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Barking Dogs Do Not Bite	By : ZooArmy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 14074 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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
- 1
- 2
- 3
Disclaimer, Warnings, Rating, Summary can be found at Chapter 01.

A/N: Thank you for the wonderful
Reviews. I hope it will become more soon. Tehe.

About the �demonic dogs�: In a later chapter everything will be revealed.

I wish you all a happy new year and don�t get carried away. Remember: Alcohol
is veeery bad.

REVIEWS will be printed out, framed and hung on the wall.

__

BARKING DOGS DO NOT BITE

Beta: Chris (you need to thank him that this story reads this smoothly)

Chapter 02

Potter�s room wasn�t overstuffed and you didn�t feel cramped. When Draco craned
his neck and looked over his left shoulder, he could see that the bed was quite
big and at the feet, along the whole length, lay an old battered blanket for
the dogs.

Potter had decided on a traditional four poster bed that the huge thing seemed
even more impressive with its posts and tied back hangings. Draco thought they
were purple, like the wall behind the head of the bed, but wasn�t certain,
because of the dim light.

Opposite the entrance door, was a huge wardrobe that seemed far too big if you knew
that it belonged to Potter, or had he many of those rags he wore, only that
they looked all the same? But today he hadn�t worn rags.

From his seat on the ground, on the side of the bed that faced the entrance, he
saw a chaise lounge in the right corner and a book shelf behind it on the wall
with the door. A standard lamp and a small round carpet mat on the dark
wood-floor completed the reading corner perfectly.

Where were the windows? Draco looked around again and spotted heavy hangings to
the left of the bathroom door, which was on the wall across the bed. The blond
stood up, the dogs not in the mood to follow. He pushed the hangings aside and
looked into the dark night through huge windows that reached from ceiling to
floor. Bright light shined outside from the right side and Draco noticed the
balcony that was attached to the bedroom.

He opened the lock and stepped out into the chilly night. The light he had seen
came from Potter�s bathroom that had a glass door to the balcony as well.
Malfoy peeked through the misted glass and made an �eeping� noise.

He stumbled back into the bedroom, closed the door and pulled the hangings
swiftly shut. He hadn�t wanted to peep. Really! Why did Potter need to step
into his view? He didn�t want to peep. Really! Why had he stared at Potter�s
arse? A very nice arse at that. Draco groaned at this thought, when he flopped
down between the dogs.

The bathroom door opened, making Malfoy jump. �What�s wrong?� Harry asked, what
involuntarily resulted in Draco turning his neck and looking at him. �You seem
to be getting along pretty good with my girls.� Potter said with a grin and
flopped down on the bed. Draco�s eyes were still fixed to the spot that Potter
had occupied seconds ago.

�Can�t� can�t you wear a bit more that a towel?� He finally grumbled, trying to
cover his embarrassment. Now that the blood was gone, Draco had a good look on
the well-trained body Potter called his and the �naked-butt-incident� didn�t
help in the least to lessen the admiration.

Golden Boy�s (Draco knew he wasn�t a boy anymore with his twenty-one years, but
Potter would always remain Golden Boy, scar-head or boy wonder for him)
chuckles reached his ears and he changed his sitting position to look at Potter
without twisting his neck.

�What? Do you want to dress my wounds while I wear jeans and a shirt or would you
prefer a riding suit?�

�Funny Potter, Reeeeeally funny.� He stood up from the
ground and stood next to the bed. �Dressing material?� he asked curtly and
looked at the open wounds on Potter�s chest that was nicely displayed by the
git, when he leaned back on his arms. How had Potter managed to shower with
such wounds without screaming in pain?

�I�ve some healing ointment in the bedside table you can use.�

Draco�s eyebrows scrunched together in a dark scowl. �Are you bloody insane? Do
you want those to inflame or even scar?� He asked while pointing at the wounds
that had stopped bleeding but were still raw flesh.

�It won�t scar.�

�How do you know?�

�I just know, okay� Fine,� Harry sighed. �What do you need? Although I know
this will heal without any �treatment�.� He made quotation marks in the air.

�Bandages, mull, antiseptic and plaster.� Draco itemised, but saw Harry�s mouth
hanging open and he frowned.

�You, Draco Lucius Malfoy, know plaster?�

The blond rolled his eyes in disbelief at the stupid question. �As a side
effect of living in the muggle world, yes, Potter, I know plaster.�

�You lived in the muggle world?� Harry was almost speechless.

This pillock had more blond moments than his hair colour
allowed Draco realised. Of course he lived in the muggle world, how else would
he have been able to hide for three years from the magic folk?

�Of course I lived with muggles, you dunderhead. Could we get on with this?
This conversation is getting into directions I don�t like.�

�Hey, don�t insult me. After all, I was the one who saved you.�

�Yes, but no one asked for your help, Potter.� Draco retorted with venom.

�And no one asked you to dress my wounds.� Harry threw back.

�That�s true, but I promised it and a Malfoy keeps his promises. So, get me
everything necessary.� Malfoy demanded and kneeled on the bed next to Harry.
The brunette raised one eyebrow and leaned further down on the bed, now resting
on his elbows.

�You really know how to treat people. Sometimes a �please� would help, it
wouldn�t kill you. Harry made a whooshing movement with his hand and moments
later bandages, mull, antiseptic and plaster flew through the open door and
landed on the bedside table. The dogs were seemingly used to flying objects or
they would have reacted in some way.

Draco smirked at the half naked brunette and gloated. �See, I get what I want
without that word.� Harry just shook his head and rolled his eyes. He lay
completely down on the bed and looked at Draco expectantly.

�Want to keep gawking at me or bandage my wounds?�

�Pft.�
Draco snorted. �Gawking? At you? Is there anything to
gawk at?� Well, yes, there was �a lot indeed- but he would never admit it.
Malfoy grabbed the items from the bedside table and let his eyes wander over
Potter�s chest to choose a wound to start with.

He saw the dark, almost black bruises along the ribcage and reached out to run
a finger over them, but this time Potter didn�t flinch at all. �You really
should see a doctor. I can�t heal broken ribs and it can turn out rather
nasty.�

�It will heal after a while on its own.�

�Fine, Potter, suffer. It�s not my body you torture and I only wanted to help.�
Draco bitched around and began to rip mull into right pieces. Deciding not to
torment Potter too much, after all he had saved him tonight, he trickled the
antiseptic on the mull instead of the respective wounds.

�This will burn a bit now.� He warned and put the mull on the first wound, a
deep gash on the left chest, but the brunette didn�t react a bit. �Er, did you feel that?�

�Huh? Yes, it�s a bit cold.� Harry said and dropped his head back on the bed.
Draco put his forehead in wrinkles. Where Potter�s nerve endings numb or why
didn�t he show any sign of pain? Oh, wait, Potter, I�ll get you, Draco thought
and felt a smirk tugging at the right corner of his mouth.

He fixed the mull with plaster and let his hands gently glide over the soft
unharmed skin that stretched over Potter�s right chest. He wanted at least a
moan, only one moan to reassure himself that he hadn�t
lost his appeal.

Draco didn�t know what way Potter was swinging, but that didn�t matter. If
gentle, soft hands glided over your body, the gender was irrelevant, as long
the hands felt good and you enjoyed the touch.

The blond patched up the next wounds, always being anxious to touch Potter
gently and sensually and he looked with a triumphant smirk at the green eyes
when Golden Boy shifted under his hands.

But the feeling of success deflated quickly when Potter only lifted his arms to
rest them behind his head, displaying his torso even more.

�Something wrong?� Harry asked when he saw the strange
look of Malfoy.

�No, no, everything�s fine; Peaches and Cream.� The blond said gloomily and
Harry wondered what had happened to change his mood so quickly.

Draco was done with the mull and had the bandages wrapped around Harry�s torso.
He stood up from the bed, petted the dogs once again and looked at Harry.
�Thanks again for your help tonight. I�ll find the way out alone. Bye.�

Harry looked a bit gobsmacked when Draco went out of the bedroom and down the
stairs.

No, his ego didn�t hurt because Potter hadn�t shown interest, let alone showed
a reaction to his ministrations. No, his ego felt perfectly right. He felt
perfectly right. Yeah, right and the Titanic only had a minor accident. Such
conceit knows no bounds.

He went through the swing door, picked his rucksack up and left again for the
hall. Looking around, he saw the entrance of the house in the same moment when
Potter bolted down the stairs, the dogs sharp on his heels. �Hey, what�s wrong?
Why do you run away from me? I couldn�t even say bye.�

�Okay, Potter, here�s your chance. Bye, Potter.� Draco said and sauntered over
to the exit. He wanted out of here, away from Potter, to forget his debt, to
forget the disgrace he just had experienced. He was a little Drama Queen, but
it hurt nevertheless.

�Wait! You can have the guest room for tonight.� Harry tried to persuade him to
stay and Draco wondered why he was so keen on keeping him in his house. What,
if he wanted to hand him over to the Ministry of Magic?

Malfoy growled almost inaudibly in the back of his throat, only the dogs heard
it and came over from their spots next to Potter, looking if he was fine. He
kneeled down, gave them a short cuddle and stood again up to open the door.
�Don�t bother, Potter.� He said coldly, but without the anger he had felt
moments ago. �I don�t need your charity. See, Potter, you missed your chance
again.� Draco said with a smirk, stepped out into the night and pulled the door
shut.

He stepped the three stairs down and looked up and down the street. �I, I mean
we, we will see you again, won�t we?� Draco spun around and saw Potter standing
in the open door, three dog heads peeking between his towel-clad leg and the
doorframe. He loved those dogs.

�I don�t think so, Potter.� Malfoy heard the sigh and wondered what Potter was
up to. He didn�t react to his touches, but wanted to see him again and almost
begged for it?

�Here. I think you�ll need it.� Through the dim light of the street lamp and
from Potter�s house Draco saw two pieces of paper floating over to him. He
caught them with ease and noticed it as two twenty pound notes while unfolding.

�Potter, I told you, I don�t need your Cha�rity.� The
last syllables were whispered, because Draco had looked up from his hands and
at the closed door. The prat had closed the door. He
huffed and jammed the money in his jeans pocket. Looking again around Draco
groaned in defeat. He had not the slightest idea where he was.

It must be some suburb of London,
Draco thought, well, actually hoped. They had apparated
and that meant he could be in a completely different town. Feeling the safety
of forty pounds in his pocket, he pulled the ten inches of Hawthorn out of his
rucksack and called the Knight Bus.

It was the first time since, eh, a long time (he couldn�t tell anymore how
long) that he used his wand again. Out of sheer fear to get tracked down he had
neglected this tool for channelling his magical power. He had neglected his
magic at all, that is and it only resulted in neglecting his wand as well. But
he held the precious piece of wood always close and did never think about leaving
it somewhere behind.

The Knight Bus sped around a corner and came to a halt with screeching tyres
right in front of Draco. The door opened and a lanky young man looked at him.
�Good morning,� Draco looked at his watch. Morning, in deed, it was already
four in the morning and suddenly Draco felt terribly tired and only
half-listened to the conductor�s speech. �I�m Stan Shunpike, the conductor of
the Knight Bus. Have you called for us?�

�Hmhm.
How long does it take to London?�

�Hmm.� Stan scratched his chin in thought. �Are you in a hurry?�

�Not really, no.�

�Well, then I�d say five minutes. The streets are rather empty at such hour.
Draco buckled his rucksack on his shoulders, but kept his wand in his hand. He
didn�t like this, er, Stan-bloke.

�Do you take muggle money?� he asked and went closer to the Bus.

�Of course!� Stan said haughtily as if the question
had been an insult. Draco stepped with one foot into the Bus and Stan stepped
aside to let him completely in.

�Fine, I�ll stay tonight in the Bus and want to be dropped off in London tomorrow morning at
nine o�clock.� Stan wrinkled his forehead in confusion, but didn�t ask any
question and nodded. Malfoy handed him one twenty pound note and took the
change.

�You can have the last bed on the left side.� Stan pointed towards said bed and
Draco went over, keeping a hold on the other beds for support when the Bus
started moving again with insane speed.

�Do I know you?� Stan suddenly asked and followed Draco over to his assigned
bed with ease. The swaying and speed and the hazardous way of driving didn�t
affect him at all. �You look familiar to me.�

Of course he looked familiar. Draco had the looks of his father and Malfoy�s
weren�t made to walk below radar level, but somehow he�d learned to disappear
in the muggle world. His hair colour hadn�t been a problem, like he had feared,
because many muggles were especially eager to dye
their hair platinum blond.

At first he had thought they were all natural blonds, but that suspicion was
quickly allayed and he had crowed mentally over the fact.

�I don�t think so.� The blond lied. He didn�t want to be noticed as the lost
Malfoy heir. �I�ve only just come to town and haven�t been here before.�
Sometimes he wanted to thank his father for the lessons in �Lying without shame
and hiding behind an indifferent mask�, but only sometimes, most of the time he
hated him with every fibre of his body for what he�d done to their name, to
their family.

If he hadn�t kissed the hem of this half-blood Voldemort (yes, he dare say the
name after three years) so passionately, their family would still be highly
regarded and he, Draco, wouldn�t live on the streets on muggle London.

�Stan, it�s your name, right?� Malfoy asked and flopped down on the bed. �I
don�t want to be rude or something, but I�m really tired and would like to
sleep now.�

�Oh! Of course. I�m sorry, Mr�� he trailed off, but
Draco didn�t fall for the trick.

He lay down on the bed, with his clothes still on �Thank you, Stan.� and pulled
the curtains shut.

{}{}{}

Thursday.

Four days and three nights he had been living on the street again. Of course he
had lived on the streets before, but it was always a change from a bed,
surrounded by four walls and a roof, to the cold nights outside and nothing
that kept you warm � no matter how battered the bed had been.

The forty pounds from Potter were already spent, London wasn�t the most expensive city of the
world for nothing, and he heard his stomach rumble in complaint.

Since Monday morning, when he had stepped out of the Knight Bus, he had
wondered about Potter. He couldn�t get the prat out
of his mind. Why had he given him the money? Did he have a hunch that Draco was
homeless? Why did he help him when he knew that it was him, Draco Lucius
Malfoy?

It�s not like they have ever been friends back in school, not even the war had
changed a thing about it. Why had Potter been so eager to know what he had done
the last three years? Why had he worn a frigging dog-mask?

Why had he been so casual around him, not even caring about undressing in front
of him? Why had he taken a severe beating without complaint? Not even the
wounds had unsettled Potter. And most importantly: Why had Potter not reacted
to his touches? Was he that hetero that he didn�t find anything appealing in a
soft caress by a man? Or was it simply because it had been Draco Malfoy who had
touched him?

The questions rotated in his mind in a never ending loop and although the
thinking helped him through the nights; the fact that he didn�t come to a
satisfying answer made him mad and wore on his nerves.

The last days he had hidden in London Library and had done the one thing that
he loved the most, but hadn�t been able to do for the last four months - he
read. His gormless ex-boss and his more gormless muscle men would never look
for him in a library, that he felt relatively safe between all the shelves
filled with books full of knowledge and wisdom.

For four months he hadn�t had a book in his hands, because he had no money to
buy one and no time to read it anyway. Even if he would have been able to
obtain a book, if his ex-boss would have found it, he would have taken it,
laughed at Draco for such nonsense and waste of time and would have burned it
in front of his eyes.

To be honest, he had done it once with an old penny dreadful. Draco had found
it on the attic shortly after he had moved in. After that the blond didn�t dare
try to hide a real book.

The problem with the library was that it closed over night and Draco was left
alone on the streets. He stayed away from other homeless people and avoided
lively places; that tactic had kept him safe before and would do this time as
well.

The problem with the night was, beside everything else of course, the darkness.
Malfoy had never feared the darkness before, but since his very first night as
a homeless person the blackness frightened him when he was alone, this meant he
was frightened every night.

This morning, after another mostly sleepless night, he had planned to continue
the small routine he had created over the last three days and visit the library
again, but the sun was shining so beautifully.

The nights got colder, the first sign that winter was close, and Draco wanted
to enjoy the perhaps last warm rays of the year that he couldn�t find in the
library. Maybe he could save some warmth for the night, he thought with a small
smile, knowing that he wasn�t �water enough� to become a heat reservoir.

Never mind, he would think about the cold nights when it was necessary, but not
when he could sit on a bench in St. James�s Park and absorb the sunlight like a
sponge. Malfoy liked St. James�s Park the most of all eight Royal Parks of
London, out of the simple reason that it was the closest to London Library at
St. James�s Square. Only a five minutes walk lay between the library and the
park, if Draco should decide to trade the sun for the dust of ancient books
nevertheless.

__

Remember the wall and don�t forget to review. ^^

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Barking Dogs Do Not Bite