Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Ancient and Noble Houses	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 29877 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

Chapter List
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Chapter Twenty-Two—The Charge
            “Potter!”
            Draco hadn’t known he would bark like that until he saw Potter moving like that. He didn’t have time to tell if it did any good. He sprang between Potter and Granger, his arms out, not caring whether he felt the jab of a wand into his back. Granger might have some idiotic ideas that she could handle Potter by herself. Draco knew she couldn’t. No one could who didn’t know how dangerous he was right now.
            Then Potter was right up in front of him, his teeth bared and his wand pressed against Draco’s throat, and Draco realized that he might not have known how dangerous Potter was, either. Potter pressed, and pressed, until Draco was leaning back with his head dangling down onto a shelf. Draco tried to swallow, but the odd angle and the place that Potter’s wand had come to rest made it impossible.
            “Did she touch you?” Potter whispered to him, close and soft as a lover. He moved in until Draco could hardly breathe or see him. “Did you let her touch you?”
            “No,” Draco said, and he knew his life might depend on the scorn he could infuse into his voice. He did it now. “Why would I let a Mudblood like her touch me, when I have you?” He moved one of his hanging arms up, so he could run his hand in a quick caress down Potter’s shoulder.
            Potter took a step back and stared at him. His eyes were as clear as acid, and he darted a quick glance in Granger’s direction. Draco didn’t dare turn his head to see what her face looked like right now. He didn’t dare move, either.
            “I don’t like that word,” Potter whispered, but slowly, as if he didn’t know where the dislike had come from.
            “Of course you don’t,” Granger said, her voice fretful. Draco saw the stormclouds blowing in across Potter’s face again, and ground his teeth. “You hate it because he called me that, and called your mum that. Harry. What did he do to you—”
            “Shut up, Granger,” Draco said, and Potter turned back to look at him, panting, a few inches from hysterical.
            “You know it’s true,” Draco said, and he had never been so calm, never played so calm, even when he knew that his life depended on the way that he got the Dark Lord to react. “I would never touch someone like her. I wouldn’t even have looked twice at you before you inherited the Black house.”
            “But what about now?” Potter edged towards him, his wand swinging beside him. “You’re holding still, just like I told you to. You told me the truth. You never answered that question I asked you in Gringotts.”
            What question? But Draco remembered a moment later, when Potter’s hand rose and hovered in front of him. Whether Potter could touch him.
            Draco sniffed and glanced aside without moving his neck. “I don’t much like people who bend my body at unnatural angles and think that I’m looking to touch people I despise all the time.”
            Potter hesitated one more time, but then released Draco from both his wand and the fear, stepping back and gesturing at him. Draco stood up, and straightened his robes with little tugs that he hoped looked the way they were supposed to, like proud movements and not nervous ones. He was not going to give in to fear and let it make him act like an idiot.
            “What about now?” Potter edged a step closer to him. He seemed to have forgotten about Granger, who was watching him with an open mouth. Potter’s voice had gone soft and yearning, in fact, and he held out his hand as though he assumed that Draco had forgotten what it looked like without a wand in it.
            Draco examined the lines of Potter’s palm as though making sure it was good enough for a pure-blood like him, and then gave a sort of magnanimous sigh and shrug. “I grant permission for you to touch me.”
            Potter’s hand brushed his cheek a moment later. His face was so soft, so full of an almost heartbreaking happiness, that Draco bit his lip to avoid saying several unfortunate things. Didn’t Potter think about what it meant, that he practically wanted to caress Draco where he never had before?
            And didn’t he think about his friends, and what Granger would think, witnessing this? But then, one predominant feature of the Black heirs was that they seemed unable to focus on more than one thought at a time.
            “Harry! What are you doing?”
            Until someone breaks in and interrupts their focus, of course, Draco mused, seeing the way that Potter flinched and wheeled to face Granger. She had finally had enough, and stood right beside them, her face red. Somehow Draco doubted it was entirely the result of watching that last little tender bout he and Potter had just enjoyed.
            “Touching Draco.” Potter said it as though he couldn’t fathom why Granger didn’t understand, his eyes wide and blinking.
            “But why?” Granger edged forwards, hands still on her hips. Perhaps he could come up with a charm that glued them there, Draco thought, and she would walk in front of a mirror that way and see how silly it looked. “You never wanted to touch him before. Is this all a result of that house and its madness?”
            “I was a little blind before this summer,” Potter said coolly. “For example, I was stupid enough to assume that staying in Grimmauld Place by myself was a good idea. Draco was one of the reasons I became aware that it wasn’t.” He smiled warmly at Draco, who just shook his head to try and shed some of the responsibility. But Potter had already turned around again to frown at Granger. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting someone, with wanting to forgive someone.”
            Granger might have swallowed pure lemon juice. It was a few seconds before she could find her voice.
            “But this isn’t right, Harry,” she said, pitching her voice as though she assumed that she could reach Potter if she just didn’t yell. “You know—you know your sudden desire to be close to Malfoy is unnatural.”
            “Oh, dear,” Draco said involuntarily, although no one had asked him.
            Potter seemed to freeze for a second, a wave of invisible marble pouring down his face and stiffening his cheeks. Then he turned to face Granger, and folded his arms. He looked more like the heir of Black than Draco had ever seen him, but not because of the color of his hair and eyes. It was the expression, the posture, the way Draco had seen that gliding grace in him the first day on the Hogwarts Express, and wondered why no one else noticed.
            Granger did notice now, he saw, from the way her mouth was open. She just had no idea what to do about it.
            “Unnatural?” Potter whispered. There was a sibilance to his words that reminded Draco that Potter was a Parselmouth, where nothing much had for a while. “Maybe unusual. Maybe not something that would have happened without the influence of the house. But I assure you, nothing is more natural than for me to desire Draco. Perhaps you would know that, if you knew anything about the history of the Blacks.”
            Granger had been placed in Gryffindor for a reason, Draco saw. She edged closer instead of running away.
            “You’re not a Black,” she said, her words soft enough that Draco heard the heartbeat expanding through his body over them. “You were born a Potter. You’re Harry, our friend. Don’t you want to come back to that? To the world you knew, the happiness that you could have if you break free of the house?” Her eyes flickered to Malfoy, and she gulped once. “I thought Malfoy was here to help you with that.”
            Potter frowned and touched his forehead as though it had begun to hurt. Draco swallowed panic when the heel of Potter’s palm brushed his lightning bolt scar, and then told himself not to be stupid. Potter’s problems right now had nothing to do with the Dark Lord.
            “That’s right,” Granger whispered. “I know that you can come back to us, be our Harry again.”
            Draco had the feeling she would have gone on—she never did know when to shut up—but Potter turned suddenly to face Draco, his mouth wide open. Draco stared at him, heart and head thundering as he waited for something to happen.
            “Would I still want you if I was free?” Potter asked. Before Draco could even think about why he should answer that question, let alone with what, Potter rushed on. “Do you want me?”
            Draco waited too long, or he didn’t find an answer for too long.
            Potter made a sound like a sob and rushed past Draco, towards the table they’d been sitting at. Granger took a step after him, and Draco rushed out in turn. If Potter did something to the Gringotts documents on the library table, Draco doubted they could get more.
            But Potter had gone past them entirely, and pounded out of the library, head lowered like a rushing bull, eyes desolate.
            And by the time Draco got into the corridor, he was gone.
*
            delia cerrano: And right on the nose!
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Ancient and Noble Houses