refused to allow that confrontation until she knew what else Harry might be dealing with.
Bill nodded. “Understandable. Apparently it came out tonight that Harry prefers the company of men.”
Hermione had half-expected it, but she blanched anyway, and sank into a nearby chair. The room was mainly used for private witness statements, and contained only a sofa and two comfortable chairs. “Damn,” she said softly.
Bill shrugged. “I think it’s for the best. Perhaps Ginny will finally stop carrying a torch for him and move on with her life. We all knew that Harry never looked at Ginny that way. Well, I knew, at any rate. And George. Mum… Well, mum is an odd duck, at times.”
Hermione’s lips thinned. Molly’s obstinacy was well-known to her.
Bill clucked sympathetically. “Don’t worry, Mum will stop treating Ron like he’s made of porcelain and snap out of it. Eventually.” He did not sound convinced and Hermione ignored the comment.
“How did everyone take it?” she asked.
“Well, Ginny was livid, of course. She actually spilled the news to the rest of us, ranting at the top of her lungs and threatening to go straight to the papers.”
Hermione winced.
“She didn’t, though!” Bill hastened to add. “Dad talked her out of it. He sided with Harry, as did George and I. Mum seemed to be in shock. I think she took it worse than Ginny, truth be told.”
“And Ron?” Hermione asked softly.
Bill shrugged. “I can’t figure him out these days. He came in and said nothing. Not a bloody word, even when Ginny tried to get him to back her up. He only nodded to confirm her story and then left the room. Mum went after him and he told her to mind her bollocking business and that he needed some time to think.”
Hermione gnawed on a fingernail.
For the first time in a long time, she debated contacting Ron.
~~ O ~~
Granger was persistent; Draco had to give her that. She insisted that Potter would be awake, even though it was just past ten in the morning. Draco was barely awake, himself, but he was determined to speak to Potter. While he watched, Granger repeatedly plucked at Potter’s wards through the Floo until the constant vibration likely drove the Auror half-mad. Potter sounded like a snarling beast when he finally answered her Fire-call.
“Hermione. I am very tired. Can you just let me be?”
Draco could not see the angry Auror, since he was leaning against Granger’s fireplace mantle, out of sight of Potter’s face in the flames.
“No, I cannot, Harry. You can’t bury your head in the sand and pretend all of your problems will just go away.”
“You know about my problems, then?”
Draco hated to hear the Auror’s voice sounding so defeated. It seemed unnatural, somehow.
“Yes, Harry. Now lower your wards.”
“All right.”
Granger got to her feet and looked at Draco with a sad smile. “You’re up,” she said softly. “Be kind.”
Draco would have sneered at her, but he found himself strangely unable. He nodded instead. A handful of Floo-powder later and Draco stepped out of the fireplace into a room that looked oddly familiar. Potter gasped at the sight of him and Draco shook off the déjà vu in order to smirk at him.
“Clever girl, that Granger.”
Potter muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Traitor”, but Draco ignored it. He produced a piece of parchment with a flick of his wand and waved it toward the Auror.
“You need to do something about this!”
Potter’s gaze transformed into confusion, but he gingerly took the scroll. He unrolled and scanned it before inhaling sharply and looking at Draco, who nodded. “Yes, Potter, it is nearly time for my annual visit to Azkaban.”
“You can’t go,” Potter said inanely.
“Of course I can’t go!” Draco snapped. “Not like this. But how will it look to my father if I don’t appear? It’s the one damned bright spot in his miserable life.” Draco tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but failed. His father might have been a right arse, but Draco loved him. He missed him terribly, at times, and he especially missed his father’s calming influence on his mother. She needed to do something besides pine away for her absent husband and rail at Draco’s condition.
Potter nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. Speaking of your father, your mother made an interesting comment to me during our last conversation.”
Draco cocked a brow.
“She suggested that your father might have a way of seeking revenge on certain people, even from Azkaban. Do you think that’s true?”
Draco frowned and wondered why his mother would offer such information. “Revenge on what certain people?”
Potter coughed. “Well, revenge on whoever kidnapped you, for one.”
Draco nodded, thinking it would be just the type of veiled threat his mother might use. It was true, however. The Malfoy fortune could grease many wheels, even in the face of seeming impossibility. The right bribe slipped to an Azkaban guard could guarantee that a message would be delivered into hands willing to shed blood, if necessary. In fact, Draco had taken note of many Galleons departing the Malfoy vault for places unknown. He had little doubt his father was living quite well in his prison cell, most likely supplied with the finest wine and choicest meals.
“Afraid, Potter?” he asked lightly. “Is that reason for your silly attempt to abandon my case?”
Potter’s features tightened. He looked worn, as though he had not slept at all. His hair was worse than usual and he wore horrible brown plaid pyjama bottoms and an oversized grey t-shirt that hung nearly off of one shoulder at the neck.
“You know why,” Potter said abruptly.
Draco hummed ambiguously. “I will have you know that if you attempt to drop my case, I will bring legal action against the Ministry. And against you, personally.”
Potter seemed to go rigid with shock. “What?” he asked as his features turned dark with anger.
Draco nearly smiled. This was the Potter he knew. The lion, not the quailing cub. Energy fairly crackled around the Auror. “You heard me.”
“You can’t do that,” Potter hissed.
“I can and I will. You made an agreement to find those responsible for turning me into this monster and I will hold you to it.” Draco turned away, as if to step back into the fireplace and depart, but then he faced Potter once more and held out his hand imperiously. “I will have my letter back, if you please.”
Potter stalked forward, all leashed anger and controlled magic. With a heady rush, Draco realized he had wanted the man for a very long time. When Potter’s fist shot toward him to offer the scroll clenched tightly in his fingers, Draco took hold of Potter’s wrist and waited for the visions to assail him. They did not disappoint.
Potter was shouting and casting spells as coloured bolts flew dangerously past his head. A shift and then he sprawled on a background of manicured grass, laughing, his black hair gleaming against the green. Another blur and then Potter sat in a pub, holding a mug of something dark and frothing, laughing and licking at the foam moustache that perched on his upper lip.
And then the visions were gone and it was just Potter, staring at him with wide green eyes. Draco took a single step and flicked his wings forward to enfold them around the Auror. Without releasing Potter’s wrist, he leaned in and kissed him.
~~ O ~~
Harry was dreaming. He had to be dreaming, because Draco Malfoy was kissing him. Malfoy was kissing him and his wings were folded around him like a pristine cloak, and only the fact that the scenario was a thousand times better than any dream gave him room for doubt.
Malfoy had been acting so normal—supercilious and demanding—that Harry had thought he meant to ignore the whole balcony kiss thing. And now this. This… utter brilliance.
He hardly dared to breathe as Malfoy’s lips skated over his, lightly at first, and then with more pressure, urging a response. Harry gave him one, curling his free hand around Malfoy’s waist to drag him closer before opening his mouth to give him access. Malfoy accepted the offering, dipping his tongue inside and sliding it into Harry’s sensitive areas until he thought his knees might buckle. He thought they might have, anyway, if Malfoy’s wings had not held him up.
When Malfoy finally stopped kissing him, Harry pulled back to stare at him with blurred vision. He thought it was an odd reaction to a kiss, even though it had been quite spectacular, and then he realized his glasses had gone askew.
Malfoy reached up to straighten them and Harry’s vision sharpened.
“Goodness, Potter. One snog and you look ready to faint.”
“I think I might,” Harry admitted breathlessly.
Malfoy laughed and Harry thought it might be the nicest sound he’d ever heard. He smiled in return. “You kissed me first,” Malfoy reminded him.
“You’re right. Smartest thing I ever did?” Harry suggested hopefully.
“That remains to be seen,” Malfoy said. “Right now it ranks up there with the most foolish. Why did you do it?”
“It’s your hair,” Harry admitted.
Malfoy frowned. “My hair?”
Harry nodded. “I have a weakness for blonds.” He reached up and touched Malfoy’s hair almost reverently.
“Blonds,” Malfoy repeated with a voice like iron.
“Yes. Especially blonds with grey eyes.”
“Really?” The iron softened slightly. “That seems somewhat… rare.”
“Very rare. And I seem to be partial to Malfoys.”
A hint of a smirk touched Malfoy’s lips. “Blond, grey-eyed Malfoys.”
Harry nodded again. “But only blond, grey-eyed Malfoys with wings.”
“You have rather selective taste.”
“Indeed.”
“It appears lucky that you have located such a specimen.”
“Extremely lucky,” Harry replied and pulled Malfoy into another kiss. This time Harry was the aggressor. His kiss made it perfectly clear that he wanted Malfoy, and if that did not let him know, then his growing erection was certainly a clue.
Malfoy broke the kiss once more, panting. “Potter. It is the wings, isn’t it? It’s the damned wings or some side effect of the magic.”
Harry held him tighter, with one hand in his hair and one around his waist.
“No. It’s not the wings and it’s not the magic. It’s you, Malfoy. Draco. It’s been you since the first time I saw you again. Possibly even before that.”
“Before that?”
“Yeah, you were an utter prat at Hogwarts, but a bloody gorgeous prat. I noticed that even before I knew I liked blokes.” Harry smiled when Malfoy looked bemused, and he added, “I do like the wings, though. Can I touch them?”
~~ O ~~
Draco stilled at Potter’s words. Logically, he did not think Potter would be repulsed by them, especially since he had touched them before. But logic seemed far away at the moment, buried beneath the insanity of Harry Potter not only preferring men, but wanting him. Would the desire in Potter’s eyes turn to disgust?
“I mean, only if you want me to,” Potter added in true Gryffindor fashion. It seemed a simple enough request since Potter had already snogged the breath from him. Twice. Draco steeled himself and nodded.
Potter, of course, refused to do anything the normal way. Instead of reaching immediately for Draco’s wings, he lifted his hands to Draco’s face. His fingers traced Draco’s forehead and ghosted over his eyebrows as his thumbs moved over his cheekbones.
Potter pressed a light kiss against Draco’s lips and slid his hands down to caress his neck on both sides before gliding them down to his shoulders. Draco was suddenly glad he had worn only a modified vest rather than a full shirt, because Potter’s warm hands on his skin felt delightful.
Potter took a deep, slow breath and then Draco felt fingers lightly touch his wings where they attached to his shoulders. Potter's hands curled over them and brushed upward. Draco shut his eyes at the sensation. Electrified quivers seemed to run through his body, but part of that might have been due to Potter's breath huffing against his cheek.
"Draco," Potter said in a whisper. "Merlin, they're so soft."
Draco dropped his head onto Potter's shoulder, trying to fight the growing pool of heat that threatened to burn him alive. He held Potter more tightly and allowed his hands to skim down over Potter's back and waist to splay over his arse. Draco’s first time groping another man’s arse felt surprisingly good. Potter’s was firm and excellently rounded, and his response to Draco’s touch was brilliant; he practically melted into him with a humming sound, and his erection pressed against Draco deliciously.
Between the wing-touching and the feel of Potter against him, Draco suddenly needed more. He picked up the Auror, lifting him easily by his grip on Potter’s buttocks, and sliding their cocks over each other until Potter’s rested firmly against Draco’s abdomen.
The movement startled Potter, who made a low cry and gripped Draco’s wings for balance. His legs wrapped firmly around Draco’s waist as he murmured, “Sorry.” His hands loosened on the wings and Draco chuckled.
“I don’t think you can break them,” Draco commented.
Potter let go, anyway, and clung to Draco’s neck instead. “I’ve never been picked up, before.”
“I am not surprised. The way you dress is at fault, most likely. You really should try harder.”
“Prat,” Potter muttered into his hair, but his tone was amused. “Are you taking me somewhere?”
“Your bedroom?” Draco asked.
“Good choice. Up the stairs. Door at the end of the hall.”
~~ CHAPTER TWELVE ~~
This is totally not a cliffhanger. It's a... ledge. :D
Luckily,
alaana_fair cranked out this beta like WHOA. She so rocks. *nods a billionty*Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Eleven
Whether outwardly or inwardly,
Whether in space or time,
The farther we penetrate the unknown,
The vaster and more marvellous it becomes.
- Charles A. Lindbergh
Draco stood in frozen shock for a moment and then he was assaulted with images. Potter standing before a familiar wall, looking upset and distracted—he runs a hand through his hair and frowns. The scene shifted to Potter fairly blazing with rage; Draco was so ensnared by the intensity of the man that he forgot to take note of the scenery until it was too late. Potter holding a white feather and smiling dreamily as he runs a finger along the spine. The look in his eyes is maddeningly seductive—
The images ceased as suddenly as they began, allowing Draco to register the pressure of Harry Potter’s lips against his. The kiss was not at all tentative. Although gentle, it was a Gryffindor kiss, straightforward and hiding nothing, placing weapons into Draco’s hands without reservation.
Before Draco could fully process Potter’s sudden baring of his soul (although his first impulse was to wrap his wings around the man to see just how far his inclination would take him), the Auror broke the kiss and stepped away.
“I’m sorry, I… Well, now you know,” Potter said, eloquent as usual. He looked wonderfully flushed and somehow boyishly vulnerable with snow catching on his fringe and eyelashes. “I’m sorry. I should go.”
Before Draco could reach out a hand to stop him, Potter Disapparated.
Shit.
Draco touched his tongue to his lips and tasted Potter there. His thoughts were whirling. He had never dreamed that Potter might feel that way about him. It was insane. Insane and… electrifying. Draco smiled, suddenly feeling he could fly without wings, but since he possessed those he laughed aloud and shot skyward, where he made several high-speed loops before dropping back to the balcony with renewed determination. He had to find the idiot.
As soon as he entered the room, he realized he had no idea where the Auror lived.
But Granger did.
In moments his head was in the fireplace and he bellowed for the bushy-haired woman.
She padded into view, clad once more in a dressing gown, although this one was an unbecoming mauve shade. Draco grimaced.
“What the hell?” she demanded. “I just left you two… has something happened to Harry?” She threw herself to her knees.
“I don’t know, he’s acting… not himself,” Draco admitted.
“Is Harry still there?”
“No, that’s the problem. I need to know where he is. You know where he lives, correct?”
“Come through, I hate talking like this.” She got to her feet and stepped back, so Draco Flooed into her living room. If anything, the books seemed to have multiplied. Even the couch was covered, but he was not in the mood to criticize her, for once. His mind was too occupied with Potter. Why had Potter kissed him? It was ridiculous.
“What is it?” Hermione asked. “Did you two have another row?”
Draco shook his head and realized it had probably been a mistake to seek out Granger. She would never simply tell him where Potter lived. First she would require every bloody detail and demand why Draco needed to see him. He debated what to reveal and gnawed his lip in indecision.
“What, then?” she asked.
“Potter has gone round the bend. I think he needs to be taken to St. Mungo's for a thorough mental examination.”
Granger actually smiled and the lines of tension in her pose relaxed. “What has he done this time?”
“He kissed me.”
Granger’s smile widened and then she burst into very inappropriate giggles. “Did he, now?”
Draco scowled. “I don’t think you quite understand the severity of this situation.”
She schooled her features into a serious mien, but her brown eyes still glinted with humour. “Of course. I’m very sorry. Please go on.”
“What do you mean, please go on? That’s it. Potter kissed me, so obviously he’s gone mad.”
“I see. Don’t you think it’s possible that he’s simply attracted to you?”
Draco gaped at her. Her calm acceptance was unexpected. “Of course not,” he snapped. “The Chosen One does not go around kissing men and especially not former Death Eater men. It is not acceptable. He is the Ministry’s Golden Boy; he would be drummed out of the Auror Division in shame.”
Granger laughed; actually laughed. “Honestly! Do you really think they would dare to oust Harry Potter because of his sexual preferences?”
“Yes,” Draco said flatly.
She shrugged. “Some of them would. But Harry has never given a tinker’s dam what anyone thinks about him, other than those he is closest to…” She trailed off and a concerned look crossed her face. Finally, Draco thought. “It is odd that he kissed you, though.” She held up a hand at Draco’s nod of acknowledgement. “Not because it’s you, but because I didn’t think he was ready to reveal his feelings. Something must have happened. He was acting strangely tonight. I noticed it, but I thought he was simply reacting to his injuries. I should have known better.”
She gnawed her lip and Draco blurted, “What feelings?”
Granger cocked a brow at him. “I think it’s best if you get that directly from Harry, don’t you?”
Draco scowled. He knew damn well she knew more than she was willing to divulge. “Fine. Tell me where I can find him.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“Confront him, of course, and demand to know why he’s been acting like such a bloody prat if he has feelings for me. Which sounds like an utter load of tripe, by the way. I think he must have received a Bludger to the head in some form.”
“And if he really does care for you? What then? I’ll keep you from him forever if you plan to hurt him.”
Draco gaped at her, but he turned away and pretended to examine a seascape painting on the wall. The placid scene did nothing to calm his nerves. He thought back to the kiss and admitted that it was possible—just possible—that Potter was attracted to him. But, why? It made no sense. Potter had always hated him. The very idea was ridiculous.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Draco admitted.
“But you’re not interested?” she prodded gently.
Draco turned around to glare at her. “How the bloody hell should I know? I only learned of his insanity a moment ago! And it doesn’t make a damned bit of difference if I am interested or not! He is the fucking Chosen One! I am a former Death Eater and a bloody freak! It. Cannot. Happen.”
He turned around to deliver the last of his diatribe and her lips thinned. “I don’t suggest you put it that way to Harry. He can be rather obstinate when someone tells him something can’t be done. You will only succeed in making him more determined.”
The thought of a determined Harry Potter made Draco’s throat close up for a moment and an image returned to him of Potter blazing with rage. The very idea of such power turned to passion… Draco’s wings folded around himself as if to shield him from the possibility.
“Perhaps you should go home and give it some thought. Right now you don’t seem to be thinking very clearly and, obviously, Harry is out of sorts. If you feel the same tomorrow, I’ll take you to him.”
Draco did not want to wait; he wanted to see Potter now, but he realized she was right. He had to think of a way to convince the idiot that anything untoward he felt for Draco was irrational. It was even possible that his new accoutrements and abilities had something to do with Potter’s attitude. Perhaps the Anakim were more like the Veela than they had thought? He suggested the idea to Granger.
She smiled again. “I think it’s more the blond than the wings,” she said cagily and then laughed at his baffled expression. “Just go home. I’ll be at the Manor in the morning and we’ll figure something out.”
Draco sighed, knowing he would get nowhere else with the obstinate woman. He nodded curtly at her and went home.
Hermione tried to Fire-call Harry the minute the flames abated after Draco’s departure. As expected, Harry’s Floo was blocked, which meant he had probably set Anti-Apparition wards, as well. Something was definitely wrong. She debated storming over there and banging on the door until he was forced to let her in, but then he would just be in a snit and not tell her anything, anyway. She thought it might be more productive to do some investigative work.
She Flooed to the Ministry and, after a few quick probing questions to Harry’s co-workers, discovered that Harry had gone to the Weasleys after leaving the office. With a sense of foreboding, Hermione wondered who she should contact next. Certainly not Ron. And Ginny had placed herself firmly in Ron’s corner after Harry had tried to break it off with her. Hermione suspected one or both of them to be the cause of Harry’s current frame of mind.
Arthur was a possibility, but getting him away from Molly’s watchful eye would be nigh unto impossible before morning. Molly had made her feelings about Hermione’s “betrayal” of Ron quite clear. She had received no contact from Molly whatsoever, even on her birthday. It had been no surprise to Hermione, of course, and she refused to let it sting. Molly still tried to bring Harry back into the fold, most likely for Ginny’s sake, hence the continued invitations to family dinners.
George was the next logical choice. His irrepressible good cheer had dimmed with the death of his twin, but it had not disappeared. He treated Hermione the same as he always had, much to her relief. Unfortunately, he did not answer his Fire-call.
Hermione was stumped for a moment and then remembered Bill. He was regularly invited to the family dinners, according to Harry. He still worked at Gringotts and she certainly had his Floo-address handy. She had never forgotten it after the hectic time following the war. Although she was a bit nervous at calling, she stuck her head into the fireplace and almost cringed when Fleur answered. The French girl still rubbed Hermione the wrong way, even though she was always polite enough.
Hermione made up a song and dance about needing to talk to Bill about a case regarding access at Gringotts, making it sound boring enough to quickly cause Fleur's eyes to glaze over. She departed and Bill's face appeared.
"I lied," she said quickly in a low tone. "I need to ask you about Harry."
"Where are you?" Bill asked.
"At the Ministry. Department of Law Enforcement private Floo."
Bill turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. "Fleur, I need to go to the Ministry for a moment. I'll be right back."
Hermione pulled away from the fire and Bill stepped from the flames.
"Tell me what happened tonight," she said grimly.
Draco Flooed home and nearly ran down his mother when he exited. He righted himself and barely refrained from cursing.
"Draco!" she cried. "Did you leave the house?"
Damn. He was well and truly caught.
She glared at him. "Were you out with Harry Potter?"
Draco stared at her, wondering at her tone. She had hired the man, after all. Why would it upset her to think he gone somewhere with the Chosen One?
"No," he said truthfully and then winced, uncertain how to come up with an alternative. How would he explain his absence?
"You went OUT?" Her tone was shrill and she looked almost panicked.
"No one saw me, Mother," he said dryly.
"How can you be certain? Where did you go?"
"I went to check on something," Draco said vaguely. "I was quite safe and our little secret is quite safe, as well. Trust me to use my own judgement on that, at any rate."
She wanted to prod; Draco could see it in her face. She wanted desperately to know where he had gone, but he was suddenly just as adamant not to tell her. Two sets of determined eyes stared each other down and Narcissa looked away first. Draco's satisfaction warred with his relief.
"Your judgement might not be enough," she snapped. "This came while you were gone."
She handed him a rolled scroll and he took it willingly enough before frowning. He had seen the official Ministry seal enough times. The golden coloured banding around it revealed that it came from the Department of Law Enforcement’s Azkaban Division. Draco opened it with a sense of foreboding.
“When?” she asked quietly.
“Next week,” he replied.
His mother buried her face in his hands and Draco suddenly had a whole new reason to see Harry Potter.
Bill looked at Hermione curiously as he exited the flames. He looked as handsome as ever. The scars had faded and merely served to make him look slightly dangerous, an air he cultivated, she knew.
“Spill it,” she said without preamble. “I want to know what’s happened.”
“Where is Harry?” Bill countered.
“Home. On lockdown. He won’t answer to anyone.” Except Draco, she added mentally, but she refused to allow that confrontation until she knew what else Harry might be dealing with.
Bill nodded. “Understandable. Apparently it came out tonight that Harry prefers the company of men.”
Hermione had half-expected it, but she blanched anyway, and sank into a nearby chair. The room was mainly used for private witness statements, and contained only a sofa and two comfortable chairs. “Damn,” she said softly.
Bill shrugged. “I think it’s for the best. Perhaps Ginny will finally stop carrying a torch for him and move on with her life. We all knew that Harry never looked at Ginny that way. Well, I knew, at any rate. And George. Mum… Well, mum is an odd duck, at times.”
Hermione’s lips thinned. Molly’s obstinacy was well-known to her.
Bill clucked sympathetically. “Don’t worry, Mum will stop treating Ron like he’s made of porcelain and snap out of it. Eventually.” He did not sound convinced and Hermione ignored the comment.
“How did everyone take it?” she asked.
“Well, Ginny was livid, of course. She actually spilled the news to the rest of us, ranting at the top of her lungs and threatening to go straight to the papers.”
Hermione winced.
“She didn’t, though!” Bill hastened to add. “Dad talked her out of it. He sided with Harry, as did George and I. Mum seemed to be in shock. I think she took it worse than Ginny, truth be told.”
“And Ron?” Hermione asked softly.
Bill shrugged. “I can’t figure him out these days. He came in and said nothing. Not a bloody word, even when Ginny tried to get him to back her up. He only nodded to confirm her story and then left the room. Mum went after him and he told her to mind her bollocking business and that he needed some time to think.”
Hermione gnawed on a fingernail.
For the first time in a long time, she debated contacting Ron.
Granger was persistent; Draco had to give her that. She insisted that Potter would be awake, even though it was just past ten in the morning. Draco was barely awake, himself, but he was determined to speak to Potter. While he watched, Granger repeatedly plucked at Potter’s wards through the Floo until the constant vibration likely drove the Auror half-mad. Potter sounded like a snarling beast when he finally answered her Fire-call.
“Hermione. I am very tired. Can you just let me be?”
Draco could not see the angry Auror, since he was leaning against Granger’s fireplace mantle, out of sight of Potter’s face in the flames.
“No, I cannot, Harry. You can’t bury your head in the sand and pretend all of your problems will just go away.”
“You know about my problems, then?”
Draco hated to hear the Auror’s voice sounding so defeated. It seemed unnatural, somehow.
“Yes, Harry. Now lower your wards.”
“All right.”
Granger got to her feet and looked at Draco with a sad smile. “You’re up,” she said softly. “Be kind.”
Draco would have sneered at her, but he found himself strangely unable. He nodded instead. A handful of Floo-powder later and Draco stepped out of the fireplace into a room that looked oddly familiar. Potter gasped at the sight of him and Draco shook off the déjà vu in order to smirk at him.
“Clever girl, that Granger.”
Potter muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Traitor”, but Draco ignored it. He produced a piece of parchment with a flick of his wand and waved it toward the Auror.
“You need to do something about this!”
Potter’s gaze transformed into confusion, but he gingerly took the scroll. He unrolled and scanned it before inhaling sharply and looking at Draco, who nodded. “Yes, Potter, it is nearly time for my annual visit to Azkaban.”
“You can’t go,” Potter said inanely.
“Of course I can’t go!” Draco snapped. “Not like this. But how will it look to my father if I don’t appear? It’s the one damned bright spot in his miserable life.” Draco tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but failed. His father might have been a right arse, but Draco loved him. He missed him terribly, at times, and he especially missed his father’s calming influence on his mother. She needed to do something besides pine away for her absent husband and rail at Draco’s condition.
Potter nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. Speaking of your father, your mother made an interesting comment to me during our last conversation.”
Draco cocked a brow.
“She suggested that your father might have a way of seeking revenge on certain people, even from Azkaban. Do you think that’s true?”
Draco frowned and wondered why his mother would offer such information. “Revenge on what certain people?”
Potter coughed. “Well, revenge on whoever kidnapped you, for one.”
Draco nodded, thinking it would be just the type of veiled threat his mother might use. It was true, however. The Malfoy fortune could grease many wheels, even in the face of seeming impossibility. The right bribe slipped to an Azkaban guard could guarantee that a message would be delivered into hands willing to shed blood, if necessary. In fact, Draco had taken note of many Galleons departing the Malfoy vault for places unknown. He had little doubt his father was living quite well in his prison cell, most likely supplied with the finest wine and choicest meals.
“Afraid, Potter?” he asked lightly. “Is that reason for your silly attempt to abandon my case?”
Potter’s features tightened. He looked worn, as though he had not slept at all. His hair was worse than usual and he wore horrible brown plaid pyjama bottoms and an oversized grey t-shirt that hung nearly off of one shoulder at the neck.
“You know why,” Potter said abruptly.
Draco hummed ambiguously. “I will have you know that if you attempt to drop my case, I will bring legal action against the Ministry. And against you, personally.”
Potter seemed to go rigid with shock. “What?” he asked as his features turned dark with anger.
Draco nearly smiled. This was the Potter he knew. The lion, not the quailing cub. Energy fairly crackled around the Auror. “You heard me.”
“You can’t do that,” Potter hissed.
“I can and I will. You made an agreement to find those responsible for turning me into this monster and I will hold you to it.” Draco turned away, as if to step back into the fireplace and depart, but then he faced Potter once more and held out his hand imperiously. “I will have my letter back, if you please.”
Potter stalked forward, all leashed anger and controlled magic. With a heady rush, Draco realized he had wanted the man for a very long time. When Potter’s fist shot toward him to offer the scroll clenched tightly in his fingers, Draco took hold of Potter’s wrist and waited for the visions to assail him. They did not disappoint.
Potter was shouting and casting spells as coloured bolts flew dangerously past his head. A shift and then he sprawled on a background of manicured grass, laughing, his black hair gleaming against the green. Another blur and then Potter sat in a pub, holding a mug of something dark and frothing, laughing and licking at the foam moustache that perched on his upper lip.
And then the visions were gone and it was just Potter, staring at him with wide green eyes. Draco took a single step and flicked his wings forward to enfold them around the Auror. Without releasing Potter’s wrist, he leaned in and kissed him.
Harry was dreaming. He had to be dreaming, because Draco Malfoy was kissing him. Malfoy was kissing him and his wings were folded around him like a pristine cloak, and only the fact that the scenario was a thousand times better than any dream gave him room for doubt.
Malfoy had been acting so normal—supercilious and demanding—that Harry had thought he meant to ignore the whole balcony kiss thing. And now this. This… utter brilliance.
He hardly dared to breathe as Malfoy’s lips skated over his, lightly at first, and then with more pressure, urging a response. Harry gave him one, curling his free hand around Malfoy’s waist to drag him closer before opening his mouth to give him access. Malfoy accepted the offering, dipping his tongue inside and sliding it into Harry’s sensitive areas until he thought his knees might buckle. He thought they might have, anyway, if Malfoy’s wings had not held him up.
When Malfoy finally stopped kissing him, Harry pulled back to stare at him with blurred vision. He thought it was an odd reaction to a kiss, even though it had been quite spectacular, and then he realized his glasses had gone askew.
Malfoy reached up to straighten them and Harry’s vision sharpened.
“Goodness, Potter. One snog and you look ready to faint.”
“I think I might,” Harry admitted breathlessly.
Malfoy laughed and Harry thought it might be the nicest sound he’d ever heard. He smiled in return. “You kissed me first,” Malfoy reminded him.
“You’re right. Smartest thing I ever did?” Harry suggested hopefully.
“That remains to be seen,” Malfoy said. “Right now it ranks up there with the most foolish. Why did you do it?”
“It’s your hair,” Harry admitted.
Malfoy frowned. “My hair?”
Harry nodded. “I have a weakness for blonds.” He reached up and touched Malfoy’s hair almost reverently.
“Blonds,” Malfoy repeated with a voice like iron.
“Yes. Especially blonds with grey eyes.”
“Really?” The iron softened slightly. “That seems somewhat… rare.”
“Very rare. And I seem to be partial to Malfoys.”
A hint of a smirk touched Malfoy’s lips. “Blond, grey-eyed Malfoys.”
Harry nodded again. “But only blond, grey-eyed Malfoys with wings.”
“You have rather selective taste.”
“Indeed.”
“It appears lucky that you have located such a specimen.”
“Extremely lucky,” Harry replied and pulled Malfoy into another kiss. This time Harry was the aggressor. His kiss made it perfectly clear that he wanted Malfoy, and if that did not let him know, then his growing erection was certainly a clue.
Malfoy broke the kiss once more, panting. “Potter. It is the wings, isn’t it? It’s the damned wings or some side effect of the magic.”
Harry held him tighter, with one hand in his hair and one around his waist.
“No. It’s not the wings and it’s not the magic. It’s you, Malfoy. Draco. It’s been you since the first time I saw you again. Possibly even before that.”
“Before that?”
“Yeah, you were an utter prat at Hogwarts, but a bloody gorgeous prat. I noticed that even before I knew I liked blokes.” Harry smiled when Malfoy looked bemused, and he added, “I do like the wings, though. Can I touch them?”
Draco stilled at Potter’s words. Logically, he did not think Potter would be repulsed by them, especially since he had touched them before. But logic seemed far away at the moment, buried beneath the insanity of Harry Potter not only preferring men, but wanting him. Would the desire in Potter’s eyes turn to disgust?
“I mean, only if you want me to,” Potter added in true Gryffindor fashion. It seemed a simple enough request since Potter had already snogged the breath from him. Twice. Draco steeled himself and nodded.
Potter, of course, refused to do anything the normal way. Instead of reaching immediately for Draco’s wings, he lifted his hands to Draco’s face. His fingers traced Draco’s forehead and ghosted over his eyebrows as his thumbs moved over his cheekbones.
Potter pressed a light kiss against Draco’s lips and slid his hands down to caress his neck on both sides before gliding them down to his shoulders. Draco was suddenly glad he had worn only a modified vest rather than a full shirt, because Potter’s warm hands on his skin felt delightful.
Potter took a deep, slow breath and then Draco felt fingers lightly touch his wings where they attached to his shoulders. Potter's hands curled over them and brushed upward. Draco shut his eyes at the sensation. Electrified quivers seemed to run through his body, but part of that might have been due to Potter's breath huffing against his cheek.
"Draco," Potter said in a whisper. "Merlin, they're so soft."
Draco dropped his head onto Potter's shoulder, trying to fight the growing pool of heat that threatened to burn him alive. He held Potter more tightly and allowed his hands to skim down over Potter's back and waist to splay over his arse. Draco’s first time groping another man’s arse felt surprisingly good. Potter’s was firm and excellently rounded, and his response to Draco’s touch was brilliant; he practically melted into him with a humming sound, and his erection pressed against Draco deliciously.
Between the wing-touching and the feel of Potter against him, Draco suddenly needed more. He picked up the Auror, lifting him easily by his grip on Potter’s buttocks, and sliding their cocks over each other until Potter’s rested firmly against Draco’s abdomen.
The movement startled Potter, who made a low cry and gripped Draco’s wings for balance. His legs wrapped firmly around Draco’s waist as he murmured, “Sorry.” His hands loosened on the wings and Draco chuckled.
“I don’t think you can break them,” Draco commented.
Potter let go, anyway, and clung to Draco’s neck instead. “I’ve never been picked up, before.”
“I am not surprised. The way you dress is at fault, most likely. You really should try harder.”
“Prat,” Potter muttered into his hair, but his tone was amused. “Are you taking me somewhere?”
“Your bedroom?” Draco asked.
“Good choice. Up the stairs. Door at the end of the hall.”
This is totally not a cliffhanger. It's a... ledge. :D