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Harry Potter and the Prince of Ice	By : Neverwood Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 6234 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Anal, Angst, Fingering, H/C, HJ, M/M, Oral, Rim, Solo, Spank. I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it. I do not recieve money for this in any way. For entertainment purposes only.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who is following this story, and a warm welcome to any new readers! Here's this week's chapter, which is very plotty if I do say so myself. Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Seven: The Golden Boy and the Golden Room

Harry stood in front of the mirror, frustrated with his lack of knowledge in regards to fashion. He'd been staring at his reflection for ten minutes, still not content that he looked good enough for his first public appearance since he killed Voldemort. He'd never really cared about his appearance before, and he wasn't sure why it was this important now, but it was. And he was hopeless.

“You know,” Draco said from behind him, “if you stare at yourself any longer, you may turn into Lockhart.”

“Or you.” Harry tossed over his shoulder, not even looking at the man.

Draco snorted. “In your dreams, Potter. Besides, I would never go out looking like that.”

Damn it. Harry thought to himself. I knew it wasn't good enough.

“What's wrong with what I've got on?” Harry asked, examining his reflection as if he would see anything different.

Draco sighed, walking towards him. “Here, just let me fix it.”

It took Draco all of two minutes to fix Harry's appearance. He untucked the vest, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, redid the messily formed tie into an impeccable Half-Windsor, straightened the collar of the shirt as well as tucked it under that of the suit coat, then buttoned the centermost button of the suit coat. Harry was duly impressed, seeing the effects of the transformation immediately. He'd gone from a little kid playing dress-up to respectable businessman. Draco stared at...something above Harry's head, and sighed in annoyance.

“If I had my supplies, I might actually be able to tame that wild mane of yours, Gryffindor.” Draco said with remorse over the lost opportunity.

Harry widened his eyes in mock surprise. “You left behind your precious hair gel?”

Draco glared at him in return. “The Ministry somehow believed I would be able to use Robert Trauss' Extra Strength Holding Gel for nefarious purposes. Though, I can't blame them.” Draco suddenly gave Harry a smile that could only be described as debonair. “After all, I am devilishly handsome.”

Harry's breath caught at the sight of Draco smiling at him like that. The nervousness he felt demanded his attention, and he was again assaulted with memories of the night before. Determined not to show Draco any reaction, he nodded and turned away, pretending to need something to do with his end table. He pretended to fiddle with something until he felt his body's reactions were once again under his control before turning back to Draco.

They really did look a pair. Him in his now dapper-looking black suit, Draco in a more modern-style suit done in tones of light grey. If it had been anyone other than the two of them, Harry would think they would make a handsome couple. But of course, it was him and Draco, so such thinking was ridiculous.

“Ready?” Draco said, and Harry realized he'd been off in his own world again. He gave Draco a small smile and led the way to the fireplace.

“As I'll ever be.”

…

Harry had to admit, the Ministry had outdone themselves. And he meant that in the most depreciating way possible. When he and Draco had emerged from the Floo, he had thought at first that he had been sent to the wrong fireplace, much like second year. But Draco strode into the fray like he was the king of it all, so Harry followed behind and just tried to reconcile this monstrosity with his memories of the Main Hall of the Ministry.

Honest to God, it was like he was inside the Golden Egg. Every freaking thing in the place was gold or gold-plated. The tablecloths were gold, the fountain (restored from its horrible anti-Muggle sculpture), the walls, the candelabras, the silverware. Everything was gold. As if that wasn't bad enough, standing on golden platforms were living sculptures covered in, you guessed it, gold. Harry thought with disgust that it looked like a cross between a goblin's heaven and a dragon's dream. Neither of which were good things, in Harry's opinion.

Harry lost Draco among the hustle and bustle of the crowd, and he felt a stirring in his chest. His eyes widened as he experienced a new sensation that he was completely unfamiliar with. He felt his breathing grow shorter, and felt as if a troll were sitting upon his chest. His body began to shake, and he broke out in a sweat. He couldn't figure out what was wrong, and his lack of knowledge along with his inability to deal with the situation only seemed to make it worse. He moved away from anyone he saw, drawing several people's eyes as he helplessly wheezed loudly for air. The world around him began to spin and darken, when a hand shot out and grabbed his arm, temporarily shocking him out of his daze.

“Harry, you all right?” It was Blaise Zabini, one of Draco's friends that had actually been nice to him on Draco's birthday. While most of the others had only talked to Harry in order to second-handedly interact with Draco, Blaise had actually shown a genuine interest in Harry.

“Fine.” Harry managed to gasp out. Blaise looked around before guiding him into one of the empty hallways surrounding the Golden Room of Gaudiness.

“Sit.” Blaise said, although with the way he was pushing him Harry didn't think there was much choice in the matter. “Put your head between your knees.”

Harry sighed. “Blaise, you're very nice, but-”

Blaise snorted. “Just put your head between your knees, Lion.”

Harry gave Blaise a narrow-eyed look, but did as he was asked. He found that the room stopped spinning, and his lungs no longer felt like a Hypogriff was sitting on them. He took deep breaths until he felt normal again.

“What happened?” Harry asked. “Did someone curse me?”

Blaise shook his head. “No. You had a panic attack. My cousin gets them all the time when she goes to parties.”

“Oh.” Harry said. He wasn't really processing, he was still a little shaken by the suddenness of his reaction.

“Will you be here all right by yourself for a minute?” Blaise said. Harry nodded, not wanting to seem like even more of a nuisance. Blaise walked away quickly, and Harry couldn't blame him. If there was any way he could avoid the situation, he most certainly would. He put his head back between his knees and began to breathe deeply again, a part of him astounded that a trick like that would actually work.

“Panic attack, huh?”

Harry's head shot up so fast he saw stars. He groaned, both at the discomfort and at the fact that Draco was apparently well aware of his newest weakness. He waited for the insults, the smug remarks, the superior tone. But to his surprise, none came. Instead, Draco sounded almost...understanding.

“I should have known.” Draco said, standing in front of Harry but looking at anything else. “It wouldn't have taken a genius to figure it out. God only knows what kind of damage you've got from the war.” He suddenly met Harry's eyes with a piercing gaze. “I should be able to help. I babysat Blaise's cousin sometimes when I would visit him.”

“You would help me?” Harry said. Draco rolled his eyes.

“I can see we've made no progress.” Draco waved away whatever Harry was about to say, which Harry himself wasn't even sure what he would have said anyway. “No matter. When we go back in there...yes, Potter, we're going back in.” Draco said in response to Harry's bewildered look. “Focus on me, completely on me. Ignore the sounds and the sights around you. Ignore everything else. Focus. On. Me.” Suddenly, Draco's smug expression was back. “It can't be that hard. I am amazing to loort at.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, in your dreams, Malfoy.”

Draco smirked. “Or maybe in yours, Potter.”

Harry froze, wondering if he would bring up the previous night. But Draco didn't seem to want to talk about that any more than Harry did, so he let his fears about it subside. For now.

“Come on.” Draco said, holding his hand out. “We have a party to attend, powers-that-be to schmooze, and a 'coronation' to witness.”

Harry couldn't help but laugh at how disdainful Draco sounded. Once upon a time, he would have wanted to punch Draco in the face for saying something like that. Harry realized yet again what he had already discovered: that he had become a completely different person, and that Draco had as well. He kept forgetting that. As he got up and walked slowly back towards the cacophony of noise, deceit, and false charm, he couldn't stop a thought from running through his mind.

He hoped Draco would be there to remind him in the foreseeable future.

…

Draco had not been understating how precocious and utterly boring the party would be. For ten minutes, they did nothing but walk around the room and try to avoid the Harry Potter fan club, as Draco called them. Women and men alike flocked to him with disconcerting focus and hunger in their eyes, but each time Draco deflected them with ease, sending them off politely but resolutely. If one or more of them wouldn't take the hint, Draco would lead him to someone he knew and would introduce him or, if Harry knew them already, start up a conversation. Harry had to admit, Draco was quite the socialite. He never thought he would be saying that in the form of a compliment, and he would of course never admit it out loud, but he felt it all the same.
Whenever he felt the panic creep in again, all he had to do was touch Draco's sleeve. Draco would disengage them and take him to a more quiet corner of the room and made him focus. Sometimes he would have him focus on his hair, sometimes the smell of his cologne, sometimes the sound of his voice. Despite what their past would suggest, being around Draco was actually very soothing.
Harry was deep in conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt about his new assignment in Cairo when he was suddenly and almost violently pulled away. Harry let out a small squeak of alarm before coming face to face with a man whom he had never seen before.
The man had long dark purple hair, eyes so brown that they appeared to be black, and skin as pale as milk. His suit was done in sky blue and lavender, which made him look ridiculous and very much like an Easter egg. His smile was feral, and the handshake he forced on Harry made Harry want to take his arm back and hide it from the man.
“Good evening, Mr. Potter. I am so very glad to see you here. Ignatius Dingleberry, newly appointed Minister of Magic. Of course, you probably already knew that.”
Harry was finding it very hard not to laugh. If the man's appearance wasn't bad enough, his voice and mannerisms were both distinctly feminine in nature. Although Harry had no problem with feminine men, this one didn't seem to even be conscious of it. In fact, if his manner was any indication, he thought he was God's gift to mankind. His behavior and inflated sense of self reminded Harry of Gilderoy Lockhart, and wasn't that a nauseating thought?
“Draco Malfoy.” A voice just behind his shoulder said, and suddenly Harry's hand was freed and Dingleberry's was the one being misappropriated for a handshake. Harry had to physically bite his lip as the urge to laugh grew. He had to cover a chuckle with a fake cough as Dingleberry went from looking nonplussed to resembling a bright red cherry on top of a cotton candy sundae.
“Pleasure.” Dingleberry bit out, wrenching back his arm as soon as it was polite for him to do so. He bore his teeth in what Harry thought was supposed to resemble a smile, but instead called to mind a shark's mouth full of teeth.
“I'm afraid, sir, that Harry was in the middle of a very important discussion. Do excuse us.”
Draco began leading Harry away, not needing or waiting for an answer. Which was well and good, since the spluttering from Dingleberry indicated he wasn't capable of giving one. Harry knew from years of experience that Draco would have to make one more parting shot, and stopped obligingly as Draco turned back to Dingleberry with a sickly sweet smile.
“I admire your choice of suit, by the way.” Draco said. “My friend's nursery looks quite the same. Lovely colors.”
Harry didn't dare turn around, but he could imagine the enraged expression that Dingleberry would no doubt be directing at Draco. Instead, he allowed himself a small laugh as they made their way to the opposite end of the room. Harry looked over at Draco, who looked very pleased with himself.
“I thought it wasn't the Malfoy way to piss off people in power.”
He immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say. He distinctly saw a flash of pain on Draco's face before he covered it up with his unresponsive mask. He gave Harry a level look.
“The Malfoy way doesn't exist anymore.” He said, and his voice was as dead as Harry had ever heard it. He strode toward his chosen destination, and Harry had to jog a little to keep up with the taller boy's longer strides. Even as he swam in regret for his hasty and unintentionally harmful words, he questioned why he felt a sense of loss, and why it was so strong it stole his breath away.

…

The rest of the evening was uneventful. Even the coronation, which was really just a bunch of speeches that nobody was really listening to and several people shaking hands with Dingleberry, was dull as dishwater. Harry kept stealing glances at Draco, trying to figure out a way to fix what he had done wrong. He knew he needed to apologize, but an apology seemed so inadequate. It felt as if he had destroyed something fragile, a precious thing that had barely begun to live. In all honesty, he wasn't paying attention to any other person in the room for more than a few seconds.

They Flooed home together, and Harry again had to rush after Draco. By the time he reached the staircase, Draco had already climbed it and was quickly heading into his room.

“Malfoy!” Harry called, needing the man to stop and pay attention to him.

Draco turned back to him, eyebrows lifted in inquiry. Harry visibly flinched at the ice in the other man's eyes before Draco softened towards him a little.

“I'm sorry.” Harry said, his voice soft and filled with regret. He wanted their fledgling friendship back, and had no idea how to go about it. He was hoping Draco would show him the way.

But Draco just nodded. He said, in a voice just above a whisper, “I know.” Then he disappeared into his room, leaving behind a confused and depressed Harry.
- 6
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Harry Potter and the Prince of Ice