Paradigm Chapter Eleven

[dysonrules]

This one took forever. I think you'll see why. I'll be... hiding now. *grin*

Harry studied Draco’s face as he slept, remembering with a pang the first time he had done so. Draco looked even more beautiful now. The dark circles beneath his eyes were gone and the hollowness that had sharply defined his cheekbones had softened. Harry selfishly hoped living at Grimmauld Place had been good for Draco. He no longer had to worry about pulling customers and performing who-knew-what sort of favours in order to make ends meet. He grimaced at the thought of Draco’s profession. Former profession, he thought fervently.

Draco stirred and his pale lashes fluttered slightly. His lids opened to reveal unfocused silver eyes and Harry smiled softly as Draco groaned.

“Are you watching me again?” he asked sleepily.

“Yes,” Harry admitted.

“Why?” His eyes slid shut once more, but Harry noticed a tiny smiled curving his lips. He nearly groaned aloud at the thought of those lips kissing him—kissing him!—as they had done numerous times the previous night. Unable to stop himself, he reached out to caress the edge of Draco’s jaw with his hand.

“Can’t help it,” he explained.

The smiled widened into a sardonic grin and Draco’s eyes opened once more. He seemed about to speak, but whatever he planned to say was lost when his smile faltered. A pale hand curled into Harry’s hair and pulled him down for a kiss.

As lips and tongues melded, Harry wondered vaguely why Draco allowed kisses now, when he had adamantly refused them before. Something had changed and he wasn’t sure what, but he dared not ask lest the question negate it. Draco had given him more than he had ever expected. He felt a rush of emotion and pushed Draco into the mattress.

“Draco, I love…” He faltered and pressed another kiss into the soft lips beneath his and added, “…the way you taste.”

Draco’s tongue flicked over his upper lip. “You’re not so bad, yourself, Harry.”

“I need to go to work.” Harry moaned as his hand slid over Draco’s abdomen to brush his knuckles across Draco’s erection. Fuck, he would never tire of this man; not even if he lived to be a thousand.

“Yes, you should run along to the Ministry,” Draco agreed and curled his hand around Harry’s hard cock. Harry surrendered without a struggle. His job could bloody well wait. He took his time, making love to Draco with exquisite care. The addition of kissing made it glorious, adding an intimacy he had not known was missing. His lips caressed Draco’s with every thrust, muffling his soft cries.

When it was over and Draco’s release dried on Harry’s fingers, he kissed him several more times to sustain himself through the morning. He still needed to talk with his lover, but not now. Not until he thought of a way to broach the subject without destroying everything.

“I’ll be back for lunch,” he promised.

Draco’s reply was muffled by his kiss.

An hour later, Harry sat across from a smiling witch while he surreptitiously wiped the palms of his hands on his trousers. He tried to keep his features from disclosing his nervousness, but he did not want to have this discussion. He wanted nothing more than to return home and lose himself in Draco. The words lose and Draco seemed to echo in his head until they pounded against his temples. He wished he had thought to take a headache potion before coming in. The previous evening’s events in Erith had faded to a dull ache, but they were far from forgotten.

“So, Margaret,” Harry said pleasantly to Ms. Robins, who interrupted him.

“Maggie,” she said with a giggle. “No one calls me Margaret, except my mum, and then only when she’s angry.”

“Very well, Maggie,” Harry corrected. “You apparently visited a particular male prostitute on several occasions?”

Her smile widened and she snickered. “Oh yes. Several occasions.” She twisted a finger into a curl of her mousy brown hair and looked at a faraway point over Harry’s shoulder. He felt a flash of annoyance.

“Can you describe him?”

“Oh yes. Quite well, actually. I’ll never forget him. His name is Lucas, although the other Aurors tell me that was most likely not his real name—why do I need to go over this story again, Auror Potter?”

“It’s routine, Maggie. You might think of additional details if you repeat the facts more than once.” It was a candid enough explanation. Harry was comfortable with the rationalization, but the truth was that he needed to verify her story for himself.

She sighed. “I suppose. I don’t want him to get into trouble, you know? He was just doing his job.”

“He most likely won’t be in any trouble. We just need to ask him some questions.”

She brightened. “Oh good. Because he was… special.” She made a dreamy sound and added, “Very special. And very handsome.”

“Can you describe him?” Harry asked again reluctantly.

“Well, he was tall and blond, with the dreamiest grey eyes you’ve ever seen. And that smile… Oh it’s to die for, Auror Potter. To die for. And the things he did to me…” A blush tinted her cheeks and her lips parted. Her eyes practically glazed over as she apparently relived the memory of her visits to Draco Malfoy. Nausea joined Harry’s headache.

“And how… how many times did you seek out his… services?” Harry asked, nearly choking on the words.

Maggie giggled. “Oh, at least a hundred, I’d say. For the past seven or eight months.” She frowned. “He disappeared recently. I do hope you find him, Auror Potter. If you do, please tell him that I miss him most desperately.” She reached across the table and gripped his hand in entreaty. Harry resisted the urge to snatch his hand away with a snarl. Seven or eight months! Harry had tried to ignore Draco’s profession. He had quite nicely blocked it from his mind, which was a simple enough process when Draco was in his bed and no one else’s. It was not so simple when one of Draco’s smitten clients sat across from him, when Harry could picture Draco’s hands touching her skin and his mouth tasting her flesh…

His voice was sharper than intended when he spoke. “You were informed that this rentboy, Lucas, might have used some sort of Memory Charm on you?”

She nodded, but looked puzzled. “Yes, but that makes no sense. I can remember everything about him. Aren’t Memory Charms supposed to make people forget?”

“We think he may have used it differently. He might have wanted to enhance your memories rather than erase them. He wanted you to remember the experience in a positive way because he wanted you to come back.”

Maggie frowned. “Do you think so? Is that why I nearly drained my bank account seeking him out day after day? Because of some sort of spell?”

“What do you think?” Harry asked gently, feeling slightly guilty, even though he had been ready to hex her a moment ago. How could Draco have justified using such a spell on an innocent person? Not that she was exactly innocent, if she had sought Draco’s services to begin with.

Maggie shrugged and then smiled. “I think it doesn’t matter. Even if the memories are enhanced, well, they are still my memories, right? I’ll treasure them.” Her smile faltered slightly and she added, “I would like the headaches to stop, though.”

Harry pressed three fingertips into his throbbing temple. “Yeah, me, too,” he said.

~~O~~

When Harry was gone, Draco lay in bed for a long time with his arms crossed behind his head, staring blindly at the ceiling. Something profound had shifted. He should never have kissed Harry Potter, not even once. He groaned and shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out reality—the reality that Harry was… He drew a shaking breath. Harry was becoming everything. The thought terrified him. How the fuck was he supposed to give him up after their “contractual obligation” ended?

Draco flung aside the blankets and glared at the sunlight peeking through the gap in the heavy curtains. He hated mornings. He climbed out of bed and walked to the wardrobe where he opened the doors to examine his clothing. His fingers brushed over the shirts and robes gently and he frowned. The selection had increased markedly—also Harry’s doing. The Auror could not seem to resist bringing something back for Draco every time he went shopping, which was surprisingly more often than Draco would have imagined.

Draco’s instinct for self-preservation clamoured at him to escape before it was too late. A bit of fur glided beneath his fingertips and he smiled at the Viking vest. He thought about wearing it to surprise Harry on his return from lunch and nearly laughed aloud at the thought of Harry’s expression. His grin faded as he sighed and leaned his head against the edge of the doorframe, knowing it was already too late.

~~O~~

The Pensieve memory put the cap on the potion of Harry’s last hope. He had prayed all along that it wasn’t Draco, that there was some other gorgeous blond, grey-eyed bloke out there Memory Charming unsuspecting victims. Harry almost preferred to hold onto his denial, but Peasegood dragged him into the Pensieve Room and encouraged him to dive into one of Maggie Robins’ memories.

He could hardly refuse.

The memory was altogether too familiar. Draco’s flat was instantly recognizable. Harry felt like weeping. He did not see Draco at first, but he turned and saw the blond lounging against the door frame, as though he had just escorted Maggie inside. The smile on his face made Harry’s heart clench. He had seen it a hundred times; he had foolishly thought it belonged to him alone.

Maggie gestured imperiously to Draco and he walked to her sinuously. The meek brunette had disappeared, replaced by a near-dominatrix. “On your knees,” she said in a husky tone. “I want you on your knees for me.”

Harry saw red for a moment. He wanted to leap forward and throttle the bitch that dared to speak to his Draco so imperiously.

Not my Draco, he reminded himself. Not my Draco at all.

The memory-Draco began to kneel and then everything went slightly fuzzy. Harry looked at Peasegood, who nodded.

“This seems to be the point where the Memory Charm begins. We recognize the signs now. You can clearly see the unreal quality of their surroundings.” Peasegood spoke as pompously as usual, but he seemed distracted by the sight of Draco unfastening Maggie’s skirt from his position on the floor. Harry looked away quickly.

Peasegood continued, “I have my assistant working tirelessly on it, of course.”

Harry forced a smile. Peasegood’s assistant was a brilliant young woman and everyone knew that she did most of the actual work in the department while Peasegood took the credit. “Of course,” Harry said politely. “I think I’ve seen enough.”

Peasegood smirked. “You haven’t seen the interesting bit, yet. This rentboy is very creative.”

Harry pulled out of the Pensieve and fairly flew across the room. He barely made it down the hall to the loo before he was violently ill.

~~O~~

When he stepped out of the Floo at Grimmauld Place, Draco cast a Tempus Charm and swore softly. There was no time to enact his dress-up plan for Harry. In fact, he would be surprised if Harry wasn't already—

“Draco,” Harry called and he turned to see the Auror sitting in one of the living room chairs, fully dressed, damn it all. He supposed they would survive one lunch break without mind-blowing sex. He would simply reserve the Viking outfit for Harry’s return at the end of the day.

Draco smiled and walked into the room, where he set down the book Harry had made for him and dropped his outer robes over it surreptitiously. His appointment with Matilda Hopkirk had gone surprisingly well, although Draco was not quite ready to reveal the details to Harry. It would not do to let the Auror know he had jumped so quickly at the job offer.

“Harry,” he said and leaned down to tease Harry's lips with a barely-there kiss. “Sorry I’m late.”

Instead of pulling him into a deeper kiss, Harry only said, “Draco, I need to talk to you.”

Draco straightened in surprise. “That sounds ominous,” he replied, attempting levity despite the spike of unease that stabbed through him. The feeling did not diminish when confronted with Harry’s obviously forced smile. Draco stepped away and sat stiffly on the couch across from the Auror. He waited until the silence stretched between them like razor wire.

Harry fidgeted for a bit and then blurted, “Do you remember Bernard Carversham?”

Draco felt the colour drain from his face and he nodded stiffly. He said nothing, unwilling to volunteer additional information without knowing where Harry was going with the question.

“He was a client of yours, right?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded again and leaned back on the couch as if they were discussing the weather or some equally mundane topic. His fingers toyed with the fringe on a decorative throw that adorned one edge of the sofa.

“Is there anything you want to tell me about him?” Harry asked archly.

Draco felt a flash off annoyance. What did he want to know? Draco certainly had no intention of coughing up information regarding his activities with Bernard—or any of his other clients. He shrugged. “Not particularly. He was a substandard lay, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Harry’s jaw clenched and he sat forward. His body was a tense line. “No, that is not what I’m getting at. I want to know what sort of Memory Charms you cast on Bernard and Merlin knows how many of your other customers.”

Draco felt a smile twist his lips, even though he swore inwardly. Harry had not mentioned the bloody Memory Charms since their first few meetings; Draco had hoped the matter was dead and forgotten. He should have known his rotten luck would never allow such a thing.

“Fine. I admit to casting a Memory Charm on Bernard Carversham. What of it?”

“Most Memory Charms are used to make people forget, but yours apparently has a different purpose. Why did you use it on Bernard?” Harry tone was recriminating.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. So, Harry didn’t know. His secret was still safe. “Why do you think?” he countered, wondering what the Ministry’s finest had come up with after analysing dear old Bernard's perverted little mind.

Harry’s lips twisted. “According to Maggie Robins, you were the best fuck of her entire life. She could not resist coming back to you again and again. For months, apparently. Was it really necessary to toy with her mind? Surely she would have visited you often enough without magical prompting?”

Ah, so that was it. They thought Draco only used the Charm to augment memories, not create them. He gave a noncommittal shrug. “I felt a bit of insurance was warranted.”

Harry’s eyes flashed. “Insurance?” he asked incredulously. “The girl thinks she’s in love with you! She’s fucking obsessed!” Harry pushed himself to his feet and began to pace before the chair. Draco watched him, half in admiration and half in dismay. Why was Harry so agitated? The spell was not that terrifying, although the damned Ministry might try to classify it as an Unforgivable with Draco’s luck.

He forced a smirk. “Ah, Maggie Robins,” he said. “She was amusing.”

Harry turned on him, looking furious. His hands were clenched and his eyes flashed. When he spoke his voice was nearly a snarl. “Amusing? I’m curious, Draco, what else do you find amusing? Me, perhaps? Is my obsession with you as entertaining as Maggie Robins’? Do I amuse you, as well?”

Draco frowned and wondered what the fuck Harry was on about, but the Auror continued viciously, “Is my desire for you a product of my own mind, or something that you have conveniently planted?”

Draco gaped at him, shocked out of his growing confusion. The bastard! “You believe I would actually cast a Memory Charm on you? On you?” he demanded. He laughed bitterly at the irony. His unwillingness to risk that very thing had led to their current situation—a situation he had found frighteningly satisfying until this very moment.

Harry glared at him. “Are you telling me you have never modified my memories?” he asked. “Not even once?”

Draco shot to his feet. His hands shook before he clenched them into fists. “You complete arse. I cannot believe you would ask me that.”

“Your indignation is noted, Draco,” Harry said flatly. “Now answer the question.”

Draco wanted to hit him. He welcomed the swell of rage that swept through his veins in an explosive tide, because it nearly drowned the unexpected and unwanted hurt that blossomed from the centre of his being. Did Harry actually believe that everything they had experienced was false? Looking at the coldness in Harry's eyes and the determined set to his jaw Draco knew the truth. He wanted to laugh at his own stupidity. What had he expected? Had he thought Harry would believe in him? Had he actually thought he was more than just a toy the wonderful Saviour had picked up off the street? Had he honestly believed that Harry saw him as something other than a purchased commodity?

Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble forth, mocking him. Harry’s demand echoed in his mind and Draco was not sure whether the urge to laugh or cry was the stronger. Despite everything Draco had done, everything he had sacrificed, Harry was only too willing to believe the worst of him. He felt like the biggest fool in Britain. He had surrendered his virginity and given up his freedom; he had even fallen in—

“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco said hoarsely. The need to escape was overpowering. He could hardly breathe. He needed to get as far away as possible from Harry's accusatory tone and distrustful gaze, before he did something unforgiveable. Or before he broke down completely.

Draco snatched up his robes and book and walked away so quickly it felt like flight. He heard Harry's footfalls on the floor behind him.

"Draco, wait!" Harry called.

He sensed rather than saw the hand reaching out to stop him, but by then his wand was in his hand and the spell was on his lips. Draco Disapparated without looking back.

~~O~~

Harry’s hand closed over empty air and he cried out in frustration. Damn the man! He needed answers! It was past time to get everything into the open.

Harry stood where he was for long minutes until his anger ebbed, and then he dragged a hand through his hair. Damn it! He had handled the situation completely wrong. He had meant to speak to Draco calmly and rationally. He had not intended to sound accusatory, but damn it all, the thought of Bernard Carversham and Maggie Robins and Merlin knew how many others touching Draco had nearly sent him over the edge. He wanted a fucking Time Turner so that he could go back and prevent Draco from ever becoming a bloody rentboy.

Harry sank down on the soft and shut his eyes. Rationally, he knew that he would never have found Draco if not for Bernard Carversham and the stupid case. He supposed he should be grateful that Draco had been for sale, or he never would have associated with Harry in the first place.

Harry sat forward suddenly and swept the table clean with a violent movement of his arm. “Fuck!” he yelled as a vase holding flowers smashed onto the floor, spilling water and petals haphazardly across the wooden planks. Winky popped into view next to him.

“Master Harry is needing something?” the house-elf asked, looking nervous.

“Master Harry is needing Master Draco,” Harry said sardonically.

“Master Draco is not being home,” Winky replied and eyed the mess.

“I know, Winky,” Harry said tiredly. “Never mind. Please just… put the vase and flowers back the way they were. I’ll be back later.”

Winky frowned and waved her hand to replace the smashed vase and flowers, as though Harry had never destroyed them. He wished she could mend his heart as easily.

Harry pulled out his wand and went to find Draco. He needed to apologize.

Draco, however, was not to be found. Harry was certain he would find him at his flat, but it was empty. He Apparated from there to Narcissa’s house, where it took him several minutes of pounding on her front door before he worked up the nerve to break in. The house had an unused air, as though no one had been in residence for quite some time. Harry wished he had paid more attention when Draco spoke of his mother, not that he had ever volunteered much information other than, “She’s fine,” or, “We met for tea.”

Harry realized now that he knew next to nothing about Draco’s life beyond the walls of Grimmauld Place. It had not seemed to matter as long as Draco’s every departure was accompanied by the promise to return. Harry had not begrudged him his Sundays off. He had not wanted to stifle the blond. Now he wished he had been slightly clingier, because he had no idea where else to search for him.

His lunch break had long passed by the time Harry returned to his office, and paperwork demanded his attention. He filled it out listlessly, trying to forget the spell that had claimed the lives of the family in Erith, as well as Draco’s subsequent comfort. He could only pray Draco would be waiting for him when he returned home.

Harry set the box of expensive chocolates on the table and dropped wearily into a chair. Winky placed a plate of food before him and stood nearby expectantly.

“He hasn’t been back?” Harry asked tonelessly.

“No, Master Harry,” she replied.

Harry picked up his fork and poked at the potatoes. He felt too sick to eat. The argument with Draco replayed over and over in his mind. Why had he accused Draco of casting a Memory Charm on him? It had been nothing more than a passing notion hurled in anger. He knew bloody well that Draco had never used the spell on him. Harry had not even been tempted to seek out an Obliviator to verify it, despite Hermione’s nagging.

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair and glanced at Winky, who nodded encouragingly. He forced a smile and raised a forkful of food to his lips before chewing by force of habit. The action seemed to satisfy the house-elf and she popped out. Harry set the fork back on the plate and swallowed. It tasted like sandpaper.

He missed Draco’s presence more than he would have thought possible. Not merely for the obvious, but also less tangible things. He missed Draco’s favourite teacup sitting next to his on the table. He missed the way Draco muttered to himself and nibbled on the edge of his thumb when he was deep in thought. He missed the way any casual sound of Harry’s would draw the grey eyes toward him. He missed the sound of footsteps on the stairs that told him he wasn’t alone.

This is how things will be when he leaves for good, Harry realized. He would go back to living alone, eating his meals in solitude, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat, and staring at the blank walls. Draco would not be next to him feeding him bites of food with his fingers, wiping Harry’s lips with a napkin, and complaining about the state of the floors in the fourth storey washroom.

An owl fluttered into the room and dropped onto the table next to Harry’s plate before lifting its leg to allow Harry to remove the message. He untied the gold ribbon, hoping desperately it was from Draco. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach when he realized that it was, in a roundabout fashion, from Draco, although the message came from Gringott’s.

The sum of 500,000 Galleons has been deposited into your Gringott’s account.

Draco had refunded him. It was over.

Chapter Twelve