Strong Love

"You stupid wanker, pick up those stupid socks from the stupid stairs! What on earth is wrong with you that you can't clean up after yourself?" Malfoy shouted. "And open the door!"

Harry groaned loudly. "Malfoy, stop pushing me!"

Malfoy's voice came slightly dulled through Harry's office door behind which he had locked himself to avoid exactly that: Malfoy losing his mind. It had started with him telling Harry in a normal, calm, un-Malfoy manner that he wanted to choose the menu for tonight's dinner with Dudley. Kreacher was preparing dinner, of course, and the menu had been set two days ago, but now Malfoy wanted to make some changes.

"Kreacher has already bought all the ingredients and prepared everything," Harry had replied in the same calm way. "We can't just change the main course and dessert because you don't feel like eating fish today."

And then it had started. Malfoy had argued that fish just wasn't appropriate for the weather they were having and that Kreacher could get new ingredients with the snap of his finger, so that was not an issue. "Also, don't pretend we don't have the money for that," Malfoy had said, and Harry's jaw had dropped.

They had argued back and forth for a while, pulling out more and more stuff from the box of issues they had, and once it was all uncovered and out in the open, Harry needed a break. They had covered all the usual bases: their first six years at Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione, Pansy Parkinson, Harry's ex Ginny, and they had even touched on the very sensitive topic of both their parents. That was something off-limits nowadays. Draco's father had died, and his mother wasn't doing very well on her own. Harry's parents, of course, had always been Malfoy's go-to insult to throw at Harry, but since they wanted to stay as far from their old ways as possible, he never mentioned them at all; not even to say something good.

Harry had sighed, dropped his hands in defeat, and stormed to his office. Now, he was pacing up and down the room, listening to his husband banging against the door, screaming profanities through it and at him.

"Potter, I swear to Salazar, if you don't open this damned door, I will blast it down!"

Harry couldn't help a hysteric laugh. "Then you might as well clean that up, too."

He immediately knew that he shouldn't have said that, but the second Harry regretted it, there was a loud bang, and the door came down in a cloud of smoke. Harry coughed, waving his hand through the air to clear it of the smoke behind which Malfoy's silhouette appeared.

"Have you lost your mind?" Harry shouted at him, but whatever else he was about to say was swept out of his mind as soon as the smoke cleared, and he could see Malfoy more clearly, now right in front of him.

He was a vision of black and silver and grey. His hair was down today, and by only looking at it, Harry knew exactly what it smelled and felt like. Malfoy's grey eyes had an effect on Harry that was almost dangerous in the sense that they could make him do every stupid thing in the world, and he wouldn't even hesitate. Malfoy was especially intoxicating when he looked angry like that - it took Harry right back to last year when they had had their fights at Hogwarts during their eighth year. Dangerous was exactly the right word.

Malfoy's hands were on Harry before he even realised, but years and years of Quidditch gave him reflexes quicker than a cat's, so he had Malfoy spun around in an instant. Harry could see the surprise in Draco's eyes, and the little gasp that escaped Malfoy's lips when his lower back hit the desk made Harry's insides turn.

"Potter-" the blonde started but fell silent immediately when he realised that his voice wouldn't be able to hold steady.

Harry's lips curled into a satisfied smirk. He knew he'd won. "I promise I'll get rid of the socks," he said.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed the way they always did when he was done with Harry's shenanigans and had him all figured out. "Don't try to charm me, Potter." He stepped away from the desk, pushing Harry backwards a little. "We're going to talk about this now."

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'll get rid of the socks," he repeated firmly, "and we can change the main course, but the dessert stays. I've been craving chocolate mousse the whole week, Malfoy."

His husband's shoulders sagged a little, and he leaned in just enough so the air around them shifted and felt warmer. "Fine," he said, his tone warmer, too. "You clean up the socks, the mousse stays, and we're having sex right here, right now, on this desk."

A little laugh was all that Harry could manage before his lips were taken over by Malfoy's, and their tongues were intertwined. It was good to know that they could still compromise like this and that no matter how big and utterly useless their fights were, they always found back to each other. They always had each other's backs and their front's too. As long as Harry was alive, he would protect Draco Malfoy with everything he had; he swore on that. There was nothing he wouldn't do for that man, and if putting his house-elf through the ringer to change the main course from fish to beef, then so shall it be.

They had sex right there, right then, on that desk, and Harry's fingernails were digging into the wood so hard that he was afraid he might damage it. He would have to leave soon to meet Ron, Dean, and Christopher at St. Mungo's, but he always had time for sex. Especially if it was after a fight and Malfoy was extra rough with him.

Harry left the house with a bruise on his neck that he didn't notice until Dean pointed it out, and Harry cast a spell to get rid of it. He rubbed his neck a little ashamed and willed his ears not to turn red, then put on his Auror-face and marched through the hospital with his three friends and colleagues right behind him. A young nurse with a clipboard and a quill floating next to it came up to them and was about to ask for their names so she could write them down as visitors, when she looked at Harry and took a suprised step back. Harry saw her eyes rush over Ron and Dean, too, before her jaw dropped, and she needed a second to gather herself.

"Har- I mean, Mister Potter," she said, her voice way more breathy than it needed to be. Harry was always flattered to be recognised, and so were Ron and Dean when she addressed them with their names, too. "What can I do for you?"

But Harry was on the job, so there was no time for flattery. "We're here to see James Patterson," he told her in a formal manner.

The nurse understood immediately, straightened up a little, and nodded. "Yes, of course. Right this way."

As she led the way to the bed they had already visited yesterday, Chris grumbled quietly, "Doesn't know my name, does she?"

Ron snorted and grinned at him. "You got a long way to go, kid."

Ron liked to call Christopher "kid" even though he was only a year younger than them, but he disliked being called that so much that it made it all the more fun for Ron. Harry smiled and shook his head. The nurse pulled open the curtain around Patterson's bed and threw a smile at the Aurors before leaving. Harry was glad to see that James had healed a lot since yesterday, and the genuine smile on his face only reassured Harry.

"How are you feeling today, Mister Patterson?" Harry asked as they sat down on chairs around his bed.

"I'm doing well. All thanks to you," he replied, looking at Christopher, too.

"We would like to ask you a few questions, if that's alright with you," Ron continued.

James nodded and sat up a little. "Though I'm not sure how much of a help I would be to you," he said, looking sorry. "The ones who took me from my home all had their faces covered."

"All except for one, your wife told us," Harry said.

Patterson nodded again. "Yes, but I barely remember what he looked like. Everything had happened so fast, and when they brought me to the warehouse where you found me, he had covered his face again."

"Anything you remember about him would be a great help," said Dean. They could really use every last bit they could get.

James thought for a moment. He took a sip of water from the glass on his bedside table and then looked at the Aurors. Harry felt sorry for him; he didn't want to force him to relive the experience he had had, but they had no other choice. He was the only one they could ask. His information was now crucial to finding Avery and his followers.

"He had black hair," the witness started. "It was a little longer, almost shoulder-length. His one hand was scarred as if he had put it in boiling water, but he could use it just fine. But even with his hood down, that was all I could see. Their robes were too long to find anything else."

Harry nodded and added the description to the mental folder of thing they already knew, but this didn't differ a lot from the description James's wife had already given them. "You said when you arrived, he put his hood up again?"

"Yes. It seemed like he didn't want the others to see his face."

Harry and Ron looked at each other. So why show his face to James and his wife? Why risk getting recognised?

"What about a name?" Chris asked. "Did you get his name?"

James shook his head. "They didn't use any names; they only called each other Avery."

"Can you tell us how many there were when they brought you?" Ron asked.

"About ten people," James told them. "I couldn't really count because they hexed me unconscious as soon as I showed any interest in what they were doing. But there were the four that took me and about five or six more."

"Were they all male?" Dean asked while his quill was busy scribbling all of this down.

"I think so. I could only hear male voices."

This really wasn't much to go on, but Harry appreciated Patterson's cooperation. "All we know now is that we're going after faceless males and one man with black hair," Ron mumbled on their way out of the hospital. "Easy."

Harry chuckled, but he, too, felt discouraged. He didn't know why he had thought that James could tell them anything at all. The Averys hadn't brought him there to take notes; they had brought him as a hostage. What Harry also didn't understand was: Why? If they had wanted to make a statement, why hadn't they killed the man with the same name as Harry's father? Why had they kidnapped him, tied him up, and kept him alive? Why, if not to lure Harry into a trap? Why hadn't that been a trap? They had just left him there.

"They must have been really sure he couldn't tell us anything," Harry concluded out loud, making his friends look at him. "Otherwise, they wouldn't have given him up that easily."

Dean nodded in agreement. "And they were right." He turned to Christopher, who was looking at the transcript of the conversation they had just had. "We better get back to the Ministry and sort this out."

"Yeah, let's go." Chris said goodbye to Harry and Ron and handed the notes back to Dean.

"Bye, Chris," Harry replied.

"See you on Monday, kid," Ron said, making Harry grin and Christopher scowl.

When they were on their own, Harry and Ron turned to look at each other. "You should get home," said Ron.

Harry chuckled. "I don't even know who I need to save from whom - Malfoy from the Muggle or Dudley from the wizard."

With a laugh, Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder. "I really don't envy you, mate."

"Thanks," Harry snorted sarcastically and turned away to Disapparate.

He landed right on the doorstep, a skill he had learned to perfection over two years ago and since then not forgotten. Harry opened the front door with a weird feeling in his gut. The short talk he and Dudley had had at Vernon's funeral might have gone quite well, but that was no reason today would go just as smoothly. And as if putting Harry and Dudley into a room together wasn't already enough, Malfoy was there, too. Three ingredients for a perfect recipe for disaster. All three of them were rather hot-headed, especially when it came to each other. Dudley was suspicious of Malfoy and Harry because they were wizards, Harry was suspicious of Dudley because he used to torture Harry at home while Malfoy hadn't been there to do it himself, and Malfoy was suspicious of Dudley for exactly that same reason and because he had grown incredibly protective of Harry.

"What could go wrong?" Harry whispered to himself when he kicked off his shoes next to Malfoy's neatly placed, shining black leather shoes.

Full of dread and anticipation of what could await him, he stepped into the living room and froze in the doorframe at the sight before him. Malfoy, cheeks rosy from the wine in his hand, had his head tilted back in a laugh. A strand of hair had gotten loose from the ponytail he had tied with a black ribbon and was falling into his face. His eyes were closed, and when he opened them, they immediately found Harry and shone in the brightest silver Harry had ever seen. He looked so utterly happy that it made Harry almost forget all the concerns he had had about Dudley coming over. Whoever could make Draco laugh like that was a blessing to Harry. Even if it made him a little jealous.

But the laugh was nothing compared to the complete, heart-stopping happiness in Malfoy's voice when he said, "Potter! I was wondering when you'd show up."

Harry couldn't help a smile. He had been gone for less than three hours, and Malfoy had already started to miss him. "Here I am," he replied, then turned his attention to his cousin and inclined his head. "Dudley."

When Dudley got up, Harry realised that the pigtail Hagrid had given him years ago would no longer be fitting. While he still was and always would be "Big D" to Harry, all he was big in now was his height. He seemed to have lost quite a bit of weight since they had last seen each other at Uncle Vernon's funeral. Dudley wasn't scrawny and pointy with fine muscles like Malfoy, and he didn't have muscular arms and chest like Harry, but Harry supposed they could almost share clothes now without Harry having to drown in them.

To Harry's surprise, when he held out his hand, his cousin hugged him instead. He still wasn't fully used to Dudley being nice to him, but he accepted the hug and clapped Dudley on the back encouragingly. Malfoy was smiling at Harry over Dudley's shoulder, and Harry smiled back at him. He had been gone for less than three hours, yet he couldn't have waited another minute to see that smile.

Malfoy leaned back in the armchair, eyeing Harry and his cousin as they awkwardly settled down next to each other on the sofa. Malfoy poured Harry a glass of red wine, and they all took a sip in silence until Harry decided that it was too unbearable. "What were you talking about?"

"Your cousin was just telling me about the time you were banned from school because you climbed to the roof," Draco said, and the smile came back to his blood-red lips, stained with wine and happiness. Looking at them, Harry wished he could taste those lips, feel them on his body, and he contemplated for just one second to send Dudley home, wherever that was.

Instead, Harry rolled his eyes and played offended. "I didn't climb to the roof, I just... appeared on the roof. How was I supposed to know I could do magic?"

"Mum and dad were furious with him," Dudley told Draco, and it was evident that he remembered that event a whole lot differently from how Harry remembered it.

To Dudley, this had been something funny - his werid little cousin, who hadn't had any friends to begin with, got banned from school for three weeks because he had broken a rule. It had been a little entertainment in a world where Dudley had everything. Maybe he'd wanted to jump from the roof, maybe he'd only wanted attention, or maybe he was a bit slow in the head and hadn't known that he wasn't allowed up there.

To Harry, it had been terrifying. He had been in the hallway one minute and on the roof the next. Afterwards, he had been locked in the cupboard without food for three days before they gave him pieces of dry bread every morning for the next four days. For two weeks, he hadn't seen more sunlight than the bit coming through the slit from under the door. He couldn't sleep at night because he had bad dreams about what had happened and about all the things he couldn't explain, and he couldn't sleep during the day because Dudley was either jumping up and down the stairs or Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia banged against the door to keep him up.

Harry didn't mention any of that, but Malfoy must have noticed something on his face that made him fall quiet, take a sip of wine, and change the topic. "So, Dudley," he said, and Harry tore his gaze away from his hands in his lap to look at Malfoy. "Last time we saw you, you said you were looking for a place to live in London."

Dudley nodded, emptied his wineglass, and as Draco refilled it, he said, "Oh, yes. I moved a few weeks ago. From my living room, I can see right across the Thames."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "The Thames?" he asked. "So you're really in London."

Dudley smiled a little sheepishly and nodded. "It's a big flat," he said, then let his gaze glide around Harry's living room; the furniture and the large fireplace and the staircase that led to several more floors. "Not as big as this house, though. Being a hero must be well-paid."

Harry let out a soft chucke and felt himself blush, but he shrugged, nonchalant. "I do have a job, you know?"

His cousin nodded. "I know. At your ministry."

Harry was slightly surprised but equally flattered that Dudley had remembered. "I inherited the house, though," he explained, not thinking any further.

Dudley's eyes widened. Of course, he couldn't have known that the mass-murderer godfather Harry had threatened his family with in the summer of 1994 had owned his own house and left it to Harry with everything in it. He also couldn't have known that his following question "Inherited from who?" was - while probably meant as harmless - not a question Harry would ever be able to answer him without feeling sick. Even in the past, Dudley had never had anything nice to say about Harry's parents or anything else concerning him. He didn't want Sirius to fall under that, too. He wanted Sirius's name to stay untarnished. Selfishly, Harry wanted to keep Sirius safe from Dudley.

As he contemplated not to answer or to tell Dudley that it was none of his business, Harry's eyes met Malfoy's. They were confused at first, but at the sight of Harry, they softened. Harry realised that the one person apart from Dudley who had hated Harry with a passion was Malfoy. He, too, had insulted Harry's parents and friends at every chance he had gotten. And if Draco Malfoy could change that, maybe Dudley Dursley could, too. Maybe Dudley would have enough class not to insult Harry's dead godfather while sitting in the house that had been his.

"My godfather, Sirius," Harry finally said, ignoring the warning signs that went off in his head, begging him to crawl under a blanket and block out the world and Dudley's reaction.

"I'm sorry."

When Harry looked at his cousin, he genuinely did look sorry. For a second, Harry furrowed his brow and wondered why he was sorry, and then he realised that to inherit something, someone had to die first. Dudley was saying sorry for Harry's loss.

"Oh, no, I'm okay. Nothing to be sorry for," Harry replied. "It was a few years ago." But even as he said it, he knew that only because it had been almost four years ago, it didn't make it okay. He still missed Sirius and what he could have had with him: something the Dursleys had never been able to give him - a family.