Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

For the Want of a Nail	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4936 -:- 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
- 18
- 19
- 20
Chapter 19. Spinning Wheel

"You don't have to have them in your wing, you know?"
Hermione and Ron look at me disbelievingly, but I ignore them, only focusing on Draco. He shakes his head dismissively. "It's fine. But if they blow up anything, they're out of there."
I want to push the matter further, but Draco turns around and follows the twins upstairs. I turn to Ron and Hermione.
"What was that about?" Ron asks me with a furrowed brow. I play oblivious. "What?"
Ron purses his lips. "Why would you be concerned over if Malfoy wants Fred and George in the West Wing or not? It's your house for Merlin's sake!"
Yes, it does seem pretty odd, doesn't it. Mostly I just don't want the twins in the West Wing because they might notice how much time I spend there. It's not like I need any more challenges with this whole Draco-thing. Of course, that is not a suitable thing to tell Ron and Hermione.
I shrug nonchalantly at Ron. "I'm just worried about the arguments the three of them might get in to. Your brothers aren't exactly the quietest of neighbours."
Ron thinks about my words for a moment, but finally seems to agree. "You're right. It wouldn't be fun to have to be the one going between them in a fight."
I fight the urge to sigh with relief and hurry to change the subject instead. "I don't feel like going back to the library right now-" A blatant lie. "What would you say to a game of chess? I'll be sure to beat you this time."
Ron grins disbelievingly. "In your dreams." But he scurries off to the North Wing after the chess board. I feel a relieved sigh escape me and turn towards Hermione. She is staring at me with a furrowed brow, looking as if I were a particularly hard Arithmacy problem she is trying to solve.
"What?" I ask her, feeling somewhat self-conscious under her intensive gaze. Hermione keeps staring at me for another moment before she answers.
"You're hiding something." she states coolly.
I force my face to look totally innocent. "Am not." It doesn't sound too convincing.
Hermione raises a doubtful eyebrow at me. "You're lying. You always widen your eyes and look unnaturally innocent when you do." Unfortunately I realise her words are true. I swallow loudly and immediately relax my saucer-sized eyes.
"What would I have to hide?" I ask her, grinning and trying to make her believe her accusations are completely unjustified. Hermione narrows her eyes and studies me closely. "That's what I'm trying to find out."
The smile fades from my face as I realise I am too late in faking innocence. "Well, you won't." I say, clearly indicating that Hermione should just forget about the whole thing. For her own good.
But of course she won't. She looks very surprised at my extremely defensive position, though. "We'll see." she mutters, just as Ron rumbles down the stairs.
"Sorry I took so long, the Queen had run off again. I found her harassing a cockroach under the bed." he huffs, holding forth the magical chess piece. "Well?"
"Yeah, let's go play." I mutter, casting one last wary look at Hermione before following Ron towards the drawing room. In the doorway, Ron turns back towards Hermione.
"Aren't you coming?" he asks.
"...No," she states slowly, giving me a wary look. "I think I'll go to the library. I hope I can find a book I'm searching for there." She turns and walks towards the West Wing. Ron and I watch her departing, Ron looking rather forlorn.
"How are things going with you two?" I ask carefully, giving him a cautious look. It's not like Ron and I have ever really discussed him and Hermione, but for as long as I can remember I've thought it's only a matter of time before they get together. But with all the fights they have ever had, I've never seen Ron look this blue.
"Let's just play chess." he mutters, stomping into the drawing room and throwing the board onto the table with a crash.
I nod silently, casting one last look into the empty corridor before following.

___________________________________________________________________

My fifth cigarette. Potter still hasn't come.
Absentmindedly I eye through the pages of Knives are for Mudbloods: A Hundred Spells for Murder, finding myself listening intently for the sound of steps.
This library is driving me crazy. I go over book after book after book, and nothing useful comes up. Is there truly no way to defeat the Dark Lord? These books are filled with dark magic, potions and horrifying spells, and yet nothing catches my eye as anything that would work against the greatest dark wizard of all times. There is nothing here that can make Potter's powers mach the Dark Lord's.
Frustrated I light my sixth cigarette and am just about to give up when I hear the light tapping of feet in the corridor. I become excited for a second, before I realise those steps do not belong to Potter.
The double doors open, and over the threshold steps Granger. She looks surprised at seeing me, but proceeds into the room nonetheless.
"...Malfoy. What are you doing here?" the bushy haired girl asks, warily taking a seat in the other armchair. I raise an unamused eyebrow and lift up my book for her to see. Just in case it wasn't obvious what one does in a library.
"Oh, of course." Granger blushes forlornly, lowering her gaze to her hands. She sits there for a moment, staring at her lap. After a minute I get utterly bored with the uncomfortable silence and decide to ignore the girl, returning to my book.
"What are you reading?" Granger's voice cuts through the concentrated bubble I've created around me. I sigh irritatedly, reading the title out loud for her before turning more unread pages.
"A Hundred Spells for Murder?" the girl repeats horrified, interrupting me again. "Why would you read something like that?"
Because I am a perverted sadist who likes to boil little children in oil, of course. Is the girl an idiot or what? "I am investigating spells that Potter might be able to use against the Dark Lord." I mutter, intently hoping that thus the conversation will be concluded. I am to be sorely disappointed.
"Really?" Granger looks more surprised than she should be. "You're going through all these books for Harry?"
I take on my most vicious expression. "Not for Potter, you silly girl. For the cause." I hiss. Granger doesn't seem to believe me. Luckily she doesn't start arguing, only gives me a quizzical look as she rises from the chair.
"Mind telling me which books you've gone through, so that I don't waste my time with those?" she asks, looking around the room.
I point to the wall behind her. "I've read all those on the back wall and some on the long one. If you stay by the shelves next to the window you won't get mixed up." I turn back to my book, determined to ignore the bushy haired witch from now on.
I hear Granger rumble around by the shelves, looking at some or other book before putting it back into th shelf. My cigarette burns out and after a while my head starts to ache from irritation from the tension in the room and the racket Granger makes. It amazes me how such a small girl can step so heavily on the floor and make so much noise just putting books into the shelves. I think gratefully of Potter who always makes a point of not being too loud around me.
"Don't you have to feed soon again?" Granger asks, her tentative voice breaking the silence once again. In spite of myself I draw in a loud breath at the question. Whenever I manage to forget about my condition, someone always gets the brilliant idea to remind me of it. I raise my gaze from the book to look at Granger murderously. She shudders under my cold gaze, but doesn't look away. I find myself forced to answer.
"It's been a week tomorrow." I mutter. The situation reminds me of the conversations I used to have with Potter not long ago. It's only been a week since our situation changed. How can that time seem so distant?
"Well, tell me when you need me." Granger says. It is not the words that shock me, but the way in which Granger says them. Her voice is low and soft, and she looks at me from the corner of her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. If I didn't know better I'd think Granger was flirting with me. I stare at her for a terrified minute, unable to answer.
Soon it seems Granger realises she's said something deeply perturbing, and turns back to her book, an embarrassed flush covering her cheeks. She seems to be shrinking in the chair, making herself as small as possible. I too return to my book, sincerely hoping that I am imagining things. But it's hard to ignore the fast beating heart I hear from across the room.

And here I thought my life couldn't get any harder.

Three excruciating hours snail past. Granger turns the pages of her book nonchalantly, but the rhythm of her heart doesn't slow down. The sound is driving me crazy, and I dig my nails into the armrest of the chair just to stop myself from screaming at her to get over whatever the ridiculous fantasy she is having.
Of course I have had girls have crushes on me before. But earlier I wasn't this over-sensitive to their reactions. And back then it was girls like Pansy or Daphne Greengrass. Not Granger the Mudblood.
Not my lover's best friend.
Granger can't have a crush on me. I can't have her clinging after me, snooping around all the time. She does enough of that either way. I can't have her find out about Potter and I.
Finally I look over to the window and see the sun setting behind the horizon. Sighing relieved I then rise from my chair. "It's getting late and I've been here all day. I think I'll retire now." I nod at the girl and before she has time to answer, I stalk out through the door.
My nails dig furiously into my clenched hands as I walk through the corridors. I don't know who exactly I am angry at. Granger, for being an absolute fool for thinking- well, anything about me? Myself, for being what I am? Or Potter perhaps, for existing and bringing that horrid girl here to bother me?
Potter.
Before I know it, my feet are carrying me towards the North Wing. An unfamiliar area of the house, not because I rarely go there but because it is the guest quarters. As this is the Black house, the quarters are not dirty or shabby. But they are not the glamorous rooms of Malfoy Mansion, nor as luxurious as the family rooms of the Black House have once been. The guest rooms of Grimmauld Place are more dilapidated than any place I've ever slept in. Except for the street that cold night in December, of course.
I have never been in Potter's room, yet I find it easily. How many nights have I not been tortured by hearing him move around behind these walls? I reach out for the handle of the oak door, and the old hinges creek as I slide it open.
Potter sits by a small desk in front of the window with his back turned towards me. He jumps slightly at the sound of the door opening and turns around. His face lightens up as he recognises me.
"Draco!" he smiles, stumbling up from his chair and almost falling over in excitement. "What are you doing here?"
I plan to give him some kind of answer, but as he rises and moves towards me, I can't find the words. The only thing I am thinking is that I can't have Granger mess this up.

I can't lose him.

Potter reaches me, and we are both equally surprised when I grab him around the waist and pull him to me. His surprised yelp is muffled by my lips against his, and turns to a moan as he trows his arms around my neck. I push the door shut behind me as Potter starts clawing at my shirt. He slides it off my shoulders just as I start tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. We break the kiss and Potter takes a step back to let me tug the cloth over his head.
I meet his intense gaze and can but stare at him for a moment, both of our laboured breathing echoing in the room. I smell the night air in the room and the apple shampoo in Potter's hair. Then as one person we throw ourselves at each other, and this time I can't let go. I lead Potter backwards towards the drawer at one wall. His back arches and he has a hard time staying upright as he leans backwards over the drawer. I wrap my arms hands his knees and lift him up closer to me, and he wraps his legs around my waist. As I put him down on the top of the drawer he keeps his hold on me, kissing me fervently.
I run my hands over his back and pull away enough to be able to kiss my way down his chin to his throat. The loud pounding of his pulse makes me dizzy, and I feel my fangs appear, a low growl escaping my lips. Potter startles slightly and pulls away to get a look at me. I smile apologetically, ashamed of my inability to control myself.
Potter grins widely as he sees the fags, and a small light awakens in his eyes. "Oh." is his only response, a wicked smile spreading on his face. I am startled as he proceeds to kiss the breath out of me, before grabbing my right hand and bringing it up to his throat. He pulls away and smiles encouragingly. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and throws his head back, exposing his pale throat. I do not need more encouragement.
Potter shudders as my teeth pierce his skin, his heels digging into my lower back. The warm liquid flows down my throat, and I feel myself take a steadier grip on Potter. Potter trembles, his at first quiet moans getting louder for each passing second. For the first time in this huge house, I suddenly fear someone might hear us.
With strong willpower I withdraw my teeth from Potter's hot skin, my thirst not yet sated. He turns to look at me in surprise, and I hurry to kiss his gaping mouth, whispering between our lips. "...We have to be quiet."
I don't even know if he heard me, he only continues kissing me. After a minute I pull away again to continue ravage his throat. Potter trembles like before, but closes his eyes and clenches his teeth to keep from moaning out loud. The room is deadly silent, Potter's heavy breathing echoing eerily in the quiet evening.
My thirst finally sated, I withdraw my fangs and proceed to lap at the small wounds. Potter moans from the loss of contact and opens his eyes to look at me with brilliant green eyes. I lose myself in that gaze, gasping surprisedly as Potter turns to kiss me. Within seconds I am ravaging his mouth, my fingers digging into his back as I hug him as close as possible. His hands are in my hair, around my neck, on my back.
"Bed." Potter orders between kisses, taking a firmer grip around my neck. I do not hesitate to lift him up, carrying him to the bed. I lay him down upon it and he pulls me to him, his legs still around my waist. I jerk off his shorts before removing my own trousers. Potter's smile is bright and expectant. He shows nothing of nervous insecurity of our first time. Gods, was it only a week ago?
I prepare him quickly before slowly sheathing myself. He grimaces slightly as his flesh gives in to the intrusion, but the pained groans are soon replaced by loud gasps of pleasure. I kiss his lips, his jaw, his sweaty forehead, repeating his name over and over again between kisses. I would be embarrassed were he not repeating my name just as loudly, demanding it harder, faster, more, forever. Breathless promises echoing into the core of my being, the dept of my existence.
Time and time again we give ourselves away to this ephemeral moment of happiness, this fading feeling of belonging. This completion. This joy that I've for years watched other people find in everyday life. The joy that I could never feel.
I had to die to find it. In this brief, deranged moment I almost tell him I love him. But of course, I don't. Because even looking down at his beautiful face, his perfect lips repeating my name and my name alone, I know that eventually this will all be lost. And for that particular reason I am eternally grateful of this moment. To know happiness; the mad, beautiful happiness I feel right now, is more than I could have ever asked for.
For while happiness is a fleeting, fickle thing, memories can be carried on forever.
- 18
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- 20
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For the Want of a Nail