Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

A Dubious Affection	By : Tommy-Lane Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8450 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any charactors from the books and I am not making any money off of this

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Either Potter was more klutzy then Draco ever dreamed or the man had a serious love/hate thing going on with clocks.

Over the course of the next four months Potter had brought him no less than ten clocks to fix. Each one so badly damaged it was a miracle they could be fixed at all.

There was the bedside clock that had met with a violent encounter with a wall. "It wouldn't stop buzzing. I dunno Malfoy, honestly, I didn't mean for it to hit the wall when I threw it." Potter had said, looking rumpled and bed tousled like he had just finished fighting with his clock and then immediately rushed over to seek help for it.

Potter had brought him straight green tea along with his payment, leaning against his door frame and staring briefly at Draco's complexion before glancing into Draco's workshop as he droned on and on about who knows what. Draco couldn't shake the feeling that the Ministry man had been looking for something and found himself inexplicably staring around his own flat over the next day like he was trying to find something he couldn't remember losing - which ultimately just made him think of Potter and the look on his face as he had stared at Draco's unusually pale skin like he was seeing something he had never laid his eyes on before.

It was highly irritating and Draco was convinced that thinking so much of Potter's mug was surely going to make his brain turn to mud - which would be truly terrible for business.

There was the pocket watch that kept meowing instead of shining a soft light when rubbed in a counter-clockwise circle and when he announced that that was not the sort of problem Draco was willing to take care of (it was obviously a simple charm Potter could figure out himself), the man had come back the next day with it crushed nearly to dust. "Dropped a book on it." Potter had explained when Draco had growled exasperatedly. "It was a really big book. A Hermione kind of book." Then Potter had done the whole biting-his-lip-while-smiling thing and Draco had begrudgingly fixed it.

Potter brought him a bag of scones when he picked it back up. Slicing them opening and making himself at home at Draco's workbench, chatting annoyingly as Draco scolded and ate the bloody scone. It was chocolate and pumpkin damn it and he hadn't made all that much progress on the whole eating and sleeping more thing - it had only gotten worse since Potter had become his number one client.

So Potter talked and Draco chewed and tried to smile and nod at the appropriate moments but could really only concentrate on the way Potter's lips moved opposed to what he was actually saying.

Potter, it turned out, was a very animated talker. He used his whole mouth, like he was trying to distract you from the fact that he wasn't all that bright. He also seemed to be engaged in a never ending war with his glasses, trying to keep them on the bridge of his nose when they so obviously wanted to slide right off every time he laughed. And Draco was fast coming to realize that Potter laughed a lot.

He laughed when he was nervous. He laughed when he thought Draco was making a joke when in reality he was being utterly serious about Potter lighting his wardrobe on fire and acquiring a new one - honestly Potter's wardrobe was much too tight for Draco's comfort level, it forced him to see every line of the man's body and it wasn't natural the way they drew Draco's gaze like magnets. He laughed when he was confused or uncertain, hell he even laughed a nervous little chuckle the first time Draco had smiled - well maybe it looked more like a sneer but that wasn't his fault, he wasn't used to smiling much these days. But most grating of all he laughed for apparently no reason at all. Draco didn't understand that one, why would someone do that? He really didn't condone out right laughing even if something was humorous but for no reason? Honestly that was just bad taste.

Plus the sound did funny things to his nerves and made it hard for him to tighten the miniscule screws he had to work with after Potter finally got the hint and left.

There was the giant grandfather clock that Potter had to levitate through the door, the thing smashed to heart breaking bits. "Teddy got to it." Potter said with a shrug. "He got a bat for his birthday and well..." Draco had glared and pointed out that it was a person's duty to protect such precious heirlooms to which Potter nodded seriously and muttered things like, "I know", "just shocking", and "just don't know what to do with the boy."

Draco didn't buy any of it. It was more likely that Potter had taken the bat to it first and Teddy, whoever this child was, had followed suit. But he fixed it anyway and only had to suffer through four hours of Potter's company on pick up day - the black haired man showing up with a carton of takeaway that smelled too amazing to deny. They had even made it past Draco's workshop and into the little kitchen, sitting at the small table and eating with wooden chopsticks and plastic forks, Potter frowning only slightly when Draco finally remember his goggles were still perched atop his head and discarded them.

Getting Potter to leave after dinner was over was a challenge, he wanted to know how Draco had gotten into clockwork and if he liked it and so on and so on, never once mentioning the smudges of black on his cheek and chin or the thick streak standing in stark contrast through his platinum blond hair.

Then he had stood in the doorway, biting his lip and smiling again, muttering something about a pub down the street that served a good beer. Though Draco honestly couldn't remember the details, he was much too exhausted, having worked through two nights and days on the grandfather clock.

When he finally managed to fall into bed it was only to dream of Potter feeding him chocolate and caressing his smudged face with a strange fondness.

All this to say that Draco was relatively sure that Potter was either losing his mind or his job had turned him into a violent bat wielding maniac, his analysis only confirmed as he stared at Potter now, with broken clock number eleven in the dark haired man's arms.

"It fell." Draco deadpanned, rubbing the bridge of his nose and sighing.

"Yup. I was moving it and tripped." Potter nodded, the mangled clock looking so sad and despairing.

"Right." Draco raised an eyebrow, both of them knowing perfectly well that the extent of damage couldn't have occurred from a simple fall. "Fall out a window did it?"

Pottered blushed and glanced down. "Kind of."

"How does a clock kind of fall out a window?"

"I tripped and the window was...open...?"

"Was that a question?" Draco crossed his arms, leaning against the door jam and blocking Potter's entry lest he try and sneak past him like he usually did.

"Er, no." Potter smiled a crooked smile that was boyish and charming and too bright for the gloomy sort of day it was turning out to be. "I mean the window was open and I got a new rug, not used to it yet and all, the thing just pitched right through when I fell."

"Perhaps you should get rid of it then. Or better yet, stop moving your clocks around." Draco snapped.

"Yeah probably." Potter grinned, looking much too happy for a man who had just accidentally threw his clock out a window. "So how long?"

"How long for what?" Draco grumbled, fidgeting with the wrist cuff of his black button down, the small gray button having escaped his attention when Potter had banged on his door and was thus left hanging open without dignity.

Potter shifted, leaning his shoulder against the opposite side of the door jam, bringing him much too close for Draco's liking. Had the man never heard of personal space before? Honestly, not everyone was so enamored with the heroic wizard that they were perfecting happy with having their very air invaded.

Plus the closeness forced Draco to smell his shampoo - an exotic fruity scent - mixed with a slight musk that must have accumulated on the man’s skin while he was apparently running around holding his clock collection. It made Draco's stomach flip and his lips frown.

"How long will it take to fix it?" Potter asked, jiggling his broken armload a little.

"Just toss it Potter, you have enough time pieces to keep you on schedule. You don't need another." A beeping was sounding in his kitchen, signaling that his morning tea was ready but Draco did his best to ignore it. He didn't care that good manners required him to offer Potter a cup, there was no way he was letting the clock murderer inside - Potter was like the flu, a second to catch and week to get rid of and Draco was determined not to spend another week with Potter consuming his every minute. "In fact I think you own a touch too many as it is."

"But..." Potter frowned, looking down at his dejected clock, his brow crinkling with what could only be pain from having to use his brain, and blast it, making him look like a kicked puppy again.

Draco was growing to hate that look. "For heaven’s sake, are you emotionally attached to this one too?"

"Um...?"

"Was it a gift?" Draco continued, cringing slightly as the beeping grew in pitch, drawing Potter's gaze past him and towards his kitchen for a moment.

"No." Potter answered after dragging his gaze back to Draco.

"An old family heirloom then?"

"Erm." Potter shifted and Draco smirked when he realized that the clock was heavy, the idiot apparently forgotten to have cast a feather light charm over it.

"I'll take that as a no."

"I just like it okay, so how long to fix it?" Potter huffed, looking mildly miffed.

"I don't know because I'm not going to." Draco sighed, taking a step back and turning away, suddenly feeling a tad light headed and needing to get away from Potter's rather all-consuming scent and turn the damn beeping off, the fact that his tea was most likely ruined now souring his mood further.

"What? Why not?" There was a smack as the door banged shut and Draco rolled his eyes towards the ceiling as Potter followed him into his kitchen.

"Because believe it or not I do have other clients besides you Potter, several of them with vastly more interesting projects I might add." Draco stared into his open cupboard, debating with himself over how many mugs to pull down, before scowling at the air and hooking his thumb through two tall crystal blue ones.

It was helpless he knew, Potter was past the threshold, and therefor in essence he had been ensnared for another week - might as well shut the man up for a moment with a mug of hot liquid. Plus he found the way the tea reddened Potter's mouth distracting and distractions were nice where Potter was concerned, it kept the former Slytherin from falling back into old habits and casting silencing charms or perhaps one or two illegal hexes that the Auror wouldn't be able to overlook.

What with Potter's moral code and all.

"More interesting? How can one broken clock be more interesting than another?" Potter asked, his voice accompanied with a thunk that could only be the mangled clock hitting his tabletop.

Draco cringed, if there was so much as a tiny scratch because of that thoughtlessness he was going to cast a hex, red lips or not and consequences be damned.

"I don't only fix them." Draco grumbled, portioning out the steaming Darjeeling tea before adding a dollop of milk to his own, two into Potter's, and a drip of honey like the man liked. He frowned at the swirling milky cloud as he stirred it, since when did he know how Potter took his tea? Himself excluded, he didn't know how anyone liked their tea, he didn't know if Pansy liked it with sugar or if Blaise even added milk at all, hell he didn't even know how his own mother took it and he joined her every Sunday for teatime.

But somehow he knew Potter liked two dollops of milk and a tip full of honey, unless it was herbal or green tea, which he took straight.

"Oh?" Potter joined him at the counter, leaning his back against the edge and smiling as he took the offered mug between his hands. "What else do you do?"

"I make them on commission." Grabbing his own mug and padding back into the heart of his workshop, he tried to convince himself that it was surely just a symptom of Potter-overexposure. Plus the Gryffindor was positively an addict. He drank tea like a fish. Which was kind of odd in Draco's opinion - one really shouldn't have more than four cups a day at most - and the fact that he knew Potter always had a cup of something in his hand was nearly as bothersome as the fact that he knew how he liked it. Hell he could probably write an article detailing Potter's tea fetish and how he like to prepare each concoction and sell it for a hefty sum - his ridiculous fan club would eat it up and no doubt become tea addicts themselves.

Potter probably even drank tea while he was out in the field, somehow managing to smirk while sipping from his cup, with his wrist flicking carefree little spells at his opponent who would probably just faint at the sight of Potter anyway, regardless of the teacup and lazy casting. Hell he probably even had tea while he having sex, telling his lady love to hold on just one second mid thrust as he reached towards his bedside table and took a long gulp - or maybe he wouldn't even stop, maybe he had perfected how to pound his partner while he was drinking.

That would be rather impressive actually.

Not that he thought about Potter's sex life. He was just growing rather worried, or annoyed actually, of Potter's so obvious addiction. He was in dire need of help...obviously.

"You make them? Like from scratch?" Potter appeared next to him once more, propping a hip against his workbench as Draco settled down onto his stool.

"Yes Potter, like from scratch." Draco snatched his goggles and fitted them over his eyes, his fingers twirling a long, thin steel screwdriver in the air as he pulled his latest project towards himself. There would be no more looking at Potter and definitely no more thinking about Potter in intimate embraces, amazing tea balancing skills or no.

"That's...impressive." Potter actually sounded impressed, which surprised Draco greatly and he couldn't help but glance up at the man invading his space once again in stunned silence only to find Potter staring back with that spark in his gaze that was lighting in his green eyes with greater frequency as of late.

Draco didn't know what to make of it. He was starting to get the sneaking suspicion that Potter liked his goggles - and not in a 'trying not to laugh at the outrageous way it made him look' kind of way. He seemed to like it when Draco wore them, they didn't have to even be over his eyes, it seemed he favored them just as much on his forehead but he would frown like it was some sort of personal offense if Draco ever took them all the way off. It was immensely weird and confusing.

Perhaps he just had a thing for eye-wear. Or maybe he was jealous that Draco had invented them himself while Potter ran around chasing horrifically dangerous Dark wizards in nothing more than a red and black uniform that aggravatingly held no protective qualities other than making him remarkably stunning.

Draco frowned at that thought, where in there world did that even come from? He could remember the day Potter had showed up at his door in his full Auror regalia, complete with black leather gloves and shiny badge, grinning with a sweaty forehead and damp curls and mud splattered all over his thick black boots. He looked like he had just spent the entire day dueling to an inch of his life and now all he wanted to do was make tea in Draco's kitchen as he pushed his hair off his sticky forehead and stare at Draco as he put the finishing touches on the latest of Potter's damaged clocks. It had been most unnerving, especially considering the fact that he had felt strangely...er, aroused as Potter leaned against his gloved palm and watched him with that spark.

He had chalked that unfortunate reaction up to his sleep deprived body reacting to the natural pheromones the evil wizard hunter was emitting after such a chase had given him. But that didn't explain the little twist in his stomach now at just the memory of it. He shook his head and blinked, forcing his gaze back down to his work and cursing inwardly at the realization that his hands were definitely not steady enough any longer to thread the wire between the gears and tighten it to just the right tautness.

Another irksome side effect of Potter's proximity.

"What kinds? Like those massive grandfather clocks?" Potter tapped his fingers against the bench and Draco scowled at them. Potter had long fingers. Long, slim fingers that probably spent all day wrapped around his wand.

No, no, that was a bad mental image.

"Yes, all kinds really, though I specialize in pocket watches and miniature time pieces set into boxes." Draco purposefully left out the fact that the people who tended to order the boxes did so with rather nefarious uses in mind but that was hardly his problem. He liked making them, they were difficult and intricate and challenged him and really it wasn't up to him what his clients decided to do with the things he made for them. It's not like he was using them for Dark Magic. Though he had wondered from time to time...

"I thought you said you didn't do woodworking?" Potter's fingers stilled and wrapped themselves around the edge of the bench, his tone full of curiosity as if they were discussing something vastly interesting instead of carving and cutting and drilling and soldering.

Though perhaps Potter did find it interesting and Draco couldn't stop himself from imagining Potter watching him with that same intense look while he chipped and burnt the wood into the wanted design as he did when Draco's pale fingers were slicked with grease and his eyes were bugging out as he slid a gear into place. Not to mention Potter's notoriously wild hair would probably smell like smoke and wood for hours afterwards...

"No I said that you didn't hire me in that particular capacity. It would have cost extra and you’re already single handedly financing my retirement as it is." Draco explained, waving towards the general direction of the corner of his flat devoted to his woodworking tools as proof. Honestly he was quite surprised that Potter hadn't particularly noticed the stack of deep cherry wood sooner, considering how intent he was in staring and poking through all of Draco's things.

Plus wasn't that a requisite of Potter's job, to be observant?

"I was wondering..." The tea drinking addict trailed off, leaving his confusing sentence hanging in the air between them.

"Wondering what pray tell?" Draco tried not to grit his teeth as he took a deep breath and attempted to tighten the wire once more.

"If you needed to work or if you just did this for fun."

"My trust fund could keep me perfectly comfortable but a life of leisure isn't quite to my taste." Draco knew he sounded haughty and that the little smirk on his lips had to be somewhat confusing but he couldn't help but picture his father when he had first visited Draco's workshop. He had stood just inside the door and scowled menacingly for ten whole minutes before huffing up his chest and pointing out oh so kindly that Draco was throwing his life and talent away on such a career path.

And that had sealed the deal. Call it a silly act of rebellion but Draco had no intention of becoming anything like his father and doing something the elder Malfoy so obviously disapproved of only cemented the idea in the younger's heart and well...he liked clocks. They were consistent in a way nothing else in life was.

He remembered the first time he had fixed a clock, it had been the one residing on his bedroom mantle during that horrid year his family was playing host to the Dark Lord. He had just been forced to torture a nameless muggle born and his hands had shook so badly afterwards that the slimy Dark Lord had decided Draco himself needed punishment. When he had been released and allowed back to his room, he had stared at the unmoving hour hand on his clock he'd had since childhood for hours before silently walking over to it, pulling it down, sitting cross-legged on the floor, and losing himself in disassembling and reassembling it.

He remembered that first soft tick that signaled his success, it made everything seem a bit lighter, more...certain. He always carried a pocket watch from then on. The physical passing of time on the time pieces face had been what gotten him through the war with his sanity. He could even remember the exact time the most major events of that year took place, especially the moment the Dark Lord had reemerged from the Forbidden Forest with a supposedly dead Harry Potter. He had broken his watch then with a squeeze of his fist and an anguished pulse of raw magic, making time stop in every way possible as all his hope died with Potter's limp body. He remembered how everything froze inside him, the broken clock in his fist the only warm thing inside or around him. Every second that passed was immeasurable and horrible and all he could think was that if he could rewind time then maybe everything would be okay.

But he couldn't. Potter was dead and Draco was sure that time would never tick forward again. Time and Potter seemed to be forever entwined for him.

Just like he remembered that it had been a Friday at 2:00am when he and Potter had stumbled out of the pub and into the dark street years ago.

Or that it had been a Monday at 9:42am when Potter had come knocking on his door all those months ago.

"Is that a no then?" Potter's disappointing sounding voice jolted Draco out of his quickly deteriorating thoughts and back to the present.

Draco took a deep breath and shook his head a little, he didn't like thinking about the war, nor about the fact that he still had that broken pocket watch, the hands forever held in that moment that Potter was gone from his life.

"Pardon?" He set the screwdriver aside and fiddled with the little dial on the side of his goggles, his eyes adjusting with expert ease to the newly magnified field of vision, the softest pink glow pulsing out from the edges of the second embedded gear. His jaw clenched as he reached out towards it, mumbling softly under his breath as he turned it carefully, the pink throbbing until it turned to a pale blue - a smile spreading across Draco's lips.

There, he accomplished something in Potter's presence.

"I asked if you could make me one? A pocket watch?" Sipping his tea and looking utterly genuine, watching Draco with an odd sort of fascination, the blond quickly determined that Potter had indeed either been assigned to keep an eye on him for some cosmically ordained retribution for his past sins or he really did have an unhealthy love of clocks. Neither boded well.

"Potter." Draco started slowly, shoving the goggles onto his forehead so Potter didn't look like a giant with eyes the size of dinner plates. "You already own a pocket watch, I know because I fixed it for you a few months ago."

"I gave it to Ron."

"Ah, so you do have friends."

"What was that?" Potter cocked his head and set his already empty mug down next to his leg - a prime location for it be knocked off by Potter's uncoordinated movements and shatter into a million little shards.

Draco slid it carefully to a safer spot before answering. "As I've stated before, you already own a ridiculous amount of clockwork, you do not need another." He paused and eyed Potter carefully, trying very hard to ignore the slow blink and slight twitch of his cheek that always proceeded the abandoned puppy look. "Besides my fees are astronomical."

That, for some reason, cheered Potter up, his shoulders straightening and a smile playing on his lips. "I have the money."

"But you don't need it." Draco sighed, already feeling the defeat of the conversation.

"But I want it." Potter somehow didn't even sound petulant as he said that, he just sounded...honest and like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to get what he wanted.

Which he probably did all the time, he probably didn't even have to walk across mud puddles if he didn't want to, there were probably hundreds of groupies ready to throw their cloaks down at a moment’s notice so their savior wouldn't have to soil his boots. Stupid groupies.

"You." Draco narrowed his eyes, pointing an accusing finger at his old school rival. "Are relentless." He growled to which Potter nodded enthusiastically - like it was a compliment, which really just made Draco determined to insult him more in order to deflate the bespectacled git's head. It was for Potter's own good really, Draco was going to be doing him a favor.

"Which is why it would be better to just accept now." Potter leaned down, once again invading Draco's personal space with a closeness that was making him suddenly dizzy again. "Because I always get what I want."

"I remember you being less self-centered." Draco raised an eyebrow, holding his ground and not leaning back despite the fact that he could see a wet sheen glistening on Potter's red lips.

Potter grinned and ran the tip of his tongue over his already damp bottom lip, like he just knew how much of a distraction it was. "I remember you being a right prick. Seems we've both grown up a little."

"Fine." Draco conceded, breathing a silent sigh of relief when Potter pulled back and straighten to his full height, forcing Draco to cock his head back to look at him properly. The angle made Potter look taller, broader...intimidating with that blasted smile.

"So we'll meet Friday, say eight? I'll send you the address." Potter was looking far too pleased with himself, like he had just won some great prize when in reality he had just agreed to sign a rather monstrous amount of money over to Draco because the Slytherin would be damned if he didn't over charge the annoying blighter and squeeze every last knut out of him that he could.

"What for?" Draco turned back towards his work, intent on seeming as aloof as he possibly could despite the fact that his heart was beating strangely fast for some unknowable reason. He didn't like the things Potter's presence did to him, it was like he was getting dumber by the day and now his heart and stomach were even revolting.

"To go over the design for my new pocket watch of course."

"You're going to be insufferable aren't you?" Draco grumbled and then promptly stiffened as he felt Potter's finger run along the band holding the goggles onto his head, suppressing a visible flinch when those warm fingers grasped the hard metal and slid them into place over Draco's pale eyes. He blinked and tried to focus his vision but everything was swimming funnily and all he could see was Potter's intense green stare.

He shivered and gulped. Potter's eyes weren't just green, they were green, a distinction he couldn't believe he had never noticed before.

"You can count on it." Potter bit his lip and smiled and Draco was near certain he could hear his own blood rushing loudly in his ears as Potter fingered the edge of his goggles once more before turning and striding out the door.

Leaving Draco to wonder just what the hell happened.
TBC
Severus1snape: Thank you so much! And I’m so glad to hear you’ve been enjoying the Art of Shadow Boxing too :)
Staar: Thank you, hope you keep enjoying it.
Delia Cerrano: Haha I know, I know, I just have a thing for messy Draco, hope you enjoy it despite the mind stetching ;)
Moodysavage: Thank you so much, you’re review made my day! Messy Draco is my favorite, I couldn’t resist. And yes it was the eyes that had drawn Harry’s attention initially. Hope you keep reading and enjoying (this Draco is soo much fun to write).
Blur: Thank you! Harry’s definitely got his work cut out for him ;)
- 1
- 2
- 3
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

A Dubious Affection