Malicious Intent - Part 16 (H/D)
Sorry for the L-O-N-G delay between the last post and this one. Went on a trip and have been busy with spring cleaning and work and Glompfest. I do hope to get back to once-a-week posting until I'm done, but it might take a wee bit longer. But it will definitely be done soon. We're getting close to wrapping it up, and much of the end is already written. So, thanks for your patience and now, part 16 - enjoy!
Title: Malicious Intent - Part 16
Author: sesheta_66
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: 4.4K
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Warning: none
Summary: Harry’s world is upended when he’s asked to investigate a break-in and threats levied at Draco Malfoy. He’s never told anyone about their short-lived but intense relationship, and now, five years after it ended, doesn’t seem the time. He’s a professional, so he will investigate, find and arrest the culprit, and get on with his life. What else can he do?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
To start at the beginning, click here.
Or to read at AO3, click here.
[Malicious Intent - Part 16]
Malicious Intent - Part 16
Harry didn’t have work the next day, and took advantage of the break to get some shopping done. With the unseasonably nice weather, he took a walk around the lake in Beddington Park in Muggle Sutton to clear his head. He’d found he liked the grounds and the peace that fell over him when he escaped the surrounding city.
Sat on a bench breathing in the crisp, fresh air, Harry found himself pleased with how things had gone the night before with Draco. It felt like old times, when they were working on the rebuild of Hogwarts and getting to know each other, only now it was without the cloud of the war hanging over them. It also helped to have the maturity that came from years of growing up and figuring out who they were as individuals rather than as pawns on opposing sides of a war.
He tried to appreciate the friendship as it had been, before things had changed, but what had grown out of it was too intertwined with everything else that he couldn't stop himself reliving some of their more intimate moments. It didn’t help that he still felt drawn to the man, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Though sober Draco was determined to resist the pull, given what he’d said the other night when Harry’d found him drunk, it was clear his feelings went far deeper than he’d ever admit when he wasn’t under the influence.
It had been a few weeks after their first somewhat fumbling encounter at Hogwarts. They’d been nearly inseparable but hadn’t yet done much more than they had done that day. A bit of groping here and there, a few messy, fumbling blow jobs that were amazing nevertheless, and an awful lot of kissing. But, by some unspoken agreement, they hadn’t gone any further. Neither of them wanted to ruin that tentative whatever-it-was they’d had, he supposed, so they hadn’t pushed. But Harry wanted. Wanted Draco so badly he could taste it. Taste him on his tongue even hours after they’d parted.
But that all changed after that huge blow-out with Ron at the pub. Had he known, even then? Harry couldn’t even remember the details of their fight, or how it had got so out of control, but he did remember a mention of Draco. Ron hadn’t been part of the rebuilding effort at Hogwarts - hadn’t wanted to return to the place where Fred had died - and so he hadn’t witnessed all the changes in Draco. Not that he would have, even if he’d been there. And he absolutely couldn’t understand Harry’s friendship with him.
For Harry’s part, he’d drifted away from the Weasleys. Not that he’d intended for it to happen, but their all-encompassing grief had been too much for him. He missed Fred, of course, but he missed Lupin as well. And Tonks and Dumbledore and Sirius and Colin and all the others that had died. He tried not to feel guilty - he’d finally accepted that it wasn’t all his fault, though some days were harder than others - but the weight on him whenever he went to the Burrow was more than he could take. So he’d withdrawn from them, bit by bit, until he only saw them when they’d made specific plans, usually on some occasion or other.
And then there’d been Draco, someone who’d previously blamed Harry for his father’s predicament, but who’d come around. Someone that didn’t look at him with pain behind his eyes, right down to his soul. Somehow they’d both ended up in the same place, at the same time, channelling their anger, not at each other as they’d done in the past, but at the challenge before them, Harry to rebuild the only place he’d ever thought of as home, and Draco to assuage his guilt over letting Death Eaters into the school that had welcomed him. It had been awkward at first, quiet during their breaks, but eventually, slowly, they’d both started to talk. And as time went on, small talk had turned to real talk, meaningful discussions about life - past, present and future. And Harry’d found himself wondering what might have been, had Malfoy not been such a git by insulting Hagrid and Ron, and had Harry taken his hand in friendship.
He hadn’t said any of that to Ron, but he had said that they got on quite well now. That Malfoy had changed. That he wasn’t so bad after all. But Ron was having none of that. So they’d stopped talking about the rebuild efforts at the school in favour of nothing conversations that were surface at best and superfluous at worst. Which had only served to draw Harry closer to Draco.
A couple of days after their trip to Wales, Harry’d left Draco at his flat to go meet Ron at his latest favourite pub. He’d still been thinking about their trip, and how light and free it’d made him feel to just be himself and be with Draco, when he’d walked in. The minute Ron had opened his mouth, Harry’s good mood had vanished. He’d gone on about Ginny and the family and Draco’s family, and what the fuck was Harry doing, and on and on. Harry’d tuned him out even then, sick to death of the judgment in his tone and the mounting pressure he’d felt weighing on his chest. To this day, he couldn’t remember what either of them had said, but Harry’d thrown down enough money to cover both their meals and had stormed out.
When he’d banged on Draco’s door, he’d been close to putting his fist through it.
Draco answered, looking concerned. "I thought you’d be gone for hours."
"Yeah, well, you try spending hours with him!" Harry marched inside, leaving Draco to close the door behind him. He wanted to scream.
"No thanks," Draco replied. "But he’s your best mate, Harry. What happened?"
Harry looked at Draco, at the concern in his eyes. This was a man Ron didn’t know, couldn’t know, wouldn’t let himself know. "It doesn’t matter," he said, and was surprised that he meant it. Ron didn’t know him but Harry did. He pulled Draco in for a deep, soul-searching kiss. He poured everything he felt into it and by the time they parted, they were both breathless and shell-shocked by the ferocity of it.
"Wow." Draco’s glazed eyes twinkled and his fingers trailed over his lips. "You should fight with Ron more often."
"You’re a good man, Draco."
He laughed at that. "I think we both know that’s not true."
Harry ran his fingers through Draco’s hair and stared deeply into his eyes. "It is." He pressed soft lips to Draco’s. "And I’m going to spend as long as it takes to convince you of that."
When Harry pressed his tongue past welcoming lips, Draco melted into his arms with a soft moan. Harry drew him nearer and deepened the kiss, pouring everything he felt but couldn’t say into his exploration, desperate to map every inch of the other man with his hands and mouth. Draco met him, lick for lick and touch for touch. They devoured each other until, when they separated, they were both out of breath, hearts racing.
Harry stared into glassy, grey eyes, pupils blown so wide they were nearly black. "Want you so badly," he said. Draco smiled and nodded, taking Harry’s hand in his own and pulling him back towards the bed. Harry’s heart, already beating rapidly, sped up, nearly threatening to break free of his chest. "You sure?"
Draco nodded again. "I’ve wanted this since the first time we kissed."
"Mm," Harry groaned. "Me too."
Draco’s smile lit up the room as he grabbed Harry’s shirt and pulled him down onto the bed, on top of him. "Then what are you waiting for?"
Harry kissed him again, more urgently this time, as he fumbled with his shirt, trying to remove it, until Draco took pity on him and pulled it the rest of the way off. Fortunately, Harry didn’t have the same trouble with Draco’s shirt, even if his hands shook as he undid all the buttons - why were there so many and why couldn’t he wear a perfectly good t-shirt like Harry? - and in short order, Draco was sitting up so that Harry could pull the shirt off completely. As Draco lay back down, Harry ran fingers lightly over the barely-there scars that decorated his chest. He’d apologised before, but somehow, with what they were about to do, it was important that Draco know just how horribly he felt, how he wished he could turn back time so that it’d never happened.
As he was about to say ... something, Draco’s fingers tightened on his chin and he turned Harry roughly to face him. "Don’t. You don’t need to say a word."
"But -"
"Don’t you think I know how you feel? How sorry you are?" His fierce gaze pierced Harry’s eyes. "You’ve apologised. I’ve apologised. We’ve moved on."
"I know, but -"
"Potter, if you aren’t inside me very soon, I may implode, so if you please, enough with the guilt and fuck me already."
Harry couldn’t help the chuckle from escaping his lips. "Yes, sir."
"Hmm." A familiar grin - one that rarely boded well for Harry - spread over Draco’s face at his words. "I like the sound of that."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You would."
Draco reached behind Harry’s head and drew him in for another soul-searching kiss and Harry forgot all about everything else.
A crowd of young boys yelling and kicking around a football brought Harry back to the present. Shaking off the memories, he slowly made his way back to the hotel. As he looked around the room, he longed to be back home. Sure, Grimmauld held memories, good and bad, and a lot with Ginny, but it was home. He’d felt off-kilter ever since taking on Draco’s case, and being in this state of limbo only exacerbated the situation. Hopefully Ginny would pick up the rest of her things soon so he could close his wards to her and move on with his life.
What that meant, how he’d move on, he had no way of knowing. He suspected - no matter how they both felt about each other - that his and Draco’s time had passed. He was confident that they could be friends, genuine friends, and move on from there, but he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that he was in limbo there too. After all, they hadn’t had their closure at the time - just a bombshell followed by nothing - and, no matter that they seemed to be moving forward, that loose end remained. Harry’s instincts told him that would eat away at him if they didn’t at least talk about things. When they were both sober.
But, like everything else, it would have to wait. He couldn’t jeopardise the case by bringing more feelings into the mix than already hovered on the periphery.
As he was putting away his purchases, a tap came on the window. Harry opened it and Pig flew in, did a circuit of the room, and plopped himself onto the table. Harry gave the hyper little thing a bit of bread and let him rest while he read the letter from Ron.
Harry,
I tried Floo-calling but apparently you’ve cut me off. What the hell? We should talk. I’m not one for writing stuff down, so why don’t you come over tonight for dinner? We can order in.
~ Ron
Harry laughed, but without humour. Obviously Ron wanted both home turf and the protection of Hermione. And if Gin got back early, no doubt it would be all hands on deck. No thanks. He scribbled out a reply, ignoring the Floo question and not bothering to state the obvious: he had no desire for Ron to enter his home, by Floo or any other means. And very soon, that would apply to Ginny as well.
Ron,
We can meet at the usual pub, say 8 o’clock. Don’t bring anyone. This is between the two of us.
~ Harry
When Pig returned an hour later with Ron’s reply, he collapsed onto the table. Harry gave him a drink of water and some more bread, but he just stared blankly at both, content to lie there unmoving.
Fine. See you at eight.
Harry read Ron’s unspoken words that rang loudly and clearly through the emptiness of the page. He had no doubt he’d been right, and that Ron had planned on hiding behind his wife, and possibly his sister. Or, at the very least, thought Harry’s reaction would be softened in their presence. Well, Harry was done playing games. He was sick to death of people trying to manipulate him, particularly his supposed friends.
***
Late in the afternoon, just as he’d sat down with the Prophet’s sports section, Harry received an alert - someone was attempting to breach the wards at Draco’s flat. He put down the paper and sent a quick message through the coin to Draco. Attempted breach at your flat. Where are you?
At the lab. I can meet you there.
No. Stay where you are. I’ll be in touch.
He Apparated to Draco’s flat, but by the time he got there, he knew he was too late. The pressure from the alert had eased even before he’d left the hotel, and there was no sign of anyone at or near Draco’s door. A quick few spells confirmed the wards hadn’t been breached. He sent a follow up. Gone. Didn’t get in this time.
The crack of Apparition caused Harry to reach for his wand.
"Whoa, there. It’s only me," Draco said, hands held up in surrender.
"I thought I said to stay where you were."
Draco glared at him. "And you said they’d gone, Auror Potter, so I came to see for myself."
Harry rolled his eyes and put his wand away. "Oh, fine then."
"So your big, bad Auror wards saved the day?"
Harry didn’t bother to explain precisely which (not exactly Ministry-approved) wards he’d applied, but he did nod. "Apparently so. And," he added with a grin, "I got the magical signature."
"That’s great. Were you able to get a trace on him too?"
"Unfortunately not. The spell activates only when the person crosses the perimeter, and I only placed that inside the flat. Otherwise we’d be alerted every time someone walked past your door."
"Makes sense." He frowned but nodded. "At least we’ll be able to figure out who it was."
"If we have their signature on file," Harry agreed. "Which means I’ll have to go to the office."
"I thought you weren’t working today."
Harry shrugged. "I wasn’t, but then I got the alert."
Draco stared at his door. "It can wait, can’t it? I mean we know who it probably was anyway."
"True." Harry wasn’t so sure. It could have been Rowle, but it also could have been someone working with him. Or it could have been Lucius. "But it won’t take me long anyway. Might as well know what we’re facing."
Draco fidgeted. "Speaking of work, I do need to get back to the lab. I’ve left a potion sitting and I need to keep an eye on the time." He looked torn between returning to work and going inside.
"Whoever it was didn’t get in," Harry assured him.
Draco nodded and lifted his wand in preparation to Apparate, before lowering it and asking, "Do you want to meet for dinner later to talk?"
"Can’t," Harry said, his stomach clenching at the thought. "Meeting Ron."
"Ooh!" Draco grinned and rubbed his hands together maniacally. "Can I come?" He put on a serious face. "Merely as an observer, of course."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Very funny. Ha, ha. No."
Draco pouted and Harry had to hold back his laughter. "Can we talk afterwards?"
"Sure. I’ll send you a message when I get back."
"Shall I bring alcohol?"
Harry snorted. "Probably best. I suspect I’ll need some, since I don’t plan on drinking too much before confronting him on his shit. Want to keep on my toes, you know?"
"Consider it done," he said with a salute. "Oh, and Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
Harry smiled. "No problem. I’ll see you later."
A quick trip to the Ministry confirmed Rowle as the culprit. No surprise there. Harry only hoped the unsuccessful attempt didn’t push him to do more.
***
As eight o’clock approached, Harry’s stomach started to churn. Despite his job, and his ability to regularly deal with confrontation on many fronts, he didn’t like it in his personal life. And Ron had been his best friend since they’d been eleven years old. He’d been his Auror partner too. Harry had trusted him with his life. Still did, despite everything. Even so, he didn’t think he’d ever trust Ron with his secrets again. He’d known what had happened to Harry, how he’d been manipulated and lied to by so many people. By people who thought they’d known better. People who didn’t trust Harry to make his own judgement calls, his own decisions. And he’d known how that had affected Harry, the lasting impact the lies had made on him and the toll they’d taken. And then Ron had gone and done the same damn thing, with no concern for Harry’s feelings. No respect for Harry’s judgement. And Harry didn’t think he could ever forgive him for that.
He entered the pub to find Ron, two pints in front of him, already seated at a table in the back. Harry made his way over and sat down, still unsure as to what exactly he would say. Opting for some liquid courage to start, he took a pull from his pint and threw up a Muffliato. He didn’t fancy their conversation ending up in the Prophet.
"Haven’t seen you in the office for a while," Ron said, as though this was just a regular get-together down the pub.
Harry played along. "Been busy working on a sensitive case," he said, noncommittally.
"Something to do with the ferret?"
Harry resisted punching him in the face. "Right, then. Enough with the small talk, Ron."
Ron’s face reddened and he nodded. "Look, it was a long time ago, and we thought we were doing the right thing."
Harry took another pull and willed himself to remain calm. "Did you now?"
"You know we did, Harry. I mean, come on. Malfoy?"
Harry put down his beer. "That’s hardly the point."
"That’s exactly the point!"
Harry clenched his teeth together. "No, it’s not. The point is that you lied to me."
"We didn’t lie. We just ... well, we didn’t say anything."
"Right. Because that’s so different."
Ron stared into his glass but said nothing. Harry maintained the silence, overcome with competing desires to just leave and never talk to Ron again or scream in his face and pummel him into the ground.
Ron broke the silence with a softly muttered, "Sorry."
"Are you, though?" Harry asked. "Are you sorry about what you did, or just sorry you got caught?" When Ron didn’t answer - because they both already knew the truth - he continued. "Would you ever have told me?" he asked. "No, never mind. Don’t bother to answer that. I know you wouldn’t have and I know that you wouldn’t have spent even a moment feeling guilty about what you did."
"But we saved you."
Harry let out a bark of laughter. "From what, exactly? From Draco? From myself?" Ron tried to answer, but Harry didn’t give him the chance. "I, of all people, knew what Draco was capable of. I alone knew he’d been up to something in sixth year. He and I fought from the moment I refused his hand in friendship, and I watched him my whole life. Do you get that? My whole life! If anyone knew him, knew when he was lying, knew when he was up to something, it was me! Who the hell did you and Gin fancy yourselves to be, to think you’d known him better than I did?"
Ron lifted his glass with a shaky hand and took a swig of his pint. "We didn’t know what was going on. You hadn’t told us anything."
"And you didn’t think to maybe, I dunno, ask me? Have a fucking conversation with me?"
Ron looked around the room, clearly worried that, despite the Muffliato, someone might work out that they were arguing. Harry couldn’t give a shit, so long as the subject remained out of the papers. When he looked back at Harry, he shrugged. "Didn’t know how to broach the topic, did I?"
Unbelievable. Harry took another sip. "So let me get this straight: the two of you spied on me, then talked about me behind my back, then approached Draco, also behind my back, then kept it all to yourselves. For five years. You watched me turn into myself, withdraw from people and pour myself into my work, basically a shell of the person I’d been. You watched all this happen, knowing full well what the cause of it was, but never thought - not once - to tell me what you’d done. Or, hell, to even bother to ask me what was wrong. For five. Fucking. Years. Have I got that right? Or did I miss something?"
Ron was saved by the appearance of the waitress with two menus. Harry hastily removed the spell, ordered another round and put the menus aside. When she left to get their drinks, Harry raised his brow. "Well?" He swigged back the last of his pint and slammed the glass down on the table before putting the Muffliato back up.
Ron’s eyes didn’t meet Harry’s and he mumbled when he spoke. It was all Harry could do not to shake him. "You got better," he said. "Sure, at first you were all about work, but you’ve come round lately."
"So that makes it okay for you to just make my life decisions for me? You know, like my aunt and uncle did. Then Dumbledore. And lie to me or keep the truth from me, like Snape and Umbridge and countless others. People that you vilified for the way they treated me. Only to turn around and do the same thing."
"But ... it wasn’t the same thing!"
"No?"
Once more the waitress interrupted. When she put the drinks down, Harry asked for ten minutes before they ordered dinner. If he even wanted anything, he felt so sick to his stomach over this whole mess. He took a particularly long pull from his pint and waited.
Ron put the spell back up and looked beseechingly at Harry. "We were just trying to help you. To make sure you weren’t taken advantage of." Harry scoffed. "No, really, Harry. Malfoy had been a right shit to you your entire life."
"Which is why I would have been able to see what he was up to, if it was something nefarious."
"But we didn’t know that. We hardly talked to you."
"And that was my fault? If you’ll recall, I tried to talk to you about him, but you wouldn’t listen. You cut me off and said nothing but disparaging things about him and never even heard what I had to say. And now you have the audacity to tell me we didn’t talk? Well, fuck you, Ron. And Ginny too."
"Harry."
"No, this is bullshit. You, of all people, knew how gutted I was by Dumbledore’s betrayal. I understood his reasoning, but he manipulated me. Lied to me. Kept things from me. But at least he had a higher purpose in all of it. But you?"
"We just wanted what was best for you."
"That’s crap and you know it. If you were doing what was best for me, you’d have told Hermione about it. But you didn’t, did you? She knew nothing about it because you and Gin knew she’d have set you straight. I don’t even know why you did it - to keep me from being friends with Draco, to make sure Ginny and I got back together, to ensure you and I went into the Aurors together? I don’t know. And I don’t care."
"But you weren’t just friends with him."
"No, I wasn’t. And you know what? I was happy. Really happy."
"But Harry -"
"No, Ron. I was genuinely happy and you took that away from me. And you didn’t even have the balls to tell me about it." Harry was suddenly tired. So very tired. "You lied and hid things from me and manipulated my life for five years. You know what? It’s clear to me that you don’t see that what you did was wrong, and I don’t have the energy to fight with you. I’m done. When you’re ready to apologise, send me an owl."
"I said I was sorry."
"And we both know you didn’t mean it. You’re only sorry you got caught. Well, I’m sorry it happened at all. I’ve been sorry for five years."
"I didn’t know."
"And how could you have if you didn’t ask? That’s the whole fucking point, Ron. I’m an adult - I was an adult then, too - and I can make my own decisions."
"I know."
"Do you really? Because I don’t think you do. And I don’t trust you."
"C’mon, Harry." He still didn’t get it. Still didn’t understand what he did was wrong.
Harry drank down the last of his second beer and stood up, bone weary and in desperate need to get away from Ron. "I’m done," he repeated. "Once Gin picks up the last of her things, I’m closing off Grimmauld to the both of you. I’ll work with you if and when I have to, I’ll continue to be professional, and I’ll always have your back, but that’s it. Unless and until you apologise - and mean it - I’ve got nothing else to say to you."
He tossed some money onto the table and apologised to the waitress for not staying for supper as he left. He didn’t bother to look back at Ron, to see his face, to see the mixture of confusion and defiance. He didn’t think he could take it.
Continued in Part 17
Title: Malicious Intent - Part 16
Author: sesheta_66
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: 4.4K
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Warning: none
Summary: Harry’s world is upended when he’s asked to investigate a break-in and threats levied at Draco Malfoy. He’s never told anyone about their short-lived but intense relationship, and now, five years after it ended, doesn’t seem the time. He’s a professional, so he will investigate, find and arrest the culprit, and get on with his life. What else can he do?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
To start at the beginning, click here.
Or to read at AO3, click here.
[Malicious Intent - Part 16]
Malicious Intent - Part 16
Harry didn’t have work the next day, and took advantage of the break to get some shopping done. With the unseasonably nice weather, he took a walk around the lake in Beddington Park in Muggle Sutton to clear his head. He’d found he liked the grounds and the peace that fell over him when he escaped the surrounding city.
Sat on a bench breathing in the crisp, fresh air, Harry found himself pleased with how things had gone the night before with Draco. It felt like old times, when they were working on the rebuild of Hogwarts and getting to know each other, only now it was without the cloud of the war hanging over them. It also helped to have the maturity that came from years of growing up and figuring out who they were as individuals rather than as pawns on opposing sides of a war.
He tried to appreciate the friendship as it had been, before things had changed, but what had grown out of it was too intertwined with everything else that he couldn't stop himself reliving some of their more intimate moments. It didn’t help that he still felt drawn to the man, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Though sober Draco was determined to resist the pull, given what he’d said the other night when Harry’d found him drunk, it was clear his feelings went far deeper than he’d ever admit when he wasn’t under the influence.
It had been a few weeks after their first somewhat fumbling encounter at Hogwarts. They’d been nearly inseparable but hadn’t yet done much more than they had done that day. A bit of groping here and there, a few messy, fumbling blow jobs that were amazing nevertheless, and an awful lot of kissing. But, by some unspoken agreement, they hadn’t gone any further. Neither of them wanted to ruin that tentative whatever-it-was they’d had, he supposed, so they hadn’t pushed. But Harry wanted. Wanted Draco so badly he could taste it. Taste him on his tongue even hours after they’d parted.
But that all changed after that huge blow-out with Ron at the pub. Had he known, even then? Harry couldn’t even remember the details of their fight, or how it had got so out of control, but he did remember a mention of Draco. Ron hadn’t been part of the rebuilding effort at Hogwarts - hadn’t wanted to return to the place where Fred had died - and so he hadn’t witnessed all the changes in Draco. Not that he would have, even if he’d been there. And he absolutely couldn’t understand Harry’s friendship with him.
For Harry’s part, he’d drifted away from the Weasleys. Not that he’d intended for it to happen, but their all-encompassing grief had been too much for him. He missed Fred, of course, but he missed Lupin as well. And Tonks and Dumbledore and Sirius and Colin and all the others that had died. He tried not to feel guilty - he’d finally accepted that it wasn’t all his fault, though some days were harder than others - but the weight on him whenever he went to the Burrow was more than he could take. So he’d withdrawn from them, bit by bit, until he only saw them when they’d made specific plans, usually on some occasion or other.
And then there’d been Draco, someone who’d previously blamed Harry for his father’s predicament, but who’d come around. Someone that didn’t look at him with pain behind his eyes, right down to his soul. Somehow they’d both ended up in the same place, at the same time, channelling their anger, not at each other as they’d done in the past, but at the challenge before them, Harry to rebuild the only place he’d ever thought of as home, and Draco to assuage his guilt over letting Death Eaters into the school that had welcomed him. It had been awkward at first, quiet during their breaks, but eventually, slowly, they’d both started to talk. And as time went on, small talk had turned to real talk, meaningful discussions about life - past, present and future. And Harry’d found himself wondering what might have been, had Malfoy not been such a git by insulting Hagrid and Ron, and had Harry taken his hand in friendship.
He hadn’t said any of that to Ron, but he had said that they got on quite well now. That Malfoy had changed. That he wasn’t so bad after all. But Ron was having none of that. So they’d stopped talking about the rebuild efforts at the school in favour of nothing conversations that were surface at best and superfluous at worst. Which had only served to draw Harry closer to Draco.
A couple of days after their trip to Wales, Harry’d left Draco at his flat to go meet Ron at his latest favourite pub. He’d still been thinking about their trip, and how light and free it’d made him feel to just be himself and be with Draco, when he’d walked in. The minute Ron had opened his mouth, Harry’s good mood had vanished. He’d gone on about Ginny and the family and Draco’s family, and what the fuck was Harry doing, and on and on. Harry’d tuned him out even then, sick to death of the judgment in his tone and the mounting pressure he’d felt weighing on his chest. To this day, he couldn’t remember what either of them had said, but Harry’d thrown down enough money to cover both their meals and had stormed out.
When he’d banged on Draco’s door, he’d been close to putting his fist through it.
Draco answered, looking concerned. "I thought you’d be gone for hours."
"Yeah, well, you try spending hours with him!" Harry marched inside, leaving Draco to close the door behind him. He wanted to scream.
"No thanks," Draco replied. "But he’s your best mate, Harry. What happened?"
Harry looked at Draco, at the concern in his eyes. This was a man Ron didn’t know, couldn’t know, wouldn’t let himself know. "It doesn’t matter," he said, and was surprised that he meant it. Ron didn’t know him but Harry did. He pulled Draco in for a deep, soul-searching kiss. He poured everything he felt into it and by the time they parted, they were both breathless and shell-shocked by the ferocity of it.
"Wow." Draco’s glazed eyes twinkled and his fingers trailed over his lips. "You should fight with Ron more often."
"You’re a good man, Draco."
He laughed at that. "I think we both know that’s not true."
Harry ran his fingers through Draco’s hair and stared deeply into his eyes. "It is." He pressed soft lips to Draco’s. "And I’m going to spend as long as it takes to convince you of that."
When Harry pressed his tongue past welcoming lips, Draco melted into his arms with a soft moan. Harry drew him nearer and deepened the kiss, pouring everything he felt but couldn’t say into his exploration, desperate to map every inch of the other man with his hands and mouth. Draco met him, lick for lick and touch for touch. They devoured each other until, when they separated, they were both out of breath, hearts racing.
Harry stared into glassy, grey eyes, pupils blown so wide they were nearly black. "Want you so badly," he said. Draco smiled and nodded, taking Harry’s hand in his own and pulling him back towards the bed. Harry’s heart, already beating rapidly, sped up, nearly threatening to break free of his chest. "You sure?"
Draco nodded again. "I’ve wanted this since the first time we kissed."
"Mm," Harry groaned. "Me too."
Draco’s smile lit up the room as he grabbed Harry’s shirt and pulled him down onto the bed, on top of him. "Then what are you waiting for?"
Harry kissed him again, more urgently this time, as he fumbled with his shirt, trying to remove it, until Draco took pity on him and pulled it the rest of the way off. Fortunately, Harry didn’t have the same trouble with Draco’s shirt, even if his hands shook as he undid all the buttons - why were there so many and why couldn’t he wear a perfectly good t-shirt like Harry? - and in short order, Draco was sitting up so that Harry could pull the shirt off completely. As Draco lay back down, Harry ran fingers lightly over the barely-there scars that decorated his chest. He’d apologised before, but somehow, with what they were about to do, it was important that Draco know just how horribly he felt, how he wished he could turn back time so that it’d never happened.
As he was about to say ... something, Draco’s fingers tightened on his chin and he turned Harry roughly to face him. "Don’t. You don’t need to say a word."
"But -"
"Don’t you think I know how you feel? How sorry you are?" His fierce gaze pierced Harry’s eyes. "You’ve apologised. I’ve apologised. We’ve moved on."
"I know, but -"
"Potter, if you aren’t inside me very soon, I may implode, so if you please, enough with the guilt and fuck me already."
Harry couldn’t help the chuckle from escaping his lips. "Yes, sir."
"Hmm." A familiar grin - one that rarely boded well for Harry - spread over Draco’s face at his words. "I like the sound of that."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You would."
Draco reached behind Harry’s head and drew him in for another soul-searching kiss and Harry forgot all about everything else.
A crowd of young boys yelling and kicking around a football brought Harry back to the present. Shaking off the memories, he slowly made his way back to the hotel. As he looked around the room, he longed to be back home. Sure, Grimmauld held memories, good and bad, and a lot with Ginny, but it was home. He’d felt off-kilter ever since taking on Draco’s case, and being in this state of limbo only exacerbated the situation. Hopefully Ginny would pick up the rest of her things soon so he could close his wards to her and move on with his life.
What that meant, how he’d move on, he had no way of knowing. He suspected - no matter how they both felt about each other - that his and Draco’s time had passed. He was confident that they could be friends, genuine friends, and move on from there, but he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that he was in limbo there too. After all, they hadn’t had their closure at the time - just a bombshell followed by nothing - and, no matter that they seemed to be moving forward, that loose end remained. Harry’s instincts told him that would eat away at him if they didn’t at least talk about things. When they were both sober.
But, like everything else, it would have to wait. He couldn’t jeopardise the case by bringing more feelings into the mix than already hovered on the periphery.
As he was putting away his purchases, a tap came on the window. Harry opened it and Pig flew in, did a circuit of the room, and plopped himself onto the table. Harry gave the hyper little thing a bit of bread and let him rest while he read the letter from Ron.
Harry,
I tried Floo-calling but apparently you’ve cut me off. What the hell? We should talk. I’m not one for writing stuff down, so why don’t you come over tonight for dinner? We can order in.
~ Ron
Harry laughed, but without humour. Obviously Ron wanted both home turf and the protection of Hermione. And if Gin got back early, no doubt it would be all hands on deck. No thanks. He scribbled out a reply, ignoring the Floo question and not bothering to state the obvious: he had no desire for Ron to enter his home, by Floo or any other means. And very soon, that would apply to Ginny as well.
Ron,
We can meet at the usual pub, say 8 o’clock. Don’t bring anyone. This is between the two of us.
~ Harry
When Pig returned an hour later with Ron’s reply, he collapsed onto the table. Harry gave him a drink of water and some more bread, but he just stared blankly at both, content to lie there unmoving.
Fine. See you at eight.
Harry read Ron’s unspoken words that rang loudly and clearly through the emptiness of the page. He had no doubt he’d been right, and that Ron had planned on hiding behind his wife, and possibly his sister. Or, at the very least, thought Harry’s reaction would be softened in their presence. Well, Harry was done playing games. He was sick to death of people trying to manipulate him, particularly his supposed friends.
***
Late in the afternoon, just as he’d sat down with the Prophet’s sports section, Harry received an alert - someone was attempting to breach the wards at Draco’s flat. He put down the paper and sent a quick message through the coin to Draco. Attempted breach at your flat. Where are you?
At the lab. I can meet you there.
No. Stay where you are. I’ll be in touch.
He Apparated to Draco’s flat, but by the time he got there, he knew he was too late. The pressure from the alert had eased even before he’d left the hotel, and there was no sign of anyone at or near Draco’s door. A quick few spells confirmed the wards hadn’t been breached. He sent a follow up. Gone. Didn’t get in this time.
The crack of Apparition caused Harry to reach for his wand.
"Whoa, there. It’s only me," Draco said, hands held up in surrender.
"I thought I said to stay where you were."
Draco glared at him. "And you said they’d gone, Auror Potter, so I came to see for myself."
Harry rolled his eyes and put his wand away. "Oh, fine then."
"So your big, bad Auror wards saved the day?"
Harry didn’t bother to explain precisely which (not exactly Ministry-approved) wards he’d applied, but he did nod. "Apparently so. And," he added with a grin, "I got the magical signature."
"That’s great. Were you able to get a trace on him too?"
"Unfortunately not. The spell activates only when the person crosses the perimeter, and I only placed that inside the flat. Otherwise we’d be alerted every time someone walked past your door."
"Makes sense." He frowned but nodded. "At least we’ll be able to figure out who it was."
"If we have their signature on file," Harry agreed. "Which means I’ll have to go to the office."
"I thought you weren’t working today."
Harry shrugged. "I wasn’t, but then I got the alert."
Draco stared at his door. "It can wait, can’t it? I mean we know who it probably was anyway."
"True." Harry wasn’t so sure. It could have been Rowle, but it also could have been someone working with him. Or it could have been Lucius. "But it won’t take me long anyway. Might as well know what we’re facing."
Draco fidgeted. "Speaking of work, I do need to get back to the lab. I’ve left a potion sitting and I need to keep an eye on the time." He looked torn between returning to work and going inside.
"Whoever it was didn’t get in," Harry assured him.
Draco nodded and lifted his wand in preparation to Apparate, before lowering it and asking, "Do you want to meet for dinner later to talk?"
"Can’t," Harry said, his stomach clenching at the thought. "Meeting Ron."
"Ooh!" Draco grinned and rubbed his hands together maniacally. "Can I come?" He put on a serious face. "Merely as an observer, of course."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Very funny. Ha, ha. No."
Draco pouted and Harry had to hold back his laughter. "Can we talk afterwards?"
"Sure. I’ll send you a message when I get back."
"Shall I bring alcohol?"
Harry snorted. "Probably best. I suspect I’ll need some, since I don’t plan on drinking too much before confronting him on his shit. Want to keep on my toes, you know?"
"Consider it done," he said with a salute. "Oh, and Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
Harry smiled. "No problem. I’ll see you later."
A quick trip to the Ministry confirmed Rowle as the culprit. No surprise there. Harry only hoped the unsuccessful attempt didn’t push him to do more.
***
As eight o’clock approached, Harry’s stomach started to churn. Despite his job, and his ability to regularly deal with confrontation on many fronts, he didn’t like it in his personal life. And Ron had been his best friend since they’d been eleven years old. He’d been his Auror partner too. Harry had trusted him with his life. Still did, despite everything. Even so, he didn’t think he’d ever trust Ron with his secrets again. He’d known what had happened to Harry, how he’d been manipulated and lied to by so many people. By people who thought they’d known better. People who didn’t trust Harry to make his own judgement calls, his own decisions. And he’d known how that had affected Harry, the lasting impact the lies had made on him and the toll they’d taken. And then Ron had gone and done the same damn thing, with no concern for Harry’s feelings. No respect for Harry’s judgement. And Harry didn’t think he could ever forgive him for that.
He entered the pub to find Ron, two pints in front of him, already seated at a table in the back. Harry made his way over and sat down, still unsure as to what exactly he would say. Opting for some liquid courage to start, he took a pull from his pint and threw up a Muffliato. He didn’t fancy their conversation ending up in the Prophet.
"Haven’t seen you in the office for a while," Ron said, as though this was just a regular get-together down the pub.
Harry played along. "Been busy working on a sensitive case," he said, noncommittally.
"Something to do with the ferret?"
Harry resisted punching him in the face. "Right, then. Enough with the small talk, Ron."
Ron’s face reddened and he nodded. "Look, it was a long time ago, and we thought we were doing the right thing."
Harry took another pull and willed himself to remain calm. "Did you now?"
"You know we did, Harry. I mean, come on. Malfoy?"
Harry put down his beer. "That’s hardly the point."
"That’s exactly the point!"
Harry clenched his teeth together. "No, it’s not. The point is that you lied to me."
"We didn’t lie. We just ... well, we didn’t say anything."
"Right. Because that’s so different."
Ron stared into his glass but said nothing. Harry maintained the silence, overcome with competing desires to just leave and never talk to Ron again or scream in his face and pummel him into the ground.
Ron broke the silence with a softly muttered, "Sorry."
"Are you, though?" Harry asked. "Are you sorry about what you did, or just sorry you got caught?" When Ron didn’t answer - because they both already knew the truth - he continued. "Would you ever have told me?" he asked. "No, never mind. Don’t bother to answer that. I know you wouldn’t have and I know that you wouldn’t have spent even a moment feeling guilty about what you did."
"But we saved you."
Harry let out a bark of laughter. "From what, exactly? From Draco? From myself?" Ron tried to answer, but Harry didn’t give him the chance. "I, of all people, knew what Draco was capable of. I alone knew he’d been up to something in sixth year. He and I fought from the moment I refused his hand in friendship, and I watched him my whole life. Do you get that? My whole life! If anyone knew him, knew when he was lying, knew when he was up to something, it was me! Who the hell did you and Gin fancy yourselves to be, to think you’d known him better than I did?"
Ron lifted his glass with a shaky hand and took a swig of his pint. "We didn’t know what was going on. You hadn’t told us anything."
"And you didn’t think to maybe, I dunno, ask me? Have a fucking conversation with me?"
Ron looked around the room, clearly worried that, despite the Muffliato, someone might work out that they were arguing. Harry couldn’t give a shit, so long as the subject remained out of the papers. When he looked back at Harry, he shrugged. "Didn’t know how to broach the topic, did I?"
Unbelievable. Harry took another sip. "So let me get this straight: the two of you spied on me, then talked about me behind my back, then approached Draco, also behind my back, then kept it all to yourselves. For five years. You watched me turn into myself, withdraw from people and pour myself into my work, basically a shell of the person I’d been. You watched all this happen, knowing full well what the cause of it was, but never thought - not once - to tell me what you’d done. Or, hell, to even bother to ask me what was wrong. For five. Fucking. Years. Have I got that right? Or did I miss something?"
Ron was saved by the appearance of the waitress with two menus. Harry hastily removed the spell, ordered another round and put the menus aside. When she left to get their drinks, Harry raised his brow. "Well?" He swigged back the last of his pint and slammed the glass down on the table before putting the Muffliato back up.
Ron’s eyes didn’t meet Harry’s and he mumbled when he spoke. It was all Harry could do not to shake him. "You got better," he said. "Sure, at first you were all about work, but you’ve come round lately."
"So that makes it okay for you to just make my life decisions for me? You know, like my aunt and uncle did. Then Dumbledore. And lie to me or keep the truth from me, like Snape and Umbridge and countless others. People that you vilified for the way they treated me. Only to turn around and do the same thing."
"But ... it wasn’t the same thing!"
"No?"
Once more the waitress interrupted. When she put the drinks down, Harry asked for ten minutes before they ordered dinner. If he even wanted anything, he felt so sick to his stomach over this whole mess. He took a particularly long pull from his pint and waited.
Ron put the spell back up and looked beseechingly at Harry. "We were just trying to help you. To make sure you weren’t taken advantage of." Harry scoffed. "No, really, Harry. Malfoy had been a right shit to you your entire life."
"Which is why I would have been able to see what he was up to, if it was something nefarious."
"But we didn’t know that. We hardly talked to you."
"And that was my fault? If you’ll recall, I tried to talk to you about him, but you wouldn’t listen. You cut me off and said nothing but disparaging things about him and never even heard what I had to say. And now you have the audacity to tell me we didn’t talk? Well, fuck you, Ron. And Ginny too."
"Harry."
"No, this is bullshit. You, of all people, knew how gutted I was by Dumbledore’s betrayal. I understood his reasoning, but he manipulated me. Lied to me. Kept things from me. But at least he had a higher purpose in all of it. But you?"
"We just wanted what was best for you."
"That’s crap and you know it. If you were doing what was best for me, you’d have told Hermione about it. But you didn’t, did you? She knew nothing about it because you and Gin knew she’d have set you straight. I don’t even know why you did it - to keep me from being friends with Draco, to make sure Ginny and I got back together, to ensure you and I went into the Aurors together? I don’t know. And I don’t care."
"But you weren’t just friends with him."
"No, I wasn’t. And you know what? I was happy. Really happy."
"But Harry -"
"No, Ron. I was genuinely happy and you took that away from me. And you didn’t even have the balls to tell me about it." Harry was suddenly tired. So very tired. "You lied and hid things from me and manipulated my life for five years. You know what? It’s clear to me that you don’t see that what you did was wrong, and I don’t have the energy to fight with you. I’m done. When you’re ready to apologise, send me an owl."
"I said I was sorry."
"And we both know you didn’t mean it. You’re only sorry you got caught. Well, I’m sorry it happened at all. I’ve been sorry for five years."
"I didn’t know."
"And how could you have if you didn’t ask? That’s the whole fucking point, Ron. I’m an adult - I was an adult then, too - and I can make my own decisions."
"I know."
"Do you really? Because I don’t think you do. And I don’t trust you."
"C’mon, Harry." He still didn’t get it. Still didn’t understand what he did was wrong.
Harry drank down the last of his second beer and stood up, bone weary and in desperate need to get away from Ron. "I’m done," he repeated. "Once Gin picks up the last of her things, I’m closing off Grimmauld to the both of you. I’ll work with you if and when I have to, I’ll continue to be professional, and I’ll always have your back, but that’s it. Unless and until you apologise - and mean it - I’ve got nothing else to say to you."
He tossed some money onto the table and apologised to the waitress for not staying for supper as he left. He didn’t bother to look back at Ron, to see his face, to see the mixture of confusion and defiance. He didn’t think he could take it.
Continued in Part 17