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Potter's fantasies	By : indivisible_soup Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7349 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I don't own HP. I don't make money from this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-Potter's fantasies
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
# there's no smut in this chapter
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut UUUUUUUUPPP!" Draco yelled out in a hoarse, crackling voice, underscoring each syllable with a punch to a weathered armrest, his whole body trembling from exasperation and feeling of helplessness. But the unceasingly cawing crows, perched on a tree just outside of his windows, kept going, gritting on his already overstrained nerves.
All walls, floors, and ceilings of his flat had permanent silencing charms on them, guarding Draco from sometimes bothersome noise from neighbors. But he never was able to tolerate prolonged total silence, so the windows were not charmed to allow muffled sounds from the street below. There was an easy solution - to cast a temporary silencing charm. For that he had to get his wand. But he did not remember where he put it and had no willpower to search for it. Being physically weak because he barely ate lately added to it as well. Not that Draco planned on doing anything about it. He outright reveled in his weakness. As a way of punishing himself for his cowardice.
The most basic silencing charm was one of the very few he was capable of casting without a wand. But with each casting it became less and less effective due to his inability to wandlessly channel magic all that well. The last one barely lasted for five minutes. Doing magic like that was incredibly strenuous, so he did not see a point in exerting himself for another few minutes of silence.
He closed his eyes, trying to calm down, but instead it only emphasized the cawing, filling him with a murderous intent to cast one of the myriad of curses he knew that would shut those birds up for good! But then again, he needed a wand for that. And if he were to locate his wand, then he would be able to cast a proper silencing charm, which would solve his problem.
Spending so much mental energy on a trivial and completely pointless thing that could be resolved by not much more than getting up was Draco's usual way to distract himself lately. Not that he would ever acknowledge that.
"The hell with it!" he grumbled and put both hands over his ears.
The previous wandless casting of a silencing charm lasted only minutes only because it physically had to cover a lot of area - the windows were big, but using it on his own head would be easy and would require less than a hundredth of magic expenditure, and no doubt would easily hold for hours or if not days, even in his exhausted state. He had never done it before because silencing oneself like that was quite dangerous and extremely ill-advised, going against all common-sense practices that had been instilled into him from his first few years at Hogwarts. But what would happen in his own flat anyway? Nothing... He was completely safe there! This was the only way to stop listening to the damned crows without going in search of his wand that was Merlin-knows-where!
With his eyes closed he concerted on his magic. And just like that, after a second he was plunged into the deepest possible silence. He heard utterly nothing. He experimentally tapped his forehead, then flickered his earlobe, and found that not even that was able to get to his inner ear now.
Peace. Total peace.
With a content smile Draco breathed out in relief and leaned back, feeling relaxed, letting his soft, decrepit armchair, that last year had stopped reacting to any restoring charms, but still was his favorite, envelope his body. This was the most peaceful tranquility he felt in days. But that blissful state lasted for less than a minute, after which negative, depression-inducing thoughts once again started creeping into the forefront of his mind. It began with him berating himself for feeling prideful for this tiny, entirely insignificant, by all measures, accomplishment of casting a charm wandlessly. Not many people were able to do magic wandlessly at all, sure, by that did not mean that he should pat himself on the back for doing what he was capable of doing for ages! What's next?! Going to congratulate yourself for not mistaking left and right?!
For the second week straight Draco had been wallowing in self-pity mixed with uncharacteristic amount of self-hatred, not stepping a foot out of his flat, and most of his waking hours spending between his armchair and bed. All this time he had been replaying what had happened in the Ministry again and again, thinking on countless of things he could've said and done instead of the criminally stupid way he had handled it. He had tried to distract himself by reading, but he was not able to concentrate on anything. Good thing was that he was extremely sleepy all the time and was spending 15-16 hours a day blissfully unconscious, or at least somewhere inbetween sleep and wakefulness.
He hated himself. Felt ashamed of himself. How could he, after the fate herself had presented him the most perfect opportunity to come clean with Potter, not do it?! He had acted like a complete moron! Worse than that! From all possible ways to react he probably had chosen the worst one! Who the hell reacts like that?? Only a moron, that's who!
With no sounds to distract him, Draco soon felt getting drowsy, which suited him just fine; if he were able to sleep 24 hours a day, he would have gladly. Because the sun was getting low he knew that if he falls asleep on the armchair now, then likely he would not wake up until morning. Which would make his back ache throughout the next day. But he had no willpower to move a muscle, much less go to bed.
Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his leg - his left calf cramped up. Grimacing and feeling the vibrations of his grunts in his chest that were not able to reach his inner ears, he jumped to his feet, stretched the affected leg and dangled it a few times, trying to shake the cramp away. Which soon worked and he with relief dropped back down. Now cursing his leg because the cramp completely dispelled his drowsiness, allowing his mind to return back to the misery of the unceasing self-flagellation.
He even did not miss on an opportunity to gloat that he deserved even more pain. And thought that that if he would not eat anything today, it would add to his sedentary existence and increase the chances of him getting another cramp.
Would serve you right, you feeble-minded low-life!
Half an hour went by and the sun was about to disappear when out of the blue he once again felt anxiety flare up. He had never had anxiety, maybe with an exception of part of his sixth year at Hogwarts. But that was long ago and had real grounds. Currently it simply went against his general attitude towards life. But his body seemed to be of a different opinion, because for the past few days he had unusual bouts of worry about himself. Visceral, gut-wrenching worry. Why was he worried?! After Voldemort's demise he had acquired much more carefree outlook at his life and his prospects. So why worry about himself all of a sudden?? He was already at the bottom! There was nothing bellow! Relax!
Draco tried to shift his thoughts to something that would calm him down as once again a definitive idea of suicide sprung up in his mind.
"What the hell?!" he grumbled and hit his forehead with the heel of his hand several times, as if trying to physically push such thoughts away. He never in his life felt suicidal, so why all those thoughts suddenly come?!
He tried to occupy his mind by multiplying random three-digit numbers, which was quite mentally challenging, and always had been his go-to method to distract himself, but it did not help much. No matter what all his attention stirred towards suicide and various ways in which he could do it. He saw an image of his lifeless body slumped in a corner with his wrists cut and a big pool of blood underneath all over the floor. Then he saw himself hanging in a noose from the ceiling of his bathroom.
A bathroom?! Who the hell hangs oneself in a bathroom?? I don't even have a chandelier hook there! And to conjure one that would be strong enough to support my weight in a non-magically reinforced muggle structure is way too complicated. If push comes to shove I'd just Avada myself. That's the easiest way to go, hands down... No! The hell am I thinking?! I'm not going to off myself!
Suddenly it got much worse. All-encompassing panic made hairs over his arms stand up and his heart beat like mad. An irrational, soul-crushing fear that he might already be dead filled his mind and made him hyperventilate. It was getting way worse than in the past few days. Draco decided that he would wait another minute or two and if it would not go away, then he would go drink some calming draught.
Through the dread he feverishly tried to understand where it all was coming from. Feeling like that without any apparent reason was the most sure indicator of a Dementor being nearby. But Dementors were out of the question - even if by some one-in-a-million chance a stray Dementor happened to pass through a muggle town and near his flat - the wards would not let Draco feel it. Also there was an option of botched Cheer-Up potion. When one mistook blue basil leaves for ones from blue clove, the resulting potion was indistinguishable from plain water and produced similar symptoms he had now. But the effect would be immediete. Draco was positive that he had not ingested anything for the past few hours.
Without any input from Draco's conscious mind his body reacted on its own when it sensed something akin to a big spider crawling on its left shoulder, making Draco jump out of the armchair like a startled cat. He might not have reacted like that if he had pets, but he had none. He ended up on all fours on a carpet that definitely softened his landing, but still would leave him with bruises, not that he concerned himself with it at that moment. He whirled around while at the same time jumping to his feet and froze - Harry Potter was standing right behind his armchair with outstretched hand which fingers a moment ago touched him.
Draco's jaw dropped from shock which quickly turned into confusion. With his wards set into non-admittance mode he did not expect anybody to be able to show up. But Potter?! Unlike several of his friends (or acquaintances - depending who might ask), that were keyed into his wards and in normal times were able to approach his flat, Potter, just like any other magical being, should not have been able to come near it, much less enter it! Silencing charms or not - it should've felt like a prolonged and quite violent earthquake with a light show to boot when Potter tore down his wards. That also likely would've destroyed part of the building. How the hell did he manage to come through them like that?!
Draco noticed that Harry was saying something with agitation and a look that conveyed clear anger, but heard nothing.
"Potter, stop talking. I can't hear anything," said Draco and began scanning the surroundings in search for his wand. Casting silencing charms on himself was easy, but taking them off before they expired without a wand was beyond his abilities. After a bit he realized that it might take a while and decided that asking Harry would be easier. Which he did. But Harry did not make a move to pull out his wand and continued with his pointless tirade. "Potter, I can't hear you! I've got a silencing charm on! Finite me!" Draco practically yelled pointing at his ear. Without hearing himself he did not realize that it came out way too loudly.
After the nullifying spell hit and Draco was once again plunged into the world of sounds, he was about to ask Harry to repeat what he was saying and then ask to explain why, and more importantly how the hell Harry ended up in his flat, but those thoughts temporarily evaporated from his mind as he noticed where Harry's eyes darted when he broke the eye-contact.
Draco did not have to look down to confirm, he was hundred percent sure that the wooly stockings that he had put on after the afternoon bath were still on him. The most egregious part was that their wide horizontal stripes were of the unmistakably Gryffindor red and gold colors. Because they were, in fact, Gryffindor stockings, which Draco, unlike most of his 'special' clothes, had purchased in Diagon Alley instead of muggle London. One tiny embroidered lion at the back of each, where Harry currently was unable to see from his vantage point, was a sure proof of that. Draco hadn't even gone in search for them, but bought them on a whim, and then spend a whole lot of time dismantling the inbuilt charms so he would be able to tinker with the size, because initially they were meant for Hogwarts-age witches, and not for a grown man.
Unlike eleven days ago, when his stockings were completely innocent of his previous predicament, even if they had received some of his blame in the heat of the moment, these ones exacerbated current situation without a doubt. If he had put on green ones, or of any other color or pattern, it would've been much easier to explain. Sure, men were not supposed to wear something like that. But he was in his own home, and it was early spring and a bit chilly, and overall he could claim that he had every right to put on anything he wanted. But this... How one explains this?!
"Ahm..." uttered Harry as his eyes jumped back and forth between Draco's stockings and his eyes. Draco was unable to stop himself from acquiring a light blush as he waited for a snide remark. He wanted to hear something disparaging, thinking that it would be easier to swallow and be done with it. "Nice... Ahm... Socks. I guess..."
Draco's first impulse was to say that they certainly were not socks, but managed to hold back and he tried to come up with a suitable reply. But before he managed to think of something he saw himself through Harry's eyes - as he knelt in front of himself, wrapped his arms around his own stocking-clad thighs and hugged them tightly, rubbing his face into his own thighs. All that accompanied by a rapidly intensifying feeling of lust.
My anxiety! Draco thought triumphantly, realizing that the anxiety and suicidal thoughts of the last few days were not his, but came from Harry.
Surely Potter did not decide to barge in the first time he came by and got nobody coming to the door. So I can hear not only his thoughts related to sex! Wait!! Potter thought that I'm going to off myself?! That's fucked up. Though that he was worried about me is kind of nice...
Draco's eyes darted left, to the couch and the blue blanket that was lying there. For a moment he thought about throwing it on himself, but decided that it would look as if he tried to hide something. And what was the point of hiding his Gryffindor stockings after Potter already saw them? But he had to do something! His trunks would not be able to hide his dick that no doubt soon would come to life if Potter keeps thinking in the same vein. So the best way was to stir Potter away from his lewd thoughts.
"How did you come here anyway?" Draco asked, trying not to sound too antagonistic. He had no wand, and despite Harry's apparent lust, things between them ended not on a good note. Who knew what Potter might do? Plus, in the minute when Draco was not able to hear, Harry looked quite angry. Even though most likely that was due to Draco not coming to the door for the past few days and not reacting when Harry already barged in.
It took Harry a few seconds to collect his bearings and stop imagining pulling Draco's left stocking down. "Apparated. Your address I got in the -"
"No! I mean into my flat! How did you manage to get in?!" Draco said with anger, and immediately berated himself for his aggressive tone. Even if it seemed justified, he reminded himself that he should try to keep himself in check.
"You haven't been answering the door for several days. Today as well. So I Alahomora'ed it."
"Huh? What are you talking about?! Wards, Potter, how did you come through them without me noticing??"
"You've got wards? Ah... Yes, I think I felt something by the lift, but I was not sure." Draco squinted at Harry. He felt something?! It should've felt like an impenetrable brick wall to anybody who had even a modicum of magic in their body! Even owls, who were notoriously difficult to ward against, were not able to get through with non-admittance mode turned on. "Some sort of custom notifying ward I gather? Although it doesn't seem to work. Since you haven't been notified and all..."
In this moment Draco wished that he was able to read Harry's mind whenever he wanted.
Is Potter honest? It looks like it, but who knows really?
Draco wanted to drop it, at least for now, but felt like he could not. He did not exactly have enemies, but he knew that he would not be able to sleep a wink without a firm conviction that he was safe in his own flat. And rebuilding wards would take a while.
"Don't move," said Draco and headed out of the living room. "I'll be right back."
Draco dashed to the kitchen. The ward chart was glued to the inner side of the pantry door - out of anybody's eyes, and yet easily accessible. He expected for it to be blank - Harry destroying the wards would do just that, but to his surprise it looked completely normal. And showed that his flat was still in the non-admittance mode.
How then Potter managed to come in?! Is he Merlin or something??
Draco was confident in his wards. They were not impenetrable. Nothing ever was. But even the Dark Lord would have had to spend a good minute destroying them. And doing it stealthily should've been outright impossible. The wards were structurally tethered, so dismantling them from the outside likely would have badly damaged the building, that's why the wards were so strong.
But Potter did not destroy them! He just circumvented them. Somehow. Typical Potter! Doing something impossible and pretending that he did not do a thing.
But then Draco looked at the list of present people. His own name stood on the first place, as expected. But Potter, who was not keyed into the words in any way, should've been labeled as 'unknown', instead was identified as 'Draco Malfoy'. There were two Dracos on the list!
The hell?! Has Potter tricked my wards into thinking he is me? That would explain how he managed to get in. But how one would trick the untrickable? To temporarily distort one's own magical signature, sure. Incredibly difficult, but possible. But to assume somebody-else's?! If Potter is able to do that, then even the Fidelius charm would be useless against him! And that was positively imposable. No-no-no! There must be a different explanation. Plus Potter sounded genuine when he said that he did not know that there were wards. Huh?! Have I lost my mind?? That does not mean shit! For years Potter with the same straight face has been able to talk to me while imagining fondling me! Okay, putting the question about the wards aside, what do I say to him? I don't even know why he's here... Well, he was worried about me, which is good. Not that he would curse me for those books or something... But still. Where's my wand, damn it?! I'm in my own home, but feel so insecure without it!
The second most important thing on Draco's agenda was to confess to Harry about everything. After all, in the past week and a half he vowed that he would come clean to Harry given the chance. And what could be better than having Harry over? But one thing was to plan to do something under some nebulous conditions that would unlikely occur any time soon, and another to actually do it. So after the briefest possible consideration decided that it wasn't smart to do it while Harry for some unfathomable reason was able to just waltz through his wards as if they were not there.
A totally reasonable justification not to do it right now. Who knows how Potter would react to the fact that I've been tuning in on his salacious thoughts for years? Most likely he wouldn't do anything drastically bad. Potter is a good person. But what if? One can never know... At least it means that I have to keep mum about mind-reading until the wards get sorted out.
Draco squinted at looked at the unlit corridor.
Is Potter even here? Am I dreaming? When was the last time I ate or drank something? Maybe I'm hallucinating all this?
Draco poured himself a glass of water and dawned in. He cleared his throat and yelled out, "Potter, are you still there?"
"Yeah!" Harry's voice said. "Should I come to you?"
"Stay where you are!"
Draco's tried to stop his mind from drifting into the implications and possibilities of being in his flat alone together with Harry.
This is not the time! ... Wait! Are those thoughts mine or Potter's?!
Draco came back to the living room and found Harry standing right where he left him. Disregarding how inappropriate it might seem Draco poked Harry in his shoulder. He huffed, finding Harry seemingly real enough to the touch. Or at least his brain made the hallucination indistinguishable from reality.
"Ehm... What was that?" asked Harry.
Draco squinted at Harry. "I'm not sure whether you're real or not."
Harry snorted. "Are you drunk? ... Anyway, I came to give you these" - Harry reached into a bag and pulled out two books that Draco had dropped back in the Ministry by the bathroom before he had ran away. One of which was clearly damaged.
Well, maybe not dropped, Draco thought with shame. Because he outright had thrown them at Harry before yelling that he quits. But it does not look like Potter holds it against me...
"Thanks," mumbled Draco, feeling deeply ashamed.
Harry put the books on a coffee-table and turned back to Draco. "I asked Huxley to go over the notes of your preliminary findings, and they are... Ehm... Haphazard and for the most part unusable. Not my words. He said that because of your peculiar way of keeping things it would be easier to do everything anew. Are you sure you don't want to finish it? More than four months of work down the drain..."
Draco was surprised that Harry was asking him to recant his quitting. Or at least not to do it until he finishes with the project. It might've been more understandable if Harry had something to gain from it. But what? Draco failing, or quitting, which would not look all that different to the uppers, would not change Harry's bottom line. Harry merely supervised Draco's work in the most general sense, and was not responsible for it in any way. There was undeniable fact that Harry liked having Draco around. At least as a visual aid for his fantasies. But was this the reason?
For the past ten days Draco already got used to the thought of parting ways with the Ministry and Harry. Plus if he returned, he would have to face Ada Lovelace. She was way higher on the food-chain of the Ministry than him and he never saw eye-to-eye with her even if they barely ever interacted. But that day, when getting to the lift Draco unceremoniously had pushed her out of the way and most importantly - had called her a cunt among other insults he did not remember. He did not know why he even said that - she was not all that bad, and Draco felt a little ashamed for his actions. But what Draco was sure about, was that one does not recover from something like that without a groveling apology. And he was not the type of person who liked to apologize even while clearly being in the wrong.
Draco did not think straight that time and in retrospect had thought that it was good that he burned more bridges before leaving, making sure that he would not be able to come back. That was, of course, his usual way of rationalizing his own behavior.
"Regarding what I heard you say that day in the bathroom," said Harry after a minute in which Draco hadn't said a word. Draco immediately stiffened, dreading the questions he had no doubt would come next to which he had no believable answers. He still did not know whether Harry had heard everything or only the small part after he left his cubicle. "If you don't want to talk about the grievances that you seem to have with me, whatever they are, I can just forget about... So? What do you say? Want to come back?"

***

Harry could not understand why he had been catching himself staring at Malfoy over and over. In classes, in the Great Hall, or whenever they passed each-other in the corridor. Harry even purposefully started to sit with his back to the Slytherin table at meal-times, to stop his eyes from drifting in search of quite distinct haircolor.
When Malfoy had been in the infirmary, it seemed quite reasonable to be worried about him - Harry almost killed him. But now Malfoy looked to be well and dandy. Well, maybe not dandy, but no different from how he had carried himself in the past year - being his miserable self.
So why can't I stop myself?! It's Malfoy! The hell with him! Because of him Ron and Katie almost died! Yes, but he isn't doing it out of his own volition. That is undeniable. He would not just all by himself decide to try and murder Dumbledore... No! Am I defending him now?!
Gradually, day after day, it was getting worse and worse. Even at night Malfoy sometimes occupied Harry's head - appearing in his dreams.
Harry was not the sharpest knife in the drawer and sometimes pretty obvious things escaped his notice, but he was not a complete imbecile either. So if it would've taken Hermione a day or two to figure it out, it had taken Harry several weeks. But still, he did figure out that the blood transfusion had to be the culprit. He was not able to come up with any other reasonable explanation. He did consider that it all could stem from guilt. He did feel guilty for casting that curse - it nearly killed Malfoy! But the transfusion seemed like much more probable cause.
With Snape's strict warning not to tell anybody about the curse Harry did not dare to consult a soul. He tried to find books that might help him understand it, but was unsuccessful. Unsurprisingly, everything that was related to blood of wizards was so verboten, that even in the Restricted Section there was nothing tangible about it.
Harry considered asking Dumbledore; coming clean with him about the curse he had used, even despite Snape's warning. But he was afraid that with the curse being so dark and vile, Dumbledore might start thinking of him less. Harry already felt like being on thin ice with him because of his inability to get the real version of the most crucial memory from Slughorn.
Harry had no doubt, be it blood alone, or in combination with Snape's chanting, whatever it was, Snape must have some clue. Snape dismissal of Harry's misgivings about mixing magical blood must have meant that he had weighed pros and cons. Snape was smart. He knew what he was doing.
But approaching Snape with it? What could I even say? That I lately began having questionable dreams about Malfoy? That I began finding some allure about the dark circles under his eyes and his overall gaunt look? Snape would laugh in my face and give me another few months-worth of detentions for wasting his time. No-no-no. First I'll wait some more. Away from Malfoy for two summer months might make it go away. And if not, then I'll talk with Dumbledore. And if Dumbledore wouldn't know, which is unlikely, only then...
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Potter's fantasies