Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Salt in Our Wounds	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7362 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters portrayed herein. This is made for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
Epilogue

More Than Words

�Excuse me, sir.�
I look over my shoulder to see a shabby-looking woman in her thirties, holding the hand of an obnoxious little boy with hands sticky from a substance that looks suspiciously like chocolate.
�Yes?� I enquire, fighting the urge to sneer at the child.
�I�m searching for a book called Unfogging the Future,� the woman asks, her eyes travelling subconsciously to the nametag on my robe. Her eyes widen dramatically behind her horrifying pink spectacles, a slight crease forming between her brows.
I sigh, knowing exactly why she is staring at me. �Yes, Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky can be found on shelf 16, row 33,� I answer stiffly. �And please keep an eye on your son. We wouldn�t want him touching the books with his dirty hands, now would we?� I state snarkily, leering at the child.
The woman stares at me in horrification and hurries to pull her child after her as she moves away, muttering a stuttering �No, of course not� My, how rude�!�.
I sneer at the retreating woman, barely able to prevent myself from cursing out loud as I turn back to arranging the books in the cart in front of me onto the shelves.

Every day is the same as the previous. People approach me asking inane questions about this or that book, and they look just as horrified when they realise whom they are faced with. It doesn�t matter that I have a normal job, that I am a hard-working wizard working for the fifth year at the respectable Flourish and Blotts. To the crowd I still am, and will always be, nothing but a former Death Eater.
I would have given anything to be able to stay away from this place. But without a diploma from any school, no Muggle would hire me, not even as a store clerk. So now I�m stacking books in Flourish and Blotts, my tasks as simple and inane as those of a Squib�s. Of course, without my magic, I am no better than one. No matter what I try to tell myself.
Just as I am fighting to fit a copy of Confronting the Faceless into the already overfilled shelf, something rams violently into my leg.
�What the--� I call out as the collision throws me out of balance. I am able to keep myself upright by grabbing on to the shelf, but the book falls to the floor with a loud thud.
�Sorry, mister,� a small voice says, and I look down to see the little boy who has spoken. He can�t be more than three or four years old, rough pitch-black hair standing in every direction on his little head.
I have already opened my mouth to yell at the kid for disrupting my work, but then I happen to look over the child�s head, and the sight that meets me is enough to knock me over anew.
Harry Potter is standing down the row of shelves, his lips drawn in a small, affectionate smile as he looks over at me.
�Hey,� he says as he approaches, his smile widening further.
�Hi,� I croak, to my embarrassment feeling my knees go weak instantly. God, who could believe that his mere presence would affect me so after all these years?
But Merlin, he looks amazing. I suppose these years have been much kinder to him than they have to me. He looks no older than when I left him on that Muggle street, while I am have somehow turned in to a tired, weary old man at the age of 26.
I can�t help but stare at the man in front of me, my mouth opening and closing stupidly. Just as I clear my throat and prepare to force some actual words to cross my lips, I watch in surprise as Potter leans down to pick up the small boy from the floor.
�Here you are!� Potter exclaims, trying to look stern while the child only laughs at him. �I told you not to run off on your own!�
�I�m sorry,� the boy says, not sounding the least bit sorry at all.
Seeing those to side by side, I see what I should have realised the first time I laid eyes on the boy. There is no doubt that the kid is a Potter: he has the same unruly inky hair, the same arch of the upper lip, and the same straight nose.
�So, this is--� I begin, smiling weakly at the small boy.
�This is James,� Potter says, his face lighting up in a proud fatherly smile. �James, say hello to Mr Malfoy.�
The boy stares at me from under a furrowed row for a second, before a quirky smirk forms on his lips. �Hello, Mister,� he says, grinning. And there is something in that expression, so open and honest, so like Harry, that I feel a lump gather in my throat.
�Hello,� I croak, feeling an embarrassed flush spread on my face. I can�t believe I�m behaving like such a fool in front of Potter, after all these years! God, it is as if I�m sixteen once again.
The child starts to fidget in Potter�s arms, he lets him down onto the floor, chuckling softly. �Why don�t you go find aunt Hermione. I think she�s still where we left her, by the door.�
�Yes, Daddy!� the kid laughs at his father, scurrying towards the door faster than fast. Potter watches him go, before turning back to me.
�Well,� I begin, starting to find my confidence again, now that the child is not here to distract me anymore. �Where is the wife?�
It is probably the worst question of all. Yet, it is the only one I really want to ask.
To my surprise though, Potter only grins. For a moment I feel my heart sink. If he cannot even feel awkward about me asking about Ginny, it means he really doesn�t care anymore.
Potter�s smile is blinding. �There is no wife.�

What?

�I�m divorced since six months ago.�
There is nothing for me to say. I have no response prepared for that sentence. So I remain staring at Potter, my jaw slack and mouth open in surprise.
When Potter doesn�t say anything further, I try to shake myself out of my shock. Looking around, I notice the copy of Confronting the Faceless still lying on the floor.
�So, why are you here� I ask as I crouch down to pick up the book. �Is there something specific that you�re looking for?�
�Yes.�
I reach for the book, but find it already being handed to me. Potter offers me the book with a small, seductive smile on his face.
�You. I was looking for you.�

finis.

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- 15
- 16
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Salt in Our Wounds