Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

More Than Nothing	By : Qestral Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8583 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Chapter Eleven:
What Happened Next

Draco had been very quiet for the rest of his trip to Diagon Alley,
and had explained it to his mother (but only when she asked) that he
was tired and hadn't wanted to get up so early.

“But Draco,”
she said, “Look how busy it is already! I really should've
taken you shopping sooner, everyone else is doing their last minute
shopping now.”

For the next few hours, Draco pondered whether he would've rather
gone shopping on another day and avoided seeing Harry at all, or have
things go just as they did.

Somehow, they managed to not see Harry for the rest of the shopping
trip, though Draco was paranoid that they might. It was a struggle
for him to not get agitated anytime his mother stopped to look at
new, flashy items, or asked him “Oh, surely you might need one
of these this year?”, regardless of whether or not the item was
on the school list.

When they returned to Malfoy Manor in the middle of the afternoon,
the first thing Draco did was collapse on his bed and fall asleep.
The stress from his actions that morning and the cold that was—while
mostly gone—still affecting him had sufficiently worn him out.

His mother woke him half an hour before people were supposed to
arrive for dinner, and so Draco had time to dress and make sure he
looked nice but not enough time to write about his morning in his
journal. He managed to write a few sentences before hearing “Draco!
Come down and visit with the guests!”

The dinner went well, though Draco didn't feel quite himself through
most of it; he supposed this was because he had been asleep so soon
before it started. He did an admirable job of not thinking about what
he'd said to Harry earlier that day, and when he did think about it
he was sure he didn't let his thoughts reach his expression.

He spent most of his time listening to Blaise Zabini and Theodore
Nott talking, mostly about the pureblooded women at Hogwarts; both of
them had fallen under pressure from their parents to be considering
wedding plans. Draco made his opinions known once in a while so he
didn't appear too disinterested, but every time one of them brought
up the idea of doing anything more than holding a casual conversation
with a girl (which was a lot), Draco thought about what he and Harry
had done the previous school year.

Those thoughts made it very difficult to remember he was being
straight that evening.

Draco only tried once to get his mother's attention, and by the time
he managed it he'd forgotten what he wanted to ask. She had
surrounded herself with women—her age and Draco's—, and
the budgie effect had set in without any thought to the rest of the
company. One attempt at this was enough; Draco decided after that to
decide first how important the question was, and whether or not it
could wait until afterwards.

It was almost one in the morning when the final guests left, and
Draco had barely gotten his robes off before crawling under the
covers and falling asleep again. Distantly, he wondered how it was
possible that anyone could sleep so much in one day.

Draco dreamed of Harry. They were the sorts of dreams that he'd come
to recognize as a sign he was obsessing over something. In his
dreams, Draco was saying the same words he'd said at Madam Malkin's
over and over again, and without fail something happened to prevent
Harry from responding—or, more upsetting, Harry wouldn't
respond.

Draco woke the next morning feeling like he'd barely slept and
wishing he could fall asleep again. Instead, he picked up his journal
from where he'd hidden it under the bed and wrote down the events of
the day before.

I keep trying to
convince myself that it was just the cold talking, he wrote, that
I was light-headed from coughing and that saying as much makes it a
good excuse. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize
that I still would have said it without a cold. In fact, I would've
said it more eloquently, too. Stupid cold.

It was too late to do anything about it, and Draco tried to remind
himself of that every time he started feeling anxious over the next
few days.

It's out of my
hands, he thought, and he wrote it in his journal as if to affirm
it. I said what I could. It's his turn.

*

Harry felt deeply
confused.

Almost a week had
past since the incident in Diagon Alley; he would be back on the
train to Hogwarts in four days. In that time, he would have to think
of a way to handle this sudden, unexpected turn of events with Draco,
and so far nothing he came up with had helped.

He spent a lot of
time thinking. When he had woken up on the morning of the twentieth,
he had been hoping Ron and Hermione would be able to tear themselves
away from each other often enough to distract him from the thoughts
he'd had all summer. He'd wanted them to bring him back to
reality—there were people that loved him, he had friends that
cared about him, and they might remind him that life did not, in
fact, revolve around Draco Malfoy.

In spite of the
fact that they didn't spend nearly as much time around him as he'd
originally hoped, Harry found himself wishing they'd spend more time
somewhere else. After the events in Madam Malkin's Robes For All
Occasions, Harry wanted to think about Draco more than ever.

The thing that
worried Harry the most was Draco's honesty. Draco was a Slytherin for
a reason, a fact he reminded himself of frequently, and there was a
high probability—especially given Draco's family history—that
there was an ulterior motive to this.

What if Draco
joined the Death Eaters? thought Harry conspiratorially. He's
had two and a half months to make a decision like that. What if this
is an act of vengeance? What if he's trying to lure me into a trap?

At a moment when Harry had felt on the edge of revelation, though,
Ron and Hermione had found him sitting under a tree in the yard and
broke into his thoughts.

“Harry!”
Hermione said cheefully. “What are you doing out here all
alone?”

“Stop looking
so serious, Harry,” added Ron. “We've still got a few
days before school starts; let's have some fun!”

“I'm not
really up to it right now, thanks,” Harry said, feeling guilty
as he tried to formulate a reason. “Haven't been sleeping
well.” It wasn't entirely a lie; he'd laid in bed thinking
about Draco and the events of August twentieth every night since it
happened.

“Have you
been having dreams of Voldemort?” Hermione asked, lowering her
voice. “You should owl Dumbledore, or at least talk to one of
Ron's parents.”

Harry felt a flicker of annoyance at how everything immediately went
back to Voldemort. What he said next was of his mouth before his
sense of reason could stop it. “Actually, I haven't been able
to sleep well because you and Ron can't seem to control your hormones
at three in the morning.”

Hermione was momentarily speechless, and Ron had flushed pink, but
most mortifying of all was how loudly Harry's annoyance had allowed
him to speak.

It was loud enough for Mrs. Weasley—who had been hanging the
laundry on the line on the other side of the yard—to hear.

Harry felt awful for it later, and apologized profusely after Mrs.
Weasley let Ron and Hermione out of the kitchen many hours later
(after a long and very sound talking-to; through the cracked-open
kitchen window, Harry heard her alternately raging about not knowing
what was going on in her own house and jubilating that Ron and
Hermione would inevitably get married). Hermione (who was still
speaking to him, at least; Ron refused to say a word) informed him
rather miserably that Mrs. Weasley had also given them a sex talk and
instructed Hermione how to cast an anti-pregnancy charm.

“She had to
point out that men 'can't be trusted with their wands',”
Hermione lamented, sitting down next to Harry on the lawn. “That
was more visual than I ever wanted. And she kept trying to elaborate
on personal experience!”

“I'm really
sorry,” Harry said again, feeling genuinely apologetic. “If
I'd known she was going to hear me, I would've kept my voice lower.”

“She would've
found out eventually anyway,” said Hermione resignedly. She
sighed and was quiet for a moment, then turned to look guiltily at
him. “Were we really waking you up at night?”

Harry paused. “Sometimes,” he said hesitantly. “It
was uhm... mostly just moving around, I think.”

“Mostly?”
she began sharply. “You said mostly. You mean there's been more
than just 'moving around'?”

“Hermione. Do
you really want to know how much I've heard?”

“...You're
right. No, I don't.”

They sat in silence, watching the sun sink lower towards the horizon
and reflecting individually on that afternoon.

“So...”
started Harry. “Uhm... How far have you gotten?”

Hermione blushed, but asked, “How do you mean?”

“Well... Have
you two done 'it'?”

“Honestly,
Harry, use grown-up words.”

Harry sighed. “Have you and Ron had sex?”

“No,”
she replied, her tone matter-of-fact but her expression still
embarrassed. “We've decided to wait a bit.”

“Only 'a
bit'?”

“'A while',
then.”

“When is 'a
while'?”

Hermione glowered at Harry. “Why does it matter? Do you want to
make note of it on a calendar or something?” Then she took a
calming breath, and continued, “We decided not to do it yet,
but don't have a specific 'when' in mind.”

Harry said nothing
in response. His thoughts had drifted back to Draco; they had once
decided that sex—actual intercourse—was not going to be
on their list of activities. They'd made that decision because they
agreed that neither of them wanted to give up their virginity to the
other.

Waiting for
someone we care about, he remembered. It struck him that maybe
Draco had said what he said—It WAS a confession of love,
right? Or affection at least?--simply to get into his trousers.
The thought made him feel a little sick.

I'd rather he be
a Death Eater trying to lure me into a trap.

When lining those possibilities up side by side, however, Harry
decided he couldn't decide which was worse—being tricked, or
being used.

*

After a very tense supper for all present (Mrs. Weasley had informed
Mr. Weasley of the talk she'd given Ron and Hermione that day), Harry
went to bed early. He was tired, but more so he wanted to be left
alone to think again, even though it rarely brought him anything new.

He didn't trust Draco to be honest with him. After years of Draco's
attitude, it was hardly a surprise; Draco was a Slytherin, and had
tricked him in more benign ways before. This, for all Harry knew,
could be the most dangerous trick yet, and he was terrified to find
out for sure.

Remember that
look on his face? He asked himself. He said “I think I
hate you more than anything,” and he looked like he meant it.

Harry hadn't forgotten that; Draco's fair features contorting, his
brow furrowed and his grey eyes bright with emotion, the twitch of
his nose as he spat out those words... It was amazing how clear that
horrible memory was.

What irritated Harry was the second voice, the one that was still
trying to give him hope at something positive with Draco.

It could've just
been hurt, it argued.

Hurt from what?
He argued back.

There was no real
answer to that; instead, that hopeful feeling reminded him of the
summer before, when Draco had sworn to kill him for what Harry had
done to Draco's father. That was hatred. That look from that last
train ride, though... That had to have been pain.

Harry was almost convinced, until it occurred to him that, even if it
was pain, maybe that had been enough to push Draco to join the Death
Eaters in the name of exacting vengeance.

Harry rolled over
and sighed. No matter how I look at this, he thought, it
still looks like a trap.

*

Draco boarded the train, feeling more nervous than he liked. He
wanted to see Harry, and at the same time he hoped he wouldn't; after
what he'd said to Harry, he feared what might happen next. Rejection
was an upsetting thought, but acceptance could change his life
irreversibly.

Not for the first time, Draco wished there was some way to make
existence stop and give him time to sort out his thoughts and
feelings, to give him time to pick the best plan of action. As it
was, he felt uncomfortably like he was being forced into making a
decision, or (more worryingly) had already made it.

He sat quietly in the prefects meeting, not paying any attention to
what the Head Boy and Girl—Ernie from Hufflepuff and Granger,
the latter of which didn't surprise him in the least—were
saying. Draco tried to focus on what they said, but inside he felt
tense and nervous, and his ability to concentrate was shot. He was
assigned a train car to patrol along with one of the other prefects
and numbly went about the business of making sure the students were
behaving. He managed two rounds, assured himself that Harry wasn't in
the carriage he was patrolling, then sat in one of the empty
compartments. The other prefect he was working with, a quiet
Ravenclaw girl, raised an eyebrow at him before doing one more round
and joining him.

Draco bristled a little at her presence, but chose to ignore her. He
had other things on his mind.

He had managed to wedge himself deep into his own thoughts when the
girl interrupted him.

“Are you a
Death Eater?” she asked, her tone suspicious.

Draco sneered at her, startled by her forwardness and insulted by her
supposition. “Why? Would you report me to Dumbledore?”

She shrugged. “Probably. Everyone's saying you're a Death Eater
and really close to Voldemort because of your father.”

“I'm nothing
like my father!” Draco spat angrily. “What business is it
of anyone else, anyway?”

“I just
wanted to know,” she said, sounding defensive. “So are
you a Death Eater?”

“No.”
Draco shoved the robes of his sleeves up and showed her his Dark
Mark-free arms. “Happy?”

“Yes,”
she said. “Thank you.”

Draco glared at her, annoyed. “Are you always so blunt? It's
tactless.”

“It's better
than spreading baseless rumors,” she said dryly.

“What if I
were lying?”

She shrugged again. “I probably wouldn't believe you. Then I'd
suggest to a professor that you'd joined the Death Eaters and let
them handle it.”

“How noble of
you.”

She made a dismissive noise, then reached into her bag to pull out a
book.

Just like a
Ravenclaw, he thought, and turned his attention out the window.

The tea cart came by and disturbed the peace of the compartment after
an hour or two. Draco ignored it, preferring to obsess over Harry,
but a few minutes after it moved on, the Ravenclaw girl said, “Do
you want one?”

She was offering him a Cauldron Cake.

Draco weighed his options: He could sneer at her and rudely turn her
down, or he could admit he was hungry and accept the witch's attempt
at a peace offering.

No point in
making enemies, he thought. “Thanks.”

They didn't say much else for the rest of the trip, but the silence
between them felt easier.

*

Harry and Ron had not had an easy time of making conversation with
each other, mostly because Ron hadn't quite forgiven Harry for
telling Mrs. Weasley about him and Hermione. Hermione had come in
halfway through the train ride, her Head Girl duties done for the
moment, and took in the silence that sat between the two boys.

“Ron, you're
being ridiculous,” Hermione said after a moment. Just let it go
already.”

“I'm not
being ridiculous!” he insisted. “I just wish Mum would
leave off about whether or not you and I get married!”

“You make it
sound like we won't,” she replied, and Harry—possibly
because he wasn't actively involved in the discussion—detected
a warning sign.

“Well we're
not going to anytime soon,” Ron continued. “Honestly, the
way she goes on you'd think we HAVE to get hitched...”

“So you and I
have fooled around, and the whole time marriage hasn't been a high
probability between you and me?” Hermione's tone was bordering
on something like insulted or offended.

Ron looked uncomfortable. “Well, it's not like it's been out of
the question...” he said defensively. “It's just... we're
still dating, you know? We might decide at some point that marriage
is completely out.”

“But you'd
still fool around with me even if you don't know whether or not you'd
marry me?”

There was a long pause. “Is there a right answer to this?”

Harry winced, and in spite of how Ron had been treating him over the
last few days, he felt deeply sympathetic for what he knew was coming
next.

Harry didn't even blame him for leaving the compartment before a full
two minutes had passed. Hermione could be impossible to understand
when she spoke that fast and that angrily. Her voice chased Ron out
of the compartment and down the hall. When he was gone, she took a
deep breath, sighed, and sat down.

“Sorry about
that,” she said. “He's got no business ignoring you like
that.”

“He should
just get over it already,” Harry muttered. “I didn't do
it on purpose.”

“I know,
Harry,” replied Hermione. “He's just... stubborn.”

“I don't see
why it's such a big deal, anyway. So what if his mum's fussing like
you're already married? She'll calm down eventually.”

Hermione sighed the sigh of long suffering. “If you were on the
receiving end, you'd be frustrated by now, too.”

Harry felt a little
guilty, realizing he'd been complaining to entirely the wrong person.
It occurred to him that, in spite of the railing she'd just given
him, Hermione was just as sick of hearing about marriage.

“I'm going to
go talk to him so he knows I'm not really angry,” Hermione
said. “I might have to take care of Head Girl duties again
before the train stops, so I guess I'll see you when we get to the
station?”

“Yeah,”
Harry responded noncommittally. “See you then.”

He rather wished
Ron and Hermione hadn't gone. He didn't want to be left with his
thoughts anymore; there was no way he could avoid seeing Draco that
day, and he still had no idea what to do or say to him that would
express what he wanted.

In all honesty,
Harry had no idea what he wanted. He still wasn't sure whether or not
Draco's words were honest or part of a Death Eater plot.

He still wasn't
sure which was scarier.

Hermione and Ron
didn't return before the train pulled into the station. Bitterly,
Harry supposed they'd spent the entire time making up then snogging
instead of distracting him when he felt he needed it the most. He was
scared, he could admit, and he wanted them to be proper friends and
keep his mind off of Draco, even if they didn't know they were doing
so.

He struggled a bit
with his trunk and with Hedwig's cage (Hedwig inside, hooting in
annoyance when the cage bumped too hard), thinking dark thoughts as
he disembarked from the train. Harry looked up, thinking to look for
Ron and Hermione even if they were being horrible friends, and was
startled to see Draco moodily attempting to herd underclassmen away
from the station and towards the thestral-led coaches.

As Harry stared,
stunned by Draco's sudden and somehow unexpected appearance, a small
group of first years—obviously strung out on sugar; Harry
wondered at the logic of providing such young people with so many
sweets—collided with Draco, knocked him over, and continued
moving, apparently oblivious to the damage their jostling had caused.

Time slowed with
the weight of a fateful decision about to be made. Harry saw Draco
sitting up, wincing in pain from the impact. Some nearby students
were chuckling to see someone so proud knocked to the ground so
gracelessly.

Am I sure about
this? Harry thought, walking the few feet over to where Draco had
fallen. Or is it too late to change my mind anyway?

He remembered his suspicions about Draco's allegiance; that Draco
might be trying to trap him, that Draco was a true Slytherin and
never did anything without his own needs going first. He remembered
that Draco didn't have to acknowledge him here, with everyone
standing around and watching them.

Harry stopped in front of Draco and extended his hand, and wondered
if Draco had felt this scared when they were first years and had
offered his own hand of friendship to Harry.

Your move,
he thought.

*

Draco opened his eyes and saw the hand of assistance being offered to
him, then followed it up the arm to the shoulder and the person
attached to it.

What the fresh
hell are you thinking? He thought, but the meaning of the gesture
wasn't lost on him. This was the chance to start over again. This was
Harry acting on the faith and good will you could expect from a true
Gryffindor, the nobility to give a former adversary the chance to try
again.

Seven years ago—to
the day, Draco remembered—a blond boy extended his hand in
friendship towards a relative newcomer to the world he knew, claiming
to be the right kind of person. The newcomer—a smaller boy
whose black hair couldn't seem to pick any direction besides “against
gravity”— turned him down. Now, the first boy finally
understood why.

This is how it
should have been, Draco thought. I had it backwards.

As he took Harry's
hand, he marvelled at how the whole world felt right again—a
way it hadn't felt since he was eleven.

Everyone who had
witnessed Draco Malfoy take Harry Potter's hand of assistance had
fallen deathly silent.

“Astronomy
Tower,” Draco murmured once he was upright, his lips barely
moving. “Midnight.”

Harry said nothing,
but made enough eye contact to let Draco know he understood.

With that, Draco
returned to ordering the underclassmen towards the coaches.

*

Harry's heart
hammered in his ears, but he tried to look nonchalant. What?
he thought at the students around him. That was perfectly normal.

“Harry?”

Ron was standing ten feet away, looking at Harry as if he'd grown an
extra head. “What...?”

Hermione was standing next to Ron, looking equally alarmed but
admiring. “Either you've lost your mind,” she said, “Or
you've gone a hundred extra miles towards building inter-House unity.
Oh, Harry, I'm so proud of you! Even I couldn't have done that!”

“But... It
was Malfoy!” Ron cried. “Future Death Eater and all
that!”

“He's not a
Death Eater,” cut in another voice, and the three of them
turned to see one of the Ravenclaw prefects fixating Ron with a
glare. “He's not like his father. He told me himself, and I
believe him.”

“He's a
Slytherin!...” Ron began to argue, but Harry stopped listening.
In spite of having no good reason to believe her, Harry felt
immensely relieved.

Maybe I made the
right choice after all.
- 10
- 11
- 12
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

More Than Nothing