Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

An Alchemical Discontent	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 10911 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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
- 6
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Five—Three Uncomfortable Conversations

            It seemed to Draco to take far too long until noon arrived and the demand for Desire dropped off. At last it had been five minutes since the last patron entered the shop, and ten minutes since the last impudent person had crowded up to Harry demanding his autograph. Draco spelled the front door shut, then tilted his head towards the hidden door to his upper rooms and raised an eyebrow.

            Harry nodded and stood, though his movements were heavy and reluctant as he walked around the desk. Draco thought he knew why. He was going to insist on knowing why Harry had stood up and declared that he was on a potion, and Harry, however good he was with declarations in the heat of the moment, would prefer to avoid long conversations about them.

            Well, maybe not, Draco was forced to concede as he remembered the questions Harry had pressed on him the other day. He does seem to enjoy learning about me.

            But he hadn’t answered as many questions about himself in comparison, and Draco suspected he would have continued to avoid the duty if he didn’t know that that was death to any sense of partnership or friendship with Draco. Along with supernaturally calm and patient, that potion made him more reserved, less anxious to expose anything of himself.

            Draco felt a surge of frustration, and tried to get rid of it by stamping a little harder on the stairs than usual and thinking about the likely outcome once the Daily Prophet carried the report of the She-Weasel’s outburst. The really skittish public would refrain from buying Desire for now, until they could be assured it was respectable. And that would take time.

            It’s good that I went to Daphne after all. Depending on Desire to pay off my debts in a week wouldn’t work.

            But Draco didn’t want to think about Daphne, either, and thinking about his debts made him think about his profits—which had to be shared with the man who was slowly climbing the stairs behind him. Draco reached his rooms, stepped out of the way, and then turned around suddenly enough to startle Harry, who put a hand on the wall.



            “Tea?” Draco offered.

            “Something a bit more substantial than that, if you’ve got it.” Harry shook a cramp out of his writing hand and then flexed his fingers. He had dots of ink on them, Draco noted. He thought Harry looked better like that, along with his rumpled hair and tired expression. He wasn’t meant to be perfect. “A sandwich would work wonders.”

            Draco chuckled smugly. Harry lifted his head and eyed him curiously, and Draco thought he liked him like that, too, with that sparkle in his eyes.

            He frowned inwardly. No thoughts like that until Harry’s off the potion. No matter how handsome he is, I’m not about to be wooed by someone as passionless and anemic as he is right now.

            “I don’t keep in regular contact with my parents, but they don’t know that I have contacts among their house-elves,” he explained. “Whenever I really don’t feel like cooking for myself—“

            “Which would be fairly often,” Harry stage-whispered.

            “I ask one of them to come and cook for me,” Draco finished, determined to ignore Harry’s plebeian attempts at theatrics. “They don’t have nearly as much to do as they did ten years ago, with Mother and Father not going out or giving fancy parties anymore, so they’re pleased to be of service.” He clapped his hands and called, “Patty!”

            A quiet pop—Draco had let Patty know that he despised the loud sounds with which house-elves usually Apparated in and out—and a very proper female elf appeared in front of them. She wore a pair of spectacles, which Draco’s great-grandfather had given her, and a towel modeled into a prim skirt. She folded her hands when she saw him. The effect was rather like an auntie, Draco thought, if aunties had green skin and a lot of ear-hair. “Master Draco has not been eating properly,” she said. Then her nostrils widened and her ears twitched and came up like the ears of a dog hearing that magic word “walk.” “Master Draco is hurt! A muscle is strained in his leg, and his poor stomach—“

            “That’s quite enough, Patty,” Draco said firmly, sensing Harry’s rising interest behind him. He didn’t need to know about Draco’s “arrangement” with Daphne, either. He was sure to disapprove of it, and Draco would like Harry to be proud of his partner, not embarrassed about him. “We’d like a meal.”

            “For two?” The notion of an extra guest for lunch distracted Patty quite thoroughly, as Draco had intended that it should. She turned and measured Harry with her eyes, accurately estimating his height, weight, and health. “Then I recommend the chicken with lemon sauce,” she said. “And the enriched pumpkin juice, which has healing properties.” She studied Harry with a doubtful look. Draco wondered if she could detect the presence of that damn potion.

            “Er,” said Harry, bemused. Draco thought it was no wonder. Harry had probably been around inferior house-elves all his life, even counting that one he had freed from Malfoy control in Draco’s second year. How Lucius had ranted about that during the summer! “All right. Thank you, Patty.”

            Unlike most house-elves Draco had known, Patty expected thanks as her due. She inclined her head regally and vanished again. Draco turned to offer a half-smile to Harry. “Lunch won’t be long. Patty never does take a lot of time once she makes up her mind to do something.”

            “She’s certainly different,” Harry ventured.

            “Yes, well.” Draco shrugged and sat down in one of the chairs near the real window that permitted owls passage into his rooms, hoping Harry would follow suit without an invitation. He did, and Draco smiled a little. At least Harry was more comfortable around him than he used to be. “Mother bought her from a family who tolerated no incorrectness or slovenliness among their servants, even the house-elves, and Patty saw no reason to abandon those lessons. Mother insists on having her serve lunch every day.”

            Harry smiled back, but said nothing. He fell so naturally into silence, Draco thought irritably, whilst in Hogwarts it seemed he could never stop talking, even with his mouth full or on the Quidditch Pitch.

            Well. No reason not to be blunt if he won’t take the hint. He ought to know that I won’t let something like his little stunt go.

            “Why did you stand up and support me in front of your old girlfriend?” he asked.

            Harry took a deep breath and dug his hands into the arms of the chair. Draco felt a little more of his confidence return. So Harry could still be prodded off-balance and made something more than the perfect wax doll he had seemed at first. That was a good first step.

            “Because you needed the support,” Harry said lowly. “And it is true that I’m taking the potion, so I didn’t want you to look as if you were lying. And Ginny really could have caused some trouble once she fastened her teeth in this.” He paused. “I knew she wouldn’t dare face me for long.”

            “She’s that afraid of you?”

            “Of course she is.” Harry’s voice lost some of its emotion, and he raised an eyebrow at Draco. “You know why.”

            Draco shook his head impatiently. “I know what you told me. But that was, what, five or six years ago? She has no reason to be so afraid of you, still.”

            “You weren’t there,” Harry said. “You don’t know what it was like for her, and you don’t really know what it was like for me, either.” He fixed Draco with an even stare. “You needed support. I stood up and let you have it. I‘d think you’d be far more interested in discussing other things, such as whether Ginny is working for our enemies, or why Theodore Nott was there, or the information I sent you about Diggory cornering us in that restaurant.”

            Draco bit his tongue. He’d displayed too much eagerness in going after the subject of Harry’s potion, and Harry was, now, apparently wondering why it mattered so much.

            Well, it mattered to Draco, because he wanted to date Harry, and to do that he needed to get Harry off the potion. But the matter of Cordelia and Diggory and their efforts to disrupt the sale of the Desire potion were more actively important. Draco surrendered to necessity and nodded a little.

            “And then,” Harry continued, his eyes darkening and his voice deepening to what was almost a growl, “perhaps we can discuss what happened to you to leave you with a limp. And what did Patty mean when she commented on your stomach?”

            Draco experienced a rush of exaltation paired with a rush of irritation at the same time. It was, of course, impossible that Harry should know about the arrangement with Daphne. He wouldn’t understand. He would probably despise Draco for whoring himself out to Daphne—and to Harry, that was what it would be.

            But it gratified Draco to know that Harry was feeling protective of him. He looked at the floor as if overcome and murmured, “She didn’t mean anything by it.”

            “Bollocks, Draco. House-elves notice when something is wrong.” Harry leaned forwards. “I told you about my potion and about Ginny—one of the worst things in my life. This can’t be worse than that, can it?”

            I really don’t know, Draco thought. He didn’t remember Daphne doing anything to his stomach, but she could have. “It’s different,” he insisted.

            Harry’s hand slid warmly over his. “Is it that different?”

            Draco looked up into Harry’s eyes and found himself catching his breath. Damn, Harry was closer than Draco had thought he’d bother to come whilst they weren’t officially dating, and his breath was warm and actually smelled sweet. Draco felt his lips part slightly, and saw Harry’s gaze flicker down to them.

            Bang!

            Patty had been trained to silence, but the other Malfoy house-elves had never managed to muffle their noise. Harry pulled his hand away from Draco’s and whirled around, and even Draco found himself with a slightly increased heartbeat as he watched the elves bustle about setting up the table and the meal.

            “Well,” Harry said, and cleared his throat in an embarrassed fashion. His eyes came back to Draco, and he smiled weakly. He was careful to keep a good distance between them as he stood up, Draco noticed. “Shall we dine?” He bowed Draco absurdly towards the table, and Draco had no option but to follow.

            And, of course, they talked about entirely different things whilst they ate. In between praises of the food—which of course was good, since it was Malfoy cooking—Harry told Draco that he intended to go talk to Ginny immediately after this and ask what she had been doing. He was confident she wouldn’t lie to him.

            He accepted Draco’s word for it that they were best letting Theo run for now and see what else he might do. It would be better to have a known quantity than an unknown one reporting to Cordelia and Charlemagne.

            As for acting together with Granger as a stronger political entity, Draco had to admit he approved of that plan. Harry was just hopeless and would get something wrong, especially if Diggory made the effort to corner him on his own. And Granger, who had gone back to her job in the Ministry, couldn’t be with him all the time.

            They’d wait for Friday, Draco decided and Harry accepted, when Cordelia would come by to collect the final payment on the debts she’d bought. Depending on how she reacted when Draco handed over the forty thousand Galleons, they would formulate their plans from there, and invite Granger over for a conversation either Saturday or Sunday.

            When Draco mentioned paying off the debts, Harry bit his lip, clearly wanting to ask how exactly he had got the money. Draco held up his wineglass that contained the enriched pumpkin juice and smiled. Once again, Harry’s eyes lingered on his lips.

            Good as it would have felt to confess the truth about Daphne and his assignations with her, mystery trumped truth when it came to attraction.

*

            Harry knocked on the door to the flat Dean and Ginny shared, waited a minute, and then knocked again. He didn’t know if anyone was home, but he intended to be assured of that before he left a message. Ginny had often “not received” his messages during the few times in the last year when he’d tried to communicate with her. Harry had hoped their relationship could change when they’d both lost Ron and had a mutual grief to tie them together, but it seemed Ginny preferred to mourn her brother in the company of her family and her boyfriend.

            Besides, if Ginny had taken off work in the middle of the day to come to Draco’s shop, she might have come home to hide when her plan failed. Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other and knocked again.

            The door opened slowly, which disabused Harry of the notion that Dean was waiting behind it, at least. Ginny stared at him for a long moment, then averted her eyes. This close, Harry could see her trembling faintly, and also smell the strawberry-scented perfume she was wearing.

            “Ginny,” he said gently. “Can I come in?” He didn’t say anything more than that, curious to see if she would invite him in of her own free accord.

            Ginny swallowed, closed her eyes, and then fell back before him, gesturing weakly for him to take a seat. The flat was mostly furnished in early football, given Dean’s passion for that Muggle sport. Harry took a seat on a bright orange couch and put his feet up on a stool that might have been brown in an earlier life. Ginny sat down across from him, her eyes closed, and then began twining her fingers together as if she would pull the cloth bunched between them apart.

            Harry studied her in silence. The years hadn’t lessened her attractiveness; if anything, Harry thought this woman was prettier than the one he’d dated, still flushed from her successful passing of her N.E.W.T.s. She had more lines of deep living on her face, more signs of thoughtfulness and wisdom in her eyes.

            Of course, it would have been easier to see all that if she wasn’t trembling like a rabbit at his presence.

            Harry chose his words carefully. If he left even one in the statement that sounded like a threat, then Ginny would probably faint or lose her nerve entirely and run out of the flat. And then Harry would have another nasty confrontation with Dean or Mrs. Weasley, who didn’t see why he and Ginny couldn’t “just get along.”

When he thought he was ready, he said, “You came to Draco’s shop this morning.”

Her hair rustled softly as she nodded.

Maybe blunt is best. But no accusing her of anything. Harry lowered his voice a little, to mask any possible emotion in the words. “Why?”

Ginny’s nails dug into her skin, but at least she didn’t leap up and scream. Harry waited. He didn’t have anything urgent to get back to; he was still relearning the market for film after dropping out of it for several months to care for Hermione.

Finally, Ginny whispered, “I just—I don’t like the fact that you’re spending so much time with him, Harry. I’ve done some research on him. Did you know that he has a reputation as the best black market brewer in Britain, not just the best apothecary?” She lifted anguished eyes to his. “He’s brewed potions, at least according to rumor, that make thefts easier, that make it easier for men and women to rape each other, and that kill people without a trace. I don’t like you being associated with someone like that. You know how easily the public turned on you in the past. They could do it again, especially if you start getting involved in politics. You’re opposed to Charlemagne Diggory, aren’t you?”

Harry blinked a little. He hadn’t expected that rambling confession. On the other hand, it fit with what he had imagined Ginny’s motivation to be. Ginny was the last person to work for someone like Cordelia Nott or Charlemagne Diggory. Of course, her plans to protect her friends didn’t always work out.

            “I’m opposed to him because he wants to get rid of Draco and the Desire potion as obstacles in his way,” Harry said. “And I do think Draco is a good person. Whatever he’s done in the past—“

            “Whatever he’s done in the past?” Ginny was sitting up, and there was a stern, positively Gryffindor expression on her face. Harry was glad to see it. That usually meant she was feeling stronger, more argumentative, and less likely to collapse. “You’ll forgive him anything, any crime?”

            “I’d have to have proof,” said Harry. “And I’d have to have proof that he knowingly continued that practice. There’s a difference between selling someone a knife and helping him commit a murder.”

            The reference to violence made Ginny flinch and then freeze, as Harry should have realized. He scolded himself, but didn’t attempt to move forwards and touch her in comfort. It would have made things worse. He had to sit there and listen to her panicked, rasping breath and watch her hands becoming white-knuckled as she fought her way back under control. There was nothing else to be done, and so he shoved his hands under his knees and stared at his feet.

            At least I’m on the potion so that nothing like that can ever happen again. And at least I can afford the ingredients, and I have the necessary level of skill to brew the damned thing. There are thousands of other people who aren’t so lucky.

            Ginny spoke in what was more or less a normal voice when five minutes had passed. “What if I could get you proof?”

            Harry glanced up and studied her closely. “From what sources?”

            “Friends of mine. People who bought from Malfoy until they realized what he is, and stopped.” Ginny smoothed a hand down her skirt, and peered at him earnestly. “I just really don’t want to see you get hurt, Harry, or have your reputation stained. You’ve had so much of that in your life. You don’t need more.”

            Harry’s heart warmed. Despite the fear and desolation he’d caused her, to the point that she’d needed therapy, she was still trying to be his friend.

            Draco might think it sounded like nothing. Draco hadn’t been there to see that shadow reaching down the wall, or feel the desire to control, to swallow, to devour—

            Harry shook himself free of memories and said, “I’ll promise to look at the proof. But I can’t promise to abandon him. He’s a friend, and a business partner.” And maybe more than that, if I can go slowly enough. Their lunch today had nearly ruined that. Harry had found himself rushing into things, touching Draco and leaning into his personal space as if they were lovers already. He’d had to depend on Patty to save them from an all-too-hasty kiss.

            “That’s all I ask,” said Ginny, and her arms rose in a timid, aborted move, as though she might like to hug him. Harry waited patiently, but instead she wrapped them around herself, and moved back as he rose.

            “Thanks for having me here,” Harry said, again careful to keep his hands at his sides and his words neutral and pleasant, and then left, shutting the door gently behind him. He spent some moments standing there, eyes shut, sniffing the perfume that still swirled in the air.

            No, he didn’t think they would ever work together as lovers now. But it still hurt to know that he’d been the one responsible for destroying the chance.

            He left quietly.

*

            “Draco.” Cordelia came in alone that Friday morning, her cloak perfectly dry the moment she stepped into the shop, of course, despite the fact that it was pouring rain outside. No waterproofing charms for her, Draco thought. Her cloak was pure black unicorn hair, which meant water simply refused to touch it. She smiled at him and permitted him to take and kiss her hand. “I assume you have my forty thousand Galleons?”

            She was playing with him, of course. She assumed no such thing. She just wanted to see him crumble in the moments before he had to admit that she owned him, and his shop, and all the potions ingredients, and the entire stock of the Desire potion.

            Draco hesitated for long moments, as though his noble impassive façade were being worn down. Cordelia’s smile grew sharper and brighter, more focused, like sunlight directed through a lens.

            Then he swept a bow, and waved his wand. Out of the corner where it had been sitting, safely beyond the line of sight from the door, a trunk floated. Draco had carefully lightened it before Cordelia had arrived. Even shrunken, forty thousand Galleons were no easy thing to life, and he refused to sweat in front of a creditor.

            His sole creditor, now. Daphne had taken her place, but Daphne wanted other things than money.

            Cordelia stared as Draco settled the trunk in front of her. Her nostrils had flared, and her lips had turned very white. But she still managed to look up and smile at him. “Do you really think I’ll believe this is all of it, Draco darling?” she whispered. “Of course not. You’re keeping something back, aren’t you?”

            Draco faced her unblinking. “Cast any spell you like,” he said. “I’m certain that you know the charms adapted from the diagnostic spells Healers use, which reveal the number of wounds on a human body?” His own ankle throbbed viciously, but he was well-trained enough to conceal it. All he really remembered was that Daphne had had sex with him last night in a contortionist’s posture. “You’ll be able to count the number of Galleons in that trunk if you cast one now.”

            Cordelia did so, never taking her eyes from him. She still looked less deadly than Daphne had last night when she’d welcomed Draco to her home, so Draco could stand there genuinely unimpressed and unmoved.

            Small red numbers appeared above the trunk and began changing, leaping at first by hundreds, and then by thousands, of Galleons. It finally shimmered 40,000 exactly, and Cordelia caught her breath in a long hiss.

            “Do you see?” Draco spread his hands. “I keep my promises. You’re free to go, and we’re done with each other. Of course, you may come back if you ever want to buy some Desire potion from me.” It took all he had to say those last few words without a cackle of glee.

            Slowly, Cordelia’s eyes rose to meet his, and there was hatred there. Draco managed to face her and arch an eyebrow, but it wasn’t easy.

            “This was never about the debts you owed me,” Cordelia whispered. “You are no more than a pest. A nuisance. But a nuisance who will not go away will find himself poisoned.”

            And she Levitated the trunk into the air, then left with it.

            Draco smiled. Very well. Threats were her reaction. He had a pretext to invite Harry and Granger around after all.

            And now, I just need to bore Daphne into letting me go, and I’ll be free to do more important things—like improve the Desire potion. And convince Harry that having me is worth getting his potion out of his system.

*

            Thrnbrooke: Well, Draco is either brave or stupid.

            Mangacat: It’ll be a while until Harry either finds out about Daphne or starts openly dating Draco. And as you can see, Ginny is not working for them.

            Lilith: Harry finds out about Daphne several chapters down the road, and, um, in a bad manner.
- 4
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

An Alchemical Discontent