Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

For the Want of a Nail	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4934 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. This is made for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Chapter 12. Arrogance and Ignorance

"Didn't Dumbledore use to come and visit you once in a while?"
I cast a glance at Potter over my book. "Yes, he did. Before you came here." I mutter, barely paying attention as I turn back to the pages. "Why?"
After a few minutes of unresponsive silence I sigh deeply and peer over my book anew. Potter is sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, which he has rudely taken the liberty to light. He holds a book in his hands, yet he is not reading. "What is it?"
Biting his lip, he looks up at me warily. "Don't you wonder? Why he hasn't come to see us, I mean."
I fight to keep my expression neutral as I realise the meaning of Potter's words. "I'm sure nothing has happened. We would know." I state, trying to convince myself more than him.
"Would we?" he asks, voicing my worst fears with a furrowed brow. "There are a lot of wards on the house, right? Dumbledore is most likely the only one able to get through them. If something has happened-"
"Then we will find out eventually," I mutter, turning my attention back to my book and taking a more comfortable position in the plush chair. Potter keeps staring at me though, and soon I am forced to acknowledge his existence again. I sigh. "Yes, Potter, what is it?"
He refuses to break eye-contact. "How can you take this so calmly?"
With another sigh I put my book aside. "The most likely reason for Dumbledore neglecting to visit us is probably that he is very busy, with the war and all going on." I state coolly, enunciating every word carefully as if addressing a child. Which he is, at least mentally. "If, by some miraculous means something would have happened to the Headmaster and we really were stuck behind these wards, then what? I doubt that we could break the wards even if we tried."
Potter looks as if he's about to protest, and I hurry to cut off any objections he might have. "We are fine here, and you won't have to worry about starving to death either. I doubt the dumbwaiter would stop working even if something were to happen to Dumbledore."
Potter sits quietly for a long minute, but I can see by the angry pout of his mouth that this conversation is not yet over. Patiently, I wait for the raven haired boy's response.
"Do you really not care about the other people out there at all?" he finally asks, pinning me to my seat with a gaze of both rage and sadness. "With me locked up here, were Dumbledore to die, there would be nothing left to stop Voldemort."
I jump at that name, but my attention is caught by something else Potter said. "Potter, you don't actually believe all that crap about you fighting the Dark Lord, do you?" I ask in a dazed state of wonderment for the boy's naïvete. "I know that you have escaped him loads of times, but... Isn't it time you ignored what everyone else tells you that your 'destiny' is, and started to think for yourself? Then you might finally realise it is all a bunch of nonsense."
I expected him to get mad at me and yell at me until he realises that I am right, but surprisingly enough Potter just smiles at me softly. "I'm sorry Malfoy, but all that nonsense really is true." Smile widening at my sceptical sneer, he continues. "When I was little, a prophecy was made. It says that for all of this to end, Voldemort will have to kill me, or me him."

A prophecy? The word echoes in my subconscious and I suddenly have a hard time breathing. "A real prophecy?" I finally manage to catch my breath to ask. "Not one of those tea-readings Trelawney does?"
Potter sneers slightly, but nods. "Well, it was Trelawney, actually." he admits. I snort loudly at this. "But it is real. They had a copy of it at the Ministry."
For once I find I have nothing to say. Descending from a long line of pure-blood wizards, I am not foolish enough to doubt the power prophecies possess.
Potter says it's either him or the Dark Lord. But it won't be the Dark Lord, not in a million years.

He is going to die?

I think of the people who did this to him. Dumbledore cannot seriously believe that Potter stands a chance, can he? I stare at the boy in front of me; that strong face, that shock of inky hair. The long, lean body he holds with that lazy posture I have grown so familiar with. He looks skinny and ragged, not the image of a hero at all. And yet he is so damn beautiful.
He will never stop being beautiful.
The realisation shocks me to the bone. He will never have the chance to grow old and pale and wrinkly, to gain thatches of gray in that unruly hair. Fucking Dumbledore. Had he not started training Potter to be the boy hero from the moment he entered the wizarding world, the Dark Lord might have ignored Potter all together. Did not Dumbledore realise he was setting the prophecy in action by letting this boy, this child take over the burden of killing the most dangerous wizard of all times?
"Malfoy? What's wrong?" Potter's voice sounds from somewhere distant. I focus my gaze on his green eyes, and it pains me to realise he really is nothing but a child yet. He knows nothing of war, nothing of the evils of this world. And why should he? He should allowed to be carefree and naïve and sixteen for what little time he has left.
"I'll look after you." I hear myself murmur, surprising myself more than him. But to my disturbance I realise that what I said is true. I'll look after him. I'll be as close to him as I can. To stop him from realising that the boy hero's glorious victory over the madman only happens like that in fairy tales. To protect him from having to suspect even his closest friends of betrayal. To prevent him from agenising his own mortality.
Yes, I'll look after him. Until the end. His end. For I will have to live on to see the hell this world will become.

___________________________________________________________________

"I'll look after you." he says gravely, steel gray eyes thatched with foreboding. It frightens me to realise that if even Malfoy is scared enough for my well-being to tell me so himself, I really am in trouble. And what frightens me even more is that I don't even have the presence of mind to be scared; right now I only manage to feel giddy about the fact that Malfoy actually cares. Enough to voice it, to a degree at least.
I can only smile back at him, in great fear of doing something stupid if I were to try and say anything. I turn back to my book, and watch from the corner of my eye as he does the same, latching us into silence once again. This comfortable silence that we are both so terrified of breaking.
It is as if we are frightened of filling the silence with unnecessary words. Too many conversations leave too many things unsaid. But how I long to put that cat up on the table. If Malfoy were anyone else, I would. If I still were the person I used to be, I would.
"Are you afraid?"
I look up at him, as surprised as ever when Malfoy starts a conversation. "Of what?" He furrows his brow, annoyed, knowing that I know exactly what he's talking about. "Of facing the Dark Lord."
I snort softly, casting a glance into the fire next to me before turning back to Malfoy. "Somebody has to do it."
He stares back at me, angry now. "It doesn't have to be you." I shake my head at him, closing my book loudly. "Didn't you hear me properly? It does have to be me."
"Nothing is wrong with my hearing," Malfoy, too, puts his book aside. "But prophecies are subjective. They only show one of many possibilities."
"What?" My voice sounds a lot weaker than I would like it to. The prophecy is just one possibility? Why didn't Dumbledore tell me this? I stare into Malfoy's bright eyes, searching for confirmation. He looks back at me with something resembling compassion, if a Malfoy is able to feel such an emotion. That's all the confirmation I need.

So it really is true. I don't know whom I am more angry at; Dumbledore for not telling me, or myself for believing Dumbledore so blindly. I turn my head to the floor in an attempt to hide my disgrace.

But in the end, it makes little difference.
I hear Malfoy get up from his chair and move towards me until I see his feet right in front of me. He sits down, cross-legged, on the floor. Far closer than our silent agreement allows. "So you see," he murmurs softly, leaning a bit towards me. "You don't have to try and fight the Dark Lord on your own. You don't have to-"
"But I do," I cut him off, raising my head and focusing my gazing somewhere beyond Malfoy's left shoulder. "If no one knows of any other way to beat him, and there is a chance that I could do it, then I have to at least try." I turn to face the blonde in front of me, and find his face closer to mine than I expected. He stares at me with a blank, yet somehow forlorn expression. I try to look away, but find I can't break the eye contact. The air grows very silent. It is thick with expectation, and I suddenly find it increasingly harder to breathe.
"Aren't you scared?" Malfoy asks again, inches from my face, whispering as if afraid to break the spell that surrounds us. In spite of myself I realise I'm leaning closer, trembling with apprehension. "Terrified." I whisper, feeling his breath on my lips. I lean just a little bit closer, and-
He startles away, up upon his feet, looking towards the double doors to the library. "Malfoy, wha-" I begin, but am cut off by Malfoy's hand suddenly pressed against my mouth as he grabs my arm and jerks me to my feet next to him. "Shh!" he whispers, head still turned towards the door, as if listening. He still has a iron-like grip on my arm, keeping me pressed to him. My heart is beating a hundred and five, so loud he can probably hear it. But Malfoy shows nothing of that, only staring intently at the door.
"Somebody is in the house."
I would gasp if it weren't for the cold hand on my mouth. "Stay here, don't come out unless I tell you to." he whispers, letting go of me and exiting the room without looking back, silently as a ghost. I watch he double doors click shut and am left only to wait, wishing I hadn't left my wand in my room.

___________________________________________________________________

"Terrified," he whispers, so close to me. Too close to me. I am spellbound by that word, unable to move away despite my better knowledge. He is so close that I can hear his rapidly beating pulse, I can smell the coffee he drank this morning, I can se the shudder of his eyelashes as he leans ever closer.
And that's when I hear the noise from the East Wing.
I jump to my feet in less than a second, leaving a startled Potter on the floor. He begins to protest but I cut him off by dragging him to his feet and covering his mouth. His breath is hot against my hand and his body trembles against mine, making it harder for me to focus on the noises. "Somebody is in the house," I tell him before letting go and pushing myself from him. "Stay here, don't come out unless I tell you to."
He hasn't time to answer me before I have already shut the doors behind me. I stalk the corridor, putting out the few lit candles on the wall to give me at least the cover of darkness. As I approach the East Wing, the voices get louder. I can only assume the uninvited guests are not trying to keep their arrival undetected. Still, one cannot be sure if they are friends or foes. The closer I get though, the more I'm starting to think I'd rather have Death Eaters visiting me than these people. The Weasel's rabid growl echoes in the hall. "Harry!? Harry!"
"Ron, stop shouting." I hear Granger scold her idiot boyfriend. The Weasel answers with a snort and an even louder growl. "Where is he? If that disgusting serpent has laid a single hand on him I will-"
"Will what?" The Weasel practically jumps through the roof as I step past the corner. I leer viciously at the moron, looking past him at the other arrivals. Granger stares at me with surprise, as does my cousin who stands behind her. Behind them Mr and Mrs Weasley are just entering the house. They have taken the liberty of lighting all the lamps in the hall, something I won't forgive them for as easily as I would Potter.
"Oh, Draco. Good afternoon," Mr Weasley exclaims, making an effort to look calm though I can sense the fear radiating from him. "Excuse us the disturbance, but there is to be an Order meeting tonight. We came in early to prepare." His voice shudder slightly, as if he is afraid I will kill them all if I don't like what he is saying. As if a true Malfoy would ever behave so barbarically.
"Certainly, Mr Weasley," I state in the most terrifyingly civil voice I can muster. "Make yourselves at home, you know where everything you need is, I presume?" They all nod, except the Weasel who seems to be somewhere between throwing a rage-fit and wetting himself. "Good," I smile, which seems to terrify them even more. "Ask me if you need anything. Now if you excuse me, I think it is best that I go and fetch Potter for you." With these words I turn around on my heels and stalk back towards the library.
To my surprise, Potter actually obeyed my command of staying put. As I open the doors he jumps up from the chair, my chair, that he has been sitting in. "Well?" he whispers, hurrying towards me.
"You have guests," I state coolly, turning around back to the hallway again.
"Who?" he asks, his steps loud behind me. I ignore him and lead him in silence through the dark corridor. There is nothing for me to say anymore. Nothing to make these last months count now that Potter's real friends are back.
We step out into the hall, and stupid fond feelings emerge within me as I watch Potter blink frantically to get used to the bright lighting.
"Harry!" both Granger and Weasley gasp, and within seconds the they have pounced on Potter, filling the room with hugs and shouts and hundreds of questions. The Golden Trio calms down and Mr and Mrs Weasley join in, and I believe this is the first time I wished to be a part of that family with the hideous red hair. I sneak around the heap to retire to my library, to anywhere really where I don't have to look at these people. These people who are like rodents, who will soon devour the fragile truce Potter and I have built around us.
Now, where is that arsenic?

___________________________________________________________________

Suffocated by Hermione's fierce hug, I am forced to watch Malfoy sneak out of the room over her shoulder. "Oh Harry, it's so good to see you again," Mrs Weasley smiles at me warmly.
"You too, Mrs Weasley," I smile back, turning to hug her as well. As I pull away she turns to pick up a big box from the floor. I bet it contains food. And I'm right.
"I'd better get started on dinner, everyone will arrive in about two hours." she says hectically. Mr Weasley smiles at me again before following his wife to the kitchen. As I turn back towards Ron and Hermione, I realise they are both carrying luggage. "What are you doing with those?" I point to their bags.
"Oh," Hermione picks up her suitcase. "Well, since school's over for the year, we are going to stay here for the summer." They both smile widely at me. "Yeah, isn't that cool?" Ron grins, picking up his old and worn gym bag. I stare at the both of them with wide eyes. "School's over? Already?"
And now they're staring at me like I'm the freakshow. Just like the good old times. "Harry?" Ron stares at me like I've grown a second head. "You didn't know that school ended? We thought you'd be counting minutes here." I stare at the floor, realising I too had thought I'd be counting minutes when I heard I'd be coming here. And yet... I didn't even know it was May already.
"Well..." I begin, biting my lip. "I've had other stuff to do." The silence that follows is tense, and I realise they both think I've spent all this time moping in Sirius' room. I did, in the beginning, but... better not tell them about the rest.
The silence grows uncomfortable. I cough loudly. "Uhm, we should probably take your stuff to your bedrooms."
"Oh, sure," Hermione smiles softly, following me to the stairs to the North Wing. Ron looks a little doubtful at first, before tailing after. "OK, just see to it that I won't have to sleep anywhere near the Ferret."
"Don't worry," I grin at him, opening the door to one of the guest rooms. "Malfoy sleeps in the West Wing."
Ron swings his bag up on the four-poster bed, looking like he's about to say something else. Luckily Hermione cuts him off.
"So, how are you getting along? Is he still as mean as ever?" Before I have time to answer Ron cuts in. "Of course he is still as mean as ever. I don't care what Dumbledore thinks, the git is throughout evil. He won't change, believe me. A Malfoy doesn't dye its hair."
"Ron! That's not even a real metaphor!" Hermione scolds, but I can hear the smile behind it. Then she turns serious. "I know Malfoy has never been anything but mean to us. But that doesn't mean he's evil." She turns towards me. "Don't you agree, Harry?"
I'm glad the room is still not lit, so neither of my friends can see the blush creeping over my nose. "Uhm..." I mumble, exiting to the hallway again. "Malfoy, he- well yeah, I mean he's not nice, per se, but... I don't believe he's evil, either."
Ron starts shouting something inane, but Hermione cuts him off by wielding her heavy suitcase to his knee. While Ron drops to the floor swearing, Hermione smiles at me warmly. Too warmly for being because of the subject of our worst nemesis. "Yeah, I told you," she sneers at a still-in-pain Ron. "He can't be all bad. I mean, he did chose to fight for us instead of running away."
Ron's snort echoes in the hall. "Yeah, because he's a freakin' monster who needs human blood to survive."
"Oh, honestly, Ron," Hermione glares at the red-head. "Don't be so insensitive. Malfoy didn't choose to become what he is. I think-"
"Can't we talk about something else already?" I sigh, the conversation about Malfoy heating up way too much for comfort.
"With pleasure," Ron growls as we enter the other guest room. "It's enough that I have to live with the git, no need to talk about him all the time too."
I snicker as Hermione smacks him with the suitcase a second time before starting to unpack her things.
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For the Want of a Nail