Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Shards Of His Beloved	By : EvilConcubine Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 18387 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
To thrnbrooke: Thanks for reviewing! I don't think Harry can do anything like this. Even if they don't love each other, she's his wife and a mother of his children. Don't worry, though, I know how to solve all the problems ;).

To paganwoman: I remember I couldn't take my eyes of it. Thank you!

To TalisRuadair: Good to know you're still reading :). Thanks! This is the first site I've ever started posting my stories and I like it here. I hope you'll be fine here, too :).

To Forever Drarry: Thank you for all your kind words!

To Grey_Archangel: I'm so flattered, thank you!

To Aquarinus: I'm glad you've found me here and this story means so much to you. Thanks!

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10. Graceful Collapse



     In the morning Ginny was still angry, and Draco, who had already been in the kitchen when she entered and started cooking, felt it in the air around her even before she opened her mouth. Most of the time he preferred to ignore her completely, but today she irritated him so much that his frustration led him to accidentally pushing the pile of the just washed plates with his elbow. They fell on the floor with quite a harsh noise. Two were broken into pieces, another one had broken in half and other three seemed absolutely undamaged. The curse that had already been displeased with his irritation didn't hesitate to deliver the punishment. He squatted down and reached his hand up to grab and hold on to the edge of the sink. The pain lasted for a couple of minutes, nearly strangling him. He did his best not to scream, but couldn't hold back occasional gasps and his body was still shaking even when the pain was gone. He embraced his own body with both arms.

"Is that all?" Potter's bitch asked when he'd got up with some effort.

"What?" he hissed.

"Is that all punishment you get for breaking my dishes?"

"I have some news for you; you're a witch. If you have some proper skills, you can repair it. It's hardly a significant accident," he replied sarcastically, still recovering.

"Nothing's significant for you, except yourself. I remember it every time I look at Bill's face," Ginny spat.

"You were just waiting for an opportunity to tell me this, weren't you?" Draco, too, raised his voice, but then lowered it and just sneered at the bitch that couldn't just leave him alone. "I'm not even going to pretend that I care. Well, sorry. Not all of us are brave and noble enough to sacrifice our own family for the sake of someone's face. All of you are such high-flown, infantile idealists, so naive that it makes me want to vomit. And you always know what is right and what is wrong, don't you?" he almost growled. It wasn't like he didn't feel guilty about the past and all the mistakes he'd made; he did feel guilty. But he'd been just a desperate boy, intimidated and scared out of his mind for his family. He wasn't going to let anyone force him to feel any more guilt and make him torment himself. He had already shed all the amount of tears he'd had for the damage that had been done to school and pupils because of what he'd been coerced to do. He was ashamed of his own mistakes, but he would never be ashamed for wanting to protect his family, despite the fact that he couldn't take a life, which had been required of him. But he'd carried out the important part of the order, nevertheless, which had made the monster spare the lives of Malfoys, even if he hadn't been pleased with them, anyway.

"Godric... Why am I even listening to you? Legally you're not even a person; you're a property," Ginny sneered. He was about to sneer back, but, gave her a small, scornful smile, instead.

"You look pretty angry today, Mistress? Sleepless night? Or you've just got up on the wrong side of the bed?" he mocked. "Or, perhaps, your dear husband called you by the wrong name during some very inappropriate moment? Since you're so angry personally at me, I'll take the liberty of assuming that it was my name. Why else..." Ginny interrupted him, slapping his face hard. The sound of it was nearly deafening. Al who had been silently watching the scene for almost a minute, unnoticed, shrieked and hid behind the back of the chair.

"Ginny! What the hell are you doing?!" Harry exclaimed, after witnessing the slap, as he'd just entered.

"This shit dares to mock me!" she growled. Draco pressed his hand against the left side of his face, as it had started burning with pain. The slap had been hard enough for Ginny herself to start rubbing her stinging palm. She wasn't sorry for slapping Malfoy due to his sharp tongue and arrogance, she was sorry for giving in to provocation and especially sorry for letting her little son see it.

"I see you're still in a mood today. Well, there's no need to vent it on the other people," Harry said coldly. Al pressed himself against his father's leg and Harry patted him on the head soothingly.

"You're taking his side?! I'm your wife!" Ginny fired up.

"It doesn't give you any right to be violent, especially in front of Al."

"So now I'm a bad influence on our son?!"

"Stop it. I'm not going to argue with you."

"It's all right, Master," Draco told him bitterly, still looking at the redhead disdainfully and still pressing his hand against the cheek. "It must be a Gryffindors' thing; nothing that I haven't seen before, though. It's so typical. When you, people, are frustrated and incapable to think up some efficient verbal comeback, you often use your fists to cover up your stupidity and the lack of eloquence. Even your mudblood friend did it when we were in school, and your brothers-in-law, too. I'm used to it, so don't bother. It only proves how much some people suffer from the lack of a brain."

"Shut up, already," Ginny hissed.

"Draco, would you please leave us? I'll repair the plates," Harry said. Draco left quickly and silently.

     They argued the entire morning. Thankfully, they'd made sure that their children couldn't hear them. Ginny repeatedly accused Harry of cherishing the evil, ungrateful snake on his bosom. In the end, he just left to work, tired of his own fruitless attempts to achieve peace and quiet. Ginny and Draco were totally incompatible, simply unable to coexist and both too stubborn to even try.

     Draco went back to the kitchen to return to his chores. He decided not to pay attention to the redhead cunt. Fortunately, she was in the living room, playing with her children and reading them fairy tales. But in two hours or so she found him tidying up one of the rooms.

"I have to leave for a couple of hours. You're looking after the children," she said, or rather stated the fact. Draco chuckled darkly.

"You're a terrible mother if you're fine with leaving your spawn with me."

"What harm could you possibly do? Your controlling curse would quickly remind you of your place. Even if you're unbelievably useless, I'm sure you'll manage to look after two kids. They are in the nursery. Go now, it's an order, not a request." With this she left. Draco sighed, cursing Potter's bitch in his thoughts. He washed his hands and quickly headed to the nursery, as the curse was urging him. The younger spawn was sitting in his cot, holding the thin posts with his little hands and looking at Draco curiously. His elder brother was drawing, sitting at the wooden table, low enough to make a child comfortable. Albus was unusually quiet and James was babbling something hardly intelligible. Draco sat down at the table and relaxed. He was just resting for some time, but the feeling that he was being watched made him look back into the green, almond shaped eyes.

"What?" he asked coldly.

"Mummy huwted you," Al said quietly.

"And?"

"Still huwt?" the boy almost cooed, sounding sympathetically. Draco rolled his eyes. This child was just as meddlesome as his father. He knew, however, that his cheek was still pink and it still stung a little.

"I'm sure I'll survive somehow," he replied.

"Good."

     Fortunately, both children weren't making much trouble. Albus shyly asked Draco to draw something and the blond started drawing the castle on the mountain top. There were crayons on the table, but Draco preferred the quill and ink of different colours in small inkpots; the wooden box on the table was full of them. The quill looked a bit plucked, and yet still perfectly usable. He was drawing absentmindedly; however, the occupation was relaxing, all the same, letting his mind find some sort of comfort. His drawing skills were average, he definitely wasn't an artist, but the picture was turning out quite well. Albus was watching carefully, sometimes asking some simple questions about the picture.

"Anybody live in it?"

"No, it's abandoned."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"No ghosts?"

"I'm sure there are some. But we can't see them from here."

"There must be ghosts... Scawy ghosts."

     Draco almost finished drawing when James was suddenly tired of being ignored and started crying. He threw the pillow out of his cot in a sign of protest. Draco sighed and took the toddler in his arms. Fortunately, the boy calmed down pretty soon, once he'd got the attention. Holding him securely on his lap with one arm, Draco continued drawing. Albus was still watching, while his brother was babbling contentedly, held by Draco. When the picture was finished, he gave it to Albus.

"Fank you," Al exclaimed cheerfully. "Teach me?"

"No," Draco shook his head.

"I don't like you," Albus said, but it sounded quite half-heartedly, even though his cheerfulness was gone.

"Ditto," Draco shrugged indifferently without looking at the boy.

"Ditto?"

"It means I don't like you, either," the blond explained. Al pouted and started drawing his own picture. Draco, meanwhile, started another one, having nothing else to do.

     Using the dark-green, silver and black ink he was drawing the Malfoy family crest: the black and green shield with the silver letter "M" on it. Six sharp heads of the spears that emerged from behind the shield were pointed in six directions. Two dragon-like creatures were the supporters of the shield on both sides of it. Several serpents, looking slightly alerted, were on top of the shield. The motto 'Sanctimonia Vincet Semper' was written on the silver ribbon on the lower part of the shield. Albus was watching him drawing again, his own drawing was forgotten. The green eyes were full of curiosity.

"What's vis?" he finally asked, pointing at the motto.

''Purity Always Conquers," Draco translated.

"What it mean?"

"Nothing," Draco sighed bitterly. In the current situation it was nothing, indeed. To the most people who weren't purebloods such mottoes sounded very threatening, thanks to the Dark Lord and the involvement of some purebloods in the genocide of muggle-borns and those who sided with them. But for him it was his family crest and he wasn't going to be ashamed of it or anything about his kin. "I'll leave this picture here," he said, smirking to himself. He wanted to vex Potter's wife with it, imagining her shocked and furious face when she'd find this in the nursery. Thanks to it, she would probably refrain from using him as a fucking nursemaid next time.

"Okay," Al nodded naively.

     Soon James became sleepy and whiny, so Draco was rocking him in his arms. He strictly forbade himself to draw any parallels, feel any similarities, having the warm, small body in his arms. He forbade himself... But he was all right, because he never forgot whose child it was. At least, both children looked more like Potter than his wife. Despite James' brown eyes, Draco could see a lot of Potter in him. And there definitely was no need to look at Albus Severus twice to see how much he resembled his father. Thank gods for not letting more bloody freckled redheads into this world!

     When Ginny returned she said she was going to have guests, so she was busy with cooking and wanted him to keep looking after the children. And certainly it was an order. Draco angrily gritted his teeth, but said nothing. At least, the bloody curse considered this stupid babysitting as work.

     Late in the evening when, theoretically, it was the time to put the children to bed, someone finally entered the nursery to dismiss Draco. The curse had already been satisfied for some time, as he had fulfilled his quota of work, but Draco couldn't leave without permission, since he'd been ordered to look after the brats. He'd fed them several times, the younger one had napped a couple of times (Draco had been much more eager to rock him to sleep rather than entertain the bored toddler), so everything was quite fine, except for Draco's reluctance to be a bloody nursemaid, even if he was well versed in how to take care of children. Potter's wife knew it; she would've hardly trusted him with her sons, otherwise. But no matter what she'd said earlier, she was obviously a bit nervous that Malfoy was looking after her children, so she'd come to the nursery several times to make sure they were fine and fawned over them in her motherly way. 'As if I'm going to find a way to murder your precious spawn,' Draco thought with irritation.

     It was Potter who had entered the room this time. Strangely, Draco knew it was him even before he turned his face.

"Hi, Draco. Sorry, I've just got home," he apologised quietly, seeing that Jamie looked sleepy in the blonde's arms.

"Hi, Daddy," Albus smiled, sitting on the carpet with the book full of pictures in front of him.

"Hello, Al," Harry smiled back, but then his eyes returned to Draco. He carefully took James in his own arms and kissed his head. "I didn't know Ginny has left you with them. Are you all right?" he sighed, seeing that Draco wasn't really happy about all of it. Before the blond had a chance to answer something caustic (and he was surely in the mood to do it), the door opened and the young woman with brown, curly hair entered.

"Or, Harry, here you are," she chirped. Draco knew she was one of the bitch's stupid friends from Holyhead Harpies.

"Hi, Rosemary," Harry greeted and the greeting was a bit restrained.

"I haven't seen you for some time, just wanted to say 'hi'. Why don't you join us downstairs?" she asked cheerfully. Draco frowned. He somehow hated the looks the bint was giving Potter. She was flirting! Flirting with her 'friend's' husband in that 'friend's' own house! 'Oh, fucking brilliant.' Not only Potter's wife's 'friends' were giggling idiots, but they were also whores. How sad, Potter's stupid wife didn't see it. Oh, she would've gone mad! Draco would've enjoyed the scene so much! Potter himself looked oblivious.

"Thanks, but I'm a bit tired after work and I want to spend some time with the kids. Sorry," Harry replied, smiling down at Jamie, who was rubbing his eyes. Draco noticed that the bitch looked disappointed. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Draco didn't let her.

"Am I free to go, Master?" he asked. His voice was calm, but Harry could clearly feel how angry the blond was. He would have to talk to Ginny, so she wouldn't order Draco to look after the children again (Harry himself wouldn't have even considered the possibility of asking Draco to do anything like this). The blond was definitely unhappy about it, but he had no reason to be happy, anyway, considering how bad this day had started. Draco was in a terrible mood. Now it was even more obvious to Harry; much more obvious than when he'd entered the room. Harry had no idea that there was something else that had infuriated the blond like this and that it had nothing to do with children.

"Of course, Draco. Thank you," Harry replied. The blond moved to the exit. The slut was still standing at the door. Gods, she even looked like a whore with all the make-up she had on her face. Draco gave her such a murderous look that she stepped back in the corridor. It allowed Draco to close the door behind, leaving the confused fool outside. He headed to his room, but heard her walking behind him tentatively, as she was, most likely, returning to the fucking party. At least, there was a tiny piece of brain in her head that restrained her from entering the nursery again. Draco's anger was seething inside him like a lethal poison in a cauldron. Anger and... jealousy. The anger, in fact, made him feel dizzy. Well, of course, everyone wanted The Golden Man, The Chosen One, The Saviour (there were plenty of tittles and Draco couldn't remember all of them)! And sometimes it seemed he was everyone's! Some people looked at Potter, like he was the best person in the world, the strongest one, the most powerful, and, certainly, they wanted a scrap of his fame. On the way to his room he caught sight of Potter's wife in the living room with her friends. It made him even angrier. Draco slammed the door, as he'd entered his room. He sat down in the armchair and sighed. What was so special about her? What Potter saw in her? She was so mediocre, so unremarkable. The only thing in her that could attract attention was her red hair. So what? Red was the colour that attracted attention. What else? Those ginger clusters that contrasted with her skin and were still quite dark, because the summer hadn't been too long ago. Some people would call it adorable, but the word 'adorable' wasn't in Draco's vocabulary when it was about the bitch. Gods, she was annoying even when her mouth was shut! Well, all right, some people could tell that he wasn't impartial, blame him for being prejudiced from the beginning, but, seriously, one could think that 'The Great Harry Potter' could find someone more noteworthy. 'Someone like you?' his inner voice teased. Oh, no. The time when he'd had something towards Potter, was long gone (wasn't it?). There always was one certain thing that consisted of a great many obstacles that made the very idea of having something with Potter ridiculous and absolutely impossible; it was simply a waste of time. That thing was called reality. Thank Merlin no one had ever known about his feelings. Draco wouldn't have survived the shame. He was already a laughing stock because of his 'feats' during the war and because of his current status. He didn't want to add anything else to the list, especially something so personal. Making him admit having any feelings towards Potter was something that simply couldn't be achieved without the assistance of alcohol, Veritaserum and Cruciatus; all at once.

     Harry was so saddened, so severely burnt by Draco's coldness; yes, burnt was the right word. After Draco had made the compliment about Harry's attire, and later, after the day they'd spent in muggle London, and in wizarding London, shopping for the furniture and even talking a little, Harry had hoped that maybe, just maybe, the blond had started to think a little better of him, so they could start talking, more or less, normally; but Draco was like a frozen wasteland, where the desolating cold was, little by little, destroying all possible life that was still there. Harry didn't even know how to speak to him, so it wouldn't end up with restrained insults or glares that made Harry both angry and uncomfortable, and made him give up all useless attempts to get along with the blond. It seemed that cocky, arrogant, full of dignity Draco, that had acted so superior, was long gone. Now there was someone darker, someone broken, someone who had lost something comparable to life, no less.

     Harry felt guilty for wanting him, because Draco was sad and downcast most of the time, and, despite that, sometimes the only thing Harry could think of was touching Draco, pressing himself against him or going even farther than that. A simple touch (that he certainly couldn't have) was as desirable as water in a desert. His libido had obviously gone mad. He could leave the fifteen years old boys in the dust with all their hormones. Was it normal for the one who was twenty two? His prick was wild and rebellious, and his traitorous eyes kept looking where they didn't belong. At the same time, his inner eyes, his memories, kept returning him to the particular moment when he'd seen Draco wearing nothing but the bandage on his forearm. Wanking had become a normal practice (almost a tradition) before going to bed and if the well-known myth was true, he would've already got blind. He tried to excuse himself, telling himself that he was just a human and the desires of his flesh were just a normal part of human love. Love... Oh, how hard it had been for him to pronounce this word even in his head, because it meant that he acknowledged the feeling, making himself easier to hurt.

     There was nothing he could do about it and it eclipsed the physical need. He was full of indescribable tenderness; full of sweet and painful longing that he felt in his heart, not just in his groin. He had probably fallen in love long ago, and all these years it had been hidden deep inside his heart, because he had forced himself to hide it that deep, so it wouldn't hurt. But now it did. Draco would never love him... Especially now that Harry owned him as a slave. No matter how noble his intentions had been when he'd bought the blond, it was enough to destroy any possibilities to become closer to Draco (if he'd had any, to begin with), wasn't it? If Hermione found a way to put an end to slavery, Harry knew Draco would never want to see him again. He was almost afraid that she'd find a way soon, and Draco would be free. Harry hated himself for such thoughts. He hated himself for his own sighs of relief every time he asked Hermione if she was any closer to finding a decision and she answered 'no'.

     Oh, God, he was going crazy... Something selfish or probably just very human in him screamed that it wasn't fair. Hadn't he suffered enough? Why had he fallen in love with the one who hated him and would never love him back?! Well... Apparently, for some people there wasn't any 'happily ever after'... There were things impossible even for The Boy Who Lived Twice; such as personal happiness. Draco Malfoy would never love Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy had hated Harry Potter from the start. No... Not from the start; since the moment Harry had rejected his friendship. What if Harry had shaken that pale, refined hand? However, there was nothing more useless than thinking about what ifs.

     He tried to feel guilty towards Ginny, she was his wife, after all, but he couldn't. He tried to be mad at her, knowing for a fact that she was seeing someone else, but he couldn't. He didn't feel any connection to the person that slept next to him every night, even if there'd been about a year since they'd started sleeping with a rather big space between them. He wanted her to be happy, but he couldn't give it to her. He couldn't blame her for trying to find it somewhere else. Perhaps, she would be luckier than him...

     Was it all another step to the abyss, or he was already falling down just to reach the inevitable? As far as he'd heard, in both worlds some writers asserted that unrequited love was the only true love; it was the concept of their works. Could it really be true? He remembered Snape's pensive, so it seemed that the ideas of those writers weren't really devoid of sense. Snape had loved Harry's mother and had carried that unshared love with him throughout his life.

     'Always...'

     Unshared... 'Always unshared...' What would have Snape said about Harry panting after his godson? The man would've died once again; this time from laughter. At least, he would've held Harry up to ridicule. Severus Snape and Lily Evans had never meant to be, and now Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were just another impossible love story. It remained to be seen if Harry's love was just as strong and undying. But there was no doubt about its one-sidedness. It was the fact that, nevertheless, made him feel a wounded and panicked bird in his chest every time. But he was the father of two sons, he had no right to fall apart even because of what felt like love of his life.

     Meanwhile, time went by. Harry knew that Draco suffered inside and it bothered him more than his own hopeless and pointless love. He saw the evidence almost every morning when Draco entered the kitchen with nothing but emptiness in his slightly reddened eyes with puffy eyelids. Draco's depression was quiet and frightening. Harry knew that the blond had cut himself again, because the bandages that Harry had left for him in the bathroom were gone. He brought him several more rolls, as well as the other things, necessary for taking care of wounds.

     Even caustic remarks had become impossibly rare. The curse never punished Draco these days, because he was quiet and obedient.

     Today Draco lit even more candles in his room, mainly near his son's photograph. It was the sixth of November and his child's fourth birthday. Being away from him felt especially acute today. Soon, in almost four months, it would be one year since they'd been separated...

     Where was he? Was he taken care of? Were people that meant to take care of Scorpius celebrating his boy's birthday? He mentally wished his son many presents, a cake and love of the people that surrounded him. Maybe he really had new parents now? His Scorpius was a nice and beautiful boy, so Draco wouldn't be surprised if his son was already adopted. But it was his child! Draco was his father! They'd had no right to take him away! Draco took several deep breaths. No, he wasn't going to be angry and bitter today. It was his boy's birthday...

     He imagined Scorpius with two faceless, but undoubtedly kind and probably rich people that couldn't have children of their own, so they'd adopted his boy to love and raise him like their own. He imagined them sitting at the table. The cake was on the table, beautiful and delicious with four candles. He imagined his boy smiling and probably making his wish before blowing out the candles and having a piece of said cake. He was sure that in spite of his age Scorpius was capable of making a conscious wish, especially if anyone reminded him that he could make one on his birthday. He wondered what that wish was. And he wondered if his boy remembered his real father sometimes...

     He tried his best to be calm and happy during this day, but far too soon felt that he couldn't take it any longer, retreated to his room, abandoning his chores, and broke down... It happened several times during the day. Harry pretended that he wasn't noticing anything, but his heart was aching for his beloved. He felt so useless, knowing that he couldn't offer any comfort. Draco didn't cry in front of him, but his bloodshot eyes and the slightly inflamed looking skin around them were telling their own tale, as well as the visible tension in his shoulders, as if it took him all his strength to hold on in front of others. Because of this tension it looked like he was using even the muscle strength to keep himself together; the despair was this much.

     This day was unbearably hard for Draco. It was more than just a tribulation; he felt the insanity lurking around, sneaking closer and closer to him. He just couldn't cope. When it was finally over he just went to sleep and readily embraced the darkness where no conscious thoughts existed.

     Harry expected cutting, but he checked Draco's bathroom the next morning after the sleepless night and found that all the bandages were still there, the potion, meant for cleaning wounds, as well as the antiseptic ointment, seemed untouched since the last time Draco had cut himself. Harry knew it wasn't a reason to be relieved. Most likely, Draco was just afraid to defile his boy's birthday in any possible way, so he'd refrained from shedding blood.



     Harry had never stopped searching for Scorpius, but now he contacted people, involved in this case, even more frequently, seriously concerned for Draco and feeling helpless and panicked.

"Mister Potter... Harry," his colleague sighed. "We've been trying to find the boy for more than seven months now and things haven't budged an inch. We've even failed to find him in foreign orphanages and families. We just can't break the impasse without any new information. Don't you think it's time to calm down a little? I still hold the opinion that someone has failed to keep an eye on the boy and they've swept it under the rug," the man shook his dark-blond head, touched with grey. Eleos Benedict March was a good detective and throughout his career he'd found a lot of missing people; alive or dead, but he'd found most of them. A lot of grateful people, that had reunited with their nearest and dearest, prayed gods for him. Perhaps, he hadn't been given his first name for nothing and he'd been fated to help people, like his Greek namesake, the spirit of mercy and compassion. But now Harry couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"Auror March, I can see your point and I trust your experience, but I'm asking you not to give up searching. I don't want to believe that the boy is dead, but... if he is, I'd like to have some proof," he replied, pacing the man's office that had such a great amount of books that Hermione would've felt like a child in a sweet shop. The neat piles of books even occupied the windowsills of both windows and the floor near them, because the book cases were already packed with books, scrolls and files.

"I'm not giving it up, Harry, don't get me wrong. You're restless and I just don't want to keep your hopes up when, in fact, there's not much hope. But I'm doing my job and I'm going to keep on searching, at any rate," the older auror promised.

     Harry knew he'd been pestering March a lot lately and his rational side was very aware that it wouldn't speed up anything at all. The man was right about Harry's restlessness. He forced himself to stop fussing, knowing that there was absolutely no reason for him to think that the professional wasn't doing his best.

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A/N: I promise, next time you're going to get a long and eventful chapter. Two last chapters weren't very eventful, but they were necessary. I don't quite like when things are happening too fast and stories are too eventful for my taste. But, be sure, this is the calm before the storm.



Please, don't be cruel and leave a review ;)
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The Shards Of His Beloved