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Tomorrow is dead to me	By : Prototype_UP77 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3028 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 9
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and I do not own Harry Potter. This is a fanfiction, no profit has been made with writing and publishing - it's all just for fun.

Chapter List
- 1-One
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
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Draco froze.
Though the fear slowly flowed out of him, disbelief made him blink, and a question had settled in his mind. Unable to put it into words, he cleared his throat first as he watched Potter lower his wand. The rosy lips formed words that faded unheard in the hammering of Draco's racing heart.
Potter's bright green eyes twisted, seemingly annoyed, and he tugged nervously at the obviously too-tight stand-up collar of his lime green cloak - a color that did not flatter him, Draco thought. Finally, he took a deep breath.
"What of all things are you doing here, Malfoy?" said Potter loudly, trying to drown out the muffled clang of a once melodious and valuable clock striking the hour.
It was an almost outrageously brash tone to use in such a situation, and even more outright absurd to ask Draco of all people such a thing, so an uncontrollable giggle spilled out of him and made its way between his fingers on his lips to Potter's ears.
"You think that's funny? A crazy dare? I've got news for you, Malfoy - Even if you and your parents wiggle out of all negotiations like eels, you're not above the law!" Anger had made his cheeks flush red, which contrasted interestingly with his pale skin.
With more effort than he would ever admit to himself, Draco put on a sardonic smile. He suspected he had succeeded well, for Potter's eyes darkened with anger; a powerful moment in which it seemed as if time were turning back and they were facing each other again as schoolboys, but it did not last long. Potter suddenly averted his eyes and let them roam the room, searching for a place where he could safely let them rest.
The smirk on Draco's face became a grimace that not only took effort to maintain, but downright pained him. "And you do?" snapped Draco, though he didn't feel like it.
"I'm acting according to the law, Malfoy," Potter blubbered, glaring at the gigantic hearth, which looked even more decrepit under the overhead light than it did in the delicate cone of Draco's wand. "You, at any rate, are obstructing official surveillance, so I would advise you to leave this place at once."
Gradually Draco felt more secure again, because this was one of those situations he had experienced thousands of times before: Potter was raging against him and had no means of actually doing anything to him. Unless, of course, he was acting illegally.
What a thought!
Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned his back against the crumbly back of the chair (he would be able to throw away the white shirt, but who would be surprised, considering this squalid place?). "Even as a famous apprentice auror, beloved by all, you have no right to expel me from my own house - quite the contrary. What is the name of your superior, Potter?" purred Draco in the most arrogant tone that had ever crossed his lips.
Potter's gaze shot to him, and his expression twisted uneasily. Nervously, he stepped from one foot to the other. "This house is yours?" he squeaked, blinking frantically. "I didn't know -"
Oh, that wonderful naivete of dull Gryffindors! Draco allowed himself a self-righteous smile before continuing. "Tell me the name of your superior, Potter! You're required by law to do so when you enter private homes - not to mention the fact that you'll need a warrant if we're to be entirely correct. And that's what we want, isn't it?"
Like swelling strokes on a watercolor painting, red streaks spread across Potter's skin and ran down his neck. It was fascinating and upsetting at the same time, but Draco kept control of the reflex to stare at those marks out of excitement - or even to reach out his trembling fingers for them as if he were a madman. Instead, he wedged them into the fabric of his shirt.
"My instructor is Hayder Trepton," Potter replied tonelessly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"And?"
When this conversation had started, Draco hadn't formed a plan. All he had wanted was to tease Potter a bit, to get his feet back on the ground and concentrate on the things he knew how to do (which was more than could be said for haunted houses that flooded you with mortal fear when you were no longer expecting it). But now it looked like a special opportunity was about to reveal itself to him, of which there were so few. Especially when it involved Potter himself. Draco's mouth went dry with excitement, his heart began to flutter noticeably in his chest, spreading an uncomfortable heat across his skin. Waiting for the answer became inescapable torture.
Potter closed his eyes in agony and took a deep breath before launching into a retort, and it was at that moment that something inside Draco broke. It was already clear that it was going to be the answer he was so desperately waiting for, and instead of the expected triumph, he felt disillusioned in a brutal way, because he already knew how he was going to play his cards - and completely unmask himself in the process.
"And I don't have a search warrant," Potter said tonelessly, clutching his wand so that the veins seemed to emerge dark purple from the back of his hand.
A shiver ran down Draco's spine.
You could still seize the opportunity. Save your family's reputation, and your father will have no choice but to respect you.
"Now then, Potter. There are a few ways this can go, but I can promise you right now that none of them will go down pleasantly for you in any way, shape, or form," Draco said, his mouth twisted into a faint grin. He rose before bracing himself on the tabletop with both hands and leaning his upper body in Potter's direction. "For me, on the other hand -" He interrupted himself to let the sentence he had started hang in the air and increase the pressure.
In his experience, Potter would be very sensitive to this. Possibly even more lawbreaking could be expected, and while Draco imagined himself staring at Potter with a bleeding nose and his best look of disappointment, he was already thinking about what he would say. "Do you care about your career? You can write it off if I report you. Violent aurors who just barge into other people's houses and then assault them are not employable anywhere!"
If it were that easy to persuade Potter to surrender, he would never have become a folk hero beloved by all. Draco had hoped he would revolt, but he had not been prepared for the true extent of the storm he had conjured.
"Yes, report me, Malfoy! Tell your father, report me to my instructor; do what suits you best, but blackmailing a public figure is surely just what the Wizengamot is still lacking to come to a more correct assessment of your punishability!" he spat.
Against what he had expected, Potter did not budge. On the contrary, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, and instead of letting any reason burn up in his anger, he simply didn't let Draco's venom get to him.
To make matters worse, Potter was right.
Careful still to maintain an appearance of impenetrable superiority, Draco raised an eyebrow and groaned in boredom. In contrast to his façade, however, he was impressed by the power Potter exuded. Sometime between their school days, the end of the Dark Lord, and his training as an Auror, he had lost the clumsiness and shed all childishness. But that intimidating appearance that many adult wizards possessed wasn't it alone. There was something lurking in his movements, in the way he tensed his chest, tightened his shoulders, pierced him with his gaze. The hand that had now raised the wand again was free of trembling and quivering.
"Just tell me your demands, Malfoy. I want to see what you've come up with for me. What do you think I have to do if I want to prevent you from ratting me out?" he said in a cold tone of voice that made his feral smile seem all the more perilous.
Perhaps it was this moment that Draco's mask began to crumble, but he tried hard not to let the fear that flowed chillingly in his stomach leak out.
Draco had thought he had set a trap for Potter, had lulled himself into a sense of security, only to be proven wrong in the end. In truth, it had been he who had played himself for a fool. His thoughts fluttered unsteadily sometimes in one direction and then in another, as if they were nothing but dead leaves in the wind, while he helplessly searched for a way out that he would never find. Powerless, he dropped backward onto the chair and rested the back of his head on the filthy backrest.
Potter looked at him again, and this time he did not avert his eyes. All at once, the silence became ominous, as Draco was overcome with a sense that his situation was worsening with every second he didn't answer Potter. "I wasn't blackmailing you," he whispered.
He wanted to break the silence. No longer give Potter the opportunity to raise his eyebrows in a wait-and-see manner and stare down at him. But that he'd been lying had been obvious from the start - and without his friends at his side to tug at and dictate his thinking, Potter seemed to realize it, too.
His jaw tightened, and Draco's denial had wiped the blasphemous grin from his face. "With every lie, it gets worse for you."
Draco was certain of that. The cool, harsh sound of Potter's voice was frightening, for nothing about it reminded him of the boy who had been so gentle that he could not have harmed anyone - unless, of course, one had earned it without question, as Draco had in his school days. With the doubt of what he saw and heard, however, came an idea that could maneuver him out of this terrible situation. He swallowed dryly and clenched his fingers around the dingy armrest, and as if this posture had released a spell that drained all his strength, his whole body began to tremble. He realized that he would not be able to take it back. And that he couldn't possibly estimate what he would unleash.
"Your friends really held you back back at Hogwarts, didn't they?" he asked. The words sounded slurred, as if the fear in his chest had blurred them. Potter winced almost imperceptibly, but visibly tried not to react, and Draco hurried on. "I mean, at least Granger would have insisted on doing it right. With the right intention and the right methods. And now look at you. Standing here, issuing orders like my father's incarnation, making a joke out of the limits of your profession that everyone but you doesn't understand. My respects, by the way, because it must have been really hard to hide the real Potter, the dark Potter, from your friends and the whole world all your school years."
The success of his approach became immediately apparent. Potter turned white as a sheet, and the superiority was knocked out of him more with each syllable, until he seemed somehow.... limp, making it difficult for Draco to deliver the final blow with his only weapon. Even as he spoke, a bitter taste spread through his mouth. "I have something to learn from you."
Potter averted his eyes so quickly that his pain-filled grimace was only visible for a split second, but the flicker was enough to throw Draco's heart out of rhythm.
Careless, far too rough. Why can't you get the upper hand on your damn feelings just once? he scolded himself in his mind.
"Just shut your bloody trap, Malfoy. You don't know what you're talking about," Potter growled, still looking off to the side. It seemed like he wanted to say more, and time slowed down in an unbearable way, until the moment Draco opened his mouth, not knowing what to say.
You know I didn't blackmail you.
It almost sounds like someone has accused you of not being yourself before. Is that so?
If you think I'm going to leave, you're wrong. So you might as well tell me what you want here.
Although strictly speaking none of this was a lie, none of these sentences would ever pass Draco's lips. He knew himself well enough to know that he would strike the wrong tone, for that was one of his traits that had manifested itself in every meeting between them.
Draco squinted his eyes in frustration. How had he been able to ruin a great opportunity like this, to have Potter at his mercy, in such a way?
As cold shackles snaked around his wrists and pinned his arms to the chair, he gasped and snapped his eyes open. Heart pounding wildly, he searched the room for a poltergeist or other dark attacker, but there was only Potter, pointing his wand at Draco.
It wasn't the wide grin on the pale face that worried Draco, but the mere fact that Potter had taken advantage of his carelessness.
"Now we'll talk about your demands, Malfoy. And then I'll tell you mine."
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Tomorrow is dead to me