Paradigm Chapter Ten

[dysonrules]

Sorry this took forever. There was a communication disconnect with precious beta byaghro . *luffs her*

Oh and faithwood beta-ed this, too because she is AWESOME.

Draco awakened early from his nap and listened carefully for sounds of activity. The house was silent, something that normally pleased him. He enjoyed solitude. Winky typically confined her cleaning activities to rooms far from whatever area Draco occupied, in order not to disturb him. She was shaping up to be a fine house-elf since Draco had ordered her to stop drinking.

Draco got up and donned a black silk dressing gown before padding out to locate Harry. The Auror could be nearly as quiet and invisible as a house-elf when he chose to be, especially when Draco was napping. Harry knew better than to awaken him prematurely, unless it happened to be with a sexual invitation.

Harry was not to be found in the usual places. He was not reading or poring over case files, he was not in the kitchen, and he was not in the attic sending mail. For a moment, Draco wondered if he had left, and vowed to chastise him harshly for not at least leaving a note. Perhaps he had told one of the elves.

“Master Harry is being in the fourth floor bedroom with the nastymean painting of dead Master Arcturus.”

Draco frowned. What was Harry doing in that room? Draco had barely touched it in his renovation; he had left the sombre décor and the portrait of nastymean Arcturus Black with the intention of putting Weasley in the room should he ever choose to visit. Of course, if that day ever came, Draco would depart Grimmauld Place—and possibly the county. He had no intention of sharing the same domicile with Weasley or Granger under any circumstances.

He found Harry in the room, leaning over a large table beneath the small window with papers spread out before him.

“What are you doing in here?” Draco asked.

Harry started and then turned, looking decidedly guilty. Draco’s eyes narrowed.

“Um… nothing. Just going through some paperwork. Um… You’re up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Draco admitted and moved forward purposefully.

Harry strode forward and intercepted him, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist and pressing a kiss into his throat.

“What sort of paperwork?” Draco asked, peering over Harry’s shoulder.

“Nothing much,” Harry said casually.

“Your dissembling needs work, Gryffindor.”

He detached Harry and moved around him, but the Auror quickly moved to block him again. “Let’s go downstairs. I think Winky made Battenburg cake.”

Draco paused at the thought of cake, but then he frowned. “You will not distract me with the promise of cake. What is it you don’t want me to see?”

Harry pouted. “It’s not finished yet.”

“What isn’t finished?”

Harry sighed. “Oh all right, I know you’ll come right back up here and snoop the instant my back is turned, even if I drag you out of here now, won’t you?”

Draco stared at him guilelessly and Harry laughed before punching him lightly on the chest.

“Damn you. Fine, then. Have a look.”

Harry turned around and closed a large tome with a soft-looking brown leather cover. The leather was unembellished and Harry opened the book to the first page for Draco to peruse. On the left side was a large photograph of the ground floor study—before Draco had turned his attention to it. He wrinkled his nose at the profusion of black. Nearly everything in the room had been black, from the furnishings to the walls. It had been the gloomiest room Draco had ever seen. He often wondered what the Blacks had done there, because it certainly had not been an environment conducive to any sort of studying, unless the subject was Necromancy.

On the right hand side of the page was a photo of the same room after Draco’s treatment. The black wood had been stripped down to the natural oak and lightened with a wash. Hideous black floors had been replaced with amber carpeting and the atrocious black and gold wallpaper had been demolished. Pale orange walls gave the room a warm Tuscan glow above the wainscoting. The fireplace was no longer a dark pit, but looked inviting beneath the new mantle and a vase full of yellow roses.

Draco was puzzled. He glanced at Harry and flipped through the book, which was more of the same. Page after page of before and after photos.

“What is the purpose of this?” he asked. Harry fidgeted beside him, looking suddenly nervous.

“You did such an amazing job fixing this place up that I thought you might want to do more,” Harry said.

“Do more what?”

“Remodelling. Designing. Fixing things. Making it better. Whatever you want to call it.”

“But I’m nearly finished,” Draco said, still not grasping Harry’s meaning.

“You’re finished here,” Harry said. “But I think other people should benefit from your talents. In a different way than previous,” he added and narrowed his eyes.

“Still not following you, Potter,” Draco said in a dangerous tone, not appreciating the reminder that soon he would be “finished” with Grimmauld Place in more ways than one, nor the reminder of his rentboy status.

Harry sighed and tugged a hand through his hair. “Well, Mafalda Hopkirk’s sister Matilda has this huge house in Sussex. It’s an atrocity, really, and Mafalda is constantly nagging her about getting rid of the huge collection of things she has apparently accumulated since her husband died sometime in the last century, according to Mafalda…”

“Does this story have a point?” Most of the time Harry’s babbling was adorable, but occasionally it made Draco want to shake him.

“Yes, of course. Matilda wants to meet with you regarding doing the same thing to her house that you’ve done here.” Harry gestured airily, indicating the whole of Grimmauld Place with a sweep of his arm.

Draco refrained from gaping at him since his lips were already stretched into an irritated line. “She wants me to meet with her?”

Harry’s head bobbed affirmative. “Matilda Hopkirk. Yes, here is her address and the meeting information. I told her you would owl her to confirm.” He fumbled through the papers on the desk until he located a small card with nearly-illegible writing. He handed it to Draco eagerly, looking hopeful.

Draco tried to be suspicious, but it was impossible. Harry was simply not clever enough to have ulterior motives. Draco took the card and ran a hand over the cover of the book as he closed it. “I shall think about it,” he allowed.

“Good,” Harry said. “Now, suppose you tell me why the Daily Prophet is suddenly printing glowingly positive stories about me.”

“I’m certain I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Hmmm. I even received an invitation from Beatrice Smirch that included a formal apology and a request for an interview in which she is hoping that I will… how did she put it? She is hoping I will enlighten the public and promote positive changes within the Wizarding World or some such tripe. Quite the opposite of what she wrote about me after the gala, don’t you think?”

Draco hefted the book and was careful not to cradle it like something precious. His fingers stroked surreptitiously over the edges of the binding where Harry could not see them. His throat felt strangely tight at the thought of Harry using his free time to put together the silly book.

“I don’t pay much attention to the Prophet,” Draco mumbled.

“Well, you should. It’s amazing, really, the complete change in attitude. It’s almost as though the staff has been threatened with something horrific if they wrote another vicious word about me.”

Draco snorted. “Well, then, you might check with Granger. She always seemed to be rather vicious, judging from that unprovoked blow she tossed at me in school.” He rubbed his jaw as if the memory brought back a twinge of pain.

Harry did not look convinced, but an owl fluttered in at that moment and landed on the table amidst the collection of photos and parchment. Draco’s jaw tensed when he recognized the bird—it was standard Ministry issue.

Harry detached the message and sighed heavily as he read it. “Damn. Something urgent has come up. I have to go to the office.”

“But it’s late,” Draco grumbled petulantly. “You were there all day, can it not bloody wait until tomorrow?”

“Kingsley wouldn’t call me in unless it was important. Why don’t you owl Matilda and I’ll be home as soon as I can?”

Draco sighed, knowing that arguing would be a waste of time. Harry was an Auror first and Draco’s… whatever he was… second.

Harry stepped forward and pulled Draco into an embrace before pressing kisses along his jaw and nibbling on his ear. The book was crushed between them and Harry’s hands moved over Draco’s back to cup his arse. Draco remained stiff in his embrace, not giving in to the tingles caused by Harry’s hot breath. Harry chuckled.

“Brat. I’ll be right back.” With that, Harry pulled away and left the room to fetch his Auror robes and depart.

Draco sighed and carried the book back to his room where he looked at every page and then studied Matilda Hopkirk’s information. Damn Harry. Draco knew the Auror was trying to save him.

~~ O ~~

“We have another victim of our mysterious Memory Charm,” Kingsley said when Harry entered the Minister for Magic’s office and noticed Arnold Peasegood seated in a chair, nibbling on the end of his wand.

“Perplexing. Perplexing,” Peasegood muttered.

Harry sank into the chair next to Peasegood as a trickle of ice seemed to make its way into the centre of his stomach. “What is perplexing?” he asked, even though he suspected he would rather not know.

Kingsley flipped through some papers on his desk and handed a file across to Harry.

“You know Bernard Carversham’s trial is in two weeks.”

Harry nodded. He had largely forgotten about Bernard Carversham, even though it had been his arrest that had taken Harry to Draco Malfoy’s doorstep. He opened the file with a sinking feeling.

“We have enough evidence to put Bernard away for a very long time,” Harry said. “The evidence of his embezzlement is incontrovertible.” He nearly bit his tongue for using such a Draco-ish word, but Kingsley did not seem to notice.

“Yes, but you know damn well that we have to get to the bottom of this Memory Charm business, especially now that a second victim has been brought to light. Carversham’s lawyers will be all over this.”

At Harry’s hopeful look, Kingsley shook his head. “No, they don’t know yet, but you know how long news lasts in this building. They will no doubt find out about it by morning. Carversham is already pushing them to persuade the Wizengamot that his crime was directly caused by the bloody Charm. We absolutely need to discover who cast it, and why.”

Harry scowled. Frankly, he didn’t give a damn about Bernard Carversham. The idiot could walk free for all Harry cared. He skimmed the file quickly and found what he sought. Fuck.

“I see you’ve located the connection,” Peasegood said and nodded, leaning over Harry to point at the file. “This rentboy seems to be the only link between the new victim and Bernard Carversham.”

“A rentboy,” Harry repeated, fighting nausea.

“Yes, although if he cast the Memory Charm on both Carversham and Ms. Robins we cannot locate a motive.”

“What was Ms. Robins’ crime?” Harry asked.

“Nothing, actually. She was admitted to St. Mungo’s with recurring headaches. After several routine tests revealed no physical cause for her ailment, they called in Arnold here.”

Peasegood sat back and nodded, rather pompously. “It’s standard procedure. I checked Ms. Robins for signs of the Imperius Curse and discovered the same odd signature that I detected in Bernard Carversham. I believe her headaches are caused by the fact that the Charm was used to excess.” Peasegood sniggered. “It seems she was very fond of this particular rentboy.”

Harry swallowed through his suddenly tight throat and struggled to form words. “How… how do you know it was a rentboy?”

Peasegood tapped the edge of the file with his gnawed wand. “It’s all there, Potter. She was reluctant to disclose her activities, but when we explained it was the only way to get to the bottom of her recurring health problem… well, she finally made a detailed accounting of her activities.”

Kingsley said, “I sent Savage to bring in the elusive rentboy, whose name seems to vary from client to client, but he has apparently left his domicile for greener pastures. He has not been seen at his flat since shortly after Carversham was taken, which is likely not coincidental. He pays his rent in gold, so we have no paper trail to follow. He is clever, this fellow.”

Very clever, Harry thought, feeling like he had swallowed a lump of ice.

“I’m assigning you to the case with Savage,” Kingsley continued. “Time is of the essence. We have to find this rentboy as soon as possible.”

Harry nodded obediently and wondered how the fuck he was going to bring up the subject with Draco.

The door burst open and Kingsley’s Undersecretary rushed in. “Minister!” she cried. “We got an emergency call! There’s been an accident in Erith!”

Kingsley got to his feet calmly as Angie thrust a note into his hands. He scanned it quickly. “Potter, Peasegood, you two come with me. Harry, you’ve been to Erith, have you not?”

Harry nodded, trying to remember the coordinates for Apparating to the small Kent town. Sometimes he thought Kingsley’s ludicrous faith in him was a bit misplaced. Kingsley rounded the desk and gripped Peasegood’s arm before Disapparating them both. Harry got to his feet and followed.
 

~~ O ~~

Draco set his book aside for the fifth time and slid out of bed. The downstairs clock had just chimed midnight. Where the fuck was Harry? With a frown, he walked to his bureau and opened a drawer. Beneath an assortment of jumpers two items were hidden. He pulled out the first and opened the cover to view the photo of him kissing Harry. The remaining pages were filled with articles about Harry and additional photographs. His favourite was a photo he had taken without Harry’s knowledge. The Auror was asleep on the living room sofa wearing only a pair of unzipped jeans. Draco had Conjured a stuffed bear and placed it next to Harry’s neck. The Auror looked innocent and adorable. Draco could never look at the picture without smiling.

He closed the cover with finality and reached into the drawer to retrieve the item he sought; the mirror Harry had given him. He returned the scrapbook and shut the drawer before carrying the mirror back to the bed. He sat on the edge and trailed his fingers over the cold metal design on the back of the flat surface. He flipped it over and studied it—the pattern was intertwined ivy, gleaming in untarnished silver.

Draco turned it back and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked tired and dishevelled to his own eyes and he raised a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair back into place. He lowered the mirror to his lap and touched the glass lightly with his fingertips. The spell was on his lips, but he was suddenly afraid to speak the words. Did he really plan to check up on Harry like some worried spouse? It was no business of his if Harry planned to stay out all night.

He frowned, suddenly wondering if the message had really come from Kingsley. Was Harry meeting someone else from the Ministry? Was he already tired of Draco with months left to go in their agreement? He rolled his eyes at the ridiculous thought. If that was the case, Harry would simply ask him to leave instead of making appointments for him to redecorate the residences of old witches. Wouldn’t he?

A sound from downstairs made Draco turn and shove the mirror beneath his pillow. He threw himself down in a pose of relaxation and picked up his discarded book once more, pretending to be engrossed when Harry walked into the bedroom.

After one disdainful glance at the Auror, the book slid from his nerveless fingers, hit the edge of the bed and tumbled to the floor. Draco left the bed before the book hit the carpet and pulled Harry into a rough embrace without a single thought crossing his mind.

“Harry,” he said softly as the Auror sobbed against his throat. Harry was like a block of wood, stiff and unmoving in his embrace. He reeked of alcohol and Draco could feel pain radiating from him in waves. Something had happened. Draco wanted to ask what was wrong, but no sound would emerge.

“Draco,” Harry choked and then his hands rose and clenched in the back of Draco’s dressing gown as Harry held him so tightly he thought his ribs might crack under the pressure. Harry began to shake violently and Draco pressed soft kisses into his neck.

“It’s all right,” he crooned softly, not certain at all that it was.

When Draco found it difficult to breathe from Harry’s tight hold, he pushed at him lightly and Harry’s hands fell away. Draco immediately reached up to unfasten the dark Auror robes. They seemed to symbolize everything that was wrong about their relationship and Draco could not get them off quickly enough. He wished he could forget that Harry worked for the Ministry and that he had bought Draco’s services. For one blinding moment he wished they were merely two people in… He swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence even in his own mind.

Harry had returned to a trancelike state, standing woodenly while Draco removed his robes, shirt, and trousers, tugging off his boots and socks along with the latter. Harry braced himself with one hand on Draco’s head and he left it there while Draco remained kneeling at his feet, looking up into green eyes filled with incredible pain. Draco could not meet his gaze for long—it was too intense and perplexing. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s hips and pressed a soft kiss into his abdomen.

“Come to bed,” he said softly.

He got to his feet and pulled Harry gently to the bed where he removed his glasses and tucked him in carefully before rounding the footboard and climbing in on the other side, shedding the dressing gown as he went. Uncertainty gnawed at him and he wondered if he was, somehow, the cause of Harry’s current state of mind. Had Harry really gone to the Ministry?

Harry rolled over and draped his arm over Draco’s ribs before dragging him close. Draco let out a breath he had not realised he’d been holding. Harry buried his face in Draco’s shoulder and held him tightly. To Draco’s surprise, he began to speak.

“We were called to Erith,” Harry said, so softly Draco could hardly hear him. Harry’s lips tickled against his chest as he spoke. “In Kent. Just outside the Muggle village, actually. Very small wizarding population. Been there for centuries, apparently.”

Harry stopped for so long that Draco thought he was finished speaking, or that he had fallen asleep. But then Harry’s arm tightened and Draco pulled him closer to stroke one hand over his back in a soothing caress.

“The house was in a small valley with only a couple of neighbouring houses. An older witch was outside, hysterical. She was the one that called the Ministry. She… she threw herself on Kingsley and started screaming. Merlin, I can still hear it.” Harry’s hands clenched into fists, one curled near Draco’s shoulder blades, the other brushing his navel.

“It was the house next to hers,” Harry continued. “We could feel it as soon as we got close. The magical energy was massive, uncontained.” Draco said nothing, but he had the feeling that Harry would have been the only one able to sense such a thing. “I couldn’t…” Harry’s voice broke.

Draco pressed his lips against the top of Harry’s head, willing him to stop. He was not sure he wanted to know what had happened to bring Harry Potter to this state. Harry’s went on doggedly, the way only a Gryffindor could manage, fighting forward when any normal person would shut down or openly weep.

“Someone inside had cast a spell. I don’t know who. It could have been the mo… the mother or the father.” A sob escaped Harry’s throat and his next batch of words came in a rush, as if it was the only way for him to get them out. “I ran toward the house despite the magical energy. Nothing was visible. The neighbour said she heard a huge sound, like something had crackled next door and when she ran to investigate, she couldn’t breathe. She knew something horrible had happened and… and…” Harry took a gulp of air and pushed on. “The spell seemed to suck the air from our lungs when we got close. I cast a Bubble Head Charm and rushed inside. The woman—I think she cast the spell. She was dead, but whatever she had unleashed was still active. Kingsley joined me and between the two of us we managed to nullify it.”

Harry’s voice had evened, turned monotone. Draco knew the worst was coming. He almost put his hands to his ears, not wanting to hear it.

“The man was in the kitchen. His wand was out, so perhaps he was the one who cast the spell. It’s a mystery. He was dead, too, of course. They never had a chance; the spell was impossibly quick.” Harry’s voice began to shake, the monotone broken. “In the bedrooms a teenaged girl and the little…. buh… buh… the boy. Oh Merlin, Draco, he could not have been more than three.” The Saviour of the World broke in earnest then, drawing the gasping breaths of someone fighting not to sob aloud.

“Hush, now,” Draco whispered.

“What a bloody waste!” Harry cried. “How could they be so stupid as to cast such a dangerous spell with children in the house? The girl probably just started at Hogwarts and he… I tried to revive them. They died of asphyxiation—I should have been able to save them. All they needed was air. Just air, Draco. I tried… I tried.”

Draco released Harry and reached up to grip his chin, forcing Harry to meet his eyes. The green was awash with unshed tears.

“Harry,” Draco said gently. “Harry, you can’t save everyone.” With that, he lowered his head and kissed him, silencing all argument. He kissed Harry until they were the ones in danger of asphyxiation. Even then he stopped only long enough for them to catch their breath before he dove in again. Harry’s numb passivity lasted through the second kiss, and then he seemed to come to life, returning Draco’s kisses with eagerness that bordered on desperation.

Harry rolled onto his back, pulling Draco with him. His hands were twined in Draco’s hair, holding him in place, as though afraid if he let go that Draco would stop kissing him, but Draco had no intention of stopping. He thought he might never stop. Harry’s kisses were exquisite and Draco wondered why he had ever denied himself.

The lovemaking that followed was urgent, frenzied. Draco tried to take him gently, but Harry would have none of it, finally pushing Draco onto his back and straddling him in order to set his own pace, impaling himself completely before lifting nearly off and plunging downward again. Draco had never felt anything like it. He was nearly mindless with the need to maintain control. It was imperative that Harry come first. He helped by stroking Harry’s cock with his hands. He finally had to close his eyes tightly—the sight of Harry’s determined arousal was too much. Draco’s heart felt near to bursting with unnamed emotion.

Finally he felt Harry tighten around him and he opened his eyes in order to watch Harry come undone. The Auror was a mess; his hair was damp and hung over his forehead, the strands not quite concealing the famous scar. He practically glowed with a sheen of sweat and Draco was glad he had not blown out the guttering candle next to the bed. Harry was a vision with his head thrown back and his lips slightly parted. His eyes snapped open and locked with Draco’s the moment he came. Hot liquid splashed over Draco’s abdomen and he felt his own orgasm shiver through him, curling his toes and blurring Harry for a moment as his vision nearly went white.

Harry kept moving until Draco was utterly spent, sliding atop his cock with delicious friction, and then he leaned forward. His lips hovered over Draco’s, silently asking permission. Never presumptuous, his Harry. Draco lifted his head and touched their lips together, having no intention of denying them again. Harry nearly crushed him in an embrace, but his kiss was tender, almost sweet, giving no hint of the intensity unleashed earlier. They kissed for long minutes, until the sweat dried on their bodies and Harry’s radiant heat was not enough to keep Draco’s toes from becoming chilled.

Harry rolled away then, and cast the Charms to clean them before dragging the blankets over Draco and pulling them into their usual sleeping position—with Harry wrapped around Draco’s back, curling him into a protective embrace that always made Draco feel oddly secure. He frowned and wondered what it would feel like to sleep without Harry’s breath ghosting over the top of his head and his fingers brushing Draco’s collarbone possessively.

He shook off the maudlin thought and tried to concentrate on sleeping. It worked so well that Harry’s murmured words, barely heard, caught him by surprise.

“I can’t save everyone,” he said. “But I can try.”

Draco smiled softly and lifted Harry’s hand to press a kiss to his knuckles.

You already saved me, he thought and drifted off to sleep.

 

 

Chapter Eleven