Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Whatever Tomorrow Brings	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3024 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters portrayed herein. This is made for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
Chapter 5. Beautiful Dirt

Malfoy is in a foul mood in the mornings. That much is obvious to me even without the ability to read his mind.
Today, just like very other morning, he waits for me in the hallway. When I step out of the room, he is there, leaning against the wall, sulking. He hates waiting.
I try to make amends by wishing him good morning. Some days he answers with a muffled grunt, but mostly, like today, he just ignores me, making his way down the stairs without granting me a second glance. Annoyed, I fight the urge to ask him why he even bothers to wait for me if I am such a burden. And as always I am disappointed when I realise that he has to wait for me. If he didn�t, the bond would never let him enjoy his breakfast in peace.
Still, reasonable or no, his attitude pisses me off.

I always thought Malfoys where supposed to have good manners.

�We do when there is reason for it,� Malfoy drawls, not even bothering to look back at me. I feel my ears grow hot from embarrassment, and I bite my cheek as I try to think of a come-back. But Malfoy has disappeared into the kitchen long before I have time to come up with anything witty enough.
�Good morning, boys,� Mrs Weasley greets warmly as we enter. I think Mrs Weasley has adapted best to Malfoy�s presence in the house. I can�t help but feel a little annoyed by it. She always refers to us in plural, never by our separate names, making it even more painfully clear that I am never alone anymore.
�Good morning, Mrs Weasley,� Malfoy answers curtly, taking a seat at the table where breakfast is already set. Glaring at the blond, I repeat his greeting.

Oh, now it befits his Highness to behave himself.

Miffed, I take a seat in the chair next to Malfoy. Being so close to him eases my constant discomfort somewhat, even as it feels silly to sit right next to him when the entire table is surrounded by free chairs. Malfoy however does not react even the slightest, which makes me feel a whole lot better.
Breakfast progresses as any other day. I sit and stare out through the window, answering with the ever-appropriate �Ooh,� or �Mmh,� to Mrs Weasley�s litany about various garden plants, while Malfoy hides behind the morning�s Daily Prophet.
�Oh, Harry,� Mrs Weasley suddenly interrupts her monologue. �I took the liberty of gathering your mail.�
�My mail?� I ask, momentarily caught of guard. �What ma--� I am caught off as I notice the huge pile of letters and boxes in the far corner of the kitchen. Apparently they were to begin with stacked on the chair, but at some point they became too many, and now most of the letters lay scattered all over the floor.
Malfoy also looks forth from behind his the paper to take in the sight. �I was wondering when that was going to catch up with you,� he drawls, raising an amused eyebrow.

�What the hell is this?� I ask no one in particular, staring at the mess.
�I would imagine that that is your fan mail,� Malfoy responds, the mirth shining through his voice. He can barely stop himself from laughing out loud.
I turn to stare at the blond beside me. �Fan mail?� I ask dumbly.
�Well, you�re a hero, aren�t you, Potter?� Malfoy asks, pronouncing the word �hero� as if it tasted particularly bad. �Now more so than ever. You killed the Dark Lord, after all. Or did you think that you could just get away with that and not be remembered afterwards?�
Unfortunately, I have to admit that Malfoy is right. Still, I feel the strong urge to hit him just now, just to wipe the malicious sneer off his face.
�Actually, I�m surprised this didn�t happen sooner,� the blond continues, very conscious and very pleased about the murderous looks I am directing at him. �Who knew it would take them a week to figure out where you are hiding?�
�Oh God!� I sigh, barely resisting the urge to hit my forehead to the table.
�Why so blue, Harry?� asks Fred, who in precisely that moment decides to walk into the room, followed by his brother. �Was Malfoy too rough with you?� Both twins burst out into laughter.
�Fred! George!� Mrs Weasley explodes, while I can only manage to stare at the twins in shock. I glance over at Malfoy, who surprisingly enough looks just as horrified as I do. I guess only the Weasley twins can cause him to loose his calm.
�Very funny, guys,� I mutter, feeling an embarrassed blush spread over my face. The twins are still roaring with laughter as they take a seat by the table.
�Sorry, Harry,� George says lightly, very aware that his apology doesn�t convince anyone. In spite of myself, I feel an amused smile spread on my face. Malfoy apparently doesn�t find the situation as funny.
�Thank you,� he says to Mrs Weasley, pushing his chair away from the table and rising from his seat. Newspaper in hand he stalks out of the kitchen. I feel a painful tug in my chest.
�Now look what you did!� Mrs Weasley hisses at her sons, as she cleans away Malfoy�s teacup and his plate with a half-eaten piece of toast still on it.
I sigh dejectedly, stuffing the last piece of my toast into my mouth and standing up. �I�d better go check on him,� I murmur, not looking the twins in the eyes, not caring to see their reactions.
I find him in the living room, sprawled in the large armchair in the far corner of the room. He doesn�t even look up as I enter the room, he probably sensed that I was coming, anyway.
�Hi,� I greet him, cautiously taking a seat on the couch next to his chair. Malfoy only huffs in response. I look over his shoulder and see that he is using a red pencil to circle spelling errors in the Daily Prophet. It is all I can do not to laugh out loud.
�Don�t mind them,� I say, wondering if it is for Malfoy�s sake or mine that I try to justify the twins� actions. �In time, one learns to ignore their comments.�
Malfoy doesn�t answer, but keeps his focus solemnly on the newspaper, the side of his mouth twitching as it always does when he is particularly irritated.
I wonder why I even bother. If he so stubbornly chooses to be in a foul mood, why should I care? It�s not my problem.
I sigh deeply, slouching back into the couch. Who am I kidding? Of course it�s my problem. If it wasn�t, I wouldn�t be here now, would I?
The bond really puts me in a ridiculous situation. Malfoy�s arrogance and stubborn hostility is really getting on my nerves. During the majority of the day I would like nothing more than to hex him into next Wednesday. But naturally, the bond prevents me from doing that. So I am left with using desperate and often ludicrous methods to try and make Malfoy feel even the slightest bit less rancorous. Methods that often fail miserably, only resulting in another vicious glare from Malfoy.
Once again, I am forced to take to such drastic methods.
I rise from my seat and march out into the kitchen. Malfoy looks up briefly as I leave, but says nothing. I approach the pile of letters by the chair and sweep them up in my arms, feeling quite a few of them crumple in my hands. I march out into the living room and drop the heap down onto the coffee table, causing Malfoy to look up in surprise.
�What the hell are you doing?� he asks, arching a confused eyebrow at me as I slump down onto the couch once again.
�I am going through my mail,� I state in an exaggeratedly self-important manner, reaching for the letter on top of the pile and proceeding to read its entire content aloud. I almost expect Malfoy to leave, but he merely turns back to reading his newspaper. Though I suspect he is at least partially listening to me, for he takes to huffing sardonically whenever I read something particularly idiotic.
Then again, he might just be laughing at me.
____________________________________________________

�Give me that,� I order, reaching for the chocolate box in Potter�s hand. �I like the one with truffle.�
Potter chuckles, but hands me the box without objections. �And you dared to make fun of my fan mail,� he teases, tearing up another letter and tossing it to the growing pile of paper chaff.
I scoff, taking a bite of the candy. �I still make fun of your fan mail. I�m just praising the refined taste your aficionados seem to have. It�s a pity they don�t have the same taste when choosing whom to worship.�
�Ha ha,� Potter mutters. �Very funny.�
I leer smugly, gazing over the assorted letters, still scattered over the floor and coffee table. �What was that one from the ministry?�
�Ones,� Potter corrects me, frowning. �Plural. They want me to partake in a number of different events to celebrate the victory. And apparently they are very ticked off by not being able to reach me earlier.�
�Fancy that,� I grin, gaining an annoyed glare from Potter. �No Order of Merlin yet?�
A faint flush spreads over Potter�s face, and he nods abashed. �First Class.�
I nod. �You aren�t surprised, are you?� I mock, cocking an eyebrow at the Gryffindor. He sneers at me and doesn�t answer, but raises a hand to hit me over the head. I manage to grab him by the wrist to prevent it, but regret it almost immediately.
A shock seems to travel through my entire body at the touch, electricity flexing between his skin and mine. I stare at Potter, my eyes locked with his, mid glassed, wide stare mirroring mine. My mouth goes instantly dry and I feel short of breath. It takes me far too long to gain the presence of mind to pull my hand away.

Fucking bond.

�I-- uhm�� Potter begins, rubbing his wrist absentmindedly with his other hand and refusing to meet my gaze. My hand still tingles with the memory of his touch.
�New rule,� I state as soon as my vocal chords begin to function properly again. �No touching.�
Potter nods, swallowing loudly.
�No touching.�

____________________________________________________

I curse myself for my carelessness for the rest of the day. This is precisely what I feared. That I would grow too accustomed to Potter�s presence, too comfortable around him. If I had only maintained my own boundaries, Potter would never have gotten the ridiculous idea to approach me in any way. He would never in a million years have tried to smack me over the head in that manner.
But it becomes ever easier, letting go of my enmity against Potter. I can manage to hold on to it whenever we are in the presence of those dratted Weasleys, always making crude comments and making fun of me. But when I am alone with Potter, even as I do my best to drive him away, he is there. He talks about whatever inane thing that crosses his brain, and is determined to include me in whatever it is that he is doing. And it becomes impossible to send him away.
His presence eases the iron band that seems to be wrapped around my chest, the band that brutally tightens its hold whenever the bond is strained. Potter�s asinine blabbering, the simplicity of his company has a calming effect that I am rapidly growing tired of denying.
But it is not his company that unnerves me. It is what might follow that does.
Suddenly a whooshing sound is head from the fireplace, and I look up to see green flames rise from the ashes. Out steps Mrs Weasley, back from her daily visit to St. Mungo�s. Surprisingly enough, she is quickly followed by another figure it does not take me long to recognise.
�Hermione!� Potter exclaims, flying to his feet. Granger has barely set foot in the room before she has thrown herself around Potter�s neck. As ludicrous as it is, I feel a sharp sting of jealousy at watching their closeness.
�Harry, I�m so glad to see that you�re OK!� Granger gushes, pulling back from the embrace.
�Nevermind me, how are you?� Potter scoffs, gazing at his friend anxiously.
Granger looks tired, but she smiles widely �Oh, I�m fine now. You know healers, they are always a little overprotective. If it had been up to me, I would have come home days ago.�
�It was just as well that you stayed and rested properly,� Mrs Weasley points out, but she looks very pleased at having the girl here. The woman looks wary as she continues.
�I left Ron�s room just as it was for you,� she says softly, uncertainly taking in Granger�s reaction. I myself am very relieved to find that Granger doesn�t immediately burst out in tears, even though she looks quite shook at the mentioning Weasley.
�Thank you,� she croaks, her voice betraying her.
A tense and heavy silence fills the room, the kind of silence shared by a group of people that have shared something intimately, people who grieve something together.
I feel ridiculously out of place.
Unable to bear it, I rise from my seat. �I think I will retire to my room now,� I declare in a manner that must sound very insensitive, walking swiftly through the room. Granger stares at me in surprise, I gather that she hadn�t even realised that I was in the room. I don�t have the time to take in the reactions of Potter and Mrs Weasley.
I ascend the stairs to the upper floors hastily, feeling the iron band tighten its hold with every step. I find it almost impossible to breathe by the time I reach my bedroom. The discomfort doesn�t stay that painful for long, soon I can sense Potter climbing the stairs after me. But unfortunately I can also sense that he is very pissed off, and the thought doesn�t exactly meliorate my mood.
I don�t even bother to act surprised when he bursts through my door.
�What the hell is wrong with you?� he yells out, glaring daggers at me.
I raise an innocent eyebrow. �What are you talking about?�
�I don�t expect you to mourn Ron. I don�t even expect you to pretend that you do,� he says, the statement causing my eyebrows to dramatically approach my hairline. �But I do expect you to have the decency to show Hermione some respect!�
I can�t help the huff that escapes me. �Don�t kid yourself, Potter. Granger doesn�t want my sympathy. Most likely she just wants me to stay out of her face so she won�t have to think about me living in this house.�
I sneer at Potter. �This is just about you, taking out your anger on me.� Potter stares at me, hurt and enraged, clenching his fists in frustration. I know I have already said too much, but I can�t control myself anymore. I leer viciously, taking a step closer to the inky-haired boy. �Granger doesn�t give a fuck what I do. This is all about you and your hurt feelings!�
Too late I realise that I have taken things too far.
Potter raises his arm, and I am already about to duck out of the way of the blow when I feel him grab my collar. He pulls me towards him, slamming his lips down on mine, wrapping a strong arm around my back. My body is overwhelmed by the sensation of his touch, the contact sending sparks through my entire body, my legs turning to jelly. It is so bad, so wrong, and so perfect that I can do nothing but wrap my arms around Potter�s neck and drown in the sensation. It is only when Potter opens his mouth and lets out a loud groan of satisfaction that I become conscious of myself and the entire situation.
I push him away violently, taking a few staggering steps backwards as I stare at the Gryffindor. He stares back, his eyes wide and his skin flushed pink, probably a mirror image of my own.
�Get out!� I order, my voice husky and breathy and sounding very little like a command. But Potter nods, swallowing loudly once before making a run for the door. As the door slams shut, I feel all my strength drain out of me, and I slide down onto the floor.
�Shit.�
I can�t send him away. And I can�t be near him at the risk of� This. It all seems so simple, so safe, until something happens. The smallest of things, the lightest touch of a hand, a strong fit of emotion. And suddenly his presence is not nearly enough, I need more and so does he. I can feel his want, hear it screaming in his mind. Pulling away is shear agony.
And the fear of one day not being able to resist it is driving me utterly insane.

____________________________________________________

TBC
- 4
- 5
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Whatever Tomorrow Brings