A Matter of Life or Death (part 1 of 2)
Title: A Matter of Life or Death (1 of 2)
Author: sesheta_66
Beta: gabe_speaks
Brit picker: accioscar [the one who came up with the title!]
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Hermione/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Summary: EWE. Auror partners Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are known for bending and breaking the rules with such frequency, it comes as a surprise to everyone when they actually do follow protocol. After Malfoy ends up in hospital, Harry wonders if their luck has finally run out.
Warnings (if any): Brief mention of mpreg.
Total word count: ~ 11,000
Original prompt request number: 183
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A Matter of Life or Death - Part 1
"Potter, I need to speak with you," Kingsley said. Harry cringed. "Now."
Harry got up from his chair and looked at Malfoy lying unconscious in the hospital bed, his mother by his side. A fresh wave of guilt washed over him. Guilt and ... something more, something he wasn't ready to acknowledge just yet-not even to himself.
"Go on, Mr Potter," Narcissa said, not unkindly. "Draco's not going anywhere."
Harry looked again at the bed. Malfoy hadn't regained consciousness since Harry had brought him to St. Mungo's the day before. And it was all Harry's fault.
"Potter!"
"Yes, sir."
* * * * *
Kingsley led the way to an empty waiting room and motioned to a seat as he locked the door. Another wave of his wand and they had privacy.
"What happened back there, Potter?" He didn't need to say where. Harry could picture the scene at the barn clearly.
"I fucked up, sir."
"So you said," Kingsley reminded him. "I let you stay here with Malfoy overnight, but I've yet to receive a full report from you. A verbal account will do for now, but I'll expect a full written report in a few days."
Harry nodded and thought back to the events of the past twenty-four hours.
"Malfoy had gone for take-away while I monitored the surveillance equipment we'd set up. The suspects received a Floo call tipping them off, and began clearing out in a hurry. I knew I had to act right away, so I left a note for Malfoy, grabbed my Invisibility Cloak and Apparated to the abandoned barn."
"Without your partner," Kingsley stated.
Harry nodded again. Yes, he knew it was against protocol. Yes, he knew he'd put himself in danger. And yes, he knew that he should have called for backup. "Like I said, I fucked up."
"This isn't the first time," Kingsley pointed out, quite unnecessarily. Harry and Malfoy were both known for bending and breaking the rules with such frequency, it was a surprise when they actually did follow protocol. But it was the first time Malfoy had been hurt as a result of Harry's actions.
"It won't happen again," Harry assured him.
"See that it doesn't. What happened next?"
"As soon as I arrived, I cast standard Anti-Apparition and Anti-Banishment spells on the barn and the surrounding land. Two suspects, once they realised they couldn't send anything away or Disapparate, made a break for it."
Harry recounted how he threw himself back just as the door flung open, only to connect loudly with the wall. He dove out of the way as the first man out of the building fired a curse at him. The second time, his curse connected with Harry just as he threw off the Invisibility Cloak. A surge of something odd pulsed through Harry briefly, tingled along his spine, then was gone. He didn't know what the curse was supposed to do, but it seemed to fall flat.
"Did you get yourself checked by a Healer?" Kingsley interrupted him. Harry's non-reply spoke for itself, and his boss added, "As soon as we're done here, Potter, I expect you to see a Healer."
Harry agreed before continuing. "The one who hexed me got away, but I detained the other before he could Disapparate. By the time I knew Malfoy was there, he was unconscious, and a third suspect was running away." Harry wrung his hands in his lap, guilt settling into his stomach.
"I knew I couldn't catch the third bloke, and Malfoy needed my help. After running some basic diagnostics, I'd determined that he'd been hit with a Stunner and some other spell I didn't know. Before I could bring him here, you and the rest of the team arrived."
"Malfoy sent word before going in."
Like I should have done, Harry thought. If only I had.
"Very well, Potter," Kingsley said as he got up. "Get yourself seen to, then get some sleep. You look like hell."
* * * * *
Harry spent the next three days by Malfoy's side, only leaving briefly when Narcissa insisted he go home to shower. Parkinson and Zabini dropped by as soon as they heard the news. They both glared at Harry as the staff ushered them out after half an hour, Narcissa promising to keep them apprised of Draco's condition should anything change.
The Healers had insisted Malfoy would be fine, but the treatment needed time to work through his system. As such, he was expected to sleep for several days.
Which gave Harry lots of time to think. He refused to leave Malfoy's side, even though he knew Malfoy was on the road to recovery. He and Narcissa spent most of their time in silence, she with her books, Harry with his thoughts. Harry's mind became focussed on his feelings for his partner, feelings that had surfaced a couple of years before and had grown since. Feelings that he had pushed aside and never shared with anyone, not even Malfoy. Especially not Malfoy.
They had moved past their childhood animosity long ago, and had become friends as well as Auror partners. They still sniped at each other, and Malfoy certainly kept Harry on his toes, but it was without the characteristic venom from their childhood. Malfoy was a strong, witty, charming man who anyone with eyes had to admit was absolutely gorgeous-and Harry had fallen hard. But he didn't want to risk their friendship, nor their partnership, so he'd said nothing.
Of course, Malfoy had never given any indication that he was interested in Harry. Perhaps, then, it had been for the best. But as Harry spent all day and all night in the room, watching Malfoy, he could no longer deny his feelings.
* * * * *
On the fourth day, Harry awoke with a splitting headache and a dodgy stomach. He barely made it to the toilet before he was sick. Remembering that he'd been hit by a curse himself, he wondered if that might have something to do with the way he felt now, despite the Healer giving him the all-clear.
A Healer entered the room to check on Malfoy. Her eyes locked on Harry. "Are you alright, dear?" she asked Harry. "You look rather pale."
"I have a headache, and I was just sick." He tried to stand up, but collapsed back onto the chair.
"Let me have a look at you." She waved her wand and cast some spells, none of which Harry recognised, then frowned at him. "There's an imbalance in your system, but it doesn't seem to be anything curse-related."
"Perhaps I'm just tired."
"Perhaps you should go home," Narcissa announced as she entered the room. The Healer nodded and gave Harry an I told you so look.
"Not until he wakes up," Harry said. The Healer rolled her eyes and cast an Anti-Nausea Charm on Harry before turning her attention to Malfoy.
Narcissa pursed her lips. "You know, Mr Potter-"
"Harry. Please, call me Harry."
"Very well, then... Harry. My son is out of danger. Your presence is not necessary twenty-four hours a day."
"I know that, but I feel responsible," Harry explained. "No, I am responsible. And I need to know that he's okay. Not just because they say he will be; I need to see for myself."
Narcissa sighed, but Harry saw her lip twitch and thought she might just be a little amused by him. "Very well, then. If you insist."
"He's coming round," the Healer announced. And sure enough, Malfoy began to stir and his eyes fluttered open. Narcissa hurried to his bedside. Harry stayed back, not wanting to intrude, but unwilling to leave the room.
"Draco, darling, I'm so glad you're finally back with us."
"Mother? Where…?" Malfoy's voice was raspy and he blinked as he took in his surroundings. Frowning, he asked, "Am I at St. Mungo's?"
"Yes, dear. You were hit with a curse, but you're on the mend. Another day or two and you should be able to come home,"-she looked up at the Healer-"isn't that right?"
"That's right, ma'am." She turned to Malfoy. "You gave some people quite a scare, young man. But it looks like you'll be on your feet in no time."
Narcissa glanced at Harry. "Your partner," she said, turning back to Draco, "has not left your side since he brought you in here four days ago." She motioned for Harry to come forward. "And now he's not well, so he's going home. But he did insist on staying until you woke up, so I'll give you two a few minutes to talk."
Harry watched the two women leave the room. He turned and smiled at his partner, wondering if he remembered the events that landed him in hospital. "Malfoy, I'm so sorry-" he began, seating himself next to Malfoy's bed.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" Malfoy said. Apparently, his memory was intact.
"I don't know."
"Of course you don't, Potter, because you never think, do you? Bloody Gryffindor. And now I'm stuck here in this bed, while you seem just fine. As usual. The boy who lived becomes the man who never gets hurt! You should have waited for me; instead you ran in without thinking, leaving me to run in blind and now look at me."
"It won't happen again," Harry said.
"You're bloody right it won't. Next time, I'll just call for back-up and leave you there."
"There won't be a next time," Harry assured him.
"See to it there isn't."
"Right. Well. I'll be on my way, then. Paperwork… you know."
"Fine."
Harry left with a heavy heart. Not that he hadn't been thinking all that himself, but it was more biting to hear it aloud. He Apparated home and promptly collapsed on his bed.
* * * * *
He awoke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, shivering uncontrollably and burning with fever. Once again, he barely made it to the toilet before he was sick. He spent the next two hours on the bathroom floor, unable to stand without another wave of nausea hitting him.
The pain in his head throbbed, every beat of his heart reverberating in his skull. Nothing in his cupboard helped ease the pain much, not even his strongest medicine. Finally, after his third Anti-Nausea potion, the fever faded, and he made his way to the living room where he sipped some chamomile tea. It helped him relax, but his headache prevented him from getting any sleep.
He tried to recall the spell that he'd been hit with back at the barn, but, with the pain, it was all he could do to sit upright, let alone think-let alone remember. When he'd all but given up, he realised what he needed to do. He summoned his Pensieve, placed it on the table, and placed his memory inside.
Watching the memory over and over again, Harry was able to discern the spell: a time-released variant he'd heard used before. But the curse itself was harder to figure out. The memory, after all, was Harry's own, and it preserved the events of that night perfectly, down to all the background noise that had been present. Finally, he was able to make out the word fatum.
He would have called Hermione at this point; she was the research expert, after all. But Harry didn't fancy enduring the wrath of Ron for interrupting their honeymoon. Besides, Harry was a grown man, perfectly capable of looking up a curse on his own.
Harry summoned the medical reference book he'd bought for Auror training classes and began his search, his fingers sliding across every sentence, page after page.
Those same fingers stopped; he found the relevant article, and the book dropped with a thud. After all this time, after all the ridiculous stunts he'd pulled over the years, this… this petty criminal was going to be the end of him?
Who kills an Auror over some ridiculous case of smuggling stolen goods? Never mind that. Who kills Harry Potter over something so... so… meaningless? It was all just too much. Harry's head pounded, his world swirled, until he finally blacked out on the sofa.
* * * * *
When Harry awoke the next morning, his headache was gone, as was the nausea. Of course. After all, that's exactly what the book said would happen. He would be fine now. What a joke! He'd never be fine again.
He went over the details in his mind again. An old killing curse with only a handful of known cases over the past five centuries. It lies dormant for a year, then once active.... No cure. No known survivors. No hope.
He eyed the book, but didn't pick it up. He had almost a year before he needed to start worrying about the gruesome details.
He spent the rest of the day in a fog, not knowing what to do. It wasn't fair. What had he done to deserve this? Well... life wasn't fair, was it? He'd learned that early enough on.
He made his decision late that night. The next morning, he Apparated to the Ministry and turned in his Auror's robes. Then he caught the first international Portkey out of the country.
* * * * *
Draco returned to work several days after being released from St. Mungo's. Truth be told, his mother was driving him round the bend. He appreciated her doting-or supervising the house-elves' doting, like only a true Malfoy could-but honestly, she was smothering him. He couldn't wait to get back to work, back to his routine, back to normal.
Only that wasn't meant to be. He arrived at work and found a note on his desk asking him to see Kingsley. He went to Potter's desk to ask what it was about; Potter wasn't there. His desk was clear, save for the model Snitch, whose twin sat on Draco's desk. Draco couldn't recall Potter's desk ever being neat before, never mind clear.
Soon enough, he found out why. Potter had quit and Draco had a new partner. Some wizard fresh out of the Academy. Lovely. Just fucking lovely. Potter would hear about this. Draco would go over to his flat after work, drag his sorry arse out for a pint, and insist that he return with him the next day to the Ministry. That was all there was to it. Imagine. Harry Potter not fighting against the evil in the world. Preposterous!
But Potter wasn't at his flat. According to his landlady, he left the country. He'd left no word of where he'd gone or when he'd be back. Impulsive bloody Gryffindor.
Not satisfied to leave things alone, Draco tracked Granger down in her office once she had returned from holiday.
"Where has Potter gone?" he asked without preamble.
"What are you talking about?"
"Potter. You know, the speccy git with the atrocious hair. Really, Granger, you've only just got married. Don't tell me the weasel destroyed all your brain cells in the course of one trip."
Granger glared at him. "Very funny. What do you mean, 'where is Harry?'"
"I mean, why did he leave his job, and where has he gone?"
"What?" she screeched and jumped up from her chair. Really, the woman had no sense of decorum whatsoever. "Left his job?"
"Keep up, Granger. Yes, that's what I said. And when I went to his flat to shake some sense back into him, his landlady said he left the country. So where is he?"
Granger flopped back down in her chair and stared blankly at her desk. "Left his job," she muttered. "Left the country. What's wrong with him?"
"I believe that's what I was asking you."
Her head shot up as though just remembering Draco was there, and she glared at him. "What happened while we were away?" She pointed her finger at his face accusingly. "Obviously something happened on the job. What was it? What did you do?"
"Me?" he asked indignantly. "What makes you think I had anything to do with this?"
"Because it's always you, isn't it?"
"Excuse me?"
"You're always the one to get under his skin, make him act without thinking."
Draco snorted. "He does a fine job of that without any help from me."
"What happened?"
Draco explained what had happened, subsequently enduring nearly an hour of Granger's frantic inquisition. He left Granger's office and went home, convinced he was the cause of it all.
When he had returned that night from getting take-away, found Potter's note, and heard the fighting over the surveillance equipment, his heart stopped. He sent a Patronus to Kingsley, then Apparated to the scene. There was no way Potter would get hurt on Draco's watch.
But he'd gone in blind, too worried about Potter to pay proper attention to operating procedure, and he'd been hit almost immediately-taken down by a second-rate criminal.
He recalled dreams that he'd had while unconscious in the hospital. Dreams of Potter dying, Potter tortured, Potter bleeding. Draco was never able to reach him in time.
Then when he woke up to see Potter there, alive and well, he did what he always did. He lashed out. How dare Potter make him worry so much? How dare he leave Draco feeling helpless? How dare he save Draco… again?
And now… now… how dare he leave? How could he do this-just disappear without a word? If anyone knew Draco, it was Potter, so why would he take his comments so seriously all of a sudden? Draco was just being his usual self. It's not as though Draco actually meant what he said. Potter had to know that.
* * * * *
Draco returned to work, dreading his job more as the days passed. He couldn't stop thinking about Potter. It didn't help that he had to pass Potter's desk each day. Kingsley had left the desk free and hadn't allowed anyone else to take it.
The Snitch taunted Draco. He smiled despite himself as he recalled when they'd first bought them, a sign that they'd buried the past and had moved on. Now Potter had moved on without him.
"Was the report okay?" Williams, the newbie, interrupted Draco's thoughts, bouncing with exuberance. Draco wanted to hex him. Repeatedly.
"It was fine."
"Oh, good. I can get to work on the filing," he said. "There's a lot-"
Draco dismissed him with a wave. "Yes. Good. Whatever."
Where was Potter? he thought for the hundredth time. Two weeks and no word. Not that Draco missed him, of course. But working with someone who needed reassurance and encouragement when performing the simplest of tasks was driving him round the bend. Probably a good thing Potter was away. Otherwise, Draco might have had to kill him.
"Stupid Potter," he grumbled.
"Well," the weasel said as he entered Draco's office unannounced, "I won't bother you with this then."
"What do you want, Weasel?" Must he be surrounded by imbeciles?
"Just passing on a message."
"Yes, well, do get on with it, will you? Some of us actually have a job to do."
The git had the nerve to smirk-smirk!-at Draco. The weasel motioned his head towards the newbie and chuckled. "Ah, yes, babysitting is quite taxing, I hear."
"Piss off."
"Be glad to. Just be sure to tell 'Mione that I was here."
Did that mean-? "Did you hear something about Potter?"
"My, my, you seem almost... concerned." There was that smirk again. Bastard! "As I recall, when I came in here, you were calling him stupid Potter."
"Shut up, Weasel, and tell me what you've heard." Draco cringed at how desperate he sounded. When had he started caring so much?
Weasley raised his eyebrows questioningly. "He's fine."
"And?"
"And that's it." Weasley glanced down at a piece of parchment Draco hadn't noticed. "He's fine. We're not to worry. That's all. Message delivered."
Draco got up from his desk, snatching the piece of parchment out of the weasel's hand.
Dear Ron and Hermione,
Sorry I didn't leave word that I was leaving. I just needed to get away. Don't worry about me. If anyone asks, tell them I'm fine.
Harry.
He turned the parchment over in his hand and waved his wand to see if there was more to the note. "Surely this wasn't all?" he asked incredulously.
Weasley shrugged. "Yup. That was it."
"And you're not worried?" Draco couldn't believe this git was supposed to be Potter's best friend. Potter hadn't given a single hint regarding where he was or what he was doing. He also hadn't said anything about coming home. Surely Granger was not this calm.
The weasel gave Draco a curious look. "Why should I be? Harry's a grown man, and an Auror besides. He can take care of himself."
"Don't you-" Draco didn't bother continuing. What was the point? "Never mind."
Weasley shrugged again and left.
Draco went for a walk to clear his head, most definitely not hurt that Potter hadn't sent him an owl. Not hurt at all.
* * * * *
The next day, Draco visited Granger.
"Did you trace the letter?"
"Why?" she asked.
"To find out where Potter is, perhaps?"
"I would imagine that Harry would have told us where he was if he wanted us to know."
"And you just accepted that?" Honestly, were they both this uncaring? Draco refused to consider just why he cared so much.
"Well..."
"Aha!"
"It was from an indistinct brown owl that left as soon as I removed the note, and there were Anti-Tracking Charms placed on the parchment," she explained.
"May I run some tests of my own?"
Granger gave him a strange look.
"What?" Draco asked.
"Why are you so concerned?" she asked. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
Why indeed, Draco wondered. Weasley was right. Potter was a grown man, and could certainly take care of himself. He'd only been gone two weeks, and he had sent word that he was okay.
"It's my job." It sounded ridiculous even to Draco, but he had to say something. "He's my partner"-Draco refused to accept that Potter wasn't returning to his job-"and it's my job to make sure he's not in any danger." There. That sounded better.
She looked sceptical, but handed the parchment over anyway.
"I'll bring it back in a few days."
Three days later, when he returned the letter to Granger, Draco knew no more than he did the day he'd returned to find Potter gone. He had tried tracing the letter, but it had no traceable anything on it. Of course, Potter wasn't the top Auror for nothing. If he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. That thought, which normally would make Draco jealous, made him feel ill.
Draco, after weeks of thinking about little besides Potter, after seeing Potter in every corner of the office, after Potter began infiltrating his dreams, finally admitted his feelings to himself. He had it bad. And now he might never see Potter again. And he'd never told him....
* * * * *
After leaving the Ministry, Harry had taken a Portkey to America. He figured his face might not be recognisable, so he had plenty of places to just disappear for a few weeks. And it was a place where they spoke English.
He settled just south of Seattle and found the ocean soothing-the smells, the sounds, the warmth. He rented a cottage by the sea and spent the next three weeks soul searching. He knew he couldn't hide forever, but he needed this escape, if only for a short time.
He slowly began to accept the inevitable and decided to make a list of what he wanted to do with what little time he had remaining. He bought a diary and left the first few pages for a list of what to do when he returned to England. He would get in touch with people he'd lost touch with since leaving Hogwarts. He would make amends with Ginny, since they hadn't parted on good terms. He would do a will, something he'd never given any thought to before. Something he thought he'd always have time for in the future.
Time. He had a year, maybe more. Suddenly a year didn't seem like much time at all. Only a year to put his life in order and do everything he ever wanted to do. It was impossible, but he'd give it his best.
After a few weeks at the beach, he filled about twenty pages of his new diary with some key events he wanted recorded, things he didn't want to forget. He owled Headmistress McGonagall and hoped that her standing offer to teach Defence was still good. He was surprised to find that going home to Hogwarts was exactly what he wanted.
* * * * *
Draco knew from Granger that Potter had taken a job at Hogwarts. Term had started two weeks ago, and Draco was tired of waiting. He made his way up to the castle one Friday after work.
He worked himself up into a state on his way over. After all, it had been two months since he'd seen Potter, and he'd not heard one word from the man who had come to mean so much to him. A man who had spent four days in the hospital to make sure Draco was okay, only to leave and never speak to him again. Draco was angry. No… he was hurt. But he'd be damned if he told Potter that. But he would tell Potter a thing or two. Oh, yes, Draco was going to give him a piece of his mind.
* * * * *
Harry sat in his private quarters at Hogwarts, marking assignments. He set the papers aside and stretched, taking in his surroundings. He had finally got the room to his liking. The colours mimicked the Gryffindor common room, with the furnishings and draperies mainly in scarlet with accents of gold; the smaller fireplace here had a mahogany mantle and a roaring fire, perfect for cool nights in the castle. Unlike the Gryffindor common room, however, Harry's quarters were less busy, less overpowering; they felt more roomy, more cosy.
Harry pushed himself away from his desk and stood. After a quick stretch, he walked to the towering bookshelf next to the entrance and searched the many rows for a familiar tome. He pulled the book he needed from one of the higher shelves and opened it, picking up a student's essay as he walked to the sofa, across from the fireplace.
Harry continued to mark the student's essay, only to be interrupted by an insistent rapping at his door. "It's open!" he called.
The door swung open and Harry's heart leapt in his chest, his stomach felt a bit queasy, and his hands were clammy. It was Malfoy, the last person he expected to see. He couldn't help the nervous smile that crept onto his face.
"Malfoy, it's great to see you!" Harry said and rushed over towards him. In his excitement, Harry nearly tripped over the overstuffed armchair, the only thing that stood between them.
Malfoy pushed his way inside, slammed the door shut, cast what Harry suspected were Locking and Silencing Spells, and turned to face him. Without a word, Malfoy walked to the window overlooking the Quidditch pitch and drew the curtains together. The reddish hue that filtered through the hangings looked like flames dancing around the room. When Malfoy turned back around, Harry couldn't tell if he was red from the light through the draperies or from anger.
Still, Malfoy's glare made Harry take a small step back. Harry gulped audibly. "You look good."
"Oh, I look good, do I? It's great to see me, is it? Were that true, I would have thought that you might have-oh, I don't know-tried to get in touch with me! But noooo. For the better part of two months, I've been wondering what the hell happened to you. Not one word. Not one owl. Nothing. At least you had the decency to owl Granger and the weasel and let them know you weren't dead! Did you stop to think that maybe some other people-take me, for instance-might appreciate hearing from you too? I was your bloody partner, and you just dropped out of existence. What the fuck were you playing at, Potter?"
Harry took quick advantage of Malfoy's need for a breath (he knew Malfoy was far from finished). "I didn't think you'd want to hear from me."
"Wh-what? What would give you that idea?"
"Well, our last conversation didn't go so well."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Potter. You should know I didn't mean any of that."
"But it was all true. It was entirely my fault."
"And in the same situation, I'd have done the same thing."
"I don't think so," Harry said, smiling. "But thanks for saying it, just the same."
"Oh, no," Malfoy warned, his eyes regaining the flare of anger that had momentarily abated. "You don't get off the hook that easily. What happened to you? Why did you quit, and why are you working here of all places?" He waved his arm to indicate the room, nearly knocking a chair over in the process. "You need to be out fighting the bad guys. It's what Harry Potter does. How will the world survive?"
Harry chuckled at the familiar sarcasm. "I'd rather not get into my reasons right now. Let's just say it was time. Besides, you're probably better off..."
Harry had tried to make the comment light, but the rage in Malfoy's eyes told him he'd failed miserably. Malfoy rounded on him, grabbing his shirt front, and slamming him up against the wall. "You were the best Auror on the force, and now I'm stuck with some newbie. Do not. Tell me. I'm better off. Without you."
Harry lifted his hands in surrender. "I only meant that you wouldn't have a loose cannon for a partner any more."
"I'm a loose cannon, in case you'd forgotten!" Malfoy said, his eyes wild. "I liked having you for a partner. I deserve the best, and you're it. And now you've left."
Harry wasn't sure how to respond. "You deserve better than me," he offered.
"But I want you," Malfoy growled, before lunging forward and slamming his mouth against Harry's.
Harry was still, too stunned to move, but just as Malfoy began to pull back, he grabbed the back of Malfoy's head, pulled him forward, and plunged his tongue into his mouth. Fuck, he'd wanted to do this for so long. Why hadn't they done this before? They were all tongue and teeth, and it was messy and angry and… fucking amazing.
Malfoy's body was pressed against his, one hand firmly grasping Harry's hip, the other clenching Harry's hair. Harry's hands worked their way down Malfoy's back, pulled his shirt out and reached underneath the fabric. Malfoy's body was slender, but as Harry's hands mapped their way over well-toned muscles, he became aware of just how nicely Malfoy had filled out since school. His skin was soft and warm, making Harry long to touch every square inch and wonder again why it was they hadn't done this sooner. Harry pulled him even closer, until he could feel Malfoy's heartbeat racing against his own and the heat of their bodies burning through the fabric.
Harry slid his hands underneath the waistband of Malfoy's trousers, grabbed his arse, and pulled him closer, pressing their erections together. All rational thought left Harry at that moment; his concentration narrowed to his groin and the delicious sensations coursing through his aching cock.
Harry thrust forward again and immediately felt more than heard Malfoy's response-a deep, guttural, feral growl. One hand tightened its grip in Harry's hair; the other hand pressed Harry harder against the wall. Merlin, it felt amazing, but Harry quickly became annoyed by the thin barrier of their clothes.
As Harry broke their kiss, Malfoy groaned his displeasure. Harry chuckled as he pulled off his own top, then reached for Malfoy's. It wasn't long before the rest of their clothes were shed, and they were naked and frotting against each other, Harry once again pressed up against the wall. Malfoy drove Harry mad as he moved his body over Harry's, then nipped and licked his way along Harry's jaw, to his ear, and finally down to swirl his tongue around one sensitive nipple, then the other. Senses on overload, Harry was convinced he would come from this alone.
When Malfoy's hand reached between them, grabbing onto both their cocks and squeezing, stroking them together, Harry gasped then wrapped his hand around Malfoy's and joined him. Before long, Harry felt the familiar surge burst forth, and he watched as his come spread over both their hands and torsos. Malfoy came soon after that, and Harry thought he'd never seen anything so hot in his life.
They both staggered further into the room and collapsed, breathing heavily and sweating, onto the sofa. Harry picked up his wand and cast a quick Cleaning Charm over them before summoning a quilt and covering them.
"You're still not off the hook, Potter."
Harry suppressed a grin. "Of course not."
* * * * *
They spent the weekend together, barely getting out of bed the entire time. Harry dodged Mal-Draco's questions effectively, but knew the man wouldn't give up. Only after he left on Sunday did Harry stop to think about what he was doing. And suddenly he felt ill.
He knew they weren't just having sex. He knew the feelings ran deeper for both of them, even if the words hadn't been said. How unfair was he being to Draco, stringing him along, even as Harry knew that by this time next year he would be dead or dying? Shit, he already was dying. Harry had to end this. Now.
* * * * *
Draco went to work on Monday feeling lighter than he had since Harry had left. Maybe he was no longer Draco's partner, but he was back in his life. Draco didn't know exactly what they were, but after this weekend, he was hopeful about their future. The man still frustrated him like no one else, but... well.
The owl arrived just as Draco was leaving the office that morning. It was an invitation to dinner from Harry. At one of Draco's favourite restaurants.
As soon as Draco entered the restaurant and saw Harry's face, he knew something was wrong. Throughout their meal, Harry fidgeted and fussed about with his serviette and squirmed awkwardly in his chair, looking around Draco-over his shoulder or just above his head-but never directly at him. It was as though being there, just opposite Draco, made Harry uncomfortable. Finally, Draco had enough. Once dessert was ordered, he finally broke down. "Out with it, Harry. What's wrong?"
Harry fidgeted and avoided eye contact.
"Obviously there's something bothering you. Spit it out."
"It's just, well... I never meant… I didn't think we'd-oh, hell, Draco."
The hair on the back of Draco's neck stood on end and every sense was on full alert. He straightened his back, cast a Privacy Spell over their booth, and glared at Harry. "What didn't you think about this time, Potter?"
The use of his last name caused Harry to react, just as Draco knew it would. For the first time since Draco had walked into the restaurant, Harry looked him in the eye. What Draco saw there made him sick. It was pity. "I'm so sorry, Draco."
Draco wasn't going to make this easy, so he stared and said nothing in response. "I didn't mean for it to go this far, but…"
"But what?" Draco said, knowing what was coming, but unable to stop the train wreck from happening.
Harry was suddenly very interested in the serviette in his hands. "But then you kissed me, and I was lost. I should have stopped it before things went too far, but I've wanted you for so long and it felt so right that… well… that my mind shut off."
"I see," Draco said calmly, trying not to show how he really felt. "So what you're saying is that you don't want a relationship with me?" He let out a cold laugh. "Is that all?" He laughed a little more, but stopped before he started to sound crazy. "Oh, please, Potter. I'm not a girl for Merlin's sake. What made you think...? It was a great weekend, but really, we just fucked." He spat the word out, and he sounded almost like he meant it. "It was nothing more than that."
The look on Harry's face was… well, if Draco hadn't known better, he'd say the other man was hurt. But obviously he couldn't be, not if he suddenly thought it was all a mistake. Right. It was just his ego that was bruised.
"Surely you didn't think that I-" He began to laugh again. "You didn't think that I wanted more, did you? Oh, that's just priceless."
He saw the waitress coming with their desserts and waved his wand to drop the wards. It was all he could do not to choke on the Kirsch Buchette he had ordered, but he was determined to get through the meal without letting on how crushed he really felt. After all, he was a Malfoy. That just wouldn't do. With all the energy he could muster, he bid goodbye to Harry, quite proud of himself that his voice didn't waver once.
"Thanks for dinner, Potter. See you around."
* * * * *
Draco didn't fool Harry. Anyone else might have bought that nonsense about it being nothing more than fucking, but Harry knew better; Harry knew Draco. He saw the hurt behind the eyes, even while Draco was laughing. Oh, God, he'd never wanted to hurt Draco, of all people. Why hadn't he stopped things?
Oh, who was he kidding? He hadn't wanted to stop anything. In fact, if he were honest with himself, he wanted to see Draco again. And not just see him. Harry wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. That made Harry laugh out loud. Some life! He'd spend a year, probably less, growing even closer to Draco, knowing that every moment together would be a lie. He would allow Draco to become close to him, maybe even fall in love with him, before Harry crushed him completely.
Of course, he could tell Draco he was dying, but Harry had decided not to tell anyone. He didn't want anyone to watch his decline, and he certainly didn’t want anyone else to feel compelled to care for him. Eventually he'd have to tell everyone, but not yet. He couldn't take it if everyone looked at him with pity.
* * * * *
Harry spent his time immersed in his work. He had established the Defence Association, or DA, as an extra-curricular advanced Defence club, similar to the DA from his school years. Surprisingly, there was a lot of interest in it, and Harry made a point of setting aside funding to ensure it continued long after he was gone.
He also made other contributions, most notably to various children's charities, focussing on those that aided orphans or encouraged equal treatment for Muggle-borns and half-bloods. He was determined to leave his mark in as opposite a way from Tom Riddle as he could.
His finances were in order. He had set up a trust fund for Teddy and had bequeathed a sizable amount of money to each of the Weasleys. The rest he'd leave to Draco. After all, who better to inherit the Black family home than Draco-the last of the Blacks? Not that Draco needed the money or the property, but Harry knew he would understand what the gesture meant. At least Harry hoped he would. After all, he hadn't heard from him for months. Maybe Draco meant what he'd said before. Maybe Harry had been little more than a fuck-buddy.
Part 2
Author: sesheta_66
Beta: gabe_speaks
Brit picker: accioscar [the one who came up with the title!]
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Hermione/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Summary: EWE. Auror partners Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are known for bending and breaking the rules with such frequency, it comes as a surprise to everyone when they actually do follow protocol. After Malfoy ends up in hospital, Harry wonders if their luck has finally run out.
Warnings (if any): Brief mention of mpreg.
Total word count: ~ 11,000
Original prompt request number: 183
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A Matter of Life or Death - Part 1
"Potter, I need to speak with you," Kingsley said. Harry cringed. "Now."
Harry got up from his chair and looked at Malfoy lying unconscious in the hospital bed, his mother by his side. A fresh wave of guilt washed over him. Guilt and ... something more, something he wasn't ready to acknowledge just yet-not even to himself.
"Go on, Mr Potter," Narcissa said, not unkindly. "Draco's not going anywhere."
Harry looked again at the bed. Malfoy hadn't regained consciousness since Harry had brought him to St. Mungo's the day before. And it was all Harry's fault.
"Potter!"
"Yes, sir."
* * * * *
Kingsley led the way to an empty waiting room and motioned to a seat as he locked the door. Another wave of his wand and they had privacy.
"What happened back there, Potter?" He didn't need to say where. Harry could picture the scene at the barn clearly.
"I fucked up, sir."
"So you said," Kingsley reminded him. "I let you stay here with Malfoy overnight, but I've yet to receive a full report from you. A verbal account will do for now, but I'll expect a full written report in a few days."
Harry nodded and thought back to the events of the past twenty-four hours.
"Malfoy had gone for take-away while I monitored the surveillance equipment we'd set up. The suspects received a Floo call tipping them off, and began clearing out in a hurry. I knew I had to act right away, so I left a note for Malfoy, grabbed my Invisibility Cloak and Apparated to the abandoned barn."
"Without your partner," Kingsley stated.
Harry nodded again. Yes, he knew it was against protocol. Yes, he knew he'd put himself in danger. And yes, he knew that he should have called for backup. "Like I said, I fucked up."
"This isn't the first time," Kingsley pointed out, quite unnecessarily. Harry and Malfoy were both known for bending and breaking the rules with such frequency, it was a surprise when they actually did follow protocol. But it was the first time Malfoy had been hurt as a result of Harry's actions.
"It won't happen again," Harry assured him.
"See that it doesn't. What happened next?"
"As soon as I arrived, I cast standard Anti-Apparition and Anti-Banishment spells on the barn and the surrounding land. Two suspects, once they realised they couldn't send anything away or Disapparate, made a break for it."
Harry recounted how he threw himself back just as the door flung open, only to connect loudly with the wall. He dove out of the way as the first man out of the building fired a curse at him. The second time, his curse connected with Harry just as he threw off the Invisibility Cloak. A surge of something odd pulsed through Harry briefly, tingled along his spine, then was gone. He didn't know what the curse was supposed to do, but it seemed to fall flat.
"Did you get yourself checked by a Healer?" Kingsley interrupted him. Harry's non-reply spoke for itself, and his boss added, "As soon as we're done here, Potter, I expect you to see a Healer."
Harry agreed before continuing. "The one who hexed me got away, but I detained the other before he could Disapparate. By the time I knew Malfoy was there, he was unconscious, and a third suspect was running away." Harry wrung his hands in his lap, guilt settling into his stomach.
"I knew I couldn't catch the third bloke, and Malfoy needed my help. After running some basic diagnostics, I'd determined that he'd been hit with a Stunner and some other spell I didn't know. Before I could bring him here, you and the rest of the team arrived."
"Malfoy sent word before going in."
Like I should have done, Harry thought. If only I had.
"Very well, Potter," Kingsley said as he got up. "Get yourself seen to, then get some sleep. You look like hell."
* * * * *
Harry spent the next three days by Malfoy's side, only leaving briefly when Narcissa insisted he go home to shower. Parkinson and Zabini dropped by as soon as they heard the news. They both glared at Harry as the staff ushered them out after half an hour, Narcissa promising to keep them apprised of Draco's condition should anything change.
The Healers had insisted Malfoy would be fine, but the treatment needed time to work through his system. As such, he was expected to sleep for several days.
Which gave Harry lots of time to think. He refused to leave Malfoy's side, even though he knew Malfoy was on the road to recovery. He and Narcissa spent most of their time in silence, she with her books, Harry with his thoughts. Harry's mind became focussed on his feelings for his partner, feelings that had surfaced a couple of years before and had grown since. Feelings that he had pushed aside and never shared with anyone, not even Malfoy. Especially not Malfoy.
They had moved past their childhood animosity long ago, and had become friends as well as Auror partners. They still sniped at each other, and Malfoy certainly kept Harry on his toes, but it was without the characteristic venom from their childhood. Malfoy was a strong, witty, charming man who anyone with eyes had to admit was absolutely gorgeous-and Harry had fallen hard. But he didn't want to risk their friendship, nor their partnership, so he'd said nothing.
Of course, Malfoy had never given any indication that he was interested in Harry. Perhaps, then, it had been for the best. But as Harry spent all day and all night in the room, watching Malfoy, he could no longer deny his feelings.
* * * * *
On the fourth day, Harry awoke with a splitting headache and a dodgy stomach. He barely made it to the toilet before he was sick. Remembering that he'd been hit by a curse himself, he wondered if that might have something to do with the way he felt now, despite the Healer giving him the all-clear.
A Healer entered the room to check on Malfoy. Her eyes locked on Harry. "Are you alright, dear?" she asked Harry. "You look rather pale."
"I have a headache, and I was just sick." He tried to stand up, but collapsed back onto the chair.
"Let me have a look at you." She waved her wand and cast some spells, none of which Harry recognised, then frowned at him. "There's an imbalance in your system, but it doesn't seem to be anything curse-related."
"Perhaps I'm just tired."
"Perhaps you should go home," Narcissa announced as she entered the room. The Healer nodded and gave Harry an I told you so look.
"Not until he wakes up," Harry said. The Healer rolled her eyes and cast an Anti-Nausea Charm on Harry before turning her attention to Malfoy.
Narcissa pursed her lips. "You know, Mr Potter-"
"Harry. Please, call me Harry."
"Very well, then... Harry. My son is out of danger. Your presence is not necessary twenty-four hours a day."
"I know that, but I feel responsible," Harry explained. "No, I am responsible. And I need to know that he's okay. Not just because they say he will be; I need to see for myself."
Narcissa sighed, but Harry saw her lip twitch and thought she might just be a little amused by him. "Very well, then. If you insist."
"He's coming round," the Healer announced. And sure enough, Malfoy began to stir and his eyes fluttered open. Narcissa hurried to his bedside. Harry stayed back, not wanting to intrude, but unwilling to leave the room.
"Draco, darling, I'm so glad you're finally back with us."
"Mother? Where…?" Malfoy's voice was raspy and he blinked as he took in his surroundings. Frowning, he asked, "Am I at St. Mungo's?"
"Yes, dear. You were hit with a curse, but you're on the mend. Another day or two and you should be able to come home,"-she looked up at the Healer-"isn't that right?"
"That's right, ma'am." She turned to Malfoy. "You gave some people quite a scare, young man. But it looks like you'll be on your feet in no time."
Narcissa glanced at Harry. "Your partner," she said, turning back to Draco, "has not left your side since he brought you in here four days ago." She motioned for Harry to come forward. "And now he's not well, so he's going home. But he did insist on staying until you woke up, so I'll give you two a few minutes to talk."
Harry watched the two women leave the room. He turned and smiled at his partner, wondering if he remembered the events that landed him in hospital. "Malfoy, I'm so sorry-" he began, seating himself next to Malfoy's bed.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" Malfoy said. Apparently, his memory was intact.
"I don't know."
"Of course you don't, Potter, because you never think, do you? Bloody Gryffindor. And now I'm stuck here in this bed, while you seem just fine. As usual. The boy who lived becomes the man who never gets hurt! You should have waited for me; instead you ran in without thinking, leaving me to run in blind and now look at me."
"It won't happen again," Harry said.
"You're bloody right it won't. Next time, I'll just call for back-up and leave you there."
"There won't be a next time," Harry assured him.
"See to it there isn't."
"Right. Well. I'll be on my way, then. Paperwork… you know."
"Fine."
Harry left with a heavy heart. Not that he hadn't been thinking all that himself, but it was more biting to hear it aloud. He Apparated home and promptly collapsed on his bed.
* * * * *
He awoke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, shivering uncontrollably and burning with fever. Once again, he barely made it to the toilet before he was sick. He spent the next two hours on the bathroom floor, unable to stand without another wave of nausea hitting him.
The pain in his head throbbed, every beat of his heart reverberating in his skull. Nothing in his cupboard helped ease the pain much, not even his strongest medicine. Finally, after his third Anti-Nausea potion, the fever faded, and he made his way to the living room where he sipped some chamomile tea. It helped him relax, but his headache prevented him from getting any sleep.
He tried to recall the spell that he'd been hit with back at the barn, but, with the pain, it was all he could do to sit upright, let alone think-let alone remember. When he'd all but given up, he realised what he needed to do. He summoned his Pensieve, placed it on the table, and placed his memory inside.
Watching the memory over and over again, Harry was able to discern the spell: a time-released variant he'd heard used before. But the curse itself was harder to figure out. The memory, after all, was Harry's own, and it preserved the events of that night perfectly, down to all the background noise that had been present. Finally, he was able to make out the word fatum.
He would have called Hermione at this point; she was the research expert, after all. But Harry didn't fancy enduring the wrath of Ron for interrupting their honeymoon. Besides, Harry was a grown man, perfectly capable of looking up a curse on his own.
Harry summoned the medical reference book he'd bought for Auror training classes and began his search, his fingers sliding across every sentence, page after page.
Those same fingers stopped; he found the relevant article, and the book dropped with a thud. After all this time, after all the ridiculous stunts he'd pulled over the years, this… this petty criminal was going to be the end of him?
Who kills an Auror over some ridiculous case of smuggling stolen goods? Never mind that. Who kills Harry Potter over something so... so… meaningless? It was all just too much. Harry's head pounded, his world swirled, until he finally blacked out on the sofa.
* * * * *
When Harry awoke the next morning, his headache was gone, as was the nausea. Of course. After all, that's exactly what the book said would happen. He would be fine now. What a joke! He'd never be fine again.
He went over the details in his mind again. An old killing curse with only a handful of known cases over the past five centuries. It lies dormant for a year, then once active.... No cure. No known survivors. No hope.
He eyed the book, but didn't pick it up. He had almost a year before he needed to start worrying about the gruesome details.
He spent the rest of the day in a fog, not knowing what to do. It wasn't fair. What had he done to deserve this? Well... life wasn't fair, was it? He'd learned that early enough on.
He made his decision late that night. The next morning, he Apparated to the Ministry and turned in his Auror's robes. Then he caught the first international Portkey out of the country.
* * * * *
Draco returned to work several days after being released from St. Mungo's. Truth be told, his mother was driving him round the bend. He appreciated her doting-or supervising the house-elves' doting, like only a true Malfoy could-but honestly, she was smothering him. He couldn't wait to get back to work, back to his routine, back to normal.
Only that wasn't meant to be. He arrived at work and found a note on his desk asking him to see Kingsley. He went to Potter's desk to ask what it was about; Potter wasn't there. His desk was clear, save for the model Snitch, whose twin sat on Draco's desk. Draco couldn't recall Potter's desk ever being neat before, never mind clear.
Soon enough, he found out why. Potter had quit and Draco had a new partner. Some wizard fresh out of the Academy. Lovely. Just fucking lovely. Potter would hear about this. Draco would go over to his flat after work, drag his sorry arse out for a pint, and insist that he return with him the next day to the Ministry. That was all there was to it. Imagine. Harry Potter not fighting against the evil in the world. Preposterous!
But Potter wasn't at his flat. According to his landlady, he left the country. He'd left no word of where he'd gone or when he'd be back. Impulsive bloody Gryffindor.
Not satisfied to leave things alone, Draco tracked Granger down in her office once she had returned from holiday.
"Where has Potter gone?" he asked without preamble.
"What are you talking about?"
"Potter. You know, the speccy git with the atrocious hair. Really, Granger, you've only just got married. Don't tell me the weasel destroyed all your brain cells in the course of one trip."
Granger glared at him. "Very funny. What do you mean, 'where is Harry?'"
"I mean, why did he leave his job, and where has he gone?"
"What?" she screeched and jumped up from her chair. Really, the woman had no sense of decorum whatsoever. "Left his job?"
"Keep up, Granger. Yes, that's what I said. And when I went to his flat to shake some sense back into him, his landlady said he left the country. So where is he?"
Granger flopped back down in her chair and stared blankly at her desk. "Left his job," she muttered. "Left the country. What's wrong with him?"
"I believe that's what I was asking you."
Her head shot up as though just remembering Draco was there, and she glared at him. "What happened while we were away?" She pointed her finger at his face accusingly. "Obviously something happened on the job. What was it? What did you do?"
"Me?" he asked indignantly. "What makes you think I had anything to do with this?"
"Because it's always you, isn't it?"
"Excuse me?"
"You're always the one to get under his skin, make him act without thinking."
Draco snorted. "He does a fine job of that without any help from me."
"What happened?"
Draco explained what had happened, subsequently enduring nearly an hour of Granger's frantic inquisition. He left Granger's office and went home, convinced he was the cause of it all.
When he had returned that night from getting take-away, found Potter's note, and heard the fighting over the surveillance equipment, his heart stopped. He sent a Patronus to Kingsley, then Apparated to the scene. There was no way Potter would get hurt on Draco's watch.
But he'd gone in blind, too worried about Potter to pay proper attention to operating procedure, and he'd been hit almost immediately-taken down by a second-rate criminal.
He recalled dreams that he'd had while unconscious in the hospital. Dreams of Potter dying, Potter tortured, Potter bleeding. Draco was never able to reach him in time.
Then when he woke up to see Potter there, alive and well, he did what he always did. He lashed out. How dare Potter make him worry so much? How dare he leave Draco feeling helpless? How dare he save Draco… again?
And now… now… how dare he leave? How could he do this-just disappear without a word? If anyone knew Draco, it was Potter, so why would he take his comments so seriously all of a sudden? Draco was just being his usual self. It's not as though Draco actually meant what he said. Potter had to know that.
* * * * *
Draco returned to work, dreading his job more as the days passed. He couldn't stop thinking about Potter. It didn't help that he had to pass Potter's desk each day. Kingsley had left the desk free and hadn't allowed anyone else to take it.
The Snitch taunted Draco. He smiled despite himself as he recalled when they'd first bought them, a sign that they'd buried the past and had moved on. Now Potter had moved on without him.
"Was the report okay?" Williams, the newbie, interrupted Draco's thoughts, bouncing with exuberance. Draco wanted to hex him. Repeatedly.
"It was fine."
"Oh, good. I can get to work on the filing," he said. "There's a lot-"
Draco dismissed him with a wave. "Yes. Good. Whatever."
Where was Potter? he thought for the hundredth time. Two weeks and no word. Not that Draco missed him, of course. But working with someone who needed reassurance and encouragement when performing the simplest of tasks was driving him round the bend. Probably a good thing Potter was away. Otherwise, Draco might have had to kill him.
"Stupid Potter," he grumbled.
"Well," the weasel said as he entered Draco's office unannounced, "I won't bother you with this then."
"What do you want, Weasel?" Must he be surrounded by imbeciles?
"Just passing on a message."
"Yes, well, do get on with it, will you? Some of us actually have a job to do."
The git had the nerve to smirk-smirk!-at Draco. The weasel motioned his head towards the newbie and chuckled. "Ah, yes, babysitting is quite taxing, I hear."
"Piss off."
"Be glad to. Just be sure to tell 'Mione that I was here."
Did that mean-? "Did you hear something about Potter?"
"My, my, you seem almost... concerned." There was that smirk again. Bastard! "As I recall, when I came in here, you were calling him stupid Potter."
"Shut up, Weasel, and tell me what you've heard." Draco cringed at how desperate he sounded. When had he started caring so much?
Weasley raised his eyebrows questioningly. "He's fine."
"And?"
"And that's it." Weasley glanced down at a piece of parchment Draco hadn't noticed. "He's fine. We're not to worry. That's all. Message delivered."
Draco got up from his desk, snatching the piece of parchment out of the weasel's hand.
Dear Ron and Hermione,
Sorry I didn't leave word that I was leaving. I just needed to get away. Don't worry about me. If anyone asks, tell them I'm fine.
Harry.
He turned the parchment over in his hand and waved his wand to see if there was more to the note. "Surely this wasn't all?" he asked incredulously.
Weasley shrugged. "Yup. That was it."
"And you're not worried?" Draco couldn't believe this git was supposed to be Potter's best friend. Potter hadn't given a single hint regarding where he was or what he was doing. He also hadn't said anything about coming home. Surely Granger was not this calm.
The weasel gave Draco a curious look. "Why should I be? Harry's a grown man, and an Auror besides. He can take care of himself."
"Don't you-" Draco didn't bother continuing. What was the point? "Never mind."
Weasley shrugged again and left.
Draco went for a walk to clear his head, most definitely not hurt that Potter hadn't sent him an owl. Not hurt at all.
* * * * *
The next day, Draco visited Granger.
"Did you trace the letter?"
"Why?" she asked.
"To find out where Potter is, perhaps?"
"I would imagine that Harry would have told us where he was if he wanted us to know."
"And you just accepted that?" Honestly, were they both this uncaring? Draco refused to consider just why he cared so much.
"Well..."
"Aha!"
"It was from an indistinct brown owl that left as soon as I removed the note, and there were Anti-Tracking Charms placed on the parchment," she explained.
"May I run some tests of my own?"
Granger gave him a strange look.
"What?" Draco asked.
"Why are you so concerned?" she asked. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
Why indeed, Draco wondered. Weasley was right. Potter was a grown man, and could certainly take care of himself. He'd only been gone two weeks, and he had sent word that he was okay.
"It's my job." It sounded ridiculous even to Draco, but he had to say something. "He's my partner"-Draco refused to accept that Potter wasn't returning to his job-"and it's my job to make sure he's not in any danger." There. That sounded better.
She looked sceptical, but handed the parchment over anyway.
"I'll bring it back in a few days."
Three days later, when he returned the letter to Granger, Draco knew no more than he did the day he'd returned to find Potter gone. He had tried tracing the letter, but it had no traceable anything on it. Of course, Potter wasn't the top Auror for nothing. If he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. That thought, which normally would make Draco jealous, made him feel ill.
Draco, after weeks of thinking about little besides Potter, after seeing Potter in every corner of the office, after Potter began infiltrating his dreams, finally admitted his feelings to himself. He had it bad. And now he might never see Potter again. And he'd never told him....
* * * * *
After leaving the Ministry, Harry had taken a Portkey to America. He figured his face might not be recognisable, so he had plenty of places to just disappear for a few weeks. And it was a place where they spoke English.
He settled just south of Seattle and found the ocean soothing-the smells, the sounds, the warmth. He rented a cottage by the sea and spent the next three weeks soul searching. He knew he couldn't hide forever, but he needed this escape, if only for a short time.
He slowly began to accept the inevitable and decided to make a list of what he wanted to do with what little time he had remaining. He bought a diary and left the first few pages for a list of what to do when he returned to England. He would get in touch with people he'd lost touch with since leaving Hogwarts. He would make amends with Ginny, since they hadn't parted on good terms. He would do a will, something he'd never given any thought to before. Something he thought he'd always have time for in the future.
Time. He had a year, maybe more. Suddenly a year didn't seem like much time at all. Only a year to put his life in order and do everything he ever wanted to do. It was impossible, but he'd give it his best.
After a few weeks at the beach, he filled about twenty pages of his new diary with some key events he wanted recorded, things he didn't want to forget. He owled Headmistress McGonagall and hoped that her standing offer to teach Defence was still good. He was surprised to find that going home to Hogwarts was exactly what he wanted.
* * * * *
Draco knew from Granger that Potter had taken a job at Hogwarts. Term had started two weeks ago, and Draco was tired of waiting. He made his way up to the castle one Friday after work.
He worked himself up into a state on his way over. After all, it had been two months since he'd seen Potter, and he'd not heard one word from the man who had come to mean so much to him. A man who had spent four days in the hospital to make sure Draco was okay, only to leave and never speak to him again. Draco was angry. No… he was hurt. But he'd be damned if he told Potter that. But he would tell Potter a thing or two. Oh, yes, Draco was going to give him a piece of his mind.
* * * * *
Harry sat in his private quarters at Hogwarts, marking assignments. He set the papers aside and stretched, taking in his surroundings. He had finally got the room to his liking. The colours mimicked the Gryffindor common room, with the furnishings and draperies mainly in scarlet with accents of gold; the smaller fireplace here had a mahogany mantle and a roaring fire, perfect for cool nights in the castle. Unlike the Gryffindor common room, however, Harry's quarters were less busy, less overpowering; they felt more roomy, more cosy.
Harry pushed himself away from his desk and stood. After a quick stretch, he walked to the towering bookshelf next to the entrance and searched the many rows for a familiar tome. He pulled the book he needed from one of the higher shelves and opened it, picking up a student's essay as he walked to the sofa, across from the fireplace.
Harry continued to mark the student's essay, only to be interrupted by an insistent rapping at his door. "It's open!" he called.
The door swung open and Harry's heart leapt in his chest, his stomach felt a bit queasy, and his hands were clammy. It was Malfoy, the last person he expected to see. He couldn't help the nervous smile that crept onto his face.
"Malfoy, it's great to see you!" Harry said and rushed over towards him. In his excitement, Harry nearly tripped over the overstuffed armchair, the only thing that stood between them.
Malfoy pushed his way inside, slammed the door shut, cast what Harry suspected were Locking and Silencing Spells, and turned to face him. Without a word, Malfoy walked to the window overlooking the Quidditch pitch and drew the curtains together. The reddish hue that filtered through the hangings looked like flames dancing around the room. When Malfoy turned back around, Harry couldn't tell if he was red from the light through the draperies or from anger.
Still, Malfoy's glare made Harry take a small step back. Harry gulped audibly. "You look good."
"Oh, I look good, do I? It's great to see me, is it? Were that true, I would have thought that you might have-oh, I don't know-tried to get in touch with me! But noooo. For the better part of two months, I've been wondering what the hell happened to you. Not one word. Not one owl. Nothing. At least you had the decency to owl Granger and the weasel and let them know you weren't dead! Did you stop to think that maybe some other people-take me, for instance-might appreciate hearing from you too? I was your bloody partner, and you just dropped out of existence. What the fuck were you playing at, Potter?"
Harry took quick advantage of Malfoy's need for a breath (he knew Malfoy was far from finished). "I didn't think you'd want to hear from me."
"Wh-what? What would give you that idea?"
"Well, our last conversation didn't go so well."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Potter. You should know I didn't mean any of that."
"But it was all true. It was entirely my fault."
"And in the same situation, I'd have done the same thing."
"I don't think so," Harry said, smiling. "But thanks for saying it, just the same."
"Oh, no," Malfoy warned, his eyes regaining the flare of anger that had momentarily abated. "You don't get off the hook that easily. What happened to you? Why did you quit, and why are you working here of all places?" He waved his arm to indicate the room, nearly knocking a chair over in the process. "You need to be out fighting the bad guys. It's what Harry Potter does. How will the world survive?"
Harry chuckled at the familiar sarcasm. "I'd rather not get into my reasons right now. Let's just say it was time. Besides, you're probably better off..."
Harry had tried to make the comment light, but the rage in Malfoy's eyes told him he'd failed miserably. Malfoy rounded on him, grabbing his shirt front, and slamming him up against the wall. "You were the best Auror on the force, and now I'm stuck with some newbie. Do not. Tell me. I'm better off. Without you."
Harry lifted his hands in surrender. "I only meant that you wouldn't have a loose cannon for a partner any more."
"I'm a loose cannon, in case you'd forgotten!" Malfoy said, his eyes wild. "I liked having you for a partner. I deserve the best, and you're it. And now you've left."
Harry wasn't sure how to respond. "You deserve better than me," he offered.
"But I want you," Malfoy growled, before lunging forward and slamming his mouth against Harry's.
Harry was still, too stunned to move, but just as Malfoy began to pull back, he grabbed the back of Malfoy's head, pulled him forward, and plunged his tongue into his mouth. Fuck, he'd wanted to do this for so long. Why hadn't they done this before? They were all tongue and teeth, and it was messy and angry and… fucking amazing.
Malfoy's body was pressed against his, one hand firmly grasping Harry's hip, the other clenching Harry's hair. Harry's hands worked their way down Malfoy's back, pulled his shirt out and reached underneath the fabric. Malfoy's body was slender, but as Harry's hands mapped their way over well-toned muscles, he became aware of just how nicely Malfoy had filled out since school. His skin was soft and warm, making Harry long to touch every square inch and wonder again why it was they hadn't done this sooner. Harry pulled him even closer, until he could feel Malfoy's heartbeat racing against his own and the heat of their bodies burning through the fabric.
Harry slid his hands underneath the waistband of Malfoy's trousers, grabbed his arse, and pulled him closer, pressing their erections together. All rational thought left Harry at that moment; his concentration narrowed to his groin and the delicious sensations coursing through his aching cock.
Harry thrust forward again and immediately felt more than heard Malfoy's response-a deep, guttural, feral growl. One hand tightened its grip in Harry's hair; the other hand pressed Harry harder against the wall. Merlin, it felt amazing, but Harry quickly became annoyed by the thin barrier of their clothes.
As Harry broke their kiss, Malfoy groaned his displeasure. Harry chuckled as he pulled off his own top, then reached for Malfoy's. It wasn't long before the rest of their clothes were shed, and they were naked and frotting against each other, Harry once again pressed up against the wall. Malfoy drove Harry mad as he moved his body over Harry's, then nipped and licked his way along Harry's jaw, to his ear, and finally down to swirl his tongue around one sensitive nipple, then the other. Senses on overload, Harry was convinced he would come from this alone.
When Malfoy's hand reached between them, grabbing onto both their cocks and squeezing, stroking them together, Harry gasped then wrapped his hand around Malfoy's and joined him. Before long, Harry felt the familiar surge burst forth, and he watched as his come spread over both their hands and torsos. Malfoy came soon after that, and Harry thought he'd never seen anything so hot in his life.
They both staggered further into the room and collapsed, breathing heavily and sweating, onto the sofa. Harry picked up his wand and cast a quick Cleaning Charm over them before summoning a quilt and covering them.
"You're still not off the hook, Potter."
Harry suppressed a grin. "Of course not."
* * * * *
They spent the weekend together, barely getting out of bed the entire time. Harry dodged Mal-Draco's questions effectively, but knew the man wouldn't give up. Only after he left on Sunday did Harry stop to think about what he was doing. And suddenly he felt ill.
He knew they weren't just having sex. He knew the feelings ran deeper for both of them, even if the words hadn't been said. How unfair was he being to Draco, stringing him along, even as Harry knew that by this time next year he would be dead or dying? Shit, he already was dying. Harry had to end this. Now.
* * * * *
Draco went to work on Monday feeling lighter than he had since Harry had left. Maybe he was no longer Draco's partner, but he was back in his life. Draco didn't know exactly what they were, but after this weekend, he was hopeful about their future. The man still frustrated him like no one else, but... well.
The owl arrived just as Draco was leaving the office that morning. It was an invitation to dinner from Harry. At one of Draco's favourite restaurants.
As soon as Draco entered the restaurant and saw Harry's face, he knew something was wrong. Throughout their meal, Harry fidgeted and fussed about with his serviette and squirmed awkwardly in his chair, looking around Draco-over his shoulder or just above his head-but never directly at him. It was as though being there, just opposite Draco, made Harry uncomfortable. Finally, Draco had enough. Once dessert was ordered, he finally broke down. "Out with it, Harry. What's wrong?"
Harry fidgeted and avoided eye contact.
"Obviously there's something bothering you. Spit it out."
"It's just, well... I never meant… I didn't think we'd-oh, hell, Draco."
The hair on the back of Draco's neck stood on end and every sense was on full alert. He straightened his back, cast a Privacy Spell over their booth, and glared at Harry. "What didn't you think about this time, Potter?"
The use of his last name caused Harry to react, just as Draco knew it would. For the first time since Draco had walked into the restaurant, Harry looked him in the eye. What Draco saw there made him sick. It was pity. "I'm so sorry, Draco."
Draco wasn't going to make this easy, so he stared and said nothing in response. "I didn't mean for it to go this far, but…"
"But what?" Draco said, knowing what was coming, but unable to stop the train wreck from happening.
Harry was suddenly very interested in the serviette in his hands. "But then you kissed me, and I was lost. I should have stopped it before things went too far, but I've wanted you for so long and it felt so right that… well… that my mind shut off."
"I see," Draco said calmly, trying not to show how he really felt. "So what you're saying is that you don't want a relationship with me?" He let out a cold laugh. "Is that all?" He laughed a little more, but stopped before he started to sound crazy. "Oh, please, Potter. I'm not a girl for Merlin's sake. What made you think...? It was a great weekend, but really, we just fucked." He spat the word out, and he sounded almost like he meant it. "It was nothing more than that."
The look on Harry's face was… well, if Draco hadn't known better, he'd say the other man was hurt. But obviously he couldn't be, not if he suddenly thought it was all a mistake. Right. It was just his ego that was bruised.
"Surely you didn't think that I-" He began to laugh again. "You didn't think that I wanted more, did you? Oh, that's just priceless."
He saw the waitress coming with their desserts and waved his wand to drop the wards. It was all he could do not to choke on the Kirsch Buchette he had ordered, but he was determined to get through the meal without letting on how crushed he really felt. After all, he was a Malfoy. That just wouldn't do. With all the energy he could muster, he bid goodbye to Harry, quite proud of himself that his voice didn't waver once.
"Thanks for dinner, Potter. See you around."
* * * * *
Draco didn't fool Harry. Anyone else might have bought that nonsense about it being nothing more than fucking, but Harry knew better; Harry knew Draco. He saw the hurt behind the eyes, even while Draco was laughing. Oh, God, he'd never wanted to hurt Draco, of all people. Why hadn't he stopped things?
Oh, who was he kidding? He hadn't wanted to stop anything. In fact, if he were honest with himself, he wanted to see Draco again. And not just see him. Harry wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. That made Harry laugh out loud. Some life! He'd spend a year, probably less, growing even closer to Draco, knowing that every moment together would be a lie. He would allow Draco to become close to him, maybe even fall in love with him, before Harry crushed him completely.
Of course, he could tell Draco he was dying, but Harry had decided not to tell anyone. He didn't want anyone to watch his decline, and he certainly didn’t want anyone else to feel compelled to care for him. Eventually he'd have to tell everyone, but not yet. He couldn't take it if everyone looked at him with pity.
* * * * *
Harry spent his time immersed in his work. He had established the Defence Association, or DA, as an extra-curricular advanced Defence club, similar to the DA from his school years. Surprisingly, there was a lot of interest in it, and Harry made a point of setting aside funding to ensure it continued long after he was gone.
He also made other contributions, most notably to various children's charities, focussing on those that aided orphans or encouraged equal treatment for Muggle-borns and half-bloods. He was determined to leave his mark in as opposite a way from Tom Riddle as he could.
His finances were in order. He had set up a trust fund for Teddy and had bequeathed a sizable amount of money to each of the Weasleys. The rest he'd leave to Draco. After all, who better to inherit the Black family home than Draco-the last of the Blacks? Not that Draco needed the money or the property, but Harry knew he would understand what the gesture meant. At least Harry hoped he would. After all, he hadn't heard from him for months. Maybe Draco meant what he'd said before. Maybe Harry had been little more than a fuck-buddy.
Part 2