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When Death Calls (Complete)	By : Tommy-Lane Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 6391 -:- 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

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"This is your house?" Draco asks with a look of disbelief as he adjusts the strap to his shoulder bag, staring up the stone steps to the black door beyond.

"Umm yeah." I say, pushing my glasses nervously up my nose. "Sirius left it to me. We were using it as Order headquarters but now it’s empty. It's a bit...rundown..."I trail off, strangely anxious about showing it to him.

"Well," Draco shrugs as he starts towards the stairs. "Can't be any worse than the holding cells now can it?"

I feel an overwhelming urge to apologize yet again but I keep my mouth shut, knowing he'll only rolls his eyes and go off about my supposed hero complex if I do. I follow him up the steps, determined not to dwell on the last four weeks anymore. They had been insane, for lack of a better word. Utterly and truly insane.

And they had left their mark both physically and mentally.

Draco had been discharged from the hospital before I had made it back from my er...talk...with Ron and Hermione - which really consisted of lots of yelling (on Ron's part), confused tears (from Hermione), and a good bout of agonizing silence from all of us. It had ended with Ron marching out the room, which wasn't all together surprising. And Hermione desperately trying to be understanding but unable to stop herself from drilling me with every question from how long I had had a thing for Draco to what exactly made me act on it - and by the way HOW exactly did I act on it? - which really was just exhausting and horrifying.

And then when I had finally managed to get away, it was only to find out that not only had Draco left, but he had done so in the company of Aurors and was taken straight to a holding cell in order to await his trial. Except he shouldn't have been moved at all according to the hospital staff - who in light of their anger at the Ministry had finally given into telling me a little about his condition. They had in fact insisted on his need for continued treatment, the curse infecting his body continuing to mystify them.

Because it seemed to be coming from inside him, evolving and changing in such a bizarre pattern to their treatments it was almost as if it had a life of its own. They couldn't explain it, couldn't identity it, and had him taking an insane mix of potions that had to be reevaluated daily just to keep his own blood from poisoning himself - among other even less savory things.

Still that wasn't enough reason in the eyes of the Law to postpone his imprisonment and curtly informed the Healers that if they wished to continue treating him, then they would have to do so from within his cell.

Despite the Aurors urgency to get him under lock and key the trial itself didn't take place for nearly three weeks and I wasn't allowed anywhere near him during the waiting period. Because it was apparently much to dangerous to allow the Savior of the Wizarding world to even lay eyes on a known Death Eater - even given the fact that said Death Eater was only an 18 year old boy who hadn't even done very much worth convicting him for. Which of course didn't stop me from trying mind you, it just didn't work, everyone one being stupidly stubborn about the whole affair.

"Protocol must be adhered to."

"It's just not safe Mr. Potter."

"Why would you want to go down there anyway?"

The red tape was so thick and wound so tightly it was impossible to get even two feet down the hall towards his cell.

When it finally did happen, the trail itself was relatively short. They had marched him out, dressed in an ill fitting nondescript gray uniform. His greasy blond hair trying desperately to stay bound back in a length of cord, but being as it wasn't quite long enough it kept slipping out and falling in chucks around his eyes.

He looked tired, underfed, and on the brink of collapse but remained standing stoically the entire time, staring straight head. That is until I stepped up and gave my memories and testimony and then his gaze followed me all the way back to my seat. He stared at me with such unwavering intensity, as if he could care less about the procedures going on around him that would decide the outcome of his future that it was hard to remember to breathe and I couldn't look away for anything - let alone pay attention to the proceeding.

Then he was suddenly being shuffled towards the stony faced council, forcing us to break eye contact, leaving me feeling drained and even more desperate and nervous than before. Luckily taking into account his age and all the witnesses in his defense, he was cleared with only a hefty fine - which of course will probably barely even be noticed missing from the Malfoy fortune.

Except he wasn't released.

Instead they took him back to the holding cell while they ran the paperwork through the right channels, all culminating in his finale release today - a whole five days after his acquittal. His parents are still in the midst of their own hearings, which almost seem as if there never going to end, considering Sr. Malfoy's rather complex and unsavory past. As such all of the Malfoy's accounts are still frozen and the Manor is under Ministry control until due time.

In effect leaving Draco homeless, penniless, and the reason he's currently drudging up the steps to number 12 Grimmauld Place with me. I mean it's not as if I don't have the space to give him a room. Least I can do right?

He follows me through the door and into the dark creaky hallway. "How pleasant." He sneers with distaste, eyeing the decaying and crumbling wallpaper and black lengths of fabric hanging over the loud and offensive portraits.

I get the distinct feeling he's missed being snarky.

"Haven't had time to fix it up really." I tell him, motioning for him to follow me down the narrow hall. I point out all the rooms as we pass, pressing through the uneasy butterflies in my stomach as we climb the stairs in strained silence. Our conversations have all been short and stunted ever since he came out of the Ministry depths to find me waiting for him.

It's as if we've been placed between two separate glass walls, the space between so thick with unspoken thoughts, moments left gaping, and opportunities never touched. Despite everything it feels as though we've always been skidding towards each other but never colliding, meeting but never melding, always left wanting and wondering. And now...now there's nothing to stop us from shattering the walls and picking up the piecing, fitting them back together in a collage of damaged beauty.

Nothing but us...

"And up here is the bathroom and most the other bedrooms." I continue, trying to form scenarios in my mind that could lead us away from this uncharacteristic consideration. "You can pretty much have your pick of them."

"Granger and Weasley aren't living here?" He asks with a hint of disdain.

"No, Hermione's staying with the Weasley's at the moment."

He nods and brushes past me as I pause on the landing, his fingers gliding over the dusty banister. "Sirius Black?" He asks suddenly, glancing back at me for a moment before peaking into the spare rooms as he passes them.

"Er yeah, why?"

"Your life is a riddle, one of these days you best explain it." He mutters and pauses before my bedroom, his hand on the open door frame, the loose fabric of the gray uniform sagging around his forearm. "Yours?"

Stopping behind him I nod, even though he can't see me. "Bit messy I know." It’s weird having him here, having his gaze roam over my room, taking in the unmade bed, the little piles of clothes on the floor, and random knickknacks and books strewn about haphazardly. I've only been living here the past two weeks and already my things have started spewing over, claiming the Black Manor as truly my own.

Although I'm glad I won't be alone any more. It was a bit creepy here by myself. Too many shadows, too many memories...

Of course I'm not sure how long Draco will be staying, we haven't really discussed it...or anything actually since his release.

He turns to face me, leaning his shoulder into the old frame, his features drawn and tired. "Thank you." He says in a clipped tone, suggesting that the two little words were reluctant to be heard.

"For what?" I ask a bit startled. I don't think I've ever heard him say that before. It sounds so strange coming from him, as if someone is using him as a puppet.

Unnerving really.

"For speaking at my trial, I think I may not have gotten off so lightly if you hadn't." He looks distant as he speaks his mind somewhere else, perhaps replaying his hearing, or maybe he can't help but linger on his parent’s undecided fate. He comes back to himself with a small shake a moment later and he smirks down at me. "Suppose that's another good reason you didn't end up dying."

"Well." I start, a blossom of hope spreading in my chest at the course of our conversation, not that it's anything great, but it’s SOMETHING. "I had that taken care of." I end with a wink and his eyes narrow, sending a seeping warmth out through my limbs that his nearness always brings and that has been horribly absent for too long - his imprisonment leaving me feeling as if I was standing alone out to sea, cold dread lacerating me.

Funny how it overtakes me even when he's looking accusatory.

"What..." He trails off before his eyes are snapping back to mine. "That's what that was? Memories for my trial?" He asks, remembering the vial I had given to him before leaving him that day at Hogwarts.

It seems so very long ago already.

"Couldn't have you defecting just to end up in Azkaban now could I?"

"Riddle Potter." He shakes his head, pushing off the door jam and walking around me back into the hall. "Such a bloody riddle."

"Where you going?" I call after him, wanting him to come back, so we can continue on in the small amount of progress that we've made, to keep that warmth he creates in me alive.

"Pick a room for me." He drops his bag onto the floor and steps into the bathroom. "I am going to finally have a shower and wash the filth out of my hair." And with that he disappears behind the closed door and a moment later I can hear the water turn on.

I have a sudden brief but strong desire to just walk in and join him, to see the water cascade down his body and run my hands over his heated flesh. I stare at the door for too long, before cursing myself and turning away, fleeing to my room and flopping down onto the bed. I try to push out all thoughts of Draco in the shower but every time I manage a new one just replaces it, growing more sensual with each new image.

I groan and press my face into my pillow. I have got to stop this - considering that something as simple as him leaving for a shower is enough to send me crashing through a heap of aching arousal like some addicted junky desperate for my next fix. I need to stay away from him in that sort of way until we're back on solid ground and figure out what it is between us. I have a gut feeling that if we don't we'll just keep arguing than shagging over and over again until we can't even remember how it started.

Of course at the moment, with the mental image of his smooth skin running with rivets of water, that very reasonable and necessary restriction sounds completely impossible and mental.

"Damn it, get a grip Harry." I mutter as I feel myself growing painfully hard despite my best efforts. Why does he affect me so much? He's not even in the bloody room! I let out a frustrated growl into my pillow – maybe asking him to stay was a bad idea.

"Your pillow do something to offend you?"

I freeze at the drawling voice from the doorway. He can't be done already can he? I mean, I couldn't have been lying here fantasizing about him for that long could I have?! Trying to keep my face straight and blush free, I turn my head to face him, and god was that a mistake.

He's smirking at me, as if he just knows what I've been thinking, his hair wet and dripping around his face. The bandages strapped to his chest are gone and in there place is a smooth expanse of pale skin and thin pink scars. I swallow thickly as my eyes travel down to where his hand is grasping closed a crimson towel hanging low on his hips.

"I need some clothes." He says and my eyes snap back up to his face.

"Wha-?"

"Clothes Potter." He leans against the door frame and I have to fight to keep my eyes from drifting lower. "There is simply no way I'm putting those disgusting rags back on." He's so pale and thin and yet still breathtakingly beautiful, the water having washed away not only all the grim from his cell but also the quiet tension that was holding his tongue at bay.

He's renewed and there's something starting to spark behind his eyes, who knew it would be so easy to drudge the old Draco back to the surface? All my worrying of how we were going to possibly salvage any sort of relationship just moments ago, disintegrating in a flash at his lopsided smile.

"Don't you...in your bag?" My voice squeaks just slightly and I realize there's no way I can get up with him here, not unless I want him to know how much he's affecting me right now - and as appealing as jumping right back into bed with him sounds I know I shouldn't.

Not yet.

His head cocks to the side and he takes a step in, his eyes sliding lazily down my body, seeming to sense my discomfort. "Full of potions for my curse and paperwork, it’s not as if I had packed a bag to take with me before the battle. Everything is still at the Manor."

"Oh right." I mutter but I still don't move, instead I just keep staring at him as if there's a perfectly good reason I'm lying face down on my bed while he's standing nearly naked and dripping water on my floor.

"So are you going to get me anything?" A smirk twitches on his lips and my stomach sinks as he comes steadily nearer. Which is not good. Remember...no physical contact. "Or are you planning on just keeping me naked?"

No, no, no, no.

I feel like I'm being torn apart, his gaze much too intense, my stomach flipping in lurching circles and all I want is to leap up and pull him down onto me. To finish what we started at the hospital. He takes another step, leaving him standing at the edge of the bed, my eyes glued to the fingers wrapped around the loose towel...

"S-stop." I all but shout at him as I roll away and slide off the opposite side of the bed to land on my knees on the floor. "Stay right there!" He looks utterly amused, arching one eyebrow up as he chuckles softly. I know I must look ridicules, crouched on the floor and holding one hand up between us like an impenetrable barrier. But at least I haven't pounced him yet.

"Scared Potter?" He snickers and there's a wicked glint in his eyes. "What are you worried I'm going to do to you exactly?"

My mind is flooded with vivid images of what I know he's perfectly capable of doing to me and maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just give into the desire coursing through me. Maybe it would be perfectly alright to just fuck every time we're together and leave all the other messy stuff out of it. I bite my lip as I try to force my heartbeat to slow back to normal and I know I can't do that. That it would very quickly eat at me, having him but knowing he's not really all mine.

And god do I want him to be mine.

That thought stops me cold because I have never really admitted it even to myself before and yet I know it’s true, that I desire that beyond anything now. I want all the messy emotions and fuzzy feelings and hand holding and talking and comfortable silences.

Something normal for once. Of course this is me and Draco Malfoy so I don't think it could ever be entirely normal.

"Cupboard." I somehow manage to rather unbecomingly squeak out, as I point to the wardrobe behind him.

He gives me a calculating look for a moment and I hold my breath until he turns away on his heel. I maneuver myself to sit against the bed, my knees pulled into my chest and I stare at the old faded wallpaper as I listen to Draco fling the wardrobe open. Leaning my head back, I shut my eyes and swallow around my sticky throat. I know what I need to do, know I need to get us talking, but I don't know where to start. This was never my strong point and it only seems to be worse around him.

"So," I start nervously, my fingers fidgeting on my shins. "Umm...have, have the Healers made any progress?" There's a stretch of silence then I hear what can only be the towel hitting the floor and I have to force my mind to keep from wondering as I wait for his reply. Easy right? Just don't think about how he looked slumped against the wall, his muscles taunt, his mouth swollen and panting, as he thrust up into me...

...Yup fucking easy....

"Perhaps." His voice drifts over accompanied by the rustle of fabric. "It's hard to know, whenever we think we've got it under control it goes and changes a day or two later." He pauses and I can hear his foot tapping against the floor. "Potter, these shirts can't possibly fit you."

"They don't really." I mutter, forcing myself to not turn around and keep staring at the wall. "How come you didn't go back to St. Mungo’s then?"

He sighs, the floor creaking and I brace myself as I hear him near me. "Because I hate it there and I feel fine, I just have to make sure to perform the necessary checks at regular intervals and report all findings so they can tailor the potions they have me on. They've managed to slow down its regeneration so it's not crucial I be under constant surveillance anyway."

Bare feet stop before me, my eyes betraying me and traveling up his body on their own- taking in the black slacks that are to short and stop well above the ankles and yet slightly to big around the waist, causing them to dip low on his hips while threatening to slide completely off. My breath hitches as I'm met once against with his bare chest and I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, biting it harshly.

"You...shirt." I mumble, pointing at his exposed skin, as if he doesn't know he's half naked.

He scolds and drops down onto the floor to sit in front of me. "That's not a sentence."

I glare, keeping my knees locked to my body as a shield. I know it's not a bloody sentence! It's not as if I'm trying to sound like an imbecile! I open my mouth intent on telling him but nothing comes out and I'm left staring agape at him. He just makes me so bloody nervous! It's really rather infuriating.

And seriously why isn't he wearing a shirt? I know most of them are awful and probably wouldn't even come close to fitting him but still! How does he expect me to concentrate with him looking like that?

"Words failing you?" He bends his legs into a crisscross and rakes a hand through his wet hair. "I'll just have to guess what's going in that thick skull of yours then." The platinum locks fall in swinging waves and I have to shut my eyes to block out the sight for a moment to keep my resolve intact. He's to bloody hot for his own good. "Let's see it we can't narrow it down, shall we? Embarrassed by that disaster of a wardrobe?"

I'm pretty positive he's starting with a ridicules question on purpose, I'm just not sure if it's to ease me into it or there's something more devious behind it. I shake my head, still not trusting myself with any words.

"Regret asking me to stay?"

I wasn't expecting that and even though his tone is light and careful I can almost detect a trace of unease, as if he really needs to know if I still want him here. I shake my head quickly, trying to force out some sort of reassurance but nothing comes, my ability to speak having completely deserted me for some reason.

"No? Alright, suddenly find me repulsive then?" Which is a stupid question as he'd have to be an idiot not to notice how much I want him right now, which I know he's not. I give him a look and he grins.

Git.

"Promise the weasel you wouldn't touch me?" He leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning down onto his fists. I bite my lip and force my hands under my feet to keep myself from doing something stupid, like reaching up and running my hands through his wet hair to see if it feels any different...

"I think he was to busy yelling at me to think about making me promise not to touch you again." I say, finally finding my voice.

"Oh look, you can speak in full sentences, I was beginning to wonder." I glare at him and his face is far to close to mine. "Care to tell me why you’re cowering behind the bed now?"

"I'm not cowering!" I snap. "Just needed some distance."

"Because..."

"Because I didn't want to jump you." I tell him honestly, grateful to feel some of the nervousness leaving me, not all mind you, but some at least.

He licks his lips and dips his head closer. "I wouldn't have minded." Damn he looks sexy like that, his eyes twinkling through his hair, his skin still lightly flushed from the hot water.

"Right but we should probably talk, I mean you said so yourself and...I mean...I was wondering...how...what is your...do you...?" And there goes my intelligibility again. This is getting seriously annoying. It should not be this hard to just ask how he feels about me, considering everything we've already done.

"Harry, are you trying to ask if I like you?" Draco asks slowly, clearly tiring to hold in his amusement.

I scold and look down at my lap. "Yes." I force the sole word out quietly, suddenly noticing the utter stillness of the house and the gentle rhythm of Draco's steady breathing. The butterflies in my stomach have seemed to increase ten fold and I know I shouldn't be so nervous. I mean putting all the physical things aside he had said some things that smacked at deeper feelings, hadn't he?

It's a bit hard to remember though, everything he had said while we were...occupied...are a tad hazy.

"You really are quite thick." He replies and I glance back up at him, wrinkling my nose up in confusion. But before I can ask what the hell that was for he starts up again. "Of course I do you idiot. Have you not paid attention to anything I've said?"

"It's not like you've said a lot." I mutter, feeling somewhat defensive amidst the bursting joy that's forcing a goofy smile to my face.

"And who's fault is that? You're the one who just keeps...what did you call it? Jumping me?"

I can't help but laugh out loud at the way he says it, like the simplicity of the phrase makes it nearly vulgar. "Well I can't help it that you're just so fucking hot." I inform him, grabbing his face in my hands and pulling him into a kiss, any thought of waiting suddenly nowhere to be found. He yelps as he topples forward into it and I take advantage of his open mouth to twist my tongue around his. I groan and dig my fingers into his hair as his hands grip my forearms to steady himself.

My heart is near bursting with the knowledge that we are going to have more than that one brief respite during the war, that he isn't going to die or spend the rest of his life in prison, that it wasn't a mistake, that he wants me...

He pulls back to soon in my opinion and stands up, looking much too cool and collect. I try to find my breath again as I scramble to my own feet, watching his slow and careful movements, as if our kiss hasn't affected him at all - if not for the faint tint of pink on his cheeks that is. I move forward, intent to draw him back into my arms, to take his mouth with mine again, to fully give into this aching need for him. To break his composure and make him as desperate as I feel.

We can figure out all the details later, right now I just want to immerse myself in him.

"I think not." He says, side stepping me and waving a single finger in rebuttal. "I recall telling you we needed to work on your communication skills."

"Now?" I ask with a strained voice as I try to lunge for him again.

"Yes now." He steps back and out of reach. "Can't have you constantly stumbling around for words around me, I do believe that that will get tiresome very quickly." I glare and he smiles. "So this is how it's going to work, I'll do whatever you want." My mouth drops open and my heart starts beating furiously against my chest. "BUT...you have to explicitly ask for it first."

His words set off a fire in my body and I feel myself sway with a now uncontrollable urge to have him, to feel him in me again. I open my suddenly dry mouth but he shakes his head, cutting me off before I even begin.

"And you can't just say 'fuck me' unless you want me to just bend you over and do you right now." He says, somehow reading my thoughts.

I shallow and try to regain some of my senses. "What if I want to fuck you?"

"Do you?" He asks with a deep timber and a single raised eyebrow.

My eyebrows knit themselves together as I realize that I had never thought about it before. Whenever I had dreamed of us together he was always taking me and I blurt out a loud 'no' before I can stop myself. "I mean...at least not...now..." I amend as I fight against a blush. But it’s true, I don't want to fuck him, I want him taking me, pushing into me, enveloping me, and snuffing out everything outside from the two of us.

He doesn't say anything, just smirks at me, quietly waiting, and I take a step towards him. He moves away and I realize that he's going to make me say every little thing I want.

Controlling bastard.

"Come here." I tell him, my voice a bit shaky.

"Alright. But just so you know Harry, you are going to tell me before we're done." As he walks towards me, I somehow know that he isn't talking about telling him what to do, he's informing me that I am going to verbally answer the question of why I came to him during the battle. He's going to make me out right and say it even though there's no way he still doesn't know.

But that doesn't matter right now because he's suddenly right before me, his darkened blue eyes staring down at me, waiting...

A/N - Evil ending I know! So I lied there's going to be one more part and possibly a short epiloge. I have two drastically different H/D fics I'm debating writing and I can't for the life of me figure out which one I want to write more - thus I just keep thinking up stuff for this one while I debate with myself :)
I know this chapter is a bit shorter and that is because I basically have the next part all written and orignally had it as one but I'm not quiet happy with it yet and so I chopped it half so you didn't have to wait while I mess around with it.
November and Slodger: THANK YOU so much for the reviews!
As always reviews are greatly looked forward to and appreciated :)
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When Death Calls (Complete)