Paradigm Chapter Twelve

[dysonrules]

I'll just be over here for awhile... *runs away*

Harry’s first night alone was a nightmare. He felt it prudent to sleep in his old room, even though it had been completely renovated by Draco and bore no resemblance to the original. He had seldom slept at Grimmauld Place prior to moving Draco into the house, preferring his flat across town. That was no longer an option, as Harry had allowed the lease to lapse. He would have to start looking for a new apartment in order to escape the memories of his time with Draco. It was a depressing thought.

The bed was firmer than he was used to and the new bedding seemed rough. The room felt impersonal—like a hotel room—and in the wee hours of the morning Harry left the bed and padded down the hall to the bedroom he had shared with Draco. As he crawled between the sheets, he caught a whiff of the blond; Draco’s scent was everywhere.

Harry reached out and pulled Draco’s pillow close, snuggling it to his chest. His throat closed up and he kept his eyes shut lest blinking cause the stinging wetness beneath his lids to fall. His heart felt like a black hole.

“I miss you,” he whispered into the empty darkness.

Three days later there was still no trace of Draco. Harry was beginning to go slightly mad. He had returned to Narcissa’s house and ransacked the place without even attempting to be subtle. He only hoped she would return and find her house in disarray. He had even left a calling card in hopes that the woman would track him down. He planned to use any means at his disposal to find her son.

Kingsley was breathing down his neck to “find that rentboy” and Harry wanted to shout at him that it was his only priority. Unfortunately, he had run out of ideas. Draco’s flat had been rented to a young couple. The landlord had allowed Harry to cart away the few belongings Draco had left behind. He had put them in storage in the attic at Grimmauld Place, still hoping against hope that Draco would return. He had not even come for his clothing and personal items, apparently content to leave everything behind in his haste to escape.

Harry doodled on the margin of an incomplete report, unable to concentrate on the task at hand. He had no energy for the mundane trivialities of his job. He hated paperwork at the best of times and now it was sheer torture.

Ron spared him by popping his head in the door. He started to speak, but his jaw stayed open in apparent shock. “Bloody hell, Harry. What happened to you?”

Harry glared at him balefully. His eyes felt like rocks scraping the insides of his sockets. He had tossed and turned all night before finally falling asleep thirty minutes before his alarm went off. “Are you here for a reason?” he snapped.

“Maybe we should have some tea, first. Or coffee,” Ron suggested.

Harry rubbed his eyes and nodded. “Coffee sounds great.”

After Harry poured a cup of the black liquid sludge that passed for Ministry coffee, Ron ventured, “Trouble with the… boyfriend?”

Harry looked at him in surprise. It was the first time Ron had mentioned Harry’s proclivities since the gala, seeming content to ignore Harry’s announcement completely. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Ron nodded sympathetically. “Well, if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll grovel at your feet until you make up with him.” Ron coughed and grinned sheepishly. “If, um, you know, that’s what you want.”

Harry blinked at him for a moment and then chuckled. “What if I told you it was Draco Malfoy?” he asked before he could stop the words. He grimaced. Apparently lack of sleep and bad coffee was not a good combination.

Ron gaped at him until Harry thought he’d been hit with a Stunner. He poked Ron in the arm.

“You can’t be serious,” Ron said finally.

Harry nodded and took another drink before shuddering. “Afraid so.”

“Draco Malfoy?”

Harry tried to smile and knew it probably looked more like a grimace.

“And you’re okay with that?” Ron asked carefully.

Harry shrugged and his attempt at amusement faded. “It doesn’t matter. He left me.”

Ron drew himself up indignantly. “He what? He left you? That bastard!”

Harry looked at him in surprise.

Ron coughed. “I mean, if you liked him, he must have had some good qualities, right? And, um…” Ron trailed off and blushed furiously, possibly thinking about what sort of good qualities Draco might have had. He coughed. “Anyway, if you want I can go have a chat with him, maybe.”

Harry felt a rush of affection for Ron that made the ache in his chest slightly easier to bear. “Thanks, Ron. I’ll try to work this one out on my own, yeah?”

Ron looked relieved as he nodded. “Oh, by the way, Kingsley wants to see you.”

“You didn’t think to mention that until now?”

“Trust me, you needed coffee first.”

Harry stared morosely into the murky depths of his cup and wished he had never heard of Memory Charms.

Kingsley looked nearly as tired as Harry felt. His coffee mug was the size of a German beer stein and he gulped from it as they spoke. Peasegood was also present—he looked like death warmed over and much of his pomposity seemed to have evaporated. Savage entered the room just as Harry sat down.

“Good. Now that we’re all here, Arnold, please fill us in.”

Peasegood listlessly flipped through a file that rested on his knees. “We finally got a break on the Carversham case,” he said tiredly and rubbed one temple. “Mary has been working tirelessly, especially since it looks as though we will never find the elusive rentboy—who could have used Polyjuice Potion, for all we know.”

Kingsley cleared his throat. “The point, Arnold.”

Peasegood nodded and started to yawn before suppressing it with a snap of his jaws. “My apologies, Minister. It turns out that the rentboy was more skilled than we anticipated. The spell was very complex and well administered. It’s fascinating, actually, and we still don’t know how he does it.”

Kingsley cleared his throat slightly.

Peasegood nodded, looking like a doll with a broken neck for a moment. “The spell he used was not a typical Memory Charm; it was more of a Memory Creation Charm. It’s beautifully done, really, and we would love to find this man and determine exactly how he casts it. The applications for situations warranting Obliviation would be boundless.”

“Arnold,” Kingsley warned.

Peasegood scowled. “Regardless, we discovered the purpose of the Charm. It was not to enhance memories, as we first suspected, but rather to imbed a memory of something that never happened.” Peasegood snickered, giving a hint of his usual personality. “It turns out our rentboy did not have sexual relations with Bernard Carversham at all. Bernard only thought they did. The same is true of Ms Robins. The crafty rentboy would take their funds and then spell his clients to believe they had achieved sexual bliss. It’s brilliant.”

Harry was stunned. His exhausted mind could scarcely process the revelation.

Kingsley barked a laugh. “Excellent work, Arnold! Does Carversham know?”

Peasegood nodded. “The evidence was supplied to his solicitors. Apparently he was quite annoyed. He demands retribution.”

Savage chuckled loudly. “He wants to sue a rentboy for not providing services? I don’t think he would find the Wizengamot to be sympathetic.”

“He never had sex with any of them?” Harry asked stupidly.

Peasegood shook his head. “We would need to find more of his clients to be sure, but from the quality of the spell and the finesse with which it was cast, I’m wagering the fellow used the Charm frequently. For all we know, he could be untouched.” Peasegood tittered. “A virgin rentboy.”

Harry pushed his chair back, feeling dizzy. “I need… Merlin, I’m not feeling well.” He bolted and made it outside the door where he braced a hand against the wall, fighting black spots in his vision.

Savage poked his head out. “You okay, Harry?”

“Fine,” Harry said, waving him off. “Something I ate. Be right back.”

He pushed away from the wall and entered the nearest loo where he splashed cold water on his face and stared blearily into the mirror. A virgin rentboy. He shut his eyes tightly, recalling Draco on their first night together. Fuck, he had been so nervous, even at the restaurant before they got to Harry’s flat. The aborted blow job should have been his first clue—it was entirely possible that Draco had never performed one before. Harry gripped the white porcelain of the sink tightly. How could he not have seen it?

Draco had allowed Harry to be his first. And not just his first, but apparently his only. And Harry had accused him of terrible things in a fit of fucking misplaced jealousy. He drew a sobbing breath and splashed more water on his face, drenching his collar and the front of his robes.

“I am such an idiot,” he snarled.

Harry took the rest of the day off and searched Grimmauld Place with renewed determination, only remembering the mirror he had given Draco when he stumbled across his own mirror in a forgotten pocket of his Auror robes. He ran his fingers over the silver edges and hoped Draco had taken the twin mirror with him. After taking a deep, steadying breath, he sat down on the edge of the bed and concentrated on the mirror.

The reflective surface remained dark. Draco had probably thrown his mirror out, or stuffed it into the bottom of a chest with mementos of things he would rather forget. Harry sighed and set the mirror aside. He walked to Draco’s dressing table to touch each of the items left behind. There was a bone comb that Draco loved, and his favourite cologne, and an assortment of silver chains Harry had purchased for him. A decorative tray held a handful of coins, a wrapped toffee, and a folded piece of paper.

Harry took the note and unfolded it carefully. Draco’s handwriting was almost artistic. The words made Harry smile sadly.

Cerulean blue

Neptune blue

Stormcloud grey

Mercurial silver

Stonehenge

Sandstone beige

Paint colours, Harry realized, amused by the names. He had seen Draco spend hours perusing colour samples that all looked identical to Harry. To him, green was green and blue was blue and Cerulean was just a fancy word for…

Harry stared at the list, tore out his wand, and Disapparated.

~~O~~

Draco followed the house-elf down the hall, a feat easier said than done, as it involved skirting far too many large pieces of furniture, copious amounts of greenery, and bizarre oddities of every sort, such as an umbrella stand that bore an uncanny resemblance to an elephant’s leg. For the elephant’s sake, Draco hoped it was faux.

Matilda Hopkirk waved at him from the garish sofa. Draco nearly blanched at the colour, which resembled a forcible encounter between a watermelon and chocolate custard. An open door across the room led to a tiny library, Draco remembered, stuffed with more books that the library at Hogwarts, and ten times dustier.

“Draco, my dear!” she cried. “Come sit down and have some tea.”

“Good afternoon, Matilda,” he said and squeezed her proffered fingers. “Tea would be lovely.”

He sat on a comfortable chair across from her and smiled. She was a batty old girl, but her tea was top-notch. The house-elf poured two cups and added a generous amount of sugar to both.

Draco gestured toward several large design spreads on the table. “Did you have a chance to look at my selections for the dining room?” he asked.

“Yes, dear. They are lovely, especially this one, I think.” She tapped at the board that happened to be Draco’s favourite. He relaxed a bit. At least she had some taste. She asked, “Would you mind enlarging the text? My eyes are not what they once were.” She blinked at him and he wondered why she didn’t wear spectacles. Then again, it might explain why her house was such an atrocity; perhaps she couldn’t see it.

He pulled out his wand and waved it over the board, enlarging the words that described his plan for Matilda’s outdated dining room. She reached out and plucked the wand from his fingers. He blinked at her in surprise.

“Goodness me! Don’t you take care of this, Draco? Youth these days. Let me guess, you are far too busy to take the time for proper wand care?” She got to her feet and hobbled toward the door, taking his wand with her. “I believe I have some of Ebenezer’s old wand polish around here somewhere. Now where did I put that?”

“Matilda, honestly, my wand is fine—”

“Don’t be a silly goose,” she admonished. “I’ll be right back.” She pattered out, trailed by her house-elf.

Draco suppressed a groan and sank back into the chair cushion with a sigh. He knew that arguing with her was a waste of time. Matilda could be utterly single-minded. He sipped his tea and prepared for a long wait. Searching for a single jar of wand polish would be like seeking a needle in a haystack in this overstuffed mausoleum.

The door slammed shut suddenly and Draco sat up in surprise when he heard the lock click. He set his tea on the table and stood, frowning.

“Matilda?” he called.

“Draco,” said a familiar voice behind him. Draco stiffened and then closed his eyes as a multitude of suppressed emotion flooded through him. He should have guessed. Potter had gotten him the job, after all.

Draco continued forward and grabbed the door handle before wrenching at it forcibly. Locked. The sturdy oak did not even rattle. The bastard had been hiding in Matilda’s library the whole time, and she had been in on it, stealing his wand!

“Draco, please.” Potter’s voice was pleading. Draco resisted pounding his head against the door—barely.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he snapped.

“Then just listen. You’re right to be angry. I don’t blame you. I said things I never should have. Stupid things.” Potter’s voice grew steadily closer and Draco fought the need to pound on the door and shout out for Matilda, even though it was doubtful she would help him.

Potter continued, “I know you didn’t use a Memory Charm on me.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “Had yourself checked out at the Ministry, did you?” he snarled bitterly, even though he told himself he wasn’t going to talk to the Auror.

“No. I didn’t need to.”

That was a surprise. Draco almost turned around. Almost. His hand unclenched from the door handle.

“Your super Auror powers allowed you to figure it out for yourself?”

Potter made a whisper of sound that was almost a snort. “Hardly. I just… well, I know what I felt… what I still feel, and I know it is not spell-induced.”

Draco said nothing. His forehead dropped to the wood of the door and he listened intently, hating himself for the anxiety that gripped him at the very sound of Potter’s voice. Over the past few days he had convinced himself that he hated the man, especially during his nearly-psychotic rage and subsequent case of maudlin depression.

A touch on Draco’s shoulder made him stiffen. After a brief pause the fingers fell away.

“Draco, I’m sorry. Please come back.”

He drew a steadying breath and ignored the words. Potter was a fool and Draco was finished with make-believe. “You don’t own me any longer, Potter.”

“I never owned you to begin with. In the beginning I convinced myself that what I wanted was the same thing that everyone else wanted. The chance to touch you and hold you and… be with you.”

Draco swallowed heavily. Potter’s soft words conjured up too many memories. The touching and holding and being with had always been good. It had been amazing, but it was not enough. Strangely, it was not enough.

Potter kept talking. “I was fooling myself. I spent every waking moment trying to hold on to the idea that what I felt for you was nothing more than lust, trying desperately to believe that our relationship was simply that of rentboy and client.”

Draco’s brow wrinkled as he tried to make sense of Potter’s words. Despite the fact that his palms were sweating and his heart pounded foolishly, Draco just wanted out. A clean break was the best. Couldn’t Potter see that? The Saviour of the Wizarding World did not have affairs with former Death Eater prostitutes. Draco wanted to forget it had ever happened and if Potter would stop babbling and see reason, he would feel the same.

“Our relationship, as you so quaintly put it, was that of rentboy and client. Please do not try to tell me you think it was more than that.” Draco made his tone as scathing as possible. “Do you honestly expect me to return to your house and resume our fake life of domesticity so that you can play pretend? Go and find another whore, Potter. I am finished with you.”

He heard Potter draw a sharp breath and winced, knowing without looking that the salvo had struck. “It was more than that. I think you know it was more than that.” Potter sighed explosively and Draco envisioned a hand was pushing into the black hair, tugging the locks in frustration.

“Now you are presuming to think for me,” Draco said dryly.

“Don’t be an arse,” Potter snapped.

Draco spun around angrily, which was a grave mistake. Potter looked terrible. Dark circles ringed his eyes and he had apparently forgotten to shave. His hair was a fright and his shirt was buttoned incorrectly, sticking up next to his throat higher on one side than the other. Honestly, the idiot needed a keeper. Draco struggled to hold onto his rage. The very sight of the man did strange things to Draco’s rationality. It had all seemed so clear to him that very morning; he and Potter were better apart. And now this. One look into Potter’s soulful green eyes and Draco was ready to capitulate. Already he wanted to reach out and fix the askew collar and then fold the obviously exhausted Auror into a soothing embrace and kiss away the lines of worry on his forehead… Draco mentally shook himself and took refuge in sarcasm.

“I am an arse, Potter. You’ve proclaimed it yourself more than once. I am also a former Death Eater and unscrupulous caster of indiscriminate Memory Charms. In fact, you are not even here right now. You only think you are. Therefore, you should leave.”

Potter’s lips curled into a bitter-looking smile and Draco glared.

“Nice try, but I already told you I don’t believe you ever used a Memory Charm on me.”

“Because that’s what I want you to believe, Potter. My Memory Modification Charms are very good. Now go away.”

“I’m not finished yet,” he said petulantly.

Draco rolled his eyes and reminded himself that when Potter’s lower lip jutted in that particular fashion it was not sexy or adorable. Draco took a firm grip on himself and crushed the ridiculous urge to kiss the pout from Potter’s face. He resolutely skirted Potter and stalked back to his chair.

Draco sat down and picked up his teacup. “Well, I am finished. Leave or stay. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Draco took a drink of tea and then realized it had been a mistake. He paused with the teacup hovering over the saucer. Both of his hands were shaking—the cup would doubtlessly rattle if he tried to place it back atop the saucer. He leaned forward and placed both items carefully on the table next to one another. Let Potter make of it what he would.

Potter did not seem to notice the tea at all. He muttered a spell and sent the table skittering halfway across the room before he dropped to his knees at Draco’s feet.

“Then I’m staying,” Potter said. “And I’m going to keep talking until you listen to me.” He looked at Draco imploringly through his annoyingly green eyes and his stupid spectacles and Draco looked away in order to remind himself that he did not care about Harry Potter any more. He reminded himself several times.

Potter placed a tentative hand on his knee, disrupting Draco’s mental reminders. His mind instantly plunged back to the night Potter had requested six months of exclusivity. Draco’s lips twisted. He should have known they wouldn’t make it half that long. He had nearly forgotten how warm Potter was—his hand was like a Warming Charm.

“You can’t tell me you feel nothing for me,” Potter said imploringly.

“I feel nothing for you,” Draco snapped, keeping his eyes firmly on the window even though Matilda’s choice of curtains was even more heinous than her sofa selection.

Potter leaned forward until his thighs pressed against either side of Draco’s calves and his abdomen touched Draco’s knees. “All right, you stubborn Slytherin, I suppose you can tell me, but do you mean it? Can you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t care for me?”

Draco wished Potter’s nearness did not affect him, but heat was already curling through his legs and moving higher. He steeled himself and met Potter’s green eyes steadily. “I. Feel. Nothing. For. You,” he said.

The lie seemed to crumple the Auror.

“All right,” Potter said softly and slid away like a shadow, taking his heat with him. Draco felt suddenly cold. Potter got to his feet and pulled out his wand. “I’ve been a fool, it seems. I’ll leave you alone from now on.”

With that, Potter flicked his wand toward the door and it unlocked with an audible click. Before Draco could move, Potter Disapparated.

.

Chapter Thirteen