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Broken Dreams	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3558 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Raincoast. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter List
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~***~

Draco gathers what he can of his dignity and attempts to smooth down his hair, though he knows that, after Blaise has messed it up, it will take an hour of Styling Charms to make it presentable again.

He enters the lounge where the Aurors are waiting. There are only three of them, and Draco knows them all well. Potter is sitting on the sofa beside his partner, Weasley, and their boss Gawain Robards is seated in one of the two wingback chairs which stand at either end of a large rectangular coffee table before the sofa.

Draco takes the other chair, and tries to look casual and unconcerned, draping one leg over the other, his hands in his lap.

"Mr Malfoy," Robards begins, clearing his throat. He has a file of papers spread out on the opposite end of the table and is marking them with notes with his quill. "We will be brief, as I'm sure you need time to relax after this ordeal."

"What exactly am I being interviewed for?" Draco asks. He's not charming, nor smug, but curious. He has no idea how an Auror debriefing session works.

Robards looks up, his bushy grey eyebrows crooked in his forehead. "Well, you were the Healer who was tending to Auror Potter's wounds when whatever curse it was spread to you. I need to find out what curse you were treating him for and ask you what you know of it."

Draco frowns. Surely Potter would have told his superior by now all that he knows of the curse, but when Draco tries to meet Potter's eyes, Potter is reading one of the sheets of parchment and apparently not paying the slightest bit of attention to Draco.

"The curse Auror Potter was hit with and that I was treating him for is known as Sectumpsempra. I'm surprised Potter didn't mention that to you already, as he has experience using this curse himself."

Draco smirks when Potter finally reacts, his face blanching as his boss turns on him.

"What's this?" Robards demands.

Potter clears his throat. "Sir, well… I… er… that is to say,"

"Would you like me to tell him the story, Potter?" Draco asks, a small thrill of excitement rising up inside him at the flash of anger Potter shoots at him with his eyes.

"No, Malfoy," Potter says. "The spell is a dark curse, it was created by Severus Snape. I don't believe many people outside of the Death Eaters knew how to cast it." Potter seems to think this last statement will hurt Draco, but Draco is ready with his response.

Draco clears his throat. "Except, of course, you," he adds and turns to Robards. "Potter hit me with the curse in our sixth year. If Severus hadn't been nearby at the time to perform the counter-curse, I would have died."

"I didn't know what the spell did," Potter said hoarsely. "We were kids. We were stupid."

"Be that as it may, Potter," Draco says fixing Potter with a fierce stare, not at all getting off on the flush rising in Potter's face. "The curse is very dark magic and you need to mean it when you cast it, so despite the fact you claim you didn't know what the spell did, your intentions to hurt me were definitely there."

"All right, enough," Weasley says interrupting. "Sir," he says, addressing Robards. "This is all related to a past incident. Perhaps we can put it aside for now to discuss what we came to discuss."

Robards' eyebrows are all the way up his forehead as he watches Potter and Draco's hissing fit unfold. "Er… yes. I agree, Weasley. Mr Malfoy. As far as you know as a Healer, as a former Death Eater, and in any other experience you may have to call upon, how many people do you believe know of this curse and have the ability to cast it?"

Draco pauses a moment, frowning, feeling Potter's anger shooting out at him from the sofa. "I would say, other than myself, and Potter, the members of Slytherin from my year, and whatever Death Eaters are still around that were members of the the Dark Lord's inner circle. It isn't a curse they advertised much."

The room falls silent.

Draco is distinctly uncomfortable with the look being exchanged amongst the Aurors.

"Is there anything else you needed from me?" Draco asks. He's watching Potter pick at the seam on his robe. Potter doesn't appear to want to stick around much longer either. "I'm not under suspicion, am I?" Draco asks suddenly. "You do need to inform me if that is the case."

Potter looks up immediately, his eyes wide as if he can't imagine Draco would even have cause to wonder. Then he turns to Robards and Weasley, who have furrowed their brows.

"No," Weasley says flatly. "I really don't think Malfoy played any part in the crime before he was called in for emergency duty."

Robards' forehead smooths out at this. "I think we are finished, Mr Malfoy."

"Potter," Draco says, seemingly unable to stop himself from blurting out before thinking things through.

Potter throws him a withering look.

"May I speak to you in private? It will only take a moment."

"Anything you have to say to me, Malfoy, can be said in front of my team," Potter says automatically, making Draco smirk.

"Oh really?" Draco can't help but dig. "Well, in that case…"

"No, it's fine," Potter says standing up quickly. "I'll be right back," he says to his partners.

Draco gets to his feet as well, all too aware of his heart hammering against his breastbone. He leads Potter into the next room over. It is his father's old study, furnished richly with inherited pieces from countless generations of Malfoy ancestors.

Draco closes the door after Potter steps into the room and stops Potter from getting too far by standing a couple of feet away from him, using the two inches of extra height he has to his advantage.

"I am not seeing Blaise," Draco says at once, aware that he's probably sounding a bit desperate and needy, but it doesn't matter. He can't let Potter go before he clarifies things.

Potter's face remains expressionless; it doesn't suit him. "Why would you think I would want to know that?"

Draco exhales sharply through his nose. "You know, perhaps it may have something to do with the small exchange we had on the Quidditch pitch." He can't keep his mouth from curling upwards at the corners when Potter's face does seem to lose a bit of colour at his words.

"That… that wasn't real," Potter stammers, now flushing and backing up against the door.

Draco takes another step forward, keeping the same distance apart as they had been at the start. "No?" Draco asks, masking his nervousness with a forced calm. His cock has reawakened and is pushing up against the waistband of his lounge pants, though its hidden by his dressing gown. "It wasn't false to me," Draco says simply.

Potter swallows hurriedly. Draco can see he is growing uncomfortable, and he pushes the concern growing in his own stomach down. He doesn't have time for sympathies to get in the way of getting Potter to talk, to admit that it meant something to him too.

"We were in separate rooms at St Mungo's," Potter says. "I asked the Healers. They say that lingering memories and dreams are a side-effect of being in the Time-Sphere for as long as we were, and that they will pass in time."

"They lied," Draco says flatly. "But you are still having them too, aren't you? The dreams, I mean. Or rather, I should call them memories."

Potter's eyes widen a fraction. "It doesn't matter," he says defiantly. "I'm finished talking now. Stand aside, I need to get back to work."

Draco wonders how far he can get away with pushing Potter, but realises that the best way to continue getting Potter to talk is to make him think he's doing it on his own terms.

Draco steps back a couple of feet. "Of course, Potter. I would like to continue this chat soon, however. I have a few questions to ask you of my own."

"Um… I don't know if that's a good…"

"I'll send you an owl later tonight," Draco interjects. "Unless you'd rather talk somewhere else?"

Potter latches onto to the line Draco has thrown him. "Yes, somewhere else," he says, and Draco can see the relief in his expression. "I'll owl you tonight, after they let me go."

Draco nods and allows Potter to leave the room, suddenly filled with giddiness as the prospect of seeing Potter privately again.

Examining his reasons for wanting to be close to Potter is too dangerous, so Draco contents himself with the thoughts that if Potter were to try to be difficult, at least Draco has some good material on Potter to hold as blackmail, even if he wouldn't likely ever use it. Potter doesn't know that.

~***~

Draco is all nerves.

He doesn't know quite how Potter manages to get under his skin after all these years, but seeing Potter again, outside of the Time-Sphere, and after witnessing Potter's memories for the past few days, Draco is starting to come to really want to get to know him, and perhaps to see his face during an orgasm again. That had been nice. He needs to convince Potter that the events in the Time-Sphere weren't nothing.

He looks at his reflection in his wardrobe mirror, hoping that the Muggle jeans he's chosen to wear are to Potter's liking. He likes how they make his arse look. He turns his hips to the side and looks at his backside over his shoulder, admiring the view.

He glances at the note Potter has sent over. Draco feels a twinge of hope shoot through him, as Potter hadn't wasted time sending it.

He picks it up to read it again, though he has the bloody thing memorised.

Malfoy,

Let's meet in Muggle London, so we don't create a scene in wizarding public by being seen together. Meet me in Grimmauld Circle. It's a park not far from where I live. We can decide where to go from there. Please wear Muggle clothes.

Harry

Draco isn't sure if it's just Potter's cluelessness that makes his words sound so suggestive to Draco, or if Draco is really just a pervert with his head in the gutter. Whatever the case is, Draco has chosen to take the note as an invitation. He even signed the note with his first name. Sure, he hadn't used Draco's first name, but that was probably due to force of habit. Potter's mentions of being seen together and to decide where to go from a park near where Potter's living, that was practically screaming I'll take you back to my place for a shag if you want.

Though these thoughts spin through Draco's mind, he is aware of how ridiculous he's being. Better to turn his mind to that line of thinking so Potter won't be able to take advantage of Draco in this preoccupied state of mind.

He Apparates to the park in Grimmauld Circle at ten minutes to eight. He's standing beside a large fountain. The sun has just gone down and there is still a faint tinge of pink to the sky. He turns around when he hears the scuffling sound of shoes scraping pavement.

Potter is walking towards him. "Oh good, you found it all right. I realised about ten minutes ago I hadn't specified a time."

Draco feels slightly dazed and a wee bit confused by the pink flush on Potter's cheeks, and the way he seems to be genuinely glad to see Draco.

"Where did you want to go?" Draco asks. "To talk, I mean," he adds, unable to stop the faintest bit of flush from spreading over his cheeks, but if Potter notices it, it's not deterring him.

Potter shrugs, his hands in his pockets. "We could go back to mine, but it's gloomy. Why don't we walk for a bit, and talk as we go."

Draco puzzles over the suggestion, wondering where the trap is, if there is one; finding no reason not to go along with Potter, agrees. After all, Potter is being amicable so far. Draco needs him to feel comfortable if he's ever going to get Potter to say what Draco wants to hear.

"After you," Draco says, allowing a small smile." Potter's eyes flash up then, as he's just been caught checking out Draco's jeans.

Draco falls into step beside Potter as Potter leads them down the street. It's a Muggle neighbourhood. Not particularly well maintained, but not a decrepit ruin like the one where Snape used to hole up, and Draco is thankful for that.

The sky grows darker. The lights from the street lamps fill the pavement as they walk from one glowing yellow circle to the next. Potter doesn't say anything. He appears to be thinking deeply about something and just walking.

Draco isn't sure whether he should be offended or not. He decides to break the quiet, longing to get a bit of conversation started, or this whole experiment will fail miserably.

"So, Potter… The person you were chasing down when you got cursed, what was he doing? Why were Aurors after him?"

Potter's eyes look up, still pointed forwards. "Let's stop up here and have a drink, and I'll tell you about it," Potter says, pointing at a small pub up ahead.

Draco agrees, following Potter's lead.

They order a bottle of wine and some bread and take a seat at a table by the window in the small dingy room. The pub is not busy. There are a few Muggle men in work-shirts and dusty trousers sitting at the bar, engaged in talk with each other or staring hopelessly at their drinks, but other than that, they have the place to themselves.

"So, the person we were chasing had stolen a dark artefact from a private collector," Potter says as Draco pours them each a glass of wine. Draco hands Potter his glass, nodding for him to continue.

"The robbery set off an alarm spell the collector has set up between his possessions and the Auror department. I can't tell you what it was, or who the collector is, as that is confidential, but we were on the tail of the thief moments after he set off the alarm. It was just me and Ron. I chased him, while Ron sent a Patronus to Robards." Potter takes a drink from his wine, his eyes trained on Draco's.

"I caught hold of the man's arm, and he Disapparated with me hanging on. We wound up in that building in Devon, but I don't remember what happened after that, only that he cursed me and bolted. Ron knew where to find me, through our tracking spell, and he sent for help and went after the bloke."

Potter stops, and butters a piece of bread, looking back up at Draco. "I suppose you remember more than I do what happened after that. You came just in time. I want to thank you for saving my life, even if this…" he gestures vaguely, "…side-effect had to happen."

"You're welcome." Draco feels slightly off-kilter now. It's been years since he and Potter exchanged words, since the war ended and Potter spoke for him during the post-war trials, until, of course, the recent fiasco.

"Well, what happened after you came out of the Time-Sphere?" Draco asks, wanting to keep the conversation going, but also curious as to why Potter, and he in turn, had been cursed. He wondered if the person who cast the spell on Potter had modified it, which is why it caused Draco's old wound to reopen or if it had all been a strange coincidence. "Did Weasley catch the thief? I thought he'd said the bloke was taken care of when he interrupted me during the counter-curse."

Harry chewed his mouthful of bread, swallowing before answering. "Well, I'm not supposed to discuss it with people not directly related to the investigation, but I suppose you count. I mean, you were involved. Um... Ron said he caught the guy, some bloke in a cloak, he couldn't make out much about what he looked like because it was dark, but he disarmed him and put him in a magical binding, sent another Patronus to Robards and then went back to check on me." Potter pauses, and drinks from his wine glass, finishing it off.

Draco wants Potter to keep going, but Potter is frowning at the empty bottle of wine. "I'll be back in a minute," Draco says, getting to his feet.

He fetches a bottle of whiskey from the barman and pays him, thanking heavens he'd remembered to bring some Muggle notes along with him, and returns to the table with the bottle and two fresh glasses. "Thought we might as well step it up a bit," Draco says to answer the questioning look on Potter's face. "I don't have to return to work for a couple of days and it's been ages since I've had a night out."

Potter's lips curl upwards in a smile. "That sounds brilliant. This whole thing has been hell. You'd think that having your body split open and spending three days in a Time-Sphere would earn a bloke a day off." He shakes his head, laughing to himself as Draco pours him a glass of the amber-coloured whiskey.

"So," Draco says, holding his own glass to his chest, looking at Potter expectantly. "What happened when Weasley went back to get the thief?"

Potter takes a drink from his glass and winces as it goes down. "Well, that's the rub. The thief was gone. He must have had a spare wand on him, or was capable of performing wandless magic or something to be able to break the Auror Incarcerous."

"Or he could have had an accomplice," Draco suggests, frowning.

"Yes, that's possible too. But the funny thing is that he left the artefact there. I mean, why go to all the trouble of breaking in and stealing the thing if he was going to leave it behind?"

"It could be that he was so busy getting away he forgot it, or …" Draco stops, his fingers tapping absently against his glass.

Potter looks at him expectantly... "Or what?"

He puts his glass on the table. "Or the purpose of the thievery wasn't to get the item, but to get you. I don't know, though. If he was after the famous Harry Potter, how would he have known you were on duty to answer the alarm for the break-in? It seems far-fetched. He probably just dropped the thing and didn't realise."

Potter goes quiet. He's staring at the abused table's surface, lost in his thoughts.

Draco is tired of talking about the case. He pours another shot in his and Potter's glasses. "Enough about all that. I think you've probably told me all you should about it anyway. I don't want your superiors accusing me of getting you pissed so I could get you to spill all your secrets to me."

He pauses. He really wants to get back to the subject that most intrigues him: getting into Potter's pants. Well, perhaps not quite so blatant as that, but Draco is definitely not denying that he's curious about how they would be together in bed. All the dreams, the memories ... they've given Draco an insight to Potter that he hadn't expected to have such an effect on him.

"Have you been dreaming about me, Potter?" he blurts out, shocking himself a bit at how brazen it sounds, but unwilling to let Potter see that. He's not taking it back. He does want to know.

Potter closes his eyes and sighs. He looks tired. He opens them again and looks at Draco. "You know I have, Malfoy." He turns his attention to his whiskey and drinks more. "They're really memories then, and not just dreams?"

Draco swallows, a lump forming in his throat. "I think so. I'm not sure though, because this hasn't ever happened before, that I know of. I was wondering if you would be wanting to talk to the Healers at St Mungo's about it if it doesn't stop soon."

Potter scoffs. "I hate hospitals," he says flatly. "More than that, I hate when this sort of thing happens to me. Why can't I be afflicted with the same sort of curses as everybody else, the kinds that come with a tried and true counter-curse?" He looks at Draco again. "I don't like being studied like a freak of nature."

"Can't say I blame you for that."

Potter taps his fingers restlessly on the tabletop. He looks like he's having trouble getting his words out. "Um… which memories of mine did you see? Er… I mean, don't tell me in detail, but like were they bad? Like the war? or," he gestures helplessly. "…were they bad like my childhood?"

Draco can sense the fear in Potter's eyes, as if he's afraid Draco will be repulsed. "I …" Draco stammers. "They weren't bad, Potter. They weren't happy memories though."

Potter shrugs and pours another glass of whiskey. Half the bottle is gone already. "I expected as much. I don't have a lot of happy memories." His eyes flash to Draco's, suddenly defiant. "I do have some," he says, as if clarifying, "…just not a lot."

Draco finishes his drink and puts it back on the table. "Well, I can't say that I entirely know what you mean. I have quite a few not-fond memories of my own, and now that I've grown up, a lot of the memories I had considered happy really weren't."

Potter pours the rest of his shot into his mouth and swallows. He slams his glass on the table harder than he'd intended, and he smiles sheepishly at the stares he's getting from the other patrons of the bar.

"Let's walk back to my place," Potter says. He stands up, and sways. "Bugger. I didn't realise how much that was going to pack a punch."

Draco isn't sure what Potter means until he gets to his feet and is hit with a wave of dizziness. He chuckles. "Lead the way. I have no clue where we are."

Potter grabs the half-empty bottle and slips it into his coat pocket. Draco follows him out into the night.
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Broken Dreams