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A Vicious Tangle (Complete)	By : Tommy-Lane Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13085 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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
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Draco stared at the open page before him without really seeing it - his vision blurring past the lines of small printed letters that formed sentences and paragraphs and...god he'd read that last part too many times to count and yet he couldn't even remember what it had said.
Something about...the use of dragon's blood within a...unicorns intestine?
Bugger it.
He snapped the ancient text shut, his fingertips slipping over the soft leather of it's binding as he held it in his lap. It was one of the few books he had taken with him when he had moved out of the Manor after the war trials had finished and he'd been miraculous exonerated all those years ago. He couldn't be sure why he had saved this particular volume, why he had snatched it from its looming shelf among hundreds of more obvious (and strictly legal) choices. He had never even read it, not completely, though not for lack of trying.
It reminded him of something though...his childhood perhaps. A book bound tight with yellowed curling pages and worn, frayed, black leather, filled to the breaking with potions and spells and blood magic that made a little sinking feeling prick his stomach each time he read it. It reminded him of his father. Of Lucius sitting poised behind his overly large, ornate desk, of his flowing white hair and hard lined features. It reminded him of being small and listening to his father's voice through a crack in the door with his ear pressed nearly to the ground to hear it. It stirred memories of white peacocks and chilly winters observed behind high glass windows and his mother and father discussing things he didn't understand in a warped code that they assumed he couldn't figure out.
It reminded him of things bygone.
Of the dead.
Funny how he only ever took it from its spot on his own bookshelf now when he was feeling like this, when he was feeling...despondent.
His fingers curled harshly around the edge of the old book as he gritted his teeth. He had been in a downward dragging mood all weekend, a feeling of foreboding resting heavy on his soul, a grimness that he just couldn't seem to shake. It enveloped him, making him glare too hard at the inanimate objects in his flat and burn his toast in the mornings and tip the decanter a little too heavily in the evenings. If he hadn't been above stomping around like a petulant child in a fit of anger he would have, he even felt it might have actually done some good, more than the blasted book had done anyway.
But Malfoy's didn't stomp. They brooded (and read about disgusting bits of magic apparently). And thus it was now Sunday evening and his weekend had dissolved away with absolutely nothing to show for it but sore facial muscles, the smell of burnt food in the kitchen, and a needed trip to the liquor store.
And Monday morning was almost upon him, bringing with it the unnecessary reminder of his devastated, uninhabitable office and the reality of facing Potter again - the insufferable git that he was. Draco could barely stand the idea of sharing the bespectacled idiot's and Weasley's cubical space but then that left him without a place to work - given the fact that he knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate in Damaris's office with the permanent stench of cabbage and he didn't even bother considering asking Cobble to budge over for a few days.
He had a feeling the mumbling man might actually try to murder him if he even suggested it. So that left the blasted Auror's and their damn workspace.
A muscle twitched in his neck as it seemed rather keen on doing all weekend whenever his overactive brain wandered off track and over to Potter. It felt like something was trying to tighten in his lungs, pressing down and squeezing them from behind at the same time ever since Friday night when the door to the men's loo had closed behind Potter's retreating back.
And there in lied his problem.
He could still picture it - swollen lips, gasping moans, green eyes that blinked as the glasses found their rightful place - but it wasn't settling where it should. It wasn't slipping into its rightful place, his brain wasn't detaching Potter from that moment of carnal release like it had always done in the past. Instead the dark haired man was standing in the forefront with that damn cocky smile of his and his blasted wide stance like there was a dark wizard just over Draco's shoulder that he was about to duel and his foggy gaze that seemed stuck in that moment they had blinked up at him as Potter had...
Draco jerked to his feet, shoving the fragile book back into its place.
Fucking Potter, fucking everything up. What had he been thinking taking his...glasses back? Surely he could have lived without them for one weekend, surely whatever he had done to his vision while he was at the club could have sufficed until they saw each other at the Ministry. But no, the prat just had to steal them back from Draco's pocket while he could still taste the blonde on his tongue.
How was...why did...blast it.
He didn't like to think about Potter. He liked Potter to keep to the many boxes that were labeled clearly in his head. There was Hero Potter who had saved him and everyone else from a mad man, the Potter who liked the spotlight and would swoop down heroically whenever there was a hint of trouble. School Days Potter, who Draco still liked to think of as a dimwitted imbecile, perpetually scrawny in baggy old clothes and turning up his nose at perfectly acceptable handshakes. Work Potter, who Draco had somehow managed to get on somewhat...friendly?...terms with. And the man that resembled Potter but most importantly never actually acknowledged being him at the club, the man who soared high with Draco in frantic moments - the man that was gone before either of them could fully come back down.
The boxes were never supposed to burst open and mix. Draco knew this, knew it would bring nothing but pain and chaos into his life. Work Potter and School Days Potter would never get along, his younger self would probably whine constantly at him for even letting Draco step within ten feet of him, then he would sneer at the blonde and start stalking him and trying to convince everyone that he was up to something nefarious. Just like Hero Potter would never be able to face the Club Man without blanching and apologizing till he was blue in the face for using Draco and then maybe throwing up when faced with all that really entailed.
Boxes and lines were good. Course he really should have known that Potter would bollocks it all up, that he would blow it all out of the water in one ill planned moment just like he did when his magic and emotions got the best of him.
Dragging a hand through his already thoroughly mused hair (seeing as he couldn't seem to stop his damn hand from raking through it all day), he stalked out of his study and down the hall with a vague plan to empty the last of his whiskey into a tumbler and drown out the rest of the evening in an amber induced haze when there was a pulse rippling through his wards.
Someone was at the door.
Draco stopped cold and stared at the wall opposite him for a moment, considering his options. On one hand he could ignore it, it was probably just Pansy anyway, and continue on with his merry plan but on the other hand he could answer it, because it probably was Pansy and she never took well to being ignored, and have a distraction from his Potter swimming thoughts.
He hated Potter swimming around his head. Tended to make him dizzy in any case.
With a huff he abruptly switched directions and stomped (though just a little, not nearly enough to make it unbecoming) over to the front door, his hand flicking with the slightest of twitches as he neared it. That's when it all crashed to the floor at his feet and Draco let out a string of silent curses in his head. Because the door had swung open and standing on his stoop with a hand raised in the air in an aborted attempt at a knock was not Pansy in one of her scandalously tight dresses with a grand idea to go get sloshed but bloody Potter.
Potter with his damn hair blowing about his grimly set face, a fitted black leather jacket hugging his upper body with mud splattered jeans that somehow seemed both too big and too tight cladding the rest of him.
What was it with Potter and jeans lately? Had the man completely forgone all wizard attire? Had he simply decided that jeans made his arse look the best and now everyone was going to be forced to endure him squeezed into the fitted denim every damn day now?
Potter blinked, adjusting his glasses with a light touch as his hand fell back to his side. "Malfoy-"
"Are you lost?" Draco snapped, his eyes narrowing, something inside him kicking into gear at the sound of Potter's rough voice.
Potter's face screwed up into something that resembled a grimace, confusion and agitation coloring his features. "What, no. Malfoy -"
"It's Sunday Potter." Draco interrupted him again, his hand finding the edge of the door and grasping it, squeezing the wood between his fingers in a hold that was probably much tighter than was strictly necessary. But he couldn't help it, the boxes were blown up, slivers of wood scattered dangerously all around him. One false step and it would sink into his heel and then he'd never be able to put everything back into its rightful place.
"Erm yeah? But that's-"
"It's Sunday, not a work day. So whatever it is that you had to muddy your trousers for in such a rush to get here can wait." Draco sneered, ignoring the angry twitch in Potter's jaw and the hardening of his eyes. "Until Monday at the office." He finished, taking a smooth step backwards and preparing to snap the door shut between them.
"It can't wait!" Potter exclaimed, knocking the door back open with his elbow. "There's been another attack."
"Fascinating." Draco drawled before pushing on the wood, Potter's own arm keeping the thing from budging more than an inch. "Best scamper off then and investigate."
"Merlin you git, just come on, we're wasting time." He gave one hearty push and sent Draco stumbling back a step, Potter's hand shooting out and latching onto Draco's wrist and tugging him in the opposite direction he was very nearly about to fall.
"I'm not wasting anything," Draco clarified, staring in horror at Potter's slightly darker hand on his wrist. What the hell was Potter thinking, touching him? That's it, he was going to file an official complaint with Potter's head Monday morning - this was harassment! "Because I'm not going anywhere."
Potter didn't seem to notice Draco trying desperately to pry his hand away, his fingers locked in a grip that really shouldn't have been so strong. He was too busy staring at Draco with a dark look that flicked up and down the former Slytherin's body for a split second before he changed tactics and started pushing him backwards into his flat. "You need to change."
"I need to what?" Draco sputtered, finally wrenching his arm free and glaring daggers at the man now standing in his foray.
"Change. You can't wear...that to the crime scene." Potter muttered, looking pointedly at Draco's black silk pajama bottoms that he hadn't bothered changing out of because well...what was the point really? There was no one to stand on occasion for in his own home on the weekend. "Do you have a leather jacket?" He asked, peering around Draco's shoulder like he could miraculously see into the man's wardrobe that way.
"Of course not." Draco snapped at the ridiculous question, why in the world would he own such a thing? Though then again, Potter did look rather fit in his, the black playing nicely against his pale skin and wild hair, the single silver button at his throat drawing his eye in a way that really shouldn't have. Draco knew Potter had a strong pulse there when he got excited, knew how that throat looked arched back and angled sharply with his lips dropped open in a gasp.
Fuck, Draco forced his gaze away and violently pushed the image back into the gaping box that it belonged in.
"No matter, never crashed before anyway."
"Crashed?" Draco repeated, unable to follow the trail of conversation Potter was skipping down at too quick a speed. He wasn't making any sense. "What the hell are you on about?"
"On my bike." He very unhelpfully clarified and then brushed right past Draco, starting down the wide hallway with a determined, long stride that forced Draco to nearly jog in order catch back up with him.
"On your...you know what? I don't care, just get out Potter."
Potter shook his head. "Would love to but first you need trousers." He paused and let his eyes slip over Draco's frame in a much slower progression this time. "And perhaps a different shirt."
"What's wrong with my shirt?" Draco gaped, appalled at the suggestion.
Potter stopped in his tracks and fixed his gaze on Draco's torso, a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. "Nothing but I don't want to have to explain to a bunch of muggles what quidditch is and what riding has to do with it."
Draco flushed and glanced down quickly before straightening his back and lifting his chin. "It was a gift." He grumbled, silently cursing Pansy and her crass humor and the fact that the lewd shirt - which not so covertly implied that he liked riding quidditch players over their brooms - was not only crimson but so incredibly soft that he often wore it on days he had absolutely nothing to do and knew no one would ever see him in it.
She was dead.
Potter let the grin stretch over his mouth then, a mischievous look in his eye. "Of course it was." Then he was spinning on his heel and marching once more down the hall, his voice casual when he called back at Draco without a single glance, "it's probably the other way around anyway."
Draco's step hitched, the tightness in his lungs squeezing further at the nonchalant comment, his mouth dropping open in an automatic...something. But it never came, partly because his brain was short circuiting as he frantically tried to keep the damaged box with The Club Man from breaking out and attacking Potter, and partly because said man had just disappeared into his bedroom.
Like he knew where it was. How the hell did Potter know where his bedroom was?
The moment he stepped foot into his room, his lips open around the biting retort that just wouldn't come, he was hit in the face with a pair of black trousers that were closely followed by a relaxed white button up shirt. He glowered as he snatched the clothes away from himself, holding the finely crafted clothing in his hands tightly. "Get out of my wardrobe!" He growled.
"Then get dressed." Potter snapped back. "We're late."
"You always say that." Draco felt his blood simmering, the image of Potter standing in the middle of his bedroom doing funny things to him. It looked odd. Potter was much too...Potter to fit properly in his private room. He clashed terribly with the...decor, or something. And why in the world did he look so damn big next to his bed? Or better yet why did his stupid gaze even flicker between the two? "And I'm not going anywhere."
Potter just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.
"It's not my job!" He sneered. "I'm not your partner or even a bloody Auror, if there's a dark artifact then send it to me you imbecile."
"We found another disk." Potter, rather belatedly, explained, his eyes rounding in a way that said he really thought Draco was incredibly dense. "Stuck inside the girl’s cheek again."
He stopped short, whatever else he was about to say getting lodged in his throat as everything slimmed down and zeroed into a single pin prick of thought. "Water?" Draco heard himself asking, the anger and confusion from moments ago slipping away as his mind ticked into work mode.
Potter nodded. "Bathtub. Thought you'd want to see it up close this time. Might help with the case?"
Draco nodded absently, his mind whirling with possibilities, his voice a low mumble to himself in the quiet air as he tugged the slightly too tight crimson shirt over his head and sent it flying in a haphazard way. This was the sixth murder. The sixth disk...well his only disk most likely now since his office had been destroyed. And the body had been found in water again. It couldn't be a coincidence. That had to be the key to something.
"Muggle?" He shrugged the shirt on and in two fluid movements had his sleep pants at his feet and tugging his trousers onto his hips, vaguely noticing through the buzzing in his head the blush on Potter's cheeks and the way his gaze slid away much to abruptly when Draco looked up. There was only a moment of embarrassment at having changed in front of him before he was overrun with more theories and questions pressing forward, his brow furrowing as he did up his buttons and summoned his shoes.
"Yeah, Ron's questioning the boyfriend now. Wrong foot."
"Mhmm?" Draco looked up, carding a hand through his hair to get it out of his face.
"Your shoes. You put them on the wrong foot." Potter was staring bemusedly at him, his head cocked slightly, his bottom lip wet and red like he had been biting it.
Fixing his shoes, Draco turned and strode out of his bedroom, a checklist forming in his mind of the things he wanted to do when they got there when he remembered that he didn't know where they were going - his foot in mid turn in an aborted Disapparition that was very close to becoming a complete disaster with splinching and everything.
"You were going to do it again weren't you?" Potter was half smiling, half frowning at him from two paces away.
"No, of course not." Draco lied.
"Only because you don't know where we're going." Potter grumbled, pushing past him and leading their way out the door and down the little path to the street beyond. "I'm going to start fixing you with an anti-apparition collar whenever we go anywhere if you don't quit it."
"Would that be before or after the flogging then?"
"After."
"Sadist." Draco stopped, staring in incomprehension as Potter stepped up to a large black motorbike, his hand grasping the helmet dangling from the handle bar. "What is that?"
"My motorcycle." Potter answered, glancing between him and the bike then the helmet in his hand. He stared at the oddly shaped thing for a moment before flicking his wand and conjuring an identical duplicate - a smile on his lips as he held it out to Draco. "We can't Apparate in and it's not far so I'd thought we could...what?"
"You're joking right?" Draco balked, his arms stiff at his sides, leaving Potter with the two helmets and a deep frown. Well he supposed this explained the 'crashing' statement.
"No." He said slowly with that expression that broadcasted the fact that he thought Draco was being dense again. "Come on, just put it on, like a hat."
"I'm not riding on that thing." Draco curled up his lip at the black monstrosity of twisted metal. It looked like a death trap. An ugly, probably loud, death trap. Not to mention it barely looked big enough for the two of them and Draco had absolutely no intention of straddling a hunk of vibrating metal while hugging Potter's waist as they weaved in and out of muggle traffic.
"Why not? It's like a broom and you like those." He said, his expression taking on a rather strong leer towards the end.
Draco frowned. Blasted shirt, he was never going to live it down, he just knew it. "It was a gift." He ground out. "I don't-"
"Oh just get on, you know you're not going to not come." Potter tossed him the helmet and pulled his own on his head then promptly swung his leg over the machine, his thumb pressing down on something and his foot doing something else until it started rumbling like a sleeping dragon from between his legs.
It was unnerving, the motorcycle seeming alive and very, very dangerous.
It was also incredibly sexy and Draco had a fleeting thought that that was why muggles even had them in the first place. To get laid. Not that he was going to...nope, he didn't care that he could see Potter's thigh flex around the slanted metal like it probably would when he was...right.
With a firm glare and muttered curse, Draco donned the atrocious helmet, only mildly surprised when he could hear Potter's voice chuckling in his ear inside it as he slipped his leg over the seat and sat down. He had all of two seconds to adjust to the odd feeling and a simple warning of 'hold on' before Potter was kicking off and leaning forward, his wrist twisting and the bike jerking onto the road at top speed.
"Sweet Merlin." He gasped, his arms automatically winding around Potter's waist and holding on tight, effectively smashing his front to Potter's back in a much too close embrace. He felt the wind rush over them, their bodies forcing themselves through the air until it felt like a breathing wild things all around them - Potter leaning sharply with each turn, the muscles along his back and shoulders flexing and held tight, Draco's thigh's squeezing both the bike and the back of Potter's legs.
After the initial shock - when he pried his eyes back open after the near certain death he was sure was about to come when they came this close to a massive truck to find themselves still alive, still moving at a breaking speed with Potter's leisurely breath drawing his stomach in and out beneath Draco's fingers - he decided that it was all rather exhilarating. It was like riding a broom, low to the ground and around other twisted hunks of metal sure, but it had the feel of flying, of letting go - just him and the wind.
He loosened his grip on Potter, lifted his chin up, and felt a smile tugging at his lips. He hadn't flown in years, hadn't allowed himself the luxury after the war had ended. Perhaps it had been his own little penance when the trials had decided he needn't pay anything. But Draco knew better than that, he knew he hadn't been a complete innocent in it all. Sure he had been a child, sure he had been terrified and coerced into most of it, but it had still all been him doing it. Giving up the liberation that only flying could bring had seemed like a natural punishment - it fit his crimes.
A not quite Death Eater, but branded none the less, doomed to walk the earth. Poetic justice it had seemed at the time.
He let out a harsh laugh and holding Potter tight with one arm, reached up and whipped his helmet off - uncaring of the muggles all around him as he vanished it without a thought. The wind cut across his face, sharp and warm, lifting his hair in a tornado around his head. But it wasn't quite enough, now that he had had a taste he wanted more, he needed more, needed to feel his stomach plummet as they sped forward, needed to feel the ride in the very marrow of his being.
It wasn't necessarily a conscious decision as he gripped Potter's own helmet and sent it off to the place all vanished things went to lie unused forever but the moment it was gone he knew what his intention had been. He could see Potter now, the back of his head, the curve of his wrist under the leather jacket, his hand reached out in front of him as if there really was a snitch nearby that they were competing for. He caught Potter's eye for the briefest of seconds as he turned his head just a fraction with a questioning look before he pressed his lips close to Potter's ear so the man could hear him above the roar of the engine and wind.
"This the best you can do?" He shouted with black hair tickling his face, his lips brushing Potter's skin and filling his palate with a taste that seemed all too familiar.
He felt more than heard Potter's answering laugh rumbling through them both, a deep vibration that seemed almost a part of the wind around them and the bike beneath them. Not a second later Potter was pressing forward, a tingle of magic washing over them moments before the spinning tires left the ground and Draco let out a gasp as they shot towards the sky - the world falling away behind them in a blur of colors that he couldn't be bothered enough to notice.
Not with the white clouds before them and the deafening drone of the air and the smell of Potter all around him. He grinned and held on tighter, forgetting for a moment that they were flying towards a crime scene that was a part of a case that was quickly spiraling out of control - forgetting that Potter was leaping from Draco's carefully constructed boxes and merging into a disastrous, mangled, reality.
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A Vicious Tangle (Complete)