Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Shards Of His Beloved	By : Bundaycarrottreats Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 18415 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
To Nubia: you're as nice as always! Thanks a lot :)!

To moodysavage: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it and I hope you're going to keep enjoying the story!

To Alicia Spinet: That depends on initial conditions of the plot, I guess. If you see any possibility for Ginny and Draco to make friends, well, go ahead and make them friends. I don't see any :). Not in this story, anyway. I've seen stories where she's much more unbearable and dangerous than this. In my story Ginny and Draco despise each other mutually and equally. You just mainly see Draco's point of view (because he and Harry are the main characters, not Ginny). Can you imagine her being happy having Draco living with them? I can't. Ginny doesn't want to understand why Harry does all of it, why he even endangered them all because of Draco, and her suspicions don't make it any better. If the roles were somehow reversed Draco wouldn't act any better, in my opinion. So I don't just portray her as a bitch, I portray her and Draco as people that cannot bear each other and going to keep doing so. If she wanted, she could make his life much worse, by the way. What of the other authors and their motives, I can't answer for them :). I hope it helped, anyway!

To thrnbrooke: Of course, he is! Thanks for reviewing!

To Bitterpill: Thank you!

To Sparrowbirdie: No, he's not pregnant again; he was even examined. He's not well because of the curse and all the stress, but I can't imagine him being happy if he was pregnant now. I think it would only make him more angry and unhappy. What of Scorpius, I can't tell anything for now, but I'm going to test your patience some more ;). It's the angst story, after all. But you're going to get all the answers in the later chapters; this I promise. I hope you're going to keep enjoying it! And thanks for your review!

To Alarik: I'm so glad :)! Thank you!

To Ruri_Hiwatari: Thank you so much! I love Harry strong and caring even if it turns out badly for him ;).

To Grey_Archangel: Thanks!

To Lali812: Good to know that you like both of my stories so much! Thank you!

To Rosmerta: I'm glad! Thanks!

Please, enjoy the new chapter!

__________________________

7. Glass and Blood

     It was almost the middle of September, almost two weeks after Dawson's and Whitford's trials that had let Harry breathe more easily after all the efforts he'd made to make it happen; after the previous trials of several murderers of Draco's parents, after the anonymous threats, after helping in collecting the evidence and making a lot of paperwork, which he hated; after all the goddamned reporters, following on his heels. It was finally over.

     It was about four and a half months since Draco had become a slave. Everything seemed tranquil for now and nothing new happened in their lives, which, Harry decided, was good (except for having no news about Scorpius). He really needed some rest.



     He was really afraid to let Draco leave the house like this. It was actually the first time he was doing it. At first he'd been afraid that someone would hurt Draco or insult him. And he always remembered the mediwizard's words about the fragility of the immune system of those who had been enslaved. Harry was afraid that Draco would catch a cold outside. But he knew that it wasn't normal to lock Draco up like this, even if Draco himself wasn't quite enthusiastic about leaving the house. He needed air. Gods, he hadn't been outside for months! Summer had passed, and Draco hadn't been outside even for a minute. It wasn't normal.

     So he sent him shopping. A false pretence, of course, but if he just told Draco to go have some fresh air in the park or something, it would enrage the blond, because anything like that automatically considered as unneeded, pathetic generosity that Harry could just very well shove up his own arse. To avoid arguments and even more hostility, Harry could only give Draco his work, and not offer him ways to spend his free time, which he didn't have much as it was. Well, he could surely order Draco absolutely anything, but, as before, he refused to abuse his power. Draco himself had never asked to let him out; of course, he hated asking for anything at all and it seemed he would do just about anything to avoid it, but he never looked like he was dying to go outside. And yet, Harry decided to take the risk.

     He apparated them both to wizarding London and gave the blond the dark-blue hook umbrella, because it was raining slightly. It would also make Draco less visible to the other people in the streets; it wasn't hard to see that Draco didn't want any attention.

"Okay... I have some work to do and then I'll pick you up right here in three hours. It's more than enough for you to find everything from the shopping list, so take your time. In case you get cold, warm yourself up in some pub or café; order anything you like," Harry said. Draco gave him a slightly annoyed look. "Well... See you in three hours," Harry said and disapparated.

     What Draco didn't know was that Harry came back in a couple of minutes, took Polyjuice and followed him under the guise of the differently looking person. Harry wasn't particularly happy with himself, but he wanted to make sure Draco was fine. The blonde's safety was more important than Harry's honesty. Draco looked lost and disoriented. Harry wondered how many years ago the fair-haired young man had had a chance to just walk down these streets freely.

     The working day, the working hours, just a little past afternoon, and rain had taken care that there weren't many people outside. It made Draco relax, even though he felt like he was on the alert. Gods, he hadn't been here for years. Unhurriedly, he headed to the part of the city he knew very well (if nothing had changed, of course).

     He just couldn't walk past the tea shop without stopping in front of it for several moments, just to inhale the pleasant smell. The shop hadn't changed at all. There, on the endless shelves, were hundreds of the jars of tea. These were the testers, so the customers could inhale the wonderful scent of hundreds of types. Black, green, yellow, oolong, white... Imported from all over the world. A great many types of fruit tea and herbal tea, including some of those that people drank for healing purposes only (their taste didn't make most people want to drink them for pleasure). So many types, so many names, some were extremely exotic and rare. There were also types that could only be found in the wizarding world. It had been one of his favourite shops. He'd visited it with his parents many times when he was little. He remembered himself wanting to taste every single type of tea the shop offered. He had liked most of those he'd had a chance to taste, but once he'd nearly ended up vomiting after choosing some black tea with vanilla and something else. That one was sickening. He almost smiled at the memory. Now he didn't feel the same thrill; it was just lost. And yet, he inhaled once again, absolutely positive that his smell receptors had caught jasmine and camomile, and, probably, bergamot orange of Earl Grey, - one of his favourites.

     Draco was walking past the other shops without stopping. Tobacco shop never offered anything interesting for him. He didn't care if someone enjoyed ruining their lungs, skin and teeth, they weren't his, after all, but he hated the smell that literally soaked into clothes and hair, and it wasn't easy to get rid of it completely, even with strong spells. He remembered being angry at the couple of his housemates at school, because their clothes had smelled like that and he hadn't wanted it anywhere near him.

     Not that he had money of his own to be picky about shopping (he quickly remembered that he wasn't even shopping for himself). To his shame he had forgotten all the money he'd had in that old house deep in the forest. There hadn't been too much, but Narcissa had packed enough for her son and grandchild. When he'd been arrested he'd felt so scared and crestfallen that he could have easily forgotten his own head there. And that was how he'd ended up without a Knut. But there was no harm in dreaming, right? Especially walking past all these shops.

     The apothecary, that offered incredibly rare potion ingredients, looked the same. The jewellery shop across the street, according to the bright red sign, promised the good discount for those who were deeply in love with someone. How they managed to measure the depth of someone's love and to confirm its veracity remained unexplained, unless it was just a joke, which was very likely; the shopkeeper would've made a career on the different field, otherwise, and probably made much more money on infatuated fools. And then there were two book shops that were too close to each other, which made their owners yell and argue almost constantly. There was the stationery shop that also had different enchanted objects, such as remembralls, magical quills and other things. If Draco had any money, he would've definitely bought something, even if it was something useless. The rather shabby pub looked out of place next to the clean shop windows, but it had always been here. The owner was probably too lazy to take care of it.

     Even if he had money, the alcohol shop had nothing for Draco, too, though a couple of wineglasses of a good wine would've been perfect. Immoderate drinking of something stronger was even worse than smoking, making people clumsy, stupid and too talkative for their own good. It made people lose control. On the other hand, he remembered that, according to popular opinion, drinking made people forget pain. Draco wasn't sure if it was really true, but he wouldn't mind to try right now if he could. He couldn't, though.

     Draco thought about the breakdown he'd had some time ago, the one that had made him physically ill. That was the perfect example of losing control even without any alcohol, so it was probably not a good idea to induce anything like that again and embarrass himself by making someone else know about his personal calamities, too humiliating to be voiced. He remembered how he had been screaming and crying, remembered the words he'd yelled, remembered the pain that had overpowered even the pain that the curse had made him feel, trying to force him to stop insulting his master. He remembered all of it a bit dimly, because he couldn't think clearly back then. Potter had pitied him; he'd even had tears on his face, though Draco wasn't sure if he hadn't imagined it. Oh, how Potter's wife would've had fun if she'd only seen Draco that broken! Or she would've probably been irritated and spelled his mouth shut, and done him a great favour by letting him keep his pain to himself.

     He didn't know what to think. He hated being outside and he liked it. It gave him the illusion of being free. But just when he thought of it, the fucking curse, of course, warned him unpleasantly that freedom was something he would probably never have again. Almost fifteen years was so long... And what then? Would he even care when he'd be freed? Would it matter? It hardly mattered even now... Maybe in fifteen years (now it was about fourteen and a half), if he survived, he would try to find his boy... But why? His Scorpius would hardly want to do anything with him...

     Harry kept following the lonely, lean figure, slowly walking down the street. He stopped when Draco had suddenly stopped and weakly leaned against the wall of the house with his shoulder. It made Harry feel concerned, but then he decided that the blond was just overwhelmed by the walk and by his own thoughts. Somehow Harry felt who was occupying the blonde's thoughts right now. He wanted to come closer and wrap his arms around these lean shoulders.

     Draco took several deep breaths and continued walking, as he closed the umbrella, because the rain had already stopped (it had probably been some time since it had stopped, but he'd noticed it only several moments ago).

     If in fifteen years he was able to have some money of his family, which was questionable, he would leave the country and settle down somewhere far away where no one knew him, somewhere where wouldn't be many people around, somewhere where he would try to forget all the people that currently surrounded him or had surrounded him before, besides his family, of course. He wondered it he would ever be able to be normal after being a slave. If only his boy wanted to go with him, he would try his best to make up for all the years of not being there for him. If not... Draco would go alone to lick his wounds till the rest of his life. His son would be eighteen years old, after all; it was the age when children didn't really need parents anymore. And why would Scorpius need him, having other people to take care of him for so many years? Someone else was reading him books before his sleep, someone else taught him things the way they were used to, not the way Draco would have taught him. Someone else would bring his baby to the King's Cross station and wave their hands at him when he'd take his seat in Hogwarts Express. Someone else would receive the first letter in which his boy would write about the results of the sorting, and then this person, or those people, would receive all the subsequent letters, give Scorpius advices, support him. Or maybe it would be some other school of magic. In any case, when Draco was free, his boy would be already out of school with his plans for the future, most likely. And then Draco would appear for him out of the blue (if he'd be able to find him at all)... He wouldn't be needed, he wouldn't be welcome... There was a good chance he would even be hated. Scorpius would probably let Draco say how sorry he was, but that would be all... Draco's broken heart responded with nagging pain and he swallowed his tears back. He had to accept it all, there was no other way. He increased his pace dramatically. He wanted to run; not to run away (it was impossible, anyway), just to run.

     It quickly brought him to Diagon Alley, where traditionally were much more shops, concentrated in one area. Draco had once loved this place, especially when he'd been a little boy. It had seemed so lovely. Now everything seemed a bit too colourful, but dull and unwelcoming for him. No, the place was the same, but he wasn't. Now he couldn't imagine what he could have possibly liked here. There were too many happy faces and he loathed all of them. There were too much people here (well, not too much due to this moderately early hour) and it made him feel out of place. He felt so angry and bitter. People who had taken his boy away, people who had killed his parents, the rapist that had forced himself on him, all the other bastards, including those who had sold him like an animal, those who had wanted to buy him; they all were just walking the same streets freely.

     He quickly found the back street he'd been looking for, in the very beginning of the Diagon Alley (thank Merlin he didn't need to go any further) where the apothecary was situated. He could find no explanation why Potter wanted him to buy things in this apothecary, not somewhere else. When the shopkeeper had given him all the potions from the list, Draco put them into the small leather satchel with the long shoulder strap, paid him quickly, took all the change to the last Knut and left without saying a word. Fucking Potter! He'd made him go outside like this when Draco could've easily brewed all of it himself! It would've brought him much more pleasure than being among all these fucking people. But, of course, no one ever thought about Draco's comfort. On the other hand, he probably wasn't trusted enough to brew everything properly, even if the curse wouldn't let him harm his masters. These weren't really complicated potions. Two of them were meant to ease the headache, the other one was thick almost like an ointment and was meant to be gently rubbed into the children's gums to lessen the pain during teething (Draco had a first-hand knowledge about this one, because he'd been brewing it for Scorpius); there was also a very light sleeping potion, usually used for teething children. There was nothing in the list that Draco couldn't brew easily, thanks to his late Godfather who had awoken his interest and talent in potion making. Severus Snape was another person that had been taken away from him. Draco missed him. In his room, next to the picture of his parents on the shelf, he had the clipping from the newspaper; it was an article, describing Severus' great services during the war (even though people, including Draco, didn't know everything. But somehow he was sure that Potter knew more than anyone else. After all, 'Severus' was the middle name of one of his sons), with the photograph of the man. The old newspaper had been found in one of the storerooms, next to his room, in the pile among the other papers, and Draco had made the clipping, since he didn't have a proper picture of his Godfather.

     He hurried up to purchase the rest of the things from the list, so he could leave this place as soon as possible. The cat food for Meow was the last thing to buy. The enchanted satchel at his thigh, hanging from his opposite shoulder, easily accommodated all the purchases. Very quickly he returned to the place where Potter was going to pick him up. Draco still had more than one hour to wait for him and it irritated him to no end. He found the bench within the field of his vision and sat down. Fortunately, it was almost dry, so he made himself comfortable and relaxed. For several moments he pondered over Potter's suggestion to find some warm, cosy café, but quickly refused. He didn't want to use even one Knut of Potter's money, he didn't want to be among the people, which was unavoidable in such establishments, and it wasn't really cold outside, especially given that he was wearing his warm overcoat.

    Harry sighed, looking at Draco sitting on the bench. During his short shopping trip a few people had stared at the blond suspiciously, and Harry had been ready to interfere if necessary, but, fortunately, those were only stares that Draco hadn't even seemed to notice. Draco looked even more dismal, so Harry knew that making him go outside hadn't been a good idea at all.

     He showed himself thirty minutes earlier than promised and took the gloomy and almost unresponsive blond back to Grimmauld Place. And then he really went to work.

     It was a shitty day, Draco had known it since the morning when he'd found out about that unwanted shopping. And now, as he entered his room after doing some household chores, he was a bit stunned, seeing Potter's spawn with the framed picture of Scorpius in his small hands; and it seemed like he was talking to it, playing with it, for sure. Potter's son had never entered his room before; at least, Draco had never seen him here. He tried his best to keep himself together and not to lash out.

"Put it back," he said coldly. The boy flinched slightly and turned to him.

"It's little you?" Albus asked.

"No. I said put it back," Draco demanded even more sternly. Albus' pout turned into a frown.

"My home and I touch all I want! I want baby picture!" he yelled and pressed the picture to his chest, turning away stubbornly.

"Put this picture back on the bedside table or, I swear to Merlin, you're going to pay dearly for touching it," Draco growled quietly, unimpressed by the brat's tantrum and by the unpleasant warning the curse was giving him. "It belongs to me. At least something your bloody parents and their stupid friends haven't taken from me."

"M'telling Mum you say bad fings! You evil!" Al yelled even louder. When Draco moved closer to take the picture away from the little, arrogant shit and throw him out of the room, Albus moved to the bedside table to place the picture back on it, but he was angry and didn't know how the picture ended up slipping out of his small hands. It hit the floor and shattered before he knew it. The boy was stunned and appalled; his anger disappeared right away. He turned around to look at speechless Draco, who was looking down at the shards of the glass on the floor and now frameless picture of his baby. Not only the glass that had protected the picture was broken, but the beautiful cut-glass frame itself was broken into little pieces.

"Sowwy..." Albus Severus whispered. He'd never been hit in his short life, but now he expected to be hit for this, so he slowly moved to the door. Draco didn't stop him and didn't stop looking at the floor. He kneeled slowly and took the picture carefully. He put it on the bedside table and started to pick up the shards of glass, feeling numb inside.

     In the evening when Harry returned home, took a shower and had his supper, he, as usual, went to spend some time with children, letting Ginny go to her friend. Albus looked unusually quiet and not very eager to play.

"What is it, Al?" Harry asked softly. "Something is definitely wrong with you today."

"I did vewy bad fing, Daddy," the boy replied, looking down. Harry sat down on the sofa and put his son on his lap.

"Tell me what happened," he asked. Albus fidgeted a little.

"I seed baby picture in Dwaco's woom. Like postcawd, beautiful. Just wanted take a look. I taked picture..." he confessed and became quiet.

"What do you mean you took it? Haven't I told you that it's very bad to go through anyone's personal things? Where is it now? We have to give it back to Draco," Harry said calmly.

"No!" the boy shook his head. "M'not... Don't have picture. Just wanted look and Dwaco was angwy. He said put it back. I said it my home and... I touch what I want," Albus said and cast his eyes down again, looking slightly ashamed, which, Harry thought, was good. His boy was four years and several months old, and it was good that he'd started to understand when he was wrong.

"Oh, Al..." Harry sighed.

"I din' mean dwop it..."

"It shattered?"

"Uh-huh. I din' mean... You angwy?"

"Yes, I am. But I'm glad you're so honest with me," Harry said softly and kissed the boy's forehead.

"No sweets?" Albus asked carefully.

"No sweets," his father confirmed, trying his best not to smile. Al sighed unhappily.

     Draco seemed absolutely indifferent, as Harry was silently watching him washing the dishes. Harry noticed a couple of small cuts on his fingers. They weren't deep and they weren't bleeding, and Harry knew that he'd got them, picking up the shards of glass and cut-glass off the floor. The dark-haired man didn't say anything about it yet, feeling that right now Draco didn't need much to break down and fall apart. It was practically in the air. Or was Harry imagining it and Draco was unusually calm? He couldn't decide. Automatically, the blond finished all his work about the kitchen and left without making a sound.

     Harry retrieved all the pieces of the frame from the dustbin to repair it, but there were a lot of tiny shards that he couldn't find, and the frame would hardly look whole without them. Anyway, the thing had been too exquisite to make it look the same again with the simple 'Reparo'. But then he found something that startled him. It was the sharp piece of glass, bigger than the other pieces, and it was covered in dry blood. Several napkins, also found in the dustbin, were blood-drenched, too. A couple of scratches that he'd seen on Draco's fingers could've hardly resulted in losing this much blood. And... It didn't look like an accident.

     He knocked on the door of the blonde's room.

"What?" was the quiet and annoyed sigh.

"May I come in?" Harry asked. There was no reply this time and he decided that it was one of those cases when silence gave consent. He entered tentatively. It seemed Draco was going to take a bath; he looked like he'd already been ready to go, with the bathrobe draped over his right forearm, but now he patiently waited for Harry to say whatever he wanted to say or order and to get the fuck out.

"Draco, there's something I want to ask. I found... Did you cut yourself on purpose?" the dark-haired man asked carefully. He saw the way Draco tensed and narrowed his eyes. Harry looked down at the blonde's left arm. It was covered with the sleeve of his white shirt, but the wrist and a part of the forearm looked thicker than usual under it, which Harry hadn't noticed in the kitchen, simply because he hadn't paid attention. Now that he knew about the cut (or cuts), it wasn't hard to guess that there was a bandage under the sleeve. He remembered placing some potions and the bandage roll into one of the drawers in Draco's bathroom, just in case. Draco didn't like the scrutiny and slightly moved the arm back instinctively.

"What's it to you?" he sneered.

"Why?.." Harry nearly whispered, this time looking up at his face.

"Distraction," the blond shrugged indifferently.

"Look... What you do is really... creepy. If there's anything I can do for you to make things better, I will. Just, please, stop hurting yourself. Please, Draco, don't," Harry said slowly and quietly.

"Stop talking to me like I'm some stupid, attention-seeking teenager," Draco hissed. "Don't worry, Master, I'm perfectly capable of doing my chores. Is that all?"

"You know I don't care about it. I care about you," Harry said truthfully, looking right into the blonde's eyes. Draco's scowl was gradually replaced with a threateningly cold expression that only intensified, despite the warning the curse was giving him. Either Potter was just ready to say anything to spare himself a problem of self-harming slave, or, most likely, the heroic Saviour decided to make a clumsy, pathetic attempt to give Draco a meaning of life.

     Seeing this shockingly bone chilling look on Draco's face, these icy-cold eyes, Harry prepared himself to the incredible amount of shit coming his way.

"You know what I think, Master; I think you have too much free time," the blond almost whispered, but Harry caught a threatening undertone in his voice.

"You have to stop doing this to yourself," he said, making sure his voice sounded calm.

"Order me. You can order me not to cut myself again. Come on. You're a Master, so you certainly know what's best for me," the blond sneered.

"I won't do anything like this, even if I want to."

"Too noble to use all the power you possess over me? Well, too bad for you then."

"God, why can't we have a normal talk? Just once."

"What do you want to discuss? I don't think there's anything for us to talk about. Oh, I know; why don't we talk about you, instead?"

"If you want to," Harry replied, even though he knew that nothing good was going to come out of it. Draco hanged his bathrobe on the back of the armchair and sat down tiredly.

"Believe me, I don't. But, you see, Master, I thought I've made myself perfectly clear, making you see that I don't want your care, pity and attention; or any attention at all. Unlike you. You will never understand me, because you do want all the attention, don't you?"

"What makes you think I do?" God, he really knew it wasn't a good idea. Most likely, he was making another mistake. He just hoped to build some dialogue with Draco, even a lame one, which he'd been totally failing to do all these months. His only real attempt had ended with the severe nervous breakdown, so Harry was even more careful now. He'd just hoped that he would have more chances, giving the blond more time to get accustomed to the circumstances, more or less, even though he'd never expected much. It didn't seem he'd succeeded in anything at all.

"It's obvious. You were raised without a mother. That's why you married that..." Draco curled his lip in disdain. "The woman that looks a lot like your mother. I've seen the picture of Lily Evans once. Long, red, slightly wavy hair... Almost like your wife's. Wrong colour of eyes, though, but that's all right, isn't it? And Lily Evans was a far better looking person than your bitch of a wife. She was also a bit more womanlike, but, of course, she hadn't been raised together with... How many? Six brothers? Or seven? Sadly, it's the best you've managed to find to compensate for the lack of motherly attention. And it doesn't really work." Draco continued, despite the pain, blossoming inside him and becoming more and more acute. He knew he wasn't far from being severely and abruptly hurt by the curse and was secretly very afraid of it; it wasn't the pain one could just get used to. Harry was seething a bit and he was speechless at the insult. He let Draco continue, nevertheless. At least, he wasn't saying anything offending about Al and what had happened earlier. Harry wasn't sure he would be able to keep quiet and let anyone throw insults about his child. "Your best friends are too busy. The world is saved from being destroyed and plunged into the darkness by the mad villain. That's why you need something else, someone else, to fulfil your restless, heroic needs to save and gain respect. You just can't live without it. And, since I'm such a poor soul, you're trying to impose yourself on me with your attempts to save me and probably make me appreciate your efforts. Well, I'm sorry, it's not going to work, either. If you really wanted to help me, you would've let me die when I was ill. That would've been greatly appreciated; and not only by me, as we both know."

"Offence is the best defence, isn't it?" Harry sighed. "You don't know me and my motives at all."

"Likewise! See? You do things that you assume I need when, in fact, I don't. Right now I need a bath if you don't mind," Draco said with a note of finality. Gods, the curse was eating him alive now. It took him a lot not to show that he was in pain. He got up, shaking slightly, and took the bathrobe.

"All right then..." Harry sighed again. He'd failed, as usual. There seemed to be no way to mollify the blonde's hostility, but he'd known it already. Right now it was Draco's self-harm that bothered Harry the most. Draco walked past him to the door and opened it to leave.

"I'm really sorry that it hurts so much that you haven't found any other way to comfort yourself," he said quietly and sincerely, making the blond stop on his tracks. Harry could swear he saw the slim shoulders shaking a little, but Draco never looked back at him and left.

     When Draco returned to his room after bath, he immediately noticed several rolls of bandages, the glass jar with wads of cotton wool and the potion to clean the wounds. All of it was on the desk.

     Harry hadn't really accepted what Draco did to himself; however, there was nothing he could do without suppressing the blonde's will. He hoped that Draco would, at least, take care of the wounds, so he'd provided him with all the necessary things for it and, feeling defeated, left the room before Draco's return. Sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace in the living room, Harry was thinking numbly; he tried to be angry at Draco, but couldn't. How the hell could it come down to this? He remembered all the fuss when Buckbeak had injured the blond and other incidents when he had suffered some damage. Even if it was something insignificant, it had always been comparable to the world-scale tragedy, due to all the whining, so Harry had always thought that Draco shunned any physical harm and pain. It was still probably so, but it seemed that somehow it didn't apply to self-inflicted damage. Harry let out a heavy sigh and massaged his temples.

     Draco knew he was going to end up feeling fine about self-mutilation, slowly and gradually. It had happened to him before, after all. Now he only needed a tool for something this personal, so he took one of the daggers from the collection that had been the heirloom of Blacks. It was one of those daggers that Draco had cleaned and made look nearly perfect. He chose the one that was encrusted with moonstones (the largest one decorated the top of the silver pommel). It seemed sharper than all the other daggers from the collection. For several moments he was enchanted by the shiny blade. He felt better, knowing that he was going to have such a thing at his disposal. Even though traditionally daggers were rather considered as stabbing weapon, not cutting, the edges were extremely sharp and Draco knew how to use it. With the similar dagger he'd cut out his Dark Mark. He put the blade into its silver sheath, enjoying the sound it created. He would need it later.

     The curse hurt him when he was leaving the room, hiding the dagger behind his waistband to sneak it into his bathroom without being noticed. 'For fuck's sake... I'm not stealing it from my damned masters! I merely want to take it into my bathroom. I'm borrowing it! I use the other things here, too, don't I?! My Master has allowed me to take anything I need. Bloody curse!' he thought fervently before it would've started to hurt too much. The curse didn't like it at all, he could feel it, but it stopped inflicting pain, because he had a point, whether it liked it or not. He wanted to shout in frustration, but, at least, he had the dagger now. He put it into one of the drawers in his bathroom, hiding it between the towels, but he would be able to find it rather quickly. No one knew when he would feel the urge to use it, after all.

     James was sleeping, cradled in Harry's right arm, and Al was mincing along, holding his Dad's left hand. Harry knew that Albus enjoyed shopping with him. Well, not only shopping, but going wherever his Daddy went. Together they entered the shop, full of a great many different photo albums and photo frames.

"I think this one looks like the one that Draco had," Harry said, looking at one of them after looking around for some time. It was made of cut-glass with the elements of rock crystal, too, like Draco's, but he noticed that the tracery was a bit different; however, it was the same size as Draco's and it was rather expensive, too.

"No, Daddy," Albus shook his head.

"No?"

"No. It's pinkish. And... not same."

"You're right," Harry sighed. He had all the found pieces of Draco's frame with him, and, since he'd failed to find the one that looked exactly like Draco's, he decided to try to take the shards to a repair shop (after cleaning them from the blood), even though there weren't enough pieces. But that was the reason for the existence of repair shops, wasn't it? Only fifteen minutes after giving the shards to the shopkeeper it was ready and given back by the rather old man with the magical eye-socket loupe which he seemed to use even looking at the people. Harry was amazed, because the frame looked absolutely flawless. Now he wondered why he hadn't come here in the first place, instead of trying to find a replacement. He just hadn't expected that it could've possibly been repaired this good. He failed to find the tiniest split or crack. It was polished, which made it look even more perfect. God, it was only a frame, but Harry felt like a load had been taken off his mind. How sad that a human soul couldn't be repaired this easily...

"Like new!" Al exclaimed when they left the repair shop.

"Shhh..." Harry hushed him with a wide smile. Jamie was usually quite unhappy and loud if he was woken up before he was actually ready to wake up.

     The weather was fine enough to walk some more, so he and Albus were walking down the almost deserted street leisurely. James kept sleeping peacefully in Harry's arms.

"Now we buy wibbon?" Albus asked a bit excitedly.

"A ribbon?" Harry lifted his eyebrow in puzzlement, but then smiled. "No, Al. It's not a present, it's your apology. Draco is still upset, I'm sure. Just be polite; give it to him, apologise and promise him to never enter his room and touch anything of his again."

"I pwomise, Daddy," the boy nodded. "Um... Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Who's baby? Dwaco's son or daughter?"

"His little son. That picture is all Draco's been left of him."

"Why? Baby died?" the boy asked with sadness.

"He was taken away by bad people."

"Bad people take me, too?" Al gasped and clutched Harry's hand harder.

"No, of course, not," Harry assured, looking down into the green eyes, so similar to his own.

"Pwomise?"

"I promise."

"Okay..." Albus sighed in relief. But then, almost a minute later he said: "He angwy all the time and don't like anyone."

"Yeah..." Harry sighed. He wasn't sure his son was old enough to understand what slavery was and how people should never belong to other people like things, so he decided not to start talking about it.

     He hoped Draco wouldn't fire up, yell at Al and throw the frame back at him. He was worried about it. He didn't want Al to be hurt and deprived of forgiveness. The boy really felt guilty for what he'd done and Harry approved it, because his child was learning to distinguish good from bad and to admit his mistakes.

     In the evening when Draco had finished his loathsome work, the tentative knock on his door made him let out an irritated sigh.

"What?"

"Um... May I come in?" the small voice asked.

"What do you want?" Seriously, this annoying child was going to drive him mad. But it was mini-Potter, so there was nothing to be surprised at. Albus entered uncertainly. Draco was sitting on the edge of his bed and the boy approached him, though, not coming too close. He carefully put the ornate frame on the bed, as if it was the greatest treasure in the world. Draco was slightly surprised to see it in one piece. It was an old thing and it was hardly possible to find it in shops, so he decided that the frame had been repaired.

"It's apology, not gift. M'vewy, vewy sowwy," Al said shyly. His small face was blushing. In spite of not saying all he'd intended to say (he'd simply forgotten about it, due to his nervousness), he quickly retreated from Draco's room. Even if Draco looked impassive, the boy was worried that the man was going to be angry, and he didn't want to see it happen at all.

____________________________

REVIEW, PLEASE!
- 6
- 7
- 8
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

The Shards Of His Beloved