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Broken Dreams	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3557 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Raincoast. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
~***~

When Draco next becomes aware, he is warm and comfortable, resting in Potter's bed while his stomach growls. All that sex has left him starving. He throws an arm to his side, searching the bed for Potter, coming up empty. He pulls himself up on his elbows, blinking blearily. The sheets have been changed; the scent of sex is absent from the room, from Draco's body even.

He wrinkles his forehead, turning to find his clothes have been cleaned and folded, and are waiting for him on Potter's bedside table.

He finds Potter in the basement kitchen of the old townhouse. He's leaning back against the counter, his legs crossed, a cup of coffee sitting on the counter beside his hand, and he's reading the Daily Prophet, apparently engrossed in the morning news.

"Morning," Draco says, pushing down the shyness he feels trying to overtake him. Honestly, the previous night he and Potter had become well acquainted with each other's arseholes; it doesn't make sense to get shy now. He crosses the room and settles beside Potter, leaning beside him against the counter. "What's new with the world this morning?"

Potter grunts. It figures he's not a morning person, but Draco supposes he can work with that. He turns to the table where a pile of letters lie open as though they'd been hastily read. A plate of breakfast rests on the table down a little way from them.

"There was another theft last night," Potter tells him. "Same thief, most likely, broke into the collector's museum and stole the same artefact."

Draco watches Potter's face, still focussed on the paper. "All right," Draco says after a moment's pause. "Did the Aurors catch him this time?"

Potter frowns, folds the paper in two, and tosses it on top of the pile of letters. "No." He takes a drink from his mug of coffee and holds it in front of his chest, staring still at the paper, not looking at Draco. "That's the thing. The Aurors chased him, like before, but he waited to see who was tailing him. Apparently when he saw it was Ron and Proudfoot, he dropped the artefact and Disapparated."

Draco doesn't like how Potter is refusing to look at him. He knows they moved pretty far, pretty fast the previous night, but there isn't any going back when the chemistry is so perfect, for him at least. He clears his throat, ignoring the niggling doubt sitting in his gut that there's something Potter is not saying. "What do you make of that?"

Potter takes another drink from his mug, draining it. "Well, it looks like it's what you suggested last night in the pub. The thief is doing this, not for the artefact, but to get to me. I should have been on-call last night, would have been had I not been on leave for an extra day."

Draco blows out a breath, lifting his fringe with it. "You'll have your work cut out for you when you return," he says, hoping he can get Potter to talk about where they stand soon. He's feeling needy and uncertain, and it's not like him to get riled up. He's the sort of person that needs to know where he stands at all times; well, recently anyway. It's the only way he's found to be able to cope with the stress of life in the post-war world.

Potter is still staring at the table. "I have breakfast for you there," he says, pointing at the plate. "It's under a warming charm."

Draco reaches out a tentative hand, chastising himself for his nerves, and forces himself to be more actively assertive. He touches Potter's shoulder, an arm wrapped around his back. It makes Potter start, but at least he's looking Draco in the face finally.

He turns, and presses closer to Potter, staring intently into his eyes. "I can think of something else I'd rather have for breakfast," he says, leaning in and pressing their mouths together. Potter is slow to respond to the kiss, but eventually his lips begin to move against Draco's, tongue tentatively darting out to lick Draco's teeth, and then he stops, shrinking back, not fully pulling away, but not encouraging Draco to continue.

"I think we should talk about what happened last night…" Draco says, relief spreading through him at Potter's maintained eye contact, "… and again this morning." Bugger it, why is he flushing? They are grown men. They ought to be able to have a conversation about sex without falling apart.

Potter's eyes seem to drift out of focus, as if he's looking through Draco instead of at him. Draco recognises the defence mechanism, it's how he learned to use Occlumency. Potter's definitely hiding something. "I can't do it," Potter says, and pulls himself away from Draco, standing now a few feet away. "I've thought about it for a long time. I have enough trouble as it is, getting by in the wizarding world with everybody's hero worship and trying to meet all their expectations. I can't be gay, and have them use it against me. I just … I've chosen not to live the lifestyle."

Potter speaks with a determined, forceful inflection. As if he's trying to convince himself as well as Draco that what he's saying isn't utter bollocks.

"Harry," Draco says, still not rising to Potter's baiting. He can tell Potter wants him to lash out and storm off, that it will be easier for Potter to resist if Draco is the one to leave. He can read Potter like a book. He's not sure if it's because of their history and all the time he spent studying Potter's every move while they were in school, or if it's because of their recent shared memories; perhaps it's a bit of both. "You realise that you can't decide to not be gay. You are born the way you are. It's not a question of choice of lifestyle."

Potter's jaw squares as he clenches his teeth. He turns away, looking out the kitchen window. "What would you know about it?" he tosses out, not sounding at all like the Potter Draco witnessed the night before.

Annoyed, Draco puts his hands on his hips, unable to keep the snark out of his voice any longer. "Well, considering the hot gay sex we were having last night, I'd say I have a pretty good grasp of what it means to be gay, and I know it isn't a choice. I didn't wake up one day and decide that I was going to like sucking and fucking cocks. You know this too. I saw it last night in a memory. You knew it at eleven."

Potter turns to Draco again, his expression dark. "What do you know of my memories, Malfoy?" he says, practically hissing. "You're one to talk anyway. Do you think I don't see your duplicity?"

Draco stares. What is Potter even talking about? He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his calm and to talk rationally, though it's obvious that the way Potter is acting, entirely deluded, that this may not be the best time for a conversation. "Would you care to share?" he asks. "What about my memories do you think have enlightened you? What duplicity are you speaking of?"

Potter's eyes flash angrily, though Draco catches a glimpse of hurt in them too. "You fuck me as if you care, and all the while you're in love with somebody else." His voice is angry, accusatory, but there is real pain present. Draco still doesn't know how Potter has come to this conclusion. He's already told Potter that there is nothing between himself and Blaise any longer, and he's not ever taken another lover.

"What are you even talking about?" Draco demands, snapping a bit more than he intended. "I'm not in love with Blaise, if that's what you are suggesting. I thought I was when I was a kid, but that was years ago and he's shown me he's not worth my affection."

Potter's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, hidden under his fringe. "No? Well the memory I witnessed this morning sure looked like a bonding spell to me. How can you stand there and deny that you've promised yourself to somebody else? You're a liar and a cheat!"

"What?" Draco's anger flares inside him now. "The promise bond was made before I discovered what an arsehole Blaise really is. It was years ago, as I've said, and it breaks if we marry before we're thirty. He's already engaged to Amanda Davies. It's as good as broken."

"I don't care," Potter says. "I saw he was all over you at your house the other day, and stupidly I believed you when you said you were asking him to leave. If he's all over you, he's obviously not that serious about his fiancée. You should have told me about the promise before you got me drunk and seduced me."

Draco's hackles are up now. "I seduced you? Potter, we were both shitfaced pissed last night. I don't even recall which of us made the first move, but had you pushed me off and told me to stop, I would have stopped."

Potter's lips are tight. Draco realises he's not making any progress in talking things out when Potter's already made his ill-informed and irrational decision.

"I can't talk to you about this right now," Draco says, stalking past Potter, bumping shoulders accidentally on his way. He takes a pinch of Floo powder from a dish on the fireplace mantle and tosses it in the hearth, green flames erupting. "Owl me when you've got your head out of your arse. Malfoy Manor," he calls to the flames, and disappears in a flash of green.

~***~

The following day, Draco arrives at work, still out of sorts, and not happy that Potter has still not contacted him. He doesn't fuck around, after all, even when drinking. Surely Potter will have realised that by now. How many memories have they witnessed of each other? But it's also true that Draco can't control which memories of Potter's he sees; he figures the same must be true for Potter.

He shrugs off his travelling cloak and hangs it on the hook on his office door, fetching the pale-green Healer robes that differentiate him from the floor staff. He slips them on and finds a pile of paperwork has formed on his desk, all the backlogs from the past week of Auror and Hit-Wizard injuries that will need to be sorted and filed.

He sits and massages his temple absently, setting to work. The sooner he gets his focus on work, the easier it will be to put Potter out of his mind for a while.

The Charm on his door announces a visitor. Draco looks up to find Terry Boot entering, looking harassed.

"Can I help you?" Draco asks, wondering what Boot is doing in his department when he is assigned to the recovery ward.

"Yes," Boot exclaims, taking a seat in the empty chair in front of Draco's desk. "Will you please tell me the security incantation to open the filing cabinet in the outer office? I'm covering for Davies, and nobody around here seems to know how's he's organised the bloody place."

Draco nods, and locates the security Charm from his desk drawer. He keeps track of all the Charms for the department on easy-to-find-and-read cards. He passes it to Boot.

"What's ailing Davies?" Draco asks, accepting Boot's thanks and taking the card back after he's copied the Charm.

Boot looks up at Draco, his eyes wide. "You haven't heard?" he says. "Oh, goodness. Davies' sister died the night before last in an accident. It was in the Evening Prophetyesterday and this morning's as well."

Draco stops dead, staring aghast at Boot's face. "What … what happened?" he chokes out. If Blaise is involved … Draco pushes his gut instinct down, doesn't dare think about it until he's heard everything.

Boot looks at Draco, his expression concerned, but he shifts in his chair and tells Draco what he knows. "It was the night before last, really late. As I understand it, Davies and her fiancé were celebrating setting the date for their wedding. She'd had a lot to drink so Zabini, you knew him in school, he was going to side-along Apparate her home. She misunderstood what he said, and thought he meant she was going to Apparate and take him side-along … ended up Splinching herself clean in two. There was no putting her back together; she died in his arms."

Draco feels the colour drain from his face. He's got to be white as a sheet at this point. Blaise had made a promise bond with her, he was certain of it, but that meant that if she were to die, according to the magic of the bond, he would inherit her wealth. Draco isn't sure how much Amanda Davies was worth, but he does know how much he is worth, and if there is any chance Blaise had a hand in Amanda's death, that means the possibility is present that he will try the same thing with Draco. In fact, it is wholly possible he already has tried. Draco still doesn't know why the Sectumsempra Curse hit him again while he was tending to Potter.

"Malfoy?" Boot says. He's waving his hand before Draco's face, trying to get his attention. "Are you sure you're well enough to be back at work?"

Draco's vision blurs a moment, while a trickle of cold sweat slips down the side of his face from his temple, and then he's focussed again. He should notify the Aurors, just in case, but then, with Potter being weird about him, he thinks he'll check in at the Manor first. He'll need to secure his wards and make sure his mother is safe, and then he'll send Auror Robards an owl.

"No…" he says, hearing his voice as if through a long tunnel. He stands up and strips his Healer robes, leaving them piled in a heap on his desk. "I'm not well. Boot, would you notify Healer Smethwyk? I'll send an owl to let him know how I'm faring later tonight."

"Sure, of course," Boot pauses. "You seemed all right until I mentioned Davies and Zabini. Does the state you're in have anything to do with the accident at all?"

Draco turns, fastening his travelling cloak about his neck, hardly hearing Boot.

"No, no. Why?"

Boot shrugs. "Well, Zabini was my patient after it happened. We admitted him to treat him for shock. It only took a Cheering Charm and a Soothing Draught to put him to rights. I would have kept him longer, but the Aurors sent a message to him that his artefact museum had been robbed for the second time."

Draco pauses, one foot out the door. He pulls back and steadies his breath. His teeth are clenched; it's making his jaw ache and his left eye won't stop twitching. "His artefact museum?" he asks. "The night before last?"

"Yeah," Boot says, his forehead still creased with a frown. "I just thought it seemed odd that he recovered so quickly. Normally trauma like he experienced, you know, takes a bit longer to recover from."

Draco sees the hint in Boot's eyes, that he too senses there is more to the story, the suspicion.

"Do me a favour," Draco says finally, blowing out his breath, finding his centre. "Send an owl to Robards, letting him know what you just mentioned to me. I'm going to be at the manor, if the Aurors need me. Let them know that?"

Boot stands up. "Take care of yourself," he says, and Draco leaves the room.

~***~

Draco doesn't sense any change in the wards when he steps through the front doors after Apparating to the manor gates. He's still feeling out of sorts and concerned, but less so when his mother greets him in the foyer.

"Draco, love, why are you home so early?"

He shrugs off his travelling cloak and drapes it over the credenza for the house-elves to put away at a later time.

"Has anybody called since I left?"

She approaches him and holds her hand up to feel his forehead. "Of course not. You've only been out for an hour. Are you poorly? You look pale."

He closes his eyes, allowing relief to settle over his nerves, smiling at the caring touch of his mother. He opens them again. "I have to talk to you about something important, mum. I'm afraid I may have made a huge mistake and we could be in danger."

Her eyes widen slightly as her lips tighten at the corners, but she nods and beckons him to follow her to her parlour.

She sits at the dressing-table and takes out the pin holding her hair away from her face, shaking her long blonde hair so it settles down her back, and hands Draco her brush.

It's an old routine they've had since Draco was a small boy. Whenever he needed to confess something to his mother that he was afraid of his father finding out about, she would distract him from the fear of judgement by having him brush her hair. For some reason, it calms him and gives him the courage he needs to tell her anything. Things haven't changed. He begins at the tips of her hair, brushing out the ends and moving upwards, an inch at a time, lengthening the strokes as he rises higher.

"I'm sure you have noticed that I don't have any prospects for marriage, mother," he says quietly. He's almost certain his mother knows he's gay, but it's never been something they've discussed openly. But now he has to explain the promise bond he'd foolishly made while young, stupid and scared.

She hums her acknowledgement, but doesn't interrupt.

He continues brushing, loving the way the boar-bristles make her hair shine. "I've been stupid," Draco says again. "I need to warn you not to let Blaise Zabini back into the house for a while. Actually…" He stops brushing and holds the brush up, looking her in the eye in the mirror. "I should fortify the wards right now."

She catches his wrist with her hand, looking back at him. "No, it can wait. Tell me the rest, Draco. I won't have you going off to talk yourself out of telling me what is happening."

He hesitates, but agrees with her. He resumes brushing. "Blaise's fiancée died the night before last… I think he may have been responsible for killing her… to inherit from her based on the promise bond."

Narcissa's eyebrows arch high up on her forehead. "Have you reported your suspicions to the Aurors?" she asks softly.

His lips are trembling and his hands shake. He sees her notice in the mirror's reflection.

"No," he says. "But I will. That's not all."

She breathes deeply, in and out through her nose, composing herself before the mirror. She waits for him to continue.

"When we were sixteen, I made a promise bond with him too."

Narcissa's nostrils flare, and her eyes flash up at Draco disapprovingly, her lips growing tighter as she frowns.

Draco continues. He figures it's best to get it all out at once. "It was stupid. We swore that if we were both unmarried by the age of thirty that we'd strike out against tradition and marry each other. I was ready to commit to him fully then, but later that same night, I discovered he wasn't as serious about me as I needed him to be. I stopped seeing him romantically, but the promise bond still stands."

Narcissa waits a few moments, while Draco finishes his brushing. He hands her the hair brush and she turns to face him, looking up from her stool. "You realise that you need to marry, Draco. It's the only way to break the bond. Do you really have no prospects?"

Draco shakes his head, the memory of Potter's face when he'd stormed off the day before sharp in his mind. She stands and takes his hand, pulling him out into the hall.

"Where are we going?"

"Your father's study. Don't ask questions. Follow me."

He follows her lead, still held by her hand around his wrist.

"Hello, Draco," Blaise's voice says as he steps over the threshold. He freezes, the door slamming closed behind him.

He can't move. He's been hit with a non-verbal Full Body-Bind. The only thing keeping him from toppling over is his mother's hands holding onto his hips from where she's standing behind him.

His eyes are the only parts of his body he can move, and they flash from Blaise, resting against his father's desk, legs crossed at the ankles. He looks as impeccable as ever in his finely-pressed grey suit and polished black shoes. He's drinking Lucius's whiskey from a tumbler, a self-satisfied smirk pasted on his lips.

Draco's mind is spinning. How did Blaise get in? Why isn't his mother protesting? How could he have been so stupid as to not have sent a message to the Aurors right away instead of checking back home first?

Blaise sets his empty glass on Lucius's desk and approaches Draco with long strides, looking him up and down as if undressing him with his eyes. It makes Draco's skin crawl and he longs to be able to move, to shudder even, anything but being in this helpless state.

"Your mother is under my control," Blaise says, looking directly into Draco's eyes. He steps closer, until only a couple of inches separate them. Blaise is taller than Draco by about half a head, so Blaise has to bend his neck to put them face-to-face. "You should have died in the warehouse along with your precious hero, Draco. It would have made everything so much easier. But no, not you. You needed to get in the way of my business again and again."

Draco doesn't know what Blaise is referring to, but more than that, he doesn't like the gleam of madness he sees in Blaise's dark eyes.

"I wasn't going to go after Amanda until you were taken care of, but you forced my hand. I had hoped to draw out our engagement for a while longer, but it's finished now. After I've settled things with you and your precious Potter, your mother and I will retire to Italy. Nobody will give a damn if the widow Malfoy dies while visiting a foreign land, but they will welcome a rechristening of this house under the new name of Zabini."

Draco wants to close his eyes. They burn from being frozen open. Zabini's face contorts from its normally smooth calm of sophistication to a sneer of pure malice.

"Narcissa," he says, taking over the task of holding Draco upright. "Prepare the tie for your son."

Draco isn't sure what Blaise is referring to, but he feels a cold seeping into his bones as his mother leaves the room.

"You're wondering how you're going to die," Blaise says flatly. "I thought that death by accidental strangulation related to autoerotic asphyxiation would provide the most scandalous headline for the Daily Prophet. It should net a tidy sum for me and keep readership up."

Blaise turns to Draco, his wand pointed between Draco's eyes, and a flash of red light as the Stunner hits him is the last thing Draco sees for he doesn't know how long.
- 5
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Broken Dreams