Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Conscience	By : sordidhumors Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 15282 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: This story is based on "Harry Potter, " the novels and subsequent films created by JK Rowling, licensed to various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Bros. This e-publication makes no profit.

Chapter List
- 50
- 51
- 52
SUMMARY: Harry Potter being a regular teenager.

WARNINGS: coming out, which is squicky to some, but done in our usual tasteful manner

DISCLAIMER: “Make Love To Me Forever” by Gary Lightbody of Snow Patrol, released March of 2001 by Jeepster Records.

CONSCIENCE:

BERETTA –

MAKE LOVE TO ME FOREVER

It took half the time

I am still afraid

So stay by my side

And hold on to my hand

Try to teach me that

I'm alright, I guess

“Make Love To Me Forever”

Snow Patrol

Harry covered his nose as he entered the kitchen.

“No offence, Mrs. Harper,” he said from behind his hand. “But it smells awful in here.” The stench was a combination of wet hay and manure. He wondered what could have come through Mrs. Harper’s kitchen—she normally kept the place spotless.

She was using a Bubble Head Charm to keep the smell away from her face. Her entire head was covered by a thin membrane as she Scourgify-ed the countertops and floor over and over again, her wand waving and bubbles foaming along almost every surface.

“Leo’s ‘ad an owl from zee Minister of Magic,” she explained. Her voice was only a little garbled by the bubble around her blonde head.

Harry stepped back as a trail of bubbles neared his bare feet. He kept backing up until his feet were on the hard wood of the hallway. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

Charlene shrugged. Then her face brightened, twin patches of pink blooming on her cheeks. “I ‘ave an idea! Let’s get oot of ‘ere.”

Harry nodded, Summoning his trainers. “Sure.”

Anything to get away from the smell.

- - -

Charlene was treating him differently. Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it, of course, but he could feel it, like a temperature drop—like accidentally walking through Nearly Headless Nick. He licked at the backs of his teeth, trying to figure it out.

She'd gotten him out of work again, which was always nice. He liked their afternoons spent casting household charms and watching muggle movies on tele. It gave him time to decompress, to let the crazy things he saw settle at the back of his head, to ferment into inspiration.

But today Charlene had them driving through a Trans-Location Barrier, headed for an upscale shopping mall somewhere outside Chicago. She said she had Christmas shopping to do and wanted Harry's opinion. Harry followed her through the glitzy shopping center, biting the inside of his cheek.

Mrs. Harper fluttered from one store to the next, picking up this and that, humming along to the many holiday carols playing over each store’s speakers. He left her to it, making his way through the happy muggles and their mounds of red and green shopping bags. He stopped at a coffee stall, mostly for something to do, picking up a latte and sipping at it as he walked. He wandered through a muggle book shop, picking up a book of chess strategies for Ron. He found a shop which sold nothing but socks and bought several odd pairs for Dobby. One pair would reach up past the elf’s knobbly knees; they bore the crest of Superman, and even had miniature red capes sewn into the elastic band. Harry figured he could charm the little capes to flap in a nonexistent breeze. Dobby would love them.

He thought about getting something awful for Kreacher—a bent-up coat hanger, perhaps, or a dirty sock with which to set him free. He chuckled to himself a moment before his face fell. The Dursleys had given him much of the same over the years. He knew how awful it was not to look forward to Christmas—to have nothing in your stocking, no love or compassion from your family. He couldn’t bring himself to knowingly inflict that kind of pain on another being—even if it was Kreacher, the nasty piece of work at least partially responsible for Sirius’ death. It wasn’t about love for Kreacher: it was a matter of honor. He wouldn’t do to Kreacher what had been done to him.

So he located a pet shop and purchased a fluffy, medium-sized dog bed. The woman in the shop said it was the nicest they had. Now Kreacher would have something better to sleep on than a pile of old motorcycle parts and rags. Harry felt better about himself as he set out to rejoin Charlene.

He half-heartedly tried to find something for Draco. But nothing seemed quite right. It was all muggle and trite. Draco needed something special, one-of-a-kind, like him. Harry would have to go somewhere out his way if he wanted to find something suitable—Paris, maybe. He borrowed Mrs. Harper's car keys and stowed their packages while she messed about in a fancy French lotions shop. After, she insisted on taking him to lunch.

The restaurant had Christmas music playing, too. She said it was how American radio stations did things—that Christmas carols started a few days after Halloween and didn't let up until the New Year. Their waitress sat them in a booth, out of the way and not too close to any of the speakers blaring holiday carols. It was not lost on Harry when Charlene slipped the muggle girl a ten dollar bill.

“‘Arry,” Charlene began, fingers wrapped around her water glass. “Zere's something I've been meaning to speak to yoo about. Yoo're not in trouble, cher,” she added warmly. It sounded like something she might've said time and time again to her son. Charlene wasn't a strict woman. It was difficult to get on her bad side. Sometimes Harry wondered if she even had one. She seemed to like almost everything and everyone, tolerating life's troubles with a patience that was saint-like.

Harry rearranged his legs beneath the table. “Okaaay. What’s up?”

Charlene seemed fascinated by the woodgrain of the table. Her eyes fixed on it, following the lines to where they fell off the table. She wouldn’t look up at Harry. “I was in yoor room zee other day, picking up zee laundry... and I found...” her lips closed as she swallowed. “I don't want yoo to lie to me, 'Arry. Its always best to 'ave zese zings out in zee open. Yoor friend, zee Malfoy boy....” The French surname rolled easily from her togue. “Yoo're in love with 'im, aren't yoo?”

Shit. She'd found the bloody photographs.

Harry swallowed too, and thickly. He hated talking about this shit—hated it. He loved Draco. He did; but his feelings were private. They weren’t anyone’s business but his and Draco’s. And where he shoved his prick shouldn't matter in the larger scheme of things... but it did. The deviant desires of his trousers were apparently fascinating to people, along with politically-charged and potentially morally offensive. It shouldn't be, but it was. He sighed. His life would be one hell of a lot easier if he weren't Harry Potter.

“Er....” He paused. There was nothing to be ashamed of. He started again. “Yeah. Draco's my best mate. And he's also my, uh, my boyfriend.” Stupid word, he thought. But there was no other language appropriate for what they were. They snogged their brains out, kissed and groped and fucked in broom cupboards and were both chaps. They were gay boyfriends. That was the way people would understand it. They were all thinking it—those who knew, like Ron and Hermione. Even Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall, though adults generally pretended to take it better than Harry’s teenage compatriots. They still thought it in the backs of their heads, though, so he might as well come out and say it first: gay boyfriends, gay boyfriends, gay boyfriends. Bloody hell.

“Neither of us are gay, exactly. I had a girlfriend before, but we broke up and... it just sort of happened with Draco and me. We're ruddy of perfect for each other, in a weird way,” he scratched the back of his neck, resisting a nervous chuckle. “It makes me angry sometimes, that I was too thick to see it before. We nearly missed each other. But I got lucky. Really lucky. He decided to stick around and give me a chance. I just... I fell in love. Hopelessly. We both did.”

Charlene was looking at him as though he were a seven-headed grindylow in a glass case. Like she didn't know what to make of him. He wondered if coming out made everyone feel this way, or if he was just a particular type of freak. It felt as though he were unzipping his skin to reveal an ugly, horrible monster. And it scared him just as much as the people he showed it to. Maybe more.

“We're gonna come out publicly once the war's over,” he offereed to fill the silence. “Seems the best way to do it. I don't want him to be any more of a target than he already is, and I don’t want to hinder the war effort. Something tells me people might treat me different if they knew I was with a bloke.”

Charlene’s jaw wobbled.

“‘Arry...” she mumbled. “Je suis désolée.” She blinked profusely. It took a moment for Harry to detect the sheen of tears in her watery blue eyes.

“You’re... sorry?” Harry inferred. His French was only slightly better for Draco’s tutelage. “What for?”

“Yoo don’t want anyone to treat yoo differently, yet zat’s exactly what I did.” She reached across the table, offering her hand, palm up.

Harry took her hand, flipped it, brought the back of her pretty, age-spotted hand to his mouth and kissed it. The move was very Draco. Charlene squeezed his fingers and smiled weakly.

“S’okay,” he told her.”You’re reacting a lot better than my friends—better than a lot of the people I’ve told back home, actually.” Harry remembered Remus Lupin screaming at him, and Headmistress McGonagall’s frighteningly arched brows stabbing at him through the floo. Charlene’s apology was welcome by comparison. He squeezed her hand back. “Thanks for... you know... being cool about it. This is different for me.” He sighed. “No one’s storming out, or accusing me of being under the Imperius Curse. Guess I’m getting better at this ‘coming out’ bollocks.”

“And... ‘ave you liked boys before?” she asked tentatively.

Harry gave himself a moment to think about it—really consider. What came out of his mouth surprised him. “I thought I fancied girls. Turns out what I like is less... black and white. I always went for girls who were unique, who were very exotic and magical. But looking back, I think there were a few blokes I noticed for the same reasons. My Defence Against The Dark Arts instructor during my third year, Remus Lupin... he went to school with my Dad and they were friends, so I figured that was the reason I spent so much time with him—to learn more about my Dad. But maybe a part of me fancied how strong a wizard he is. He’s a werewolf, too, and it would seem I get off on a bit of danger, so... yeah. I might’ve had a bit of a crush on him.” Harry chewed the inside of his cheek. “Then Cedric Diggory. We fancied the same girl during the Triwizard. He was always so handsome and talented and perfect. I was jealous. I wanted to be like him, once I got the zits off my face and girls started noticing me. Cedric was bloody perfect: standing next to him made me feel like a toad. I dunno what-all that means but... maybe, without the tournament getting in the way, I could’ve had some feelings for him, too.”

“Woold yoo say yoo’re bisexual, then?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry toyed with his napkin draped over one knee. “I mean, I’ve never looked at a bloke before and wanted to snog him, like I do with girls. It happened with Draco over time but... he’s different... he’s special. I couldn’t imagine myself being happy with a guy. But I can’t imagine myself being happy with anyone who isn’t Draco, so... maybe I’m gay for him.” Harry snorted. “That’s what Malaya says, anyways.”

“Yoo should spend zee holidays together,” Charlene suggested suddenly, perking up.

“Christmas?” Harry sat back in the booth, releasing Mrs. Harper’s hand. He stuffed his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. The garment had been Gideon Harper’s; golden yellow, and emblazoned with the words “Ohio State University” in white embroidery across the chest. The size was about right, if a little long in the sleeves. “I hadn’t really thought about Christmas. I usually spend it with my friend Ron’s family. But Ron and Draco don’t exactly get on.”

“Zen go away,” Charlene shrugged easily. “Take a vacation, just zee two of yoo.”

Harry was actually considering it. “That could work,” he mused. “But it would have to be someplace muggle. We can’t run into other wizards and risk the Death Eaters getting tipped off. Maybe somewhere a little isolated... but Draco’s fussy. It’s not like I can borrow a tent and drag him off to some mountainside in Finland.” He could picture Draco’s face—the blonde would filet him alive with nothing but those silver eyes and a careful flick of his wand. “He’s an old-fashioned pureblood chap. Likes his amenities. Hot water and such, you know?”

Charlene’s smile broadened. “I know ze perfect place.”
- 50
- 51
- 52
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

Conscience