Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

A Dubious Affection	By : Tommy-Lane Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8450 -:- 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

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Draco stared down at the pocket watch lying so innocently on his workbench. It was a tarnished bronze piece with the DM carved beautifully into its surface – perfectly round, perfectly sculpted, the gears inside in perfect working order. And yet, the nearly silent tick tick was gone, had been for years, the glass covering the clock face broken with spidery cracks, the hands frozen in place.

With a deep breath, Draco lifted his wand and tapped the splintered glass, watching as it shivered and flowed back together, sealing up the evidence of his weakness and erasing it from existence. All that was left from that day were the hands stuck in that horrible hour now. He knew he needed to remedy that too, that he needed to pull it open and set the clock ticking once more. He didn’t need any mementos of the war.

It was a foolish thing wasn’t it? Keeping the pocket watch all these years. He had a horrible feeling that it was tethering him to Potter in some unknowable way. He couldn’t really explain it, it was just…a feeling. But he needed to let it go, because sooner rather than later Potter would give up on his new clock obsession and Draco would go back to only ever passing him on the street with vague nods in each other’s directions.

He frowned at his dreary thoughts. He had been in a mood for days - four to be exact - and it was truly upsetting that the cause of his sour attitude had to do with a certain messy haired Auror who hadn't shown up on Saturday like he said he would. Draco couldn't abide by the fact that he had been stood up, in fact when 1:00 came and went he was so sure that Potter was just running late that he had hastily cast a warming charm over their mugs of tea he had prepared. Then the afternoon passed into evening and the evening passed into the next morning and before he knew it several days had passed without so much as a note of explanation.

And Draco was forced to come to the realization that the day had come that he always knew would. Potter wasn't coming back.

With a frustrated growl Draco slipped the damaged watch into his pocket and fitted the goggles back over his tired eyes. Thinking about Potter was a pointless endeavor and one he had vowed to cut out completely, all things considered. Dipping his fingers into a pot of slippery black grease of his own design, he rubbed his thumb over the pads of his other digits as he studied the broken mantel clock that laid disassembled before him.

He really should have had it fixed weeks ago but he had been duly distracted and now he was aggravatingly behind schedule, something he prided himself on never being. Adjusting the sight on his goggles, he reached forward and removed the foremost gear, laying it gingerly aside as a web of translucent color wavered over the inner workings of the clock. Steadying his breath, he reached carefully forward and ran his index finger along one of the pulsing strings, watching it dissolve under his touch, unwinding itself from where it was embedded.

Wizard clocks were the hardest to repair, especially the old ones that had been handed down from family to family. They were so deeply imbedded with so many layers of different magical signatures and additions that it made the work of repairing it slow and tedious, one false step setting him back hours. Blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes, he pulled the second gear free, opening up the heart of the old family heirloom and smiled faintly – using the grease on his fingers to stick his hair back out of his face as it had the audacity to fall forward again.

He really didn't know why Potter not showing up was such a shock to his system. That had been what he wanted, wasn't it? To go back to his everyday life without the crazed man constantly popping up at his door, laden down with tea and food and pointless conversation. Now that he thought about it he had been spending far too much time with him to the exclusion of pretty much everything else, hell Potter had taken to even showing up before his pick-up days to...well Draco wasn't really sure what for but it had obviously become a habit of his, one Draco hadn't even really thought too much on - other than that is was annoying and disruptive - until Potter was no longer there.

But his tea was, a box of Potter's favorite brand sitting innocently on his shelf next to his preferred ones.

There was also the empty stool he had begrudging conjured one afternoon so Potter had somewhere to sit other than perching too close to Draco on his workbench.

He was sure the stool and tea were mocking him now, in a way only inanimate objects could. It was a clear reminder of how much he had let Potter worm his way into Draco's life. Really it was his own fault for not throwing him out that first day he had shown up with the broken wristwatch. But he wouldn't make the same mistake twice he was certain, he didn't care how upset Potter might look if he ever deemed to show up - the blasted man was not setting foot in his flat again because Draco had been wrong, Potter wasn't like the flu, he was more like the plague.

And plagues killed.

Draco just never thought Potter's absence would be what sent the nail through his already slivered heart. Maybe that had been Potter's plan all along, to what purpose Draco had absolutely no clue but that hardly mattered now.

He felt...lonely and not in the good way he used to think of the word. Now everything was just sort of empty and he looked at everything with just a hint more bitterness than previously. He hated Potter for that.

"Damn it." He cursed under his breath as his finger slipped and the wire sprang back, casting sparks of red and yellow, a shower of the now damaged spell that he would have to rework.

But it was for the best, Potter had clearly become an unwarranted distraction. Plus now he was mopey and that was just unbecoming. Malfoy's did not mope. And he didn't miss Potter, he reminded himself yet again, he just hated having been made a fool of. Because that was what he was now, a fool. Honestly what had he been thinking, that Potter actually wanted to be…something?

He closed his eyes, leaning his head sharply down onto his bench as he thought back to how Potter had asked about him wanting something more. He could have sworn he had seen something in Potter's gaze then, heard something in his voice, and then at the end of the evening...

He lifted his head a fraction and banged it back down in punishment for letting his mind wander off again. God he was pathetic.

Potter had just been a client. That was it. No use crying over spilled milk as they said...not that he ever cried for Merlin's sake, he wasn't that much of a nutter, he was just... "Oh god." He groaned. "He's turned me into one of his groupies." Nearly five months of the git's company and he had been reduced to this.

It was unacceptable, it was...

Draco's head snapped up at the sharp knock at his door, frowning at the naked expanse of wood that was vibrating a little with each crack of the invisible fist on the other side. He stared at it a moment longer, swearing silently at himself at the little leap of hope he had felt bloom in his chest for a split second. But of course it wasn't Potter, not that he would have answered it if it was. No it had to be someone else, Potter had a very specific knock - loud and fast, then a pause, then soft, then loud and fast again, like he couldn't remember if he had actually knocked or had just thought about doing it.

Pushing his goggles onto his forehead, Draco slowly stood, raking his brain for who it could possibly be. New clients usually sent letters first and he wasn't due for a pickup until tomorrow. Pulling the door opened revealed the last person he would have ever expected to show up at his flat.

"Weasley?" He asked, squinting his eyes because he was sure they were playing tricks on him and the freckly redhead wasn't actually standing on the other side of his door with his hands shoved in his pockets and a thick black cotton cap shoved nearly down to his eyes on his head.

"Er yeah, hey Malfoy." Weasley gave a weak smile as his deep blue eyes skirted over Draco's face like he couldn't make up his mind if he wanted to actually look at him or not.

Draco blinked but no he was still there, still fidgeting, still very much redheaded and tall. Like a freaking giant, filling up his door as if he was a lumbering werewolf, the expression on his face very close to what he assumed was the Weasley version of a grimace or maybe it was a sneer...

"What do you want?" He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as his brain worked quickly. Just what the hell was Weasley doing? He didn't talk to Draco, they didn't even nod on the street like he used to do with Potter. Which could only mean he was here for one reason, or more accurately because of a specific someone. Someone Draco had absolutely no interest in ever seeing again.

Or hearing about for that matter.

"Polite as ever I see." Weasley grumbled, shifting awkwardly on his feet, like this was the last place on earth he wanted to be. "Look, Harry asked me t-"

Draco slammed the door in his face, feeling a surge of accomplishment at the muffled shout of indignation. He was through with Potter, he wouldn't give the bastard another chance to torment him. Besides Potter was obviously a coward, sending his friend to...what? Tell him he didn't want Draco to fix his massive amount of broken clocks? That he was going to go drink tea elsewhere? That he never wanted to lay his eyes on Draco's bugged out, goggled adorned head again? He didn't give a damn why Potter hadn't shown and he didn't want to hear the excuses. Though really, if he was honest with himself, he would admit that that wasn't really true, he did care - he cared far too deeply.

But he was a Malfoy and therefore not honest with himself. Honesty was overrated anyway.

Turning back towards his workbench, he ignored the thump on his door and only scowled mildly down at his work when the wood swung back open to reveal a fuming Weasley with his wand held firmly in his hand. "You're a right git you know that?"

"Yes." Draco lifted an eyebrow in his direction before very carefully and purposely turning his attention back to his work - essentially dismissing the other man without a word.

Of course he didn't take the hint, penniless sod that he was.

"I don't get what Harry sees in you." Weasley very nearly growled and Draco wanted very much to point out that Potter obviously didn't see anything in him or he wouldn't have disappeared off the face of the earth without a word - though logic would say that it had only been four days.

But much like honesty, logic wasn't something Draco really cared to think about at the moment.

"The feeling is mutual. Now if you'd please leave, I have absolutely no desire to hear what Potter has to say." Draco knew he sounded hard and cold, masked perfectly to reflect none of what he had been feeling the last few days. He was rather proud of that, considering even his blasted mirror had started asking him what was wrong. But it only took a second for a crack to form as he looked back up at Weasley's silence to find the other man staring at his coat rack.

Or more accurately at Potter's jumper hanging on his coat rack. He had forgotten about that. Potter had always been complaining about the temperature Draco kept the room until one day he had brought it over with him and then just left it when he went home so that he'd have it next time. It was a homely, ugly, far too loose crimson jumper that looked hand knitted and even had a little golden H on the right breast.

He wholeheartedly suspected that it was Weasley-made.

Draco both hated and liked when Potter put it on, as it did funny things to his nerves whenever Potter slipped it over his shoulders and then settled down on Draco's couch, flipping through whatever book had been left on the coffee table the night before. Potter would even read out loud to him sometimes when he was behind schedule and had to work late. He liked that, it made him work faster and eased the tension in his back and shoulders - Potter's voice reminding him of thick honey, warm and sweet and yet with just enough bite to it to make him sound commanding. He especially liked to listen to it after Potter had worked a long day, his voice taking on a gravely sort of quality that should have grated his nerves raw but instead just tended to make something hot pool in his stomach.

Of course now several of his books were ruined, the pages dog eared carelessly as Potter had an uncanny ability of losing the bookmark between the time he opened and closed it.

Draco glared at the hideous thing now. "And take that thing with you." He snapped, feeling vastly annoyed at yet another reminder of Potter's ridiculous presence in his life that was now gone.

Weasley shook his head, glancing quickly around the workshop before leveling his gaze on Draco with a strange look on his face, as if he was in physical pain just thinking about the words he was going to say. "I was supposed to come by earlier but something came up and I-"

"Do you have dust in your ears?"

"Harry's in the hospital."

It was Tuesday at 3:20 that Draco felt time freeze all over again. "He's...what?" He asked very quietly, back rigid, heart stopped, the very air in the room little particles of ice that he could very nearly see. He blinked and saw Potter like death in Hagrid's arms, blinked again and saw his empty jumper. Ugly and really only fit for a shrew when it was hanging on his coat rack but somehow perfect the moment it rested over Potter's frame.

He saw Potter with the sleeves too big around his hands, his fingers curled around a mug of hot tea, his vivid green eyes staring at him from over the rim. He saw Potter smile with his red, wet lips, heard him clear his voice and ask about Draco's day. He felt Potter's touch that liked to linger either on his door frame or Draco's own shoulder or wrist when he said goodbye, a touch that was always confusing and aggravatingly wonderful at the same time.

"He's fine." Weasley rushed to add but it was too late, Draco already felt the splinters shatter in his heart and the blood was rushing so loudly in his ears he could barely make the former Auror's words out. "He was called into work late Friday night. There was a lead on a case he's been working on -"

"The Gammett case?" Draco's voice sounded small and disjointed as his mind worked to keep up and dislodge from the track that it was plummeting down.

He blinked and saw Potter walking down his hallway, promising to tell Draco what he'd been thinking all night next time, looking both shy and confident, sultry and boyish. He blinked and wondered just when Potter had become a staple in his life he couldn't image living without.

Weasley stopped and stared uncertainly back at Draco. "Umm yeah. He met his partner at the location he'd been sent...the details are a bit vague but somehow he ended getting hit with a curse and falling out a window."

Falling out a window. A fucking window, just like his clock, and now Potter was...

He could see it all, happening in some demented slow motion skip film sketched out roughly with charcoals on yellowed parchment through his mind. He saw Potter with the ground rushing towards him, his eyes sprung wide, his breath caught in his chest that was constricted with pain, his hair tangling with the wind, limbs splayed wide and ghost like - perhaps flapping for purchase, perhaps limp as the day at Hogwarts ten years ago.

He saw the ground - cold, hard, solid. Draco shut his eyes and sucked in a breath, taking a moment to right his world again as it tipped around him. Unsteady footing, he didn't like that, it made him think of Voldemort.

"If he's fine then why is he in the hospital?" Draco snapped, rising quickly from his stool and marching towards his door. But he didn't give Weasley a chance to answer, instead he reached for his cloak, spotted Potter's jumper once more, withdrew his hand like it was fire lapping at his flesh, and quickly spun on the spot.

He needed to see him for himself, he needed to lay his eyes on Potter and see that he was indeed fine, otherwise he couldn't catch hold of the knowledge, not completely - he'd just keep replaying different scenarios of his fall over and over and over again. It was like his entire being had just been holding its breath for years, waiting for something to happen to Potter and now that it had he couldn't shake the feeling that he would never see the dark haired, annoyingly heroic wizard again.

People didn't cheat death, they could evade it for a time but it always comes knocking and Draco had the horrible sinking feeling that Potter had been playing hide and seek with the grim reaper for much too long as it was - Draco's broken pocket watch was proof of that fact.

His heart was in his throat as he stumbled a step after appearing in front of the rundown red-bricked building that housed St. Mungo's behind its condemned department store facade. It looked to be crumbling in several places, a cracked window directly to his right drawing his attention with a pounding in his chest. He hated hospitals and yet he hated the disguised outside even more. It seemed to shout all the sickness inside its magical walls from every inch of cracked brick and splintered glass.

"Come on, I'll take you to his room."

Draco nodded without glancing over at the sudden appearance of Weasley beside him, he couldn't even find it in himself to be properly annoyed that he had been followed.

Stepping through the window was a lurching, gut twisting experience, a tingling flowing all the way down his spine before the great white walls of the busy reception area came into focus. After being thoroughly searched by a bald wizard who seemed only able to glare as Draco grumbled and mildly threatened, he was pronounced safe and allowed to proceed.

Everything was very sterile, glaringly white, and smelled awfully like healing potions brewed in mass.

As Weasley led him through the floor and down the winding halls he told Draco what happened in a quiet calm voice, sounding as if the boy he once had been was nowhere to be found in this new man with his long confident steps and well...with the whole not screaming and punching Draco thing. The Weasley he knew liked to do that...a lot, with great volume and aplomb. It was odd, like time had sped up and Draco had been left stumbling along behind, caught up in old rivalries that apparently held no merit any longer.

He let the fleeting thought that perhaps Potter had been talking about him to his lifelong mate float through his mind before quickly shoving it away and concentrating on the information said mate was imparting - it didn't matter anyway what Potter had been saying about him, now did it?

Because apparently Potter had shown up alone (noble blighter) at the abandoned building in the dead of night (because why not? What's the worst that could happen?) after sending a quick notice to his Head of Department (a small consolation to his intelligence). He had made it all the way to the top of the tall building before getting hit in the back with what they think was a variation of Petrificus Totalus. He couldn't remember seeing or hearing anyone, all he could remember was seeing the flash of his partners face appearing out the window seconds after something sent him hurtling through the glass and towards the ground.

Potter had been disoriented and confused for two days - complete with lots of mumbling and twitchy eyed behavior.

Draco frowned, the story unsettling him for several reasons, the first and foremost being the absence of any other living soul. As much as he liked to pretend that Potter was a complete and utter idiotic lunatic, he knew Potter was exceptional at his job, and not in the 'all powerful, unstoppable force' kind of way the paper's liked to portray him as either. Potter was good at what he did because of his senses, of his gut instinct and reflexes, because he was always ready to dive in head long to do whatever needed to be done. Not to mention he had an insane ability to just know his surroundings when he was in Auror mode, hell he could catch anything Draco hurled at him without even looking - and Draco had tested that theory himself several times just to make sure it hadn't been a fluke when he had plucked the wrench flying towards his head out of thin air without even a twitch.

He couldn't have gotten caught off guard so easily, he would have noticed that something was off...

He shook his head and paused as Weasley walked straight past the lifts. "Shouldn't we go up?" He asked, vaguely remembering that Spell Damage was on the fourth floor.

Weasley smiled and shook his head. "Nah, he's in the Artifact Accidents wing."

"Artifact Accidents? Why would he be there?" Draco pressed a hand to his head, trying to still his spinning thoughts that kept going in circles so fast it was starting to make him slightly dizzy. The implausible story, combined with Potter's injuries, and the fact that he'd been in the hospital all this time while Draco had been silently cursing his grave was a bit too much.

"Well there's no getting shoved out a window ward now is there? Besides the Healers down here are the best at dealing with shattered bones."

"Shattered?" Draco croaked and then promptly felt his blood boil as a voice drifted down the hall towards them, all the pieces he had been trying to piece together coming into light like a punch to the gut.

Oh, Draco was going to murder him.

"It was a true tragedy but thank god I was there to stop them." The voice was squeaky and mousy and just dripped false niceties.

Draco cocked his head and took a step, holding his hand up to silence whatever thickheaded thing the youngest Weasley male was about to say.

"I managed to soften his landing just enough to save his life before I chased down the nasty wizards and captured them." The voice continued and Draco found his feet moving forwards like he was gliding on ice, even paced steps that seemed soundless and unconnected from the ground.

The hall stretched and stretched before him but his legs refused to move any faster, his ears refusing to hear whatever babble was happening behind him - something was pulling him forward towards the mousy voice that was speaking with such an air of superiority and nonchalance, as if Potter wasn't behind one of the many doors with fucking shattered bones.

Draco felt his jaw clench as he came round the corner and stepped into the outer circle of bodies with their flashing camera's and awed expressions of everlasting gratitude. And standing in the middle was a young man with cropped brown hair, a strong defiant jaw, freckled cheeks, and small brown eyes that were positively gleaming in the bright pops of light.

God he even looked like an attention seeking imbecile, reminding Draco vaguely of Lockhart with all his fanfare and waving and illegible autographing.

The man grinned for a photo, winking exaggeratedly, before picking up his story once more. "They gave me quite the chase I'll tell you, nearly lost an eye, but they were no match for me. They had harmed my partner and I'd be damned if I let them escape."

The crowd 'awed' and flashed their cameras, Weasley's soft snort barely registering in Draco's ear. "No match." The redhead grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the man posing and waving for the cameras. "He lost them in-route to the Ministry, bloody wanker."

"Lost them?" Draco glanced at Weasley from the corner of his eye just in time to catch the slight nod in response.

"If he ever really had them that is." The sound of knuckles cracking drew Draco's attention to Weasley's thick fingers as he clenched them at his sides, his tone almost a match for the anger Draco felt growing hotly inside him - and for the first time in his life he felt that maybe he and Weasley were on the exact same page. "He's been nearly camping out here ever since, retelling his story to anyone who cares to listen."

Looking back towards the center of the circle Draco felt something flare inside him, something he hadn't felt since the war or maybe not even then. This was different, it wasn't fear for his and his family’s life, nor was it rage at the degradation they had suffered. It wasn't even the same painful pulse that came thundering through his veins when he had been forced to hurt another living being. All he could think about was all the times Potter had shown up at his flat injured or exhausted or frustrated or bleeding without even remembering why.

All those incidents had had one thing, one person, in common.

Draco felt like a fine piece of polished wood snapping under the pressure of a constant weight. There was a thrumming flowing through his body and mind, a sharpness that felt needle fine and expansive as the sun at the same time, he felt like something foreign was overtaking him - pumping courage and anger and a fierce desire to protect through him. It grew and grew inside him as he shoved his way forward, glaring at the man looking weak in his Auror uniform, a uniform Draco highly doubted the man deserved.

"Auror Giles?" He asked, stopping directly in front of him, his slight height advantage giving him the perfect position to sneer down his nose at the slightly confused looking man.

"Yea." Giles replied, taking in Draco's smeared face, the one sleeve that was rolled up past his elbow, his dirty fingers, and stopping momentarily on the goggles perched atop his head before letting a cocky, amused smile turn his thin lips up. "And you're supposed to be?"

Draco didn't answer, instead he narrowed his eyes as he felt his nostrils flare and after taking a single moment to enjoy the flash of unease overtaking Giles' expression, slapped him hard across the face. It resounded like a loud crack throughout the hall, the reporter's falling instantly silent as all eyes turned to him, a sharp sting sending spikes of pins and needles aching through his palm and fingers.

Giles stumbled back a step, raising a hand to his throbbing cheek that had little black streaks contrasting the quickly blooming red. "What the -"

Draco took a step forward and back handed him across the opposite side of his face, grinning as the smaller man's head flung back sharply and his body hit the wall as he cursed loudly.

"Damn it!" Giles hollered, his eyes growing wide and mouth dropping open as he caught sight of Draco's hand with the tip of the Hawthorn length pointing straight at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He gasped, holding his cheek and nearly quacking against the wall. "S-someone do something!"

Draco snorted, a little sickened that the man cowering in front of him was a bloody Auror, supposedly one of the toughest trained and capable wizards around. "You are pathetic." He sneered and felt the muscles in his arm tense as a hex came to the tip of tongue.

But with a growl of suppressed energy and rage, Draco felt something strong and sure grasp his arm and knot in the back of his shirt at the same time, propelling him backwards as the silence erupted into shouts. The hall was filled with screams for answers, demands that Draco explain himself, his name beginning to surface from someone's mouth and passing like wildfire through the group, all the while Giles demanding retribution and whinging like the little maggot he was.

Draco grinned, catching Giles' terrified gaze before he was hauled around a corner and pushed roughly through a door. He decided that he liked this side of himself, liked the sting in his hand, liked the red palm print on the scumbags face, he liked actually doing something for once - not just talking or mocking or threatening but letting himself lash out and he briefly wondered if this was how Potter felt all the time.

It was...exhilarating. And painful. But exhilarating none the less. Though he may have broken a nail...

Sucking in a deep breath he managed to free himself, yanking away from Weasley's surprising strength, and gathering himself back up to his full height - wondering as he tried to force the malicious smile off his face if it would be a bit excessive to march back out and hit him again.

Probably.

"What the hell was that?" Weasley demanded, his face a deep red, the black cap skewed on his head with thick strands of red hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks. "You can't attack an Auror! Are you trying to get locked up?"

"He deserved it." Draco brushed his hands down his shirt, straightening the material the best he could. "He's responsible and nothing more than a slimy attention seeking whore. He hurt Potter. He deserves more than he got."

Weasley sighed and dragged the cap off his head, shoving it into the already rounded pocket of his robes. "We don't know that, not until Harry remembers everything a little more clearly."

"That's horse shit and if you had been doing what you're supposed to than none of this would have happened." Draco glowered, deciding to forgo trying to push down his anger and just let it run its course instead. Besides it wasn't untrue, it was Weasley's fault and if Draco was honest he would admit that he'd been mad at Potter's old partner for quite some time now. Wasn't he supposed to be unwavering loyal or some other Gryffindor lunacy that means that they will always have each other’s back?

"Me? What are you talking about?" Weasley sputtered.

"You left him to that nutter! You just had to quit and stick him with that raving windbag who obviously has it in for him." Draco felt his hands start shaking as he pocketed his wand and slowly advanced on the man staring open mouthed in disbelief at him.

"You're off the rocker Malfoy." Weasley glared and planted his feet. "And since when do you care what happens to Harry, huh? Why don't you explain that to me because I don't get it. Just what the hell has been going on with you two?"

"Pardon?" Draco stopped and felt his heart-rate slow dangerously in his chest.

"Do you know how many clocks he's purchased lately? He sees one in a shop and runs in to buy it without a second guess, he doesn't even like them, he's never bloody on time for Merlin's sake! I thought it was just another weird quirk of his you know? He does that sometimes...but then he started disappearing all the bloody time and I finally managed to drag it out of him - which was the most uncomfortable conversation I've ever had with him mind you and that's counting the time he told that he was...and what do I find out? You, bloody fucking Malfoy, always comes down to you doesn't it?" Weasley spit out, looking mildly threatening and confused at the same time, like he'd been fighting with himself over this exact thing for weeks now.

It made no bloody sense, why would Potter...why would Weasley...just why? Draco raked his fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck, steadying his breathing and trying not to let himself...

"I don't see-" He didn't finish his sentence, unsure where he was even going with it, instead he just stares uncomfortably back at Weasley as said redhead shifts from foot to foot, eyes forced wide like he's trying his hardest not to blink and miss a second of whatever their discussing.

Though Draco's not entirely sure what they are talking about, not to mention that it's the most unnerving staring contest he's ever been a part of.

"Are you...is he?" Weasley stopped talking abruptly, looking as uncomfortable as Draco felt, his cheeks flushing deeply.

"You're articulation is dreadfully left wanting." Draco said with a voice that was too quiet for the high he still felt buzzing inside him. But it couldn't be help, everything seemed rather...precarious all of a sudden.

Weasley scolded and bunched his fist into the robes at his side. "You're going to make me say it?"

"Say what?" Draco stared forward, running his eyes over the lines of the other man's face and wondering just exactly when did all of this happen? How had he gone from just fixing Potter's clocks (that he apparently bought for the sole purpose to smash to bits), to expecting his company, to feeling completely wretched when he went four days without hearing from him, to attacking an Auror in front of the bloody press (who had damn camera's) with the sheer need to punish the man who had hurt his...Potter.

"Are you two-" Weasley stopped, swallowed sharply and shook his head before whispering the last word in a horse breath that seemed like it caused him some deep internal damage to actually get out his throat. "Shagging?"

Draco shut his eyes and ran a hand over his face, feeling something squeeze in his chest in the general area of his ribcage that he firmly believed should never feel so compressed. It was terrifying and making his blood pump much too fast with a thick beat that fucking hurt. His life had been so simple, so straightforward, no questions, no uncertainty. And now there was tea he didn't care for in his cupboard, a stool that was too short for him at his workbench, a jumper he hated but loved on his coat stand, and nearly all his books were creased in the corners. But those weren’t even the most shocking things of all...

"Malfoy?"

He looked up to find Potter leaning heavily in the open door to one of the patients rooms. His face was pulled into a look of puzzlement, his hair bedraggled, dressed in the white pants and shirt designated to all patients by the hospital staff. He looked paler than usual, his jaw tense like he'd been gritting his teeth a lot over the last few days. But then as Draco stared - knowing perfectly well that his mouth was hanging just slightly open and his unnaturally wild eyes were glued to Potter's face and that his traitorous hands were unsteady at his sides - Potter cocked his head and did the whole slow biting-his-lip-while-smiling thing and Draco felt all the air leave him.

Sweet fucking Merlin.

Was it possible to have fallen in love without even knowing how or when it happened? With Harry Potter no less.

TBC

Delia Cerrano: Harry didn’t pursue Draco after that night for several reasons: He had just come to terms with actually being gay and only remembers the night in fragments. Plus he and Draco didn’t really see each other normally and so it was easy to chalk the night up to drunken foolishness, it wasn’t until he ran into Draco again (when he was no longer sexual confused) and still had the same reaction to him sober that he decided to go for it.

Severus1snape: Oh my goodness I just want to squish you in a bear hug! Thank you so much, all your reviews left a giddy little smile on my face that probably made me look completely crazed but whatever, I’m so happy you like all my stories!!! I have about five other story ideas bouncing around in my head right now, I’m just trying to figure out which one to write first (there’s two more silly ones, a rather raunchy one, and an angsty one that will really be two stories - picking is hard!) but your amazing comments really put me in writing mode again and I’m playing around with a little oneshot sequel to The Day Insanity Reigned from Harry’s POV. Hope you liked the chapter!

SP777: Thank you! I hope you keep enjoying

Anon: Thank you very much ;) So, somewhat ironically this is the MOST inner dialog heavy chapter in the whole story but Draco needed to come to terms with himself falling for Harry. Hope you enjoyed it though.
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A Dubious Affection