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Shots in the Dark	By : squirrelchaser Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1772 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
*

Draco
was curled in an armchair, trying to make himself as small as possible, not
bothering to try and be a gracious guest. He was drinking again, but then so
were Ron, Hermione, and everyone else at the sodding dinner party; it was a
celebration.

�It�s
a boy,� Hermione said. �Do you want to hold him?�

�No,�
Draco said quickly, with finality. He glanced at the clock; it was 11:14 at night.

�He�s
going to look just like his daddy,� she cooed.

�That�s
unfortunate,� Draco muttered under his breath.

�What?�

�Never mind.�

�We�ve
named him-�

�Please
don�t,� Draco said, staring at the bundle in Hermione�s lap, waiting for it to
sit up or roll over, or at least fetch.

�Don�t
what?�

Draining
the rest of the sherry from his glass, he tossed his hair back from his
forehead and gave a dramatic grimace. �Name him Harry.�

11:20.

��How
did you know?�

Draco
snorted. �Please. It seemed like a sentimental, stupid thing that the two of
you would have done. Do you really think you�re not predictable?�

Ron�s
fists clenched, but Hermione placed a calming hand on his arm. �Alright, so you
guessed his name. But why not name him Harry? He was our friend too you know,�

�He
was our friend long before he was yours,� Ron reminded him icily.

Yeah,
but have either of you shagged him? Draco wanted to say but bit his tongue. �So
you two got there first. But if you love the kid, don�t curse him with a name
like Harry Weasley. It sounds like some sort of dangerous varmint, the kind
that foams at the mouth.�

Hermione
had to smile. �We could name him Draco,�

�No!�
Both Draco and Ron said together.

�Draco
Weasley�that sounds like a dangerous
varmint,� Ron�s face crumpled with disgust.

�Fine
then, have it your way,� Hermione said placidly. �Don�t you want any little
Malfoy�s of your own, or are you just going to be alone forever?�

�Probably. If you shag only guys
that makes it pretty damn hard to reproduce,� Draco said loudly, and a
few of the others in the room stopped their conversations to listen. �It�s even
harder when the one you�re to shag is dead.� Draco tipped his glass back,
emptying it for dramatic effect.

There
was an awkward silence.

�So�the
Daily Prophet was telling the truth then,� Hermione said, not looking at Draco
as she rearranged the blankets around the baby�s face.

The Boy Who Loved: Harry Potter and Draco
Malfoy. The headline had
been in rudely big, shockingly black, all bold capital letters on the front
page, coming on the tail ends of Harry
Potter: Thousands Mourn and Harry
Potter�s Last Moments.

Really,
Draco had always thought, it�d been no one�s damn business.

�Yeah,�
Draco chewed one of his nails and looked at the window to avoid looking in
Ron�s gaping mouth. When silence persisted he looked back, raised his eyebrows
and said in an even louder voice, �Do you have a problem with that, Weasley?�

Ron
looked annoyed. �He was my best mate, and he never told me!�

Narrowing
his eyes Draco said coldly, �I�m sure you would have taken it in stride and
all.�

Hermione
tilted her head, looking at Draco with soft, shining eyes. �Draco, are you
okay?�

�It�s
a year after the fact, Granger. Too late.�

�Draco,
you must be f-�

Draco
felt his face go rigid and his insides clench up and go cold. �Don�t tell me
how I feel. No empathy, period. You can�t empathize; you don�t know.�

It
was now 11:29. Thirty one minutes and
counting.

�Look,
it�s bloody late.� Getting up, he grabbed handful of Floo powder and threw it
into the fireplace. �Congratulations on the baby thing and all,� he said
flatly. �Have a nice life.�

Hermione
started to say something but Draco didn�t hear it; he didn�t want to hear it. Being
around Hermione and Ron meant remembering Potter, and seeing Hermione and Ron
going through the paces of growing up made Draco think of what might have been.

Stepping
out of the fireplace and into his office, Draco shook out his robes and looked
about. Everything lay untouched from where he left it. No one else was around
to disturb it.

11:38.

Opening
the liquor cabinet, Draco considered. This was, after all, a time to celebrate.
He selected a round flask with a narrow necked top. Claret.
It was a caret sort of night.

Midnight.

Exactly
a year ago, Voldemort had been defeated. Not by the Boy-Who-Lived. No one knew,
really, who had done it, except for a small circle of wizards and witches. If
anyone had known who did it, they probably wouldn�t have believed anyway.

Reaching
around to the back of his neck he unclasped the locket, opening it with slender
fingers and stroking the lock of hair inside.

They
had been standing in the rain, staring at the gravestone. �Harry wanted you to
have this,� Professor McGonagall had said, taking the locket from a fold of her
sleeve and clasping it around Draco�s neck. Professor McGonagall was the only
one Harry had told.

It
was the horcrux that wasn�t; it was why Dumbledore was dead and why Draco had
fled to Godric�s Hollow. It was Harry�s reminder and motivation to destroy the
final horcruxes, it was Harry�s parting gift to Draco. Harry had gotten pretty
sentimental, in his last days, but then so had Draco.

�Potter,�
Draco said softly, admiring the way the firelight gleamed bluish silver over
the black shaft of hair. �You would have been a good father. We could have
adopted; there are so many orphans now. Muggles, even, if you wanted. I promise
I wouldn�t have minded.�

�You
are so young to harbor so much bitterness,� Snape said.

Draco
couldn�t tell if his former professor was genuinely questioning or mocking him.
He stared off to the side, gaze traveling along the damp stone wall, fidgeting
slightly so that the wooden chair creaked. Why had he come to visit, again?

�What
could have happened to make you this way?�

�Why
d�you care? Isn�t Azkaban supposed to drive it�s prisoners mad?�

Snape
ignored the poison in Draco�s voice and asked again: �What happened? Why all this hatred?�

Draco
was angry, almost feeling as if he�d been cheated and tricked.

He�d
been on top of his small, dark world for the first seventeen years of his life,
even after Lucius had gone to Azkaban, sneeringly happy and content to look
down on everyone else. The promise of glory and power always shimmering on the
horizon far enough out of reach that he didn�t become ensnared by the troubles
they brought, but close enough to enjoy their comforts. Then he�d been rudely
yanked out of the lap of luxury, out of everything he knew and thrust into the
protection of the boy he�d hated and tortured for years: Harry Potter.

Life,
it seemed, had been laughing at him, but things changed.

�I-� Draco clenched both hands on the edge of the grimy table,
watching his knuckles turn white.

He
wanted to say he felt as if he had been handicapped with a weight on his back,
all his life. Then, just when the weight seemed so overpowering it would break
him, it was lifted, and for a span of a few short months Draco could breathe
and move as if for the first time. The boy who�d been given everything his
entire life finally had what he wanted, and then it was taken away, and that
made him angry. It made him furious.

There
was so much they could have done, there was so much
they wouldn�t do now. There was so much that Draco still wanted to do, but was
too afraid to do it by himself.

Draco
was crushed. Life had gotten the last laugh.

He
looked up from the table at Snape, whose black eyes were fathomless and
guarded. How could he say all of this to a man who held nothing in him but ice
and resentment? How could he explain his relationship with Harry Potter to Snape, for crying out loud?

�You
wouldn�t understand,� he said stiffly.

�Draco,�
Snape�s voice was low and dangerous, but not malicious. �I�m not stupid. I know
what you feel deep in your heart, for your mind is not hidden to me. Foolish
boy,� he said softly, but not unkindly. �Why do you think I�m here, and not
you?�

�Because
Dumbledore said you had to,� Draco said flatly.

�Did
I have to accept?� Snape asked. �Do you think that Dumbledore would have made
me give up my freedom, my life, if I did not wish to? No.�

�What,
so now you want a medal now, is that it?� Draco said nastily, feeling horrible
at his own animosity. �Should I wake up in the morning and thank you, Severus
Snape, for so generously giving his life for mine? Maybe I could say a little
prayer,�

Snape
gave a humorless laugh that was more of a scoff. �It pains me to see that I
gave it all up for nothing. You�re a waste, Draco,� he said harshly. �Vodka. Fire whiskey.�

Stung,
Draco recoiled. �Sorry I�m such a waste,� he said, standing up and pulling on
his cloak. He�d disappointed his father, and now Snape. Of
course. He should have known better.

�I�ll
get out of your sight.� The chair scraped against the stone floor and Draco,
not looking at Snape, grabbed his cloak and made for the door.

�Look
at yourself,� Snape called after him. �You have nothing, Draco, nothing. Maybe it�s a good thing he�s
gone; he won�t see what you�ve become.�

Spitting
with anger Draco whirled around and hissed, �It�s because he�s gone that I have
nothing. It�s his fault.�

�No
it�s not,� Snape said. �And you know it.�

Something
woke him early the next day. Draco stumbled upright, from the couch where he
had collapsed the night before, and nearly broke his ankle on an empty bottle
of vodka.

�Shit,�
he mumbled, rubbing dry eyes with the heels of his hands.

There
it was again. The soft, birdlike noise from outside his door.
Probably students playing some stupid joke.

Wrenching
open the door he prepared himself to bellow out a
deduction of points but he stopped cold when his foot hit something soft.

A basket. With a baby, wide, dark eyes, and a note
pinned to the blanket: He would have wanted it this way.

Draco
closed his eyes and shook his head. He�d drank so much
of the wrong stuff he�d hallucinated before, but it�d always been gone the next
day. He opened them again. The baby was still there.

�Mr.
Malfoy,� Professor McGonagall rounded the corner, her eyes bloodshot and red, a
tarlatan handkerchief crumpled in one hand. �I just got the owl��

�Er,
what is it, Professor?� Draco looked from the baby, to McGonagall, and back to
the baby.

�Ron
and Hermione Weasley-�

�Granger!� Draco cut her off sharply.

�Don�t
be ridiculous!� she said so severly that Draco stopped. �They were killed in a
car accident this morning, on the Muggle side of London.�

Draco
sucked in his breath.

Professor
McGonagall looked down at the basket, dabbing her eyes and said in a thick,
hushed voice, �What is this?� She looked back up at Draco. �Well, perhaps it�s
for the best.� Turning on her heel with a swish of her cloak, she stalked off
down the hall, still sniffing audibly.

Draco
picked up the basket and stood for a moment. It was a lot lighter than he
expected.

Setting
it on his desk he turned to the liquor cabinet. With a flick of his wand, the
alcohol bottles were gone, replaced by a lukewarm bottle of baby formula, and
turned to face the basket again.

At
least he wouldn�t be as lonely, now.

END
- 4
- 5
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Shots in the Dark