Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Shards Of His Beloved	By : EvilConcubine Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 18387 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
To anon: Thank you! It's very nice of you :). I promise you're going to get all the answers!

To Nubia: Thanks! Enjoy the next one, please!

To kat: Thanks for reviewing!

To Deylyn: Thank you! Harry is a stubborn person.

To liebe herz: Thanks!

To luvdreams: What do you think about finding it out together with Harry? :) And thanks for your comment!

To thrnbrooke: Yes, I love heroic Harry, too! Thank you!

To Ruri_Hiwatari: Having only one complete story and only several chapters of the other one and being called a favourite author is so flattering! Thanks so much! And, no, I'm not leaving this story; I enjoy writing it very much and I have a lot more to say :). Thanks again!

To Sparrowbirdie: Wow! Thank you! Somehow I've always compared the internal pain and anxiety with a spider or something similar, even if I don't remember myself having an actual breakdown. I'm so glad you liked it! And I'm a bit of a sucker for history and mythology, so I just couldn't help it :). And what can be more soothing than stories that mean to distract? Thanks a lot!

To Grey_Archangel: Thanks!

To moodysavage: Thank you! Some answers for you in the new chapter! :)

To Bitterpill: Of course, I won't abandon it! Thanks!

To Ahren_Black: Thank you so much! Here's the new chapter :).

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6. Learning More about You



     Harry entered the holding cell where Draco had been kept. It was empty right now, and, as Harry had been told, only one prisoner had occupied it after Draco. Even if there had been any signs of committed crime, they were long gone. Clean pillowcase, blanket and sheet were folded on the edge of the bed, the mattress was rolled up. He couldn't even be sure if it had really happened right here.

     He knew that there were eight guards, responsible for keeping order in this long corridor. They worked in shifts, and there were always two of them at work. Covertly Harry watched each one of them. They all looked, more or less, decent. All had families, most had children. When he scrutinised their files, he only found two incidents of misconduct; one of the guard had turned up at work tipsy and had been sent home. It had happened twice and the second time had put him on the verge of losing his job. But both times had happened more than a year ago. All in all, all eight of them were considered good workers. But Harry knew it wasn't as unclouded as it seemed. One of them had been paid for an access to Draco's cell; according to Draco's hysterical words, anyway. Harry didn't really have any particular reason not to believe Draco, but the blond had probably gained this information from the rapist, so Harry couldn't be sure of its reliability. On the other hand, how else could anyone just unlock the door of the cell and enter unnoticed by the guards? Gods... Draco knew all of it, or some of it, in any case. Just a couple of Draco's words could clear it up. But Harry had already decided not to bother the blond with it. It would only hurt him, and it was the last thing Harry wanted. After all, Draco was recovering, and nothing had to ruin it for him. Harry was quite accustomed that nothing was easy for him.

     Finding nothing useful at all, Harry decided to use the spell he really didn't enjoy using. It made walls earn ears. Figuratively. It meant that for a day Harry was going to hear everything that was going to take place in this corridor. He hated the spell, because it made the caster unable to fully concentrate on their real surroundings. It was like hearing two different songs simultaneously, with no way to turn the volume down. He had nothing important to do in a few days, so he decided to use it, though he was quite sceptical about it. It wasn't like he hoped to hear the guards joyfully discussing that one of them had done something bad enough to be locked inside one of these cells.

     And he was right. He cast the spell for four days on end, earned himself a terrible headache and another argument with Ginny for not hearing her when she'd told him something several times. All of it was to no avail. How on earth was he going to find the bastard?! All possible ways were against the law. Of course, he could take the guilty guard by surprise, make him nervous, but if the scoundrel had nerves of steel, Harry only risked making him warn the rapist somehow to keep a low profile for some time. But there was nothing else he could think of. He had to provoke the bribed guard. All eight of them had something to lose: job, family, so provocation could happen to be a good option.

     The owl delivered a note when the young, but tired man was leaving the building after his shift.

Dear Mr Stephenson,

People say you can arrange rather personal meetings with your prisoners. They also say that the price is quite nominal. I find myself in need of such a favour and will contact you soon enough for more details.

     His face was puzzled and even a bit angry at first; he looked slandered; but then he yawned, crumpled the note and threw it away. Harry was watching him carefully, standing rather close to him under his invisibility cloak. No, this guard undoubtedly had nothing to do with all of it. Nothing had made Harry think otherwise. But he knew he couldn't waste any time, because if one of them mentioned it in conversations with the others, the one Harry was looking for would be ready to get the same message and would try his best to look calm.

     The second one got the similar message, addressed personally to him, when he was walking with his little daughter in the park. He just frowned a little and it seemed he read the note several times as if trying to solve some puzzle. He didn't seem very bright and Harry was sure if he knew something, it would've already appeared on his face. The man lighted the pipe, as if it was going to help him to think. He reread the note again, but then his chubby daughter distracted him, asking to go to the lake with her, so the note was forgotten.

     The third one was leaving the souvenir shop in wizarding London when the owl found him. Harry was carefully watching the man, whose name was Silvanus Whitford, when he unfolded the note. It took seconds for his relaxed face to distort in panic and become as pale as ash. The man started to look around and then disapparated. Harry was an auror, so he had certain skills to chase disapparating criminals, and he followed with his heart beating fast, since he just knew that he was close to making a real progress in his investigation. Surprisingly, the panicked guard apparated right to the auror Department where he worked. Harry kept hiding under his cloak and followed him inside the building. The man stormed into one of the offices and stopped in front of some large, dark-haired and, at the moment, busy-looking auror, who was sitting at the desk and writing something. He stopped writing and looked up at the seething man.

"Dawson, what the fuck is wrong with you? !" the guard yelled and swept everything off the desk. The pile of papers and the inkpot fell on the floor and scattered about it.

"What's the meaning of this?" the auror hissed. His voice sounded slightly hoarse.

"You said you wouldn't blab out anything about Malfoy! Whom did you tell about your little adventure?!"

"Are you fucking daft? Lower your voice at once. And who do you take me for?"

"Then explain this," the guard growled and gave him Harry's note.

"Don't bother," Harry said, taking his cloak off and becoming visible to both astounded men. "I can explain. You're both under arrest on suspicion of rape."

"You have no right!" the auror hissed, already raising his hand that was holding the wand firmly. Harry was really fast, disarming them, spelling shackles on both of them and silencing them. He didn't want to hear the bastards. As he guided his scandalised captives to the fireplaces, he flooed together with them to his own department, right into the office of his captain, Stephen Barrett, who'd been warned about Harry's plan beforehand. The captain definitely wasn't pleased that one of Harry's captives wore the auror robes.

     The big man, the auror Nathaniel Dawson was sitting in one of the interrogation rooms. Harry was there together with his captain and the other auror.

"What makes you think any violation took place at all? I say he wanted it just as badly as I did," the bastard said arrogantly. It took Harry all his willpower not to punch him in his tan face that was already showing the signs of aging.

"Do you expect anyone to believe it?" Harry hissed.

"To believe what, Mister Potter? That the sweet little blondie bent over for me and was just dying to take my prick up his arse? Well, I did what he'd asked for and took him. I know it's against the rules to have such kind of intercourse with prisoners, and I'm ready to answer for it. But rape? No. He was lonely and upset, so he wanted some company."

     The interrogation was tiresome. Dawson denied everything. Harry seethed. Why the hell the idiotic law made it so complicated to use Veritaserum? But, no! Of course, some fighters for the human rights had been protesting since the time the truth serum had been invented, making fuss that the interrogators abused their power and asked too many personal questions, which humiliated people; and, of course, the serum wasn't very good for their health. Oh, poor rapists and murderers! At the same time, since after the end of the war up until these days, everyone who had been following Voldemort and those who were just suspected in being involved in something like that (often those were absolutely groundless suspicions, and a lot of people were arrested and temporarily detained with the help of 'good' and 'vigilant' neighbours or someone else), were drugged up to the eyeballs without a question and no warrant was required. And even when suspicions were justified, did that mean that some murderers were better than others? Harry never understood such things.

     Feeling that all attempts were fruitless, Harry decided to visit the other bastard in the next room. The guard seemed to be a less composed person, and the arrest had made him panic more than self-assured Dawson. Harry took a deep breath and, making sure his face showed some triumph, entered the room. The shackled guard looked startled.

"Well, it is decided, Mister Whitford. You're going to be detained until your trial in two weeks. And, most likely, you're going to be sentenced to many years in Azkaban. Your friend told us everything we wanted to know," Harry said with a small smile. He did his best to speak confidently.

"No... I just... Why?" the man panicked even more.

"For raping the prisoner, obviously. Your friend in the next room has just confessed that two of you had raped Draco Malfoy in his holding cell that you had opened, since you had an access to all the keys, due to your position," Harry replied calmly. There was a small risk that the rape hadn't taken place in the holding cell, but Harry relied on his intuition.

"He's lying!" Silvanus Whitford exclaimed in terror.

"Well, I don't know, he was very convincing. You have something to add?" Harry shrugged unenthusiastically, looking like he had something else to do, instead of being here.

"Of course, I do! I'm not a rapist. It was he who was insane about that prisoner. He did that. Only he," the man said. Harry sat down in front of him. Perhaps, the hat had really had reasons for wanting to put him in Slytherin?

"I'm listening," he said. "Tell me the truth if you don't want to get as much years in Azkaban as your friend. The truth, Mister Whitford."

"Yes... You see, Dawson and I have known each other for a long time. We often played poker together. It's a muggle card game and..."

"I know what poker is. Go on."

"Almost six months ago I lost the big game. I haven't played since then. I owed him money. It wasn't really much, but... I couldn't find it to pay the debt. He wanted his money, and I have a wife and two children, so I've been doing my best to make ends meet. And then, one day, he visited me when I was at my post. He accidentally looked into Malfoy's cell through the window in the door. Malfoy was sleeping. Dawson asked me if it was really Malfoy. I confirmed it. The next day Dawson returned and watched him again. This time he was standing there longer. I didn't know why he was that interested. But then he offered me to release me from my debt for a 'little favour'. He wanted me to let him into the cell, so he could... have his way with Malfoy. Dawson has never been a model auror, but it was too much. I even thought he was joking. But he wasn't. At first I was angry at him for asking me for anything like that. But then he started to demand his money and it... convinced me. He picked one night when my partner was ill, so I was alone at my post for several hours. Dawson promised not to make any obvious damage. But he... He had a knife with him; he swore it was just to scare the boy. He swore he wasn't going to use it. I cast the spell to soundproof that part of the corridor, and let him enter... He gave me two Galleons just... just for fun," the man quietened down. He looked guilty with his eyes cast down, but that didn't make Harry feel any sympathy for him.

"Did you see what happened in that cell?" He asked quietly.

"No."

"But you can confirm that it was a rape?"

"Yes, definitely. I didn't see what happened there, but I was staying close to the cell on the watch, to make sure no one was coming there. I was inside of the soundproof area, so I heard everything. I heard Malfoy screaming and crying. He begged Dawson to stop. I still remember him crying," Whitford sighed. Harry closed his eyes at this. It hurt. A lot. To avoid hurting himself any further, he forced himself not to concentrate on the images in his head. He forced himself to think that the victim was someone else, someone faceless and unfamiliar, not Draco. He had to do it, to do his job well, without any personal emotions.

"Go on..."

"Dawson just left the cell, looking pleased. Later he said he'd made sure Malfoy hadn't seen his face and he'd probably threatened the boy, too. The next time I saw Malfoy in a few days, maybe in two or three days, he looked unwell. I... escorted him to the shower room; I knew he hadn't been escorted to use the shower since that night. I remember I even laughed internally... No.... It wasn't like I was gloating or something, I rather was just glad that I'd been released from my debt. It was the last time I saw him; as far as I know, he was sold shortly after that. If I could turn back time, I'm not sure I'd do something like that again. I... I don't know."

"Anything else?"

"No," the man shook his head. Harry left the room silently.

     During this day the other seven guards were also interrogated. One of them (the youngest one, the first one who had received Harry's provocative message) confirmed that he'd seen Dawson near Draco's holding cell two times. The auror had watched Draco sleeping. When the guard had asked him what he wanted, the older man had only answered that it was merely a precautionary measure. He'd said he wanted to make sure Malfoy wouldn't escape or something. The guard thought it was odd, but he'd found nothing to worry about, especially given that the second time was the last time he'd seen Dawson there.

     Harry's plan had worked and the scum that had forced himself on Draco was going to pay. Dawson wasn't so cheerful anymore, as he'd found out that Whitford had told everything and later even asked to give him Veritaserum, so everyone would know that his every word against Dawson was true.

     It was Harry who escorted Dawson to the holding cell in the department where he, Harry, worked. It was going to be the bastard's home before the trial and before Azkaban. Roughly he pushed the bigger man inside the cell and locked the barred door, giving him a look full of loathing.

"I'm impressed with your work, Mister Potter," Dawson smirked darkly, stopping Harry from leaving. The younger wizard looked at him again.

"That's because you're just another sadistic pig and an idiot that believed that he could do anything with impunity. Enjoy your stay. Even this cell is too decent for someone like you, but that's all right; Azkaban isn't this cosy," Harry hissed. Dawson quirked up the corners of his mouth in wry smile.

"Now this is quite unexpected," he chuckled. "So much passion. Looks like you're really upset; but, I believe, that's just because you still don't realise how much power you have," he lowered his voice almost to the whisper. "How unfortunate; having him as a slave and having no guts to do what I did. You do want that, don't you? You should try some time. I could tell you how it felt. I could tell you how it felt, having control over him, having him squirming under me. I assure you, Mister Potter, I've made it unforgettable for him..." His speech was interrupted by a powerful blow in his face. Harry's fist had made its way between the steel bars and collided with the bastard's jaw. The strike was as fast and as accurate as viper's. Dawson didn't make a sound, but reeled back and grabbed his face, screwing up his eyes. Harry was almost sure that the swine was going to lose a couple of posterior teeth, but he couldn't care less right now; just like he couldn't care that he would have to explain this to his captain. Seething with anger, he quickly left while he still could refrain from breaking every single bone the rapist possessed.

     Draco was finally recovering from his illness, and the painful weakness was slowly leaving his body. He wasn't talking to anyone, but he was eating, drinking, taking his potions and getting up without any help. He didn't want Potter's help. He'd just had no choice but to accept it, but now that he could do without it, he didn't want Potter anywhere near him.

     He knew that the house was watched. He saw people outside, but even when he didn't see them, somehow he knew they were there. They were dressed in a muggle clothes, but Draco was a wizard, so he was capable of tell muggles from wizards. Well, at least, some of them. Potters also had a guest that had been living with them for about a week now. He was occupying one of the guest bedrooms and he was undoubtedly an auror. Draco could tell that he wasn't a friend of the family; he was more like just Potter's colleague. Draco never even saw them talking in a friendly manner. But when Potter or his wife went for a walk with children or somewhere else, the man silently accompanied them. Something was happening and Potter's family needed protection. At first Draco felt curious, but then decided that he didn't care. Sometimes he heard the way Potter was arguing with his wife about something, but Draco couldn't understand what it was all about. Very likely, it had something to do with their current situation. Potter's wife had a talent to produce such a terribly annoying shrill when they were arguing that it was unbearable to hear it even from the distance.

     Soon the curse, his slave driver, demanded him to start working. He started without even warning his owners first. The sink was full of dirty dishes and the kitchen itself didn't look really tidy after Ginny's cooking. Unfortunately, Potter's bitch turned up to have a glass of water. She was in a foul mood; it was evident from the start.

"Finally," she exclaimed. "Have you already returned to your duties and quitted feigning that dubious illness? Your pathetic dying swan show doesn't work for me, you know. I just think you're lazy and you just wanted others to pity you, so you wouldn't have to work. You should be glad that you live in this house. Most slaves live in much worse conditions. Harry's too kind, so he tolerates your behaviour, but I'm warning you, if you do not work and keep making troubles, I'll convince Harry to sell you to someone else. I won't let you ruin my family. You already cause us too much trouble," she frowned. Draco didn't bother to answer; he just glared at her, making sure she saw that he wasn't impressed. It was obvious that she was trying to wreak her vexation on him, and he didn't want to provoke the curse, telling her what he really thought of her, which wasn't something flattering, to put it lightly. As far as he knew, he'd been in no condition lately to 'cause trouble', so she could go fuck herself. Although, in his thoughts he wished her to go somewhere and die, it wasn't something really new for him to hear something like this from her. Many times he'd already heard her saying how he should be grateful and happy that Potter had picked up such a useless person, like a stray animal.

"I'm having a small party today. You're going to serve us some tea and a light snack," Ginny ordered. "It's already prepared," she added. And Draco knew that it was going to be a really foul day.

"Draco, how are you?" Potter asked, entering the kitchen. He was a bit surprised to see the blond washing the dishes. He'd hoped that the curse would give Draco a few more days. The blond only sighed in annoyance, wondering if he should answer, though he didn't know what, at any rate.

"Why are you even asking?" Ginny looked at the blond with disdain. "Don't you see, Harry, he doesn't like it here and he doesn't like you. Stop treating him like a dear guest, because you know he's not."

"Last I checked, there was nothing wrong with being civil," Harry grumbled.

"Well, it's obvious that he doesn't give a damn about your civility. Am I right, Malfoy? I asked you a question." She was losing her patience at his unwillingness to respond. The curse wasn't pleased either. Oh, for Merlin's sake, why couldn't they just leave him alone, let him wash their fucking dishes, and they'd just discuss his lack of appreciation somewhere else? "Malfoy, would you rather prefer being here or in Azkaban?" she asked.

"Azkaban," Draco replied coldly and quickly, without thinking. He kept doing his work without even looking at neither of them. Gods, he just wanted to be left alone...

"See, Harry?" Ginny said triumphantly. Harry didn't know what she was trying to prove, and, frankly, after another argument they'd had last evening, he just couldn't make himself care. He was tired. She blamed him, saying that he'd put his family in danger 'because of Malfoy'. He did his best to convince her that the presence of aurors was just a precaution, that their house was safely warded and had always been. He tried to convince her that it was going to be over soon, that everything would become normal again after the trials. He'd only asked her not to tell Draco about it. But he knew she could do it just to spite him. Or Draco. Apparently, she hadn't done it yet, thankfully.

     His captain was convinced that Harry and his family needed protection and Harry agreed, because, even though he regretted nothing, he worried about his household. Aurors from some other departments weren't happy about the situation, especially those who were friends and colleagues of those who were going to have a trial for killing Narcissa and Lucius, and for the other crimes. The entire situation also induced some people from the Ministry to check the work of many other aurors, too, since common people were very displeased after reading articles about the corrupted aurors. The Ministry, of course, did it only to turn everything in its favour, assuring people that they took everything in their hands, because 'the government only cared about safety and wellbeing of the people'. No one cared about Malfoys or other victims, but nobody wanted lawlessness either (even though the current laws allowed slavery). All of it was quite stressful and Harry had already received a couple of letters full of threats. The sender of one of them had been found, though. Harry was extremely careful these days, but he cared more about his family than himself. He didn't want them to become a target, but, then again, he never regretted what he'd done.



     When Potter was away together with his children, his wife's guests turned up, so Draco had to serve them tea and other things, as he'd been ordered to. All four guests were women, mostly young, but not younger than Potter's wife. They all were the women with quite a developed musculature, but weren't too muscle-bound, except for one of them. As he knew, all of them were from the Holyhead Harpies and Potter's wife had played with them before having the second spawn. Despite their sport career, two of them preferred firewhisky to tea.

"...At least, this one looks nice. He's much more pleasurable to look at than house elves. I always liked blonds," one of them chirped and looked at him flirtatiously. 'Ignorant sluts,' Draco thought tiredly. Meanwhile, she continued: "I wouldn't use him for any house work. He'd look much better in a bedroom. Say, Gin."

"Not my type. I'd use him for a harder work, but he's more Harry's slave than mine," Potter's wife replied unenthusiastically.

"If he was a girl, I'd be more careful if I were you," the other one teased. Draco rolled his eyes and returned to the kitchen, as all of them had their fucking tea, booze and snack. They were talking about some nonsense and giggling so loudly, that he could perfectly hear them in the kitchen. 'Just a bunch of ugly twats. Worthless cows with one brain cell for all of them,' he seethed. He would have rather scrubbed floors on his knees than served the guests. But he had actually expected something like that.

     It had started again as Potter's wife called him to bring more food. As the twats saw him again, he once again became a topic of their empty talks.

"They say an owner can order a slave to stop breathing."

"And what would happen?"

"Well, I don't think anyone can just stop breathing, but the curse would punish a slave for disobedience. I think doing it often enough would make a slave obey, sooner or later."

"I doubt that."

"Gin, can you order him to do something embarrassing? Crawling on his hands and knees, for example."

"Could we talk about something more interesting?" Potter's wife finally said with irritation. However, once she took a sip of her tea, she frowned and turned to him. "Malfoy, I thought I told you that I don't drink strong tea. Are you a complete imbecile that you can't even remember a simple order?" Looking at her with disdain, he took the cup away to dilute her fucking tea in the kitchen. The bitch was really starting to get on his nerves. Normally, she hadn't paid much attention to him or just made some short orders, scowling at him, but since that shit with the aurors, looking after the house, had begun, she hated Draco's very presence, it seemed, as if it was him to blame. Making more noise than necessary in the kitchen, he warmed the water, but apparently Ginny didn't want to wait.

"Malfoy!" she shouted from the living room a few minutes later.

"Oh, for Bastet's sake!" Semiramis hissed, as the shouting had woken her up, even though she'd started to wake up at the noise Draco had produced in his irritation. She was resting on the windowsill in the kitchen, like she often did during the day. Frowning, she stretched, then turned away and tried to fall asleep again. Draco was livid. Annoyed, he spat in the bitch's tea. He knew it was a childish antic, but he couldn't help it. The curse punished him with sharp pain, almost slowly going through his spine like a burning arrow, making him want to yell. He nearly fell on the floor, biting his lower lip. But in spite of that, he smirked slightly, seeing the redhead's stupid smile, as she was chirping with her stupid, dim-witted friends, with pleasure sipping the tea (with his spit) that he'd brought her.

"Bird-brained cunt," he muttered.

     The sadistic curse had already exhausted him with warnings and punishments during these several hours, but, very fortunately, it finally felt satisfied with the minimum of work he'd done for today, so he left to his room, leaving all the dirty dishes to Potter's wife, Potter himself or idiots whom they called friends; he didn't give a fuck. Finally, he could send it all to hell and plunge his aching body into the bathtub, into the hot water, scented by salt and foam.

     Draco wondered how Potter managed to find enough time for everything, without forgetting seemingly unimportant details. He often looked so absent-minded and slightly negligent, but he never forgot about Draco's needs, always at the right time replacing the blonde's toiletries when he was about to run out of something. The same went to candles, matches and other things, not to mention cleaning Draco's clothes, towels and bedcovers to spare him the necessity of washing all of it by hand, especially given that the curse wouldn't count it as a part of his daily work. Such thoughtfulness surprised Draco, since Potter obviously had enough, much more important, things to attend to.

     Since Draco had settled down in this house, he had all these expensive toiletries in his bathroom, such as hair pomade (which Draco always used to slick his hair a little, without making it look too oily), hand cream, soaps, after shave lotion, tooth powder (one of the best in the wizarding world, as he hadn't failed to notice), mouthwash and other things. The only thing Draco didn't use was the after shave lotion, because he didn't need to shave. He liked his face smooth and had long ago used the special potion (which had been a pain in the neck to brew without making mistakes) to prevent the facial hair from growing, even though it had been soft and thin, anyway. To make it start growing again, if someday he wanted it to, he would just have to take a counter-potion. So, thankfully, he didn't need muggle razors as well.

     Potter even provided him with cologne. Draco liked the way it smelled, though it wasn't something he'd usually used. He didn't know what had made Potter choose exactly this one for him.

     To be truthful, Harry had just asked the shopkeeper for 'something aristocratic' when he'd been shopping before taking Draco into his house after... after buying him. The woman had asked questions about the person to whom Harry had wanted to buy the cologne. He had stuttered, trying his best to describe Draco, which wasn't easy. Not for him... In the end, the slightly confused by his discrepant and hardly helpful description, woman had given him several bottles to choose from, and he'd chosen the one he'd found more pleasant. There was something fresh in it, something resembling the cool rain. He'd chosen it, just because he liked it, though he could never boast of having a good taste. Harry couldn't remember when he'd been more attentive to such details. He'd really wanted to please Draco, to make things just a bit more comfortable for him.

     Draco was relieved that, at least, he didn't have to ask for anything like that. He appreciated it, even though he wasn't going to admit it openly. To be honest, grooming often made him capable of putting his mind at ease, just a little bit, just for a while; however, he sometimes had to force himself to do it.

     Today the hot bath and grooming session worked pretty well, making him feel like Potter's wife, her stupid guests and even the curse, that had made him miserable all day long, were something insignificant, not worth thinking about. He wanted some rest, still a bit weak after illness.

     As he'd put his pyjama on and sat down on his bed heavily, he took the picture of his smiling child and pressed his lips against the cold glass of the frame, imagining that it was warm, like his son's face. He closed his eyes and prayed the entire Celtic pantheon to look after his little boy. He was devastated, and yet he desperately hoped that his son was in good hands, probably in a new family; he hoped they loved him and the boy was happy. 'I think about you every day,' he wept quietly, fervently sending his thoughts... somewhere. 'Wherever you are, I want you to know that I love you more than anything in this world. I wonder if you blame me for what happened, for failing to keep you with me... Gods, please, let him be happy. I'd suffer anything for him, any pain and grief just for him not to know any of it. Nothing would ever heal the hole in my heart, and I will always remember you, darling.' It was his prayer, similar to all of those he'd had every night for months; except for the period of his illness, but even then, deep inside his heart, he'd kept begging for his son's safety. Nothing eased the pain and he knew he would never be able to move on. Somewhere out there was a part of him, his child, and Draco couldn't find peace, as he didn't know the fate of the only person he cared for. Every time he consciously thought about his boy, which was quite often, his insides somersaulted and clenched painfully, and he felt the lump in his throat that was making it hard for him to breathe; making him want to die, just to stop feeling this pain that was filling the emptiness he felt all the time. The pain was chronic, the wounds just refused to start healing, his tears refused to dry up. Sometimes he couldn't fall asleep for hours, thinking that he could've avoided all of it if only he'd left that house in the forest and found a new place to hide. If only he'd moved all the time, they wouldn't have been caught like that. He knew it wasn't good to hide the child from the world for many more years and it was good that Scorpius didn't need to hide any longer... At least, something was good about it (he tried to convince himself that it was). He tried his best to consider it as a positive side of the situation, but he was Scorpius' parent, and his boy was too young to be separated from him. Scorpius was his! They'd had no right to do it to both of them! 'Gods, please, let him be surrounded by caring people...'

     Harry was a giving person. And he was giving a lot, if he felt like it. He utterly enjoyed the feeling when his gifts (material or nonmaterial, it didn't matter) were just accepted. No gratitude or anything in return required. Just acceptance. But Draco wasn't like that, simply because he hated Harry, didn't he? It made the dark-haired man sigh.

     Jamie started crying, definitely wanting to spend some more time in his 'Dada's' arms, and being put into his cot wasn't appealing at all at the moment. Distracted from his thoughts, Harry smiled and picked up his toddler again. The boy quickly calmed down in his warm arms, holding Harry's shirt collar in his small hand. Gently rubbing James' back to soothe him, Harry returned to his thoughts.

     The last few weeks had exhausted him, but it was worth it. At first there'd been a trial of the several aurors, involved in the murder of Malfoys and the other former Death Eaters. They had got from seven to ten years in Azkaban, depending on their participation. The one who'd planned those murders had been sentenced to sixteen years, which in Azkaban was no better than a death sentence. Dawson's and Whitford's trials had been next in queue, in two weeks. Harry had convinced the same pitiless prosecutor to take part in it, which hadn't been easy. Nathaniel Dawson had been sentenced to seven years in Azkaban and would never be able to be an auror again.

     It was quite an unpleasant fact for Harry to find out that the rape had taken place only three days prior to that goddamned auction. It meant that Draco had probably been hiding that he'd been injured back then when he'd been brought to Grimmauld Place, and Harry hadn't noticed anything.

     He also wasn't pleased that it hadn't been quite Draco's situation that had earned Dawson that punishment, but the charges, pressed by the young woman that had suddenly decided to testify against him openly, once she'd found out about his trial. Three years ago she'd worked in the same department as an assistant, helping in finding the stolen things (like works of art, for example) on the black market. At first Dawson had harassed her, making it less and less possible to ignore. She'd started to avoid him, as best as she could, and it seemed to have worked; she'd believed so. But she'd been wrong, and once he'd caught the opportunity when she'd stayed late at work, he'd cornered her in the lavatory, disarmed her and molested her, threatening to kill her mother and sister if she'd told anyone about it; he'd even told her their address and some personal facts of their lives, to make sure she'd taken the threat seriously. Terror stunned most people, making it impossible for them to try to escape, but in her case it had been different. Panic had made that fragile-looking, blonde woman (the bastard really fancied blondes, it seemed, regardless of their gender) push the much stronger rapist away when he had already pulled her dress up and her panties down. Before he'd had a chance to use his wand to stop her, she'd jumped out of the open window of the lavatory, situated on the second floor. She'd only skinned her palms and her ankle had been displaced, but she'd escaped. There had been people outside that, unfortunately, hadn't noticed her desperate jump, but she'd limped in their direction as fast as she could, so the rapist wouldn't have risked attacking her. She had been saved by the fact that the window had been open; she wouldn't have had enough time otherwise. She'd quitted her job the very next day, but had never said anyone about that incident.

     Harry had wanted to yell at her, to blame her, because she hadn't told anyone about it back then and had literally allowed the scum to rape the other person.

     Dawson had been interrogated again with Veritaserum. That had made it clear that Draco and that woman were his only victims, even though he could hardly be called a sexually abstinent person. He'd just been less active for the last few years, probably because he wasn't quite young anymore.

     During the trial the woman's story had seemed to attract more attention than the actual rape, and Harry hadn't liked it. But, on the other hand, it had possibly been so, because she'd testified openly, could have been asked questions and so on. Harry wondered how many years of imprisonment the bastard would have got if Draco was the only victim. A half of those seven years? Or a bit more? It wasn't fair, considering that the woman had been lucky enough to avoid Draco's fate. Harry had forced himself to calm down. It wasn't fair to blame her for being so intimidated and ashamed that even her closest friends and relatives had had no idea that she'd gone through such an ordeal. Dawson was obviously good in making threats that made people shut their mouths.

     His acquaintance, Silvanus Whitford had lost his job, of course, and had been sentenced to four months in Azkaban, plus one year of probation.

     Well, all of it was better than nothing, at any rate.

     Harry decided that Draco would've definitely been mad because of his hero complex and because Draco hardly wanted anyone to know the details of what had happened to him. He would've probably never forgiven Harry for making his indescribable humiliation public. He still had no idea what Harry had done. He never read papers (and Harry made sure not to leave papers where Draco could find them accidentally), and, after weighing the pros and cons, Harry had decided not to tell him anything at all; he simply couldn't. In the papers all those trials had made a lot of noise, but Harry had insisted that Draco's name would never be mentioned in any of those articles. He'd used all the possible connections to keep the rape victim's name, Draco's name, secret, even if many people knew the story itself in broad terms. The woman's name, however, had leaked into the press, and she'd quickly packed and escaped to the muggle world, at least, for some time. Unfortunately for her, and fortunately for Harry (well, for Harry and Draco), her story had attracted a lot of attention and distracted the especially zealous reporters from trying their best to find out the name of the violated prisoner.

     After some more internal fight, Harry had only become more convinced of the rightness of his decision to keep that great deal of information away from Draco. He saw no point. Undoubtedly, the blond had every right to know the truth, but it would only make him mad and upset, it would only cause another breakdown and Draco could fall ill again. Harry was afraid for him. Ginny kept quiet about it, too, because Harry had sincerely and very insistently asked her to. They'd argued a lot about it and she actually wanted Malfoy to know what kind of mess they had been dragged into because of him. Harry didn't know if she believed that telling Draco would somehow make his presence more bearable for her, that it would give her something to manipulate him in some unfathomable way, give her some questionable advantage. He couldn't understand her logic; anything like that would hardly work with Draco or, more likely, it would bring completely opposite results. But, in any case, he hadn't helped to put the bastards in Azkaban searching for any kind of appreciation or, on the contrary, disapproval, or anything else at all. He'd done it, because it was the right thing to do and because it was some sort of revenge for hurting Draco, who deserved justice. He'd just done the right thing, full stop!

     Naturally, the more Harry 'fought for justice', the more it estranged him from Ginny. He had nearly forgotten about her birthday on the eleventh of August. Merlin, he had nearly forgotten his own birthday, less than two weeks earlier! He could hardly remember when was the last time they'd used their bed for something except for sleeping. It was like having a room-mate. He felt guilty about it sometimes; they were married, after all, but it didn't seem possible for him to even think about having the former intimacy with her, especially given their constant arguments. Ginny seemed to be fine with it. She'd been actually fine with it since James' birth. Only sometimes they'd had sex, but recently even that had gradually stopped, and Harry had hardly noticed it at first, even though, in fact, it had stopped a few months ago.

     However, nothing had changed in his relationship with the children. He spared no time to play with them, teach them or go for a walk with them. He loved his sons and he knew he would never be happy without them.

     Speaking of children, James had already fallen asleep with his small head on Harry's shoulder, lulled by his father's warmth, and Harry had been so deeply plunged into his thoughts that he hadn't noticed. He kissed the toddler's forehead and carefully put him down into the cot.

     Now he only had to find Draco's boy and he could finally relax...

     Easier said than done. All his attempts to find even a tiny grain of any new information failed. He decided to start from the very beginning and find out who was the mysterious mother of Draco's baby. He also wanted to learn more about the boy himself. All he knew was his full name, date of birth and the name of one of his parents, of course. In all the official papers there was 'unknown' next to the word 'Mother'. In any case, Harry was almost sure that there had been some accident (probably something similar to Harry's own unplanned fatherhood), since Scorpius was only six months younger than his Albus. It was hard to imagine that Draco would've planned to become a father this early, not to mention that his son had been conceived during the very hard time for Malfoys, as they had fallen into disgrace with Voldemort and could've been killed at his mere whim, like all those people, murdered in their Manor. It had hardly been an appropriate time and place to romance someone and to plan a family. Once again Harry forced himself to suppress the awakening jealousy. What right did he have to be jealous?

     Heliodorus Corundum had been a family healer of Malfoys, just like his mother had once been, and his grandfather before her, and some other ancestors earlier. Harry smiled at the information. The devotion to traditions seemed to be really strong in their bloodline, which wasn't something unusual for purebloods. Harry had already made appointments with a few people that could have been in contact with hiding Malfoys. It was only natural for him to start with the healer.

     He entered the mediwizard's consulting room (quite lavish, but not too lavish, at the same time) when the healer's personal secretary had allowed him to. Harry was greeted by the greying, stately-looking man in his early fifties.

"Auror Potter," the man nodded. They shook hands.

"Good morning, healer Corundum," Harry replied, giving the man a small smile.

"Please, sit down. How may I be of service?"

"Thanks," Harry muttered and sat down in the remarkably comfortable armchair at the healer's desk, across from the older man. "I need your help and there's a chance you possess some information that might be useful for me," he said when he was sure he had Corundum's attention. The man in front of him was sitting in relaxed position, with his hands locked on the desk. Harry felt like he was being scrutinised and it made him fidget very slightly.

"What kind of information?" the mediwizard asked, as the scrutiny stopped.

"I'm looking for Scorpius Malfoy. He's missing and no one knows where he is. There's a very small possibility that the boy's mother could be involved somehow, but her name has never been mentioned in any documents. As far as I know, Scorpius was born when Malfoys were in hiding, so... I have reasons to suspect that you, as their family healer, assisted during the boy's birth," Harry said, making sure he sounded polite, not intimidating. He hoped it would make the man more informative. The healer lowered his eyes, slightly nervously, which hadn't escaped Harry's attention.

"Mister Potter, I'm afraid I cannot help you. I'm bound by patient confidentiality," Corundum replied seriously. It meant more time for Harry to waste, trying to get a warrant that allowed him to interrogate the healer, despite the patient confidentiality. Harry sighed. Oh, how he hated all this constant procrastination!

"I understand, but it might be very important for my investigation," he tried again. The mediwizard shook his head negatively, but Harry continued, nevertheless. "It might be important for the boy's life. Getting a warrant will take time. I can give you the Wizard's Oath that I'll keep all the information to myself. It won't ruin your reputation. You've always acted in best interests of Malfoys, and now their little boy probably needs help. His father is worried sick. I need, at least, the name of Scorpius' mother."

"So Draco Malfoy refuses to tell you his story..." the man sighed after almost a minute of silence. He got up and moved to the window with pensive look on his face.

"We... We're not on good terms," Harry admitted honestly. "He doesn't trust me enough to share anything with me. And he's too hurt by what happened. But I really want to help him and his son. I don't have any ulterior motives and I'm not trying to make any profit from this situation," he promised. Corundum hesitated, obviously thinking carefully of what he should or shouldn't do. It took a couple of long minutes, but Harry waited patiently.

"You can't find Scorpius' mother, because he's never had one, in the first place," the healer sighed in surrender.

"What do you mean?" Harry blinked.

"Young Mister Malfoy carried his child for about eight months and two weeks, and gave birth on the sixth of November, nineteen ninety-eight. The boy was born a bit earlier than I'd predicted, but he was a healthy child, there was nothing to worry about."

"Wait... You can't be serious," Harry stuttered.

"I'm more than serious, Mister Potter. The boy's father, Draco Malfoy, gave him birth."

"But how..? Please, explain it to me."

"They refused to give me any details," the mediwizard shrugged. "I was summoned to their house in France where they were hiding. Missis Malfoy told me that her son hadn't been feeling well for more than a month. She showed me to his room. Young Mister Malfoy, indeed, looked ill and distressed. I examined him and found out that he was almost four months pregnant. It was quite a surprise, as you can imagine. Such things are extremely rare. But it was even more unexpected for young Mister Malfoy. He refused to believe me and stormed out very livid and frightened, so I discussed the situation with his parents. They, too, were shocked. When I visited them three weeks later, I examined my patient again. He'd already started to show. He was unresponsive and hardly answered any questions. I was convinced that Malfoys already knew the reason for Draco's condition. I suspect it had something to do with their family magic. I can't be certain, but it seemed they considered the situation embarrassing, since they refused to explain it even to me. Mister Malfoy Senior wanted me to work with what I had; so I did. I was examining the young man and the child during pregnancy and then, on the sixth of November I was summoned, and he was already far into labour; it was obvious at the first sight. The labour was hard for him both physically and emotionally, but Missis Malfoy was very helpful. She was with him all the time. When it was over, young Mister Malfoy refused to even look at his little boy and requested to be left alone. It was Missis Malfoy who was taking care of the child for the next couple of weeks. It looked like Draco didn't want to acknowledge the very existence of his son. But when I visited them later just for the routine examination, the boy was always in his father's arms and young Malfoy was rather affectionate towards his baby son. I don't know what had caused that dramatic change of heart and it wasn't my place to ask. But I remember how close they were to each other. If Scorpius is missing, I assume young Malfoy is devastated."

"He is..." Harry whispered almost inaudible, not quite sure what to say. All of it was quite a shock and Harry wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. It was unbelievable...

"But I don't think all this information could be useful to you. If you want to know about the second father, I have nothing to tell you. Frankly... It's only my suspicions, but back then I took the liberty of assuming that they simply didn't know who the second father was. I think even Draco doesn't know."

     In the end, Heliodorus Corundum gave Harry the thin folder of Scorpius' medical history. Harry found nothing useful, but he was curious. There were just medical notes, such as Scorpius' length, weight and other measurements, right after his birth and later; his temperature, heart rate and so on. There were things that Harry didn't quite understand (too medical to be understood by mere mortals). But then he saw the photograph, attached to the one of the pieces of parchment with more mediwizard's notes. The photograph showed baby Scorpius, very small, not older than one or two weeks since his birth. The sleeping baby was naked, lying on his front with his legs crossed and folded under his tummy. His arms, too, were under him, folded under his pink cheek. The baby's position looked as if he was still inside the womb. Narcissa was hardly visible on the photograph, but, looking closely, it was possible to see a part of her tenderly smiling face in the background. Her gentle hand was caressing her sleeping grandson, softly running from the small head, covered with thin white-blond hair to the boy's bottom. Harry couldn't help but smile at the adorable picture. Quickly looking through the next pages, he was slightly confused, as his eyes stopped on one of the sentences: 'After one month of breastfeeding the examination shows the better digestion and general health improvement'. Harry was slightly confused. 'Breastfeeding?' No, he had already stuck his nose where it didn't belong, so he decided to leave it alone.

"I only visited them several times to make sure young Mister Malfoy and his son were fine. It was their hiding place, so we couldn't risk, as you understand. Luckily, they were quite healthy," the healer told him. Harry thanked him and decided that he had found out everything he could find out from the mediwizard.

     Harry left the building, still finding it hard to believe everything he'd just learned. He was aghast. Draco had been pregnant! Draco had given birth to his own son after having him growing inside his body. That little boy on the photograph on the blonde's bedside table had been developing inside Draco before coming to this world. Oh, even better! Judging by the date of Scorpius' birth, Draco had already been pregnant when they'd had that encounter in the Room of Requirement and then Harry had saved him from the burning room. Draco had been two and a half months pregnant or so. God... he had been pregnant when he'd nearly died in the fire, but the blond himself had had no idea about it. Draco had even already been pregnant when Harry, Ron and Hermione had been captured and held prisoners in Malfoy Manor. Gods... He couldn't help but think that he would've been much less violent, disarming Draco, if he had only known about his condition. Or later he would've stopped Ron from punching the blond. When Ginny had been pregnant for the second time, Harry, in spite of the progressing coldness in their relationship, had been fussing over her, taking care of her, doing his best to keep her from everything that could upset her (even if the unplanned pregnancy itself had been unsettling for her). Causing pain to someone in such a delicate condition was unthinkable in Harry's point of view. Yes, he would have stopped Ron. He knew these were foolish and useless thoughts, but still...

     He didn't know what had changed, he'd been protective of Draco, anyway, but he knew he would never be able to look at him in the same way.

     Unfortunately, his search for the little boy was still unsuccessful.

     Harry quietly entered the blonde's room in the middle of the night, failing to fall asleep. He was just standing under his invisibility cloak near the currently uncurtained bed, and looked at sleeping Draco, curled up into a tight ball under the quilt. He really looked younger when he was sleeping...

     In Hogwarts Harry had sometimes imagined that Draco usually slept on his back, like royalty; well, the way people often stereotyped the sleeping royalty. Now he wondered if Draco's distress made him curl up or he always preferred sleeping like this. By the light of almost burned down candles Harry was looking at the pale face, relaxed, peaceful and vulnerable. God, he was really obsessed, wasn't he? Making himself look like a pervert in Draco's eyes was inadmissible. Thankfully, the blond was sleeping too deep right now and, thankfully, Harry had his invisibility cloak. The cloak would never fool Meow, though. The Siamese cat looked at him lazily and sleepily, never leaving the warm spot near Draco's covered knees.

     Draco's beauty was always both cruel and pure. It was inapproachable. But when he slept it was just pure. His cheekbones seemed less prominent, his chin less pointed, even his small nose seemed less turned-up. But the features were still chiselled, just softer. He was beautiful... Suddenly the sleeping expression became troubled and very unhappy. Harry closed his eyes as he listened to Draco quietly whimpering his son's name in his sleep. Harry cast a glance at Scorpius' framed photograph. 'Where are you, little boy?..'

     He left the room just as quietly as he'd entered it. Watching Draco was perfectly normal when he had been ill, but now it was very wrong and Harry promised himself not to do it again. Dawson had watched sleeping Draco. Harry didn't want to have anything in common with that perverse bastard.

     He wondered if there was any hope to find Scorpius. With all his heart he hoped that the boy was alive, even if there really was a strong probability that he wasn't and Harry's colleague had been right, saying that destroying information about the boy, some people had covered the tracks of their culpable negligence.

     Once again he thought how much he loved his sons. Even the thought of losing them was a torture. He didn't know if it made any difference losing someone who had been born of your seed or losing someone who had been growing inside you. He just knew that Draco would never be happy again without his boy.

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The Shards Of His Beloved