Chapter 2
Ain't I rough enough?
Ain't I tough enough?
Ain't I rich enough? In love enough?
The dark iron gate loomed sinister and cold in front of Draco.
He stared through the bars, along the path that ran between the perfectly trimmed hedges, all the way down to the house. Or the manor, to be more correct: Malfoy Manor.
He sighed.
Although he was standing outside of the gate, wrapped in his coat and scarf, hair damp from the drizzle, he felt as though he was already inside his personal prison, not about to enter it.
Draco wondered briefly, if he would ever feel comfortable in this place again. It wasn't as if someone needed him to. He only came every Sunday, after all. Every week.
I really need to talk to Mother.
He frowned unhappily.
It had been 5 days since the pub. 5 days since seeing Harry and the others.
5 days of Draco wondering if he should try to reach out and then not doing it. Harry could also have reached out, though. Or, of course, any of the others.
Draco kicked the gate in frustration, regretting the decision immediately.
"Fuck!" He hissed in pain.
"Master Malfoy needs to watch out a little more," The gate said, reproachfully.
"Sorry," Draco muttered irritably. "Can you let me in, please?"
The gate swung open, obviously offended, and Draco passed through. He made his way slowly down the path. He could just ask Luna for Harry's number.
Merlin, will you drop it?!
Malfoy Manor was an impressive sight, with it's many towers, pillars and tall windows. The hedges on either side of him opened up into the "drive", though he supposed Wizards and Witches did not need a drive, and before he knew it, he was standing in font the towering oak doors. Each was adorned with a heavy, iron doorknocker in the shape of a serpent's head.
He reached out and curled one hand around the ring in the serpent's mouth, knocking it loudly on the wood.
The doors swung open slowly and soundlessly, recognizing him, and he entered.
Malfoy Manor was significantly less creepy than it had been during the war, more reminiscent of Draco's childhood. During the day, the many windows let in sunlight, and in the night each chandelier and torch was lit. Though the walls were white, there were paintings and tapestries hung up everywhere, and thick, expensive carpets covered the floors.
Draco took off his coat and scarf and they were immediately taken from him by two small house-elves.
"Draco, my love," A smooth voice called and he turned.
Narcissa Malfoy was undoubtedly a beautiful woman, albeit in a cold way. The dark parts of her hair had turned an elegant silver colour, still shot through with white streaks.
"Mother," Draco smiled and climbed the sweeping staircase. His mother greeted him with open arms. Today she was dressed in dark robes, tailored to fit her neatly, reminiscent of a dress. She refused to wear muggle clothing, but had accepted Draco's change in fashion without much complaints.
The two hugged, and Draco was reminded of his height again. He forgot, sometimes, how much time had passed.
"You look well," Narcissa looked him up and down, examining him closely. "Did you meet someone?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "It's nice to see you too, Mother. How was your week?"
"Excellent," Narcissa turned and strode down the hall, towards the dining room, Draco following. "I finally found that blasted Boggart, that had been haunting the third floor. It was quite a nuisance." They entered the dining room, all dark paneled wood and candles. "I also found an album of some pictures of you when you were very young, and some of my own younger years. You can take it home, if you want."
"Yeah, that sounds good." Draco went to stand by the window and stared out into the rainy grounds. The trees and bushes were in different shapes, though none of them were lions. That was a line Narcissa would not cross. The sun had already gone down, so he was able to make out his mother's reflection. She was observing him, her red lips pursed.
"How was your week, darling?" She asked now and Draco lied: "Good. Uneventful."
He spun on the spot and draped himself over his chair, lounging. Narcissa snapped her fingers and two other house-elves began setting the table.
Draco frowned, "Mother, when will you let these poor elves go. This is illegal, you know that, right?"
Narcissa clicked her tongue and sat down in her high-backed chair. "I don't want to discuss this right now. The Parkinsons will be arriving in 10 minutes."
Draco groaned, "When will you talk about it, then?" He leaned his head back and stared up at the chandelier.
"Pansy is not going to be joining us this time, either. She's still in Sweden. Not that you'll mind, I expect."
Draco continued to stare at the ceiling. Does Harry even want to call me? Wouldn't he do it, if he wanted to?
"Draco, will you sit up straight."
Then again, he doesn't have my number...
"Draco!"
"Sorry, what?" Draco swivelled his head back and stared at his mother. She sighed.
"You seem very distracted," Narcissa straightened out a fold in the table cloth, then pulled out her wand and lit the candles along the table. "Are you sure you aren't seeing anyo-"
"Mother, will you please drop it?!"
A stiff silence. Draco's bad mood was hovering like a storm cloud above them, matching the weather outside.
Narcissa pursed her lips again.
"Sorry," He sheepishly tugged at the table cloth. "I had a long week."
"That's alright, darling" His mother answered. Then, "Have you reconsidered visiting your father in Azkaban?"
"Are you serious?" He stared at her, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. Outside, the rain had increased, drumming its silvery fingers against the windows in a rhythm Draco couldn't understand. Narcissa had dark eyes, unlike Lucius, whose pale eyes he had inherited. The stubborness and unwillingnes to communicate, was rooted in both his parents. It was, at times, very exhausting. He massaged the bridge of his long nose. "Please, I came here for dinner and not to have an argument with you."
"We aren't arguing, I'm just asking," Narcissa crossed her arms.
Shut up Draco, you moron. Let it go, just let it-
"Well, stop asking," He retorted, mirrorring his mother's posture. "You already know how I feel."
"Don't you think, darling, that talking to your father might get you some closur-"
"NO!"
"Don't shout, you know how I hate it when you shout."
"I'm not shouting."
"You were just."
"Mother, please listen to me!" Draco raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "I do not, nor will I in the near future, want to talk to Lucius. He was an awful father. He emotionally and sometimes physically abused both of us. I am a grown man. I do not want to visit him in Azkaban!"
Narcissa crossed her legs and drummed her red nails on the table-top, blending in with the sound of the rain. "Draco," She said in a dangerously measured voice. "Do not patronise me."
"Are- are you kidding me right now?" Draco's mouth dropped open.
"You are acting very childish," Narcissa continued irritably. "Just because I value traditions, does not mean my judgement is clouded."
"But, Mother," Draco was now gesticulating with his arms. "This has nothing to do with being traditional. No one expects you to remain with the man who was once a Death Eater. There is a reason he is in Azkaban."
"Draco, enough!" Narcissa was now standing, hands gripping the table and a tight expression on her face. "I don't want to have this discussion right now!"
Draco opened his mouth in protest.
"I said, enough!" She yelled, cutting off her son, before he could speak. "I was also a Death Eater, in case you forgot! The only reason you and I didn't join your father in Azkaban was luck and mercy, and I am also a grown woman, who can make her own decisions. Now, please: DROP IT!"
Draco's eyes stung. He glared at his feet, fists tightly curled.
At that moment, the magically amplified noise of the doorknocker sounded through the house. Narcissa inhaled sharply, then left the room, squeezing Draco's arm briefly on her way out.
Draco quickly wiped his eyes, trying to compose himself. His heart was pounding and his throat felt tight. He breathed in and out a few times to regain control over himself.
Do not have a panic attack right now, please. Thank you.
This was not a new argument between the two. It kept coming up, and was getting increasingly frustrating. He loved his mother, but she seemed to go blind and deaf whenever Draco brought up his father. They would make up the next week, but right now - he needed a drink.
He could already hear the echoes of footsteps from downstairs, and voices. He disliked Alaric and Phestia Parkinson, who were both total snobs.
"Oh, Narcissa!" Came the nasally voice of Phestia, very close now. "You rearranged the paintings?!" It was like the sound of a balloon letting out air. Slowly.
I need a drink.
Quickly summoning the wine bottle, he poured himself a glass and downed it in one go. It was elf-made, which made him cringe. He was going to have to take care of the house-elf situation as soon as possible. They could remain, if they wanted, they just had to get minimum wage. It was a new law, probably initiated by Hermione, come to think of it.
Pouring himself another glass, he turned, just as his mother entered with the guests, a polite smile plastered onto his face.
***
CRACK
Draco appeared in an ally, near a main-street. He was back in London and it was roughly 10:40 pm.
He had left Malfoy Manor a minute ago, deeply stressed and a little drunk.
The Parkinsons had been as unpleasant, as expected. They had asked about his job, pretending to be interested, and he and Narcissa had pretended they hadn't just had a huge argument. So, the usual pure-blood family get-togethers. The rest of the dinner, Draco spent mostly smiling or making the appropriate noises, when necessary. As a result, by the end of the evening, he had accidentally drunk one...or two...or who knows how many, really...glasses too many.
Now he was dizzy from apparating and briefly considered throwing up.
Just before he had left, shaking the Parkinsons' hands and smiling, he had given his mother a hug. She had summoned the small photo album and placed it in the pocket of his coat.
"Love you, Mother," He had said and she had replied the same. They could talk about it next time. Or not, depending on what the mood was.
Draco and his mother had made a deal after the war. They would never part ways without saying 'I love you'.
Just in case.
Draco stumbled towards the main-street, feeling sorry for himself.
He vaguely registered the rain soaking his hair and running down his back, mind occupied with the dinner. Cars whooshed by and the lights glowed in shades of red and yellow. Then, just as he turned the corner - someone crashed right into him.
The pale blonde man hurtled towards the floor and next thing he knew, a sharp pain flared up in his head.
"Godric, MALFOY?!"
That voice...He knew that voice...
"Harry?" He asked, his vision swimming.
Strong arms were helping him up and then concerned green eyes materialised right in front of him.
"Shit, I was on my bike, I didn't even see you!" Harry said, steadying him. "I need to stop bumping into you violently!"
"That's probably accurate..." Draco groaned, blinking hard. Harry was wearing a rain-jacket and his hair was wet, though his glasses weren't. A spell.
"Fuck, ok, shit. Merlin," The taller man cursed. "You're bleeding!"
"Am I?" Draco stumbled slightly and Harry had to catch him. "You're strong," He giggled and then felt silly, hurriedly clarifying, "I don't usually giggle."
Harry, despite himself, broke into a grin. "Are you drunk?" He rumbled.
They were standing awfully close, noses only inches from one another. There was a moment, where Draco suddenly realized that he was clutched to Harry Potter's broad chest in the middle of the rain, the sounds of the city all around them and the lamplight gleaming dimly. It was very dramatic. He attempted to jump back, but just swayed weakly on the spot.
Harry had to steady him again. "Ok," He said in a firm voice. "You, sir, are coming with me. I live very close by."
"What? Nooo," Draco waved off. "I'm fine, really!"
"You're drunk and wounded."
"I'll do a spell for the scrapes and apparate," He protested, but Harry wasn't having it.
"This is a main street, Draco," He raised his eyebrows. "Just come to my place, it's simpler."
"It's totally ok, see?" Draco demonstrated walking, successfully in his opinion. Harry was shaking his head.
"You are bleeding from your head."
"I'm fi-"
"Draco Malfoy," Harry said, now stern. "Just come to mine."
Draco stared at him. There was concern and finality in his eyes. He was gripping his bicycle with one large hand and now reached out the other, to take Draco gently by the arm.
Salazar, he is so yummy. UGHHHHHHH.
Slowly, they turned into a side street and began walking, though Harry had to half-carry Draco. The blonde man's head was pounding uncomfortably and whenever he took a step, he felt like he had simultaneously walked backwards and taken five steps forwards. It was like trying to walk, while the Knight Bus was driving.
They had to climb a staircase, though that was so easy that Draco suspected magic. He didn't ask, too preoccupied with not throwing up.
The jingle of keys sounded, and the next moment Draco was standing in the entrance of Harry Potter's apartment.
The taller man was gently pushing him into the living room, ushering him onto a couch. Draco collapsed into the cushions, exhausted and glad for the seat.
"I think you have a concussion," Harry called to him, hanging his bike up on a designated spot on the wall.
Draco just groaned.
He closed his eyes and his eyelids pulsed uncomfortably along with his hammering headache.
He could hear Harry moving about somewhere to his right, his footsteps receding.
"You should eat and drink something!" The deep voice called from somewhere further in the apartment.
Draco just groaned.
The footsteps were coming closer again, and then, out of the blue, something soft landed on his upturned face.
"Oi," He protested, lamely. After taking the soft-something off of his face and cracking open one reluctant eye, he recognized it as clothes.
He leaned forward, the room tipping dangerously, and inspected the clothes further. A dark red oversize shirt and a pair of soft dark grey sweatpants. Resisting the urge to bury his nose in the fabric, he sniffed them gingerly. The items were obviously freshly washed - they smelled like mild laundry detergent, though there was a faint woody scent, that Draco thought smelled familiar.
He looked up and made eye-contact with Harry, who was grinning cheekily.
"Done?" The taller man asked, rubbing a towel through his wet hair.
Draco blushed and immediately let go of the clothes. "I was just checking if they were clean. Anyways, Potter, why are you giving me your clothes?"
"Harry," Came the immediate correction. Harry emerged from under the towel, his hair sticking up at all possible angles. He threw the towel casually over one shoulder and Draco couldn't help but stare.
Harry had taken off his jacket to reveal a simple, slightly tighter black t-shirt. The tattoos on his arms were visible, among them a mermaid, a phoenix, the Hogwarts Crest and some writing. There were other, smaller ones, all seemingly random, but forming a coherent piece of art. Harry looked like a bloody piece of art.
I hope he's bad at Legilmency, otherwise I would be in a very compromising position, indeed.
Draco gripped the bundle of clothes tightly.
"Alright, let's fix you up," Harry said, clapping both hands together. "You change out of your wet clothes, and I'll raid my medicine cabinet. I'm sure I have some potion or spell which will help."
He smiled optimistically and then turned on his heel and left the room.
Draco watched him leave.
Nice arse.
"Concentrate, you fool!!" He muttered to himself.
Now that the other man was gone, Draco sank back into the sofa. To his left, a silly lion cushion was glaring menacingly a him.
Gryffindors.. He stuck his tongue out at the lion, making sure Harry hadn't come back yet.
Staying still made him feel the least sick and dizzy, so he carefully removed his coat and scarf, then unbuttoned his shirt. He heard footsteps from afar and hastily pulled the dark red shirt over his head. When he emerged, pulling a hand through his probably dishevelled hair, he spotted Harry, standing frozen in the doorway.
"You alright there?" He said, raising an eyebrow, though his own pulse had quickened.
Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and cleared his throat. He came towards Draco, waving a small bottle and his wand. The blonde man watched apprehensively, as the dark-haired man opened the bottle and shook out two green pills.
"Here, for the concussion and the dizziness," He said and placed them in his pale spidery hand. "You can chew them, it's like Sherbert Lemons."
"Like, what?" Draco stared at him quizzically.
"Nevermind, just chew them."
He popped the pills into his mouth and an odd fizzing and bubbling sensation began in the back of his throat. It wasn't unpleasant.
In the meantime, Harry had pulled out some essence of dittany and some cotton pads. "May I?" He asked and Draco nodded, already feeling his head clear up. Now he was just tired and tipsy, instead of tired, tipsy and concussed.
Harry had to stand very close to him, leaning down and concentrating hard. Draco watched in fascination. The dark-haired man, after cleaning the wound on Draco's head, began waving his wand and mumbling under his breath. He was chewing his lower lip, his dark brow furrowed adorably.
He's so beautiful.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Harry teased, referring to the night at the pub. Draco fought the inevitable blush and cursed his pale complexion.
"Less talking, more healing," He quipped.
Harry laughed softly, the sound making him shiver. They were so close. Finally, the other man lowered his wand and whispered, "Done."
He didn't move away and Draco found himself unable to break the eye-contact. There was a small moment, where the two men simply stared at each other, the tension palpable.
"Have your eyes always been this green?" Draco suddenly blurted out and Harry burst into suprised laughter. The moment was over.
"I believe so," He chuckled.
"They're nice, I don't think I've ever told you that..." Draco mumbled, exhaustion curling through him. He leaned back on the couch and yawned. "Don't let it go to your head, though..."
"You're drunk, Draco," Harry said. "And, uhm, I haven't finished healing your wounds..."
"What's missing?"
"Hands, arms and knees. You fell pretty bad."
Draco looked up, with great effort. He examined his hands. They were indeed pretty scraped up. He held them out to Harry, who put drops of dittany on them, healing them almost instantly.
"And, er-" Harry cleared his throat. "Your knees."
"Okay."
"No, uhm, I'm not sure you understand..." The tattooed man scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I can't reach your knees, you need to take off your trousers."
Draco raised his eyebrows and Harry reddened slightly.
"If you wanted me to strip, you could've just asked," He grinned, and Harry rolled his eyes, matching the grin. Draco sat up and looked at the other man expectantly. "Are you going to watch...or?"
"What? No," Harry jumped up. "Obviously not! I, uhm, I'm just gonna go make you some tea."
Draco watched in amusement as Harry blushed and turned around to go to his kitchen. "How do you take your tea?" He called over his shoulder, not looking back.
"Normally black with one spoon of sugar, but right now anything hot and herbal will do," Draco replied, wriggling awkwardly out of his trousers. He could see Harry's broad back moving about, preparing the tea. Quickly peppering his wounded knees with drops of dittany and then pulling on the sweat-pants, he reflected on the odd situation he was in.
I am sitting in Harry Potter's clothes, on his couch, as the Chosen One himself prepares me some tea. How in Salazar's name did I get here?
He ran his hand through his hair and chuckled in disbelief.
"What's funny?" Harry set a steaming mug in the shape of a hippogriff's head down in front of Draco and then plonked himself unceremoniously down opposite him on the sofa. He took a sip from his own tea and looked expectantly at the blonde man.
"Nothing," Draco answered and waved a dismissive hand. He picked up the hot mug and stared at the hippogriff's beady yellow eyes. "Harry, it looks mad."
"Yeah, well...given your history with Hippogriffs..."
Draco felt his face burn. "Merlin, I was such a twit." Then he took a sip of his tea and wrinkled his nose. "I'm sorry, what is this supposed to be?"
"I added a Gurdyroot Infusion, it's supposed to prevent hangovers." That cheeky grin.
"Sounds like something Luna would suggest," Draco took another sip. "Tastes absolutely awful!"
Harry smiled into his own mug. "It was actually her dad's recipe."
"Figures."
There was a brief moment of silence, in which Draco found he could get used to the bitter taste. Maybe he could get used to some other things too... He watched Harry, with his serious eyes and messy hair. Then, before he could chicken out, he said, "Thanks for rescuing me."
"Rescuing?" Harry chuckled. "I don't know if I was rescuing you, as much as injuring you."
"Before that, I mean," Draco brought his knees up to his chest, feeling suddenly very naked and vulnerable. He was deeply outside of his comfort zone, but not at all uncomfortable. It was an unsettling feeling.
"Can I ask what was 'before'?" Harry stirred his drink and Draco nodded.
"I had Sunday dinner with my mother," He replied, feeling a new wave of exhaustion flood him. "I adore her, but we...argue."
"About?"
"Oh, everything," Draco said dryly. "You don't want to hear about it, I'm sure."
Harry shrugged. "I'd love to hear about it." He looked genuine.
Draco took a deep breath. "House-elves, for one. Still living in Malfoy Manor, my father, the company she keeps, my love life...you name it. It's like," He set down his mug and buried his face in his hands. "She listens to me, but she doesn't really hear me. She never wants to accept that her traditional values may be wrong. She keeps pressuring me to visit my father in Azkaban, no matter how many times I've told I don't want to. I feel like nothing I say will ever make her understand where I'm coming from. As if the fact that he helped spawn me, somehow gives him authority over my life and decisions, you know? I know I can't choose my parents, but I can choose if I want to see them. I can choose if I want Lucius in my life: the man who made me miserable for most of my childhood and teenage years. It's my life. I'm a fucking adult - and she just can't seem to accept it."
He knotted his hands anxiously.
"And I know she just wants what is best for me, but what about her? How is seeing him and staying in that house best for her? I just can't get through to her, she is so stubborn!" His heart was beating so intensely, he was sure Harry must be able to hear it. "Anyway, I'm sorry for unloading. It's not really a big deal, we'll make up. We always do."
Harry was still looking at him. "There's no need to be sorry, Draco," He said simply.
Draco exhaled, then wiped his eyes, angrily.
I can't believe I'm crying! In front of Harry Potter! How embarrassing!
"I cry all the time," Harry sounded amused and Draco looked up in surprise.
"Did I just say that out loud?" He asked and received a laugh.
"Honestly, do you want to hear my advice?" The taller man said, sobering up again. Draco nodded. "I think you need to sit down with your mother, properly. Not during the Sunday dinner, or if you choose that time - tell her beforehand that you want to have an honest conversation. Maybe tackle one issue at a time and jot down some notes, so you don't forget anything. I do that sometimes, when I need to have a conversation with someone at the Ministry, which might get uncomfortable."
Draco raised his eyebrows, in mild amusement. "You jot down notes? I thought you were more the let's-see-where-this-goes-but-definitely-wing-it-type."
"Well," Harry wiggled his eyebrows. "I may have exaggarated. I did that once, the rest of the time I do wing it."
"Hmm. Successfully, I'm sure?"
"Obviously," Harry grinned. "I've had years of practice."
Draco laughed and then yawned again.
"I don't know how you did it, all those years..." He mumbled, feeling his eyelids close.
"Me neither, if I'm honest."
The blonde man settled more comfortably into his position. Vomiting emotionally seemed to have worn him out.
So tired...
"Draco?"
I'll just take a little nap...
"Hmm.." He was already sinking into the inky blackness of sleep, the drowsy waves rolling over him.
"Did you know it was your mother who ended up saving my life, right in the end?" Harry's deep voice was lulling him further and further to sleep.
"...What...?" He mumbled and could have sworn a soft chuckle sounded from the direction of the other man.
"Never mind."
The last thing Draco felt was a soft blanket thrown over him and the whispered words, "Good night, Draco Malfoy. Sleep well."
But he wasn't sure, if that wasn't already part of his dreams and before he knew it, he had fallen into a deep and familiar slumber.
I'll never be your beast of burden
I've walked for miles, my feet are hurting
And all I want is you to make love to me