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A Valentine's Day Massacre	By : pittwitch Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11077 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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*~Strengthen the Heart Chapter Eight ~*

Upon my return, James met me in the foyer with suspicion clouding his eyes. All doubts disappeared when I handed him the much-agonized over vellum envelope. He grinned up at me triumphantly and skittered down the hallway to his siblings. When I told Ginny, she panicked. I had to spend considerable time calming her before I could deliver the second envelope.

I don’t know which was worse: Ginny’s reaction or Ron’s. Ron nearly refused to attend much to Rose’s very vocal dismay. Hermione’s cooler head prevailed once more. Uncle Harry was hailed as the conquering hero, again. Some hero I was. No one even asked how I got those damnable invitations or what I had to do to get them except for Ginny. Late that night, as I propped myself up in our bed, holding her close, she tucked her head sleepily under my chin. Her eyes were shut, and in the shadows, I closed my eyes against the growing blue discoloration of her lips, her hollowed cheeks, the coolness of her skin.

She whispered, “Did you threaten him?”

“No.” I sighed the word softly, hand automatically stroking her long hair, pausing at the ends hanging down her back to twirl the still-silky strands around my fingers.

She struggled to turn and face me, studying my eyes as her cold fingers turned my chin for better light. “Are you sure?” she queried plaintively, her finger touching the damage on my lip, caressing the split with all the love in her heart.

The simple gesture overwhelmed my inner demons, slamming them back into their pit to fight each other alone.

“I didn’t threaten him,” I answered in all honesty, kissing the crown of her head.

Tiredly, she laid her head against my heart. I wished I could trade mine for hers.

“Good.” Peacefully, she slept then. I couldn’t. I eased her head to the pile of pillows and slipped out from underneath of her to return to my couch where I lay staring at my own ceiling all while tiny devils of tormenting thoughts of pale lips and a wet tongue kept me from sleeping.

The next morning, we left James in charge for our short visit to St. Mungo’s. After performing his now-routine scans, the Healer there, the one with the sad, adoring, puppy-dog eyes, handed me Ginny’s weekly allotment of potion, Repleocardio, with the same warning.

“She cannot keep taking this much longer.”

“We know, Healer. We know better than you that it has already begun to lose its efficacy.” I tried so hard not to growl at the man. I tried so hard. I growled anyway – growled in anger at the injustice, at his simpering manner, and growled at my own uselessness.

“Not just its efficacy, Mr. Potter.” The Healer’s eyes were so sad. Still his adoration shone through it all.

Instinctively, I knew that there was nothing more he could do. We knew there was nothing anyone could possibly do now.

“We understand,” I murmured with a deep sigh.

“Have you—” He coughed, dropped his eyes to his desk to gather his own thoughts, and then tried bravely to look me in the eye once more, “—made preparations?”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t nod. I couldn’t feel. I simply stared blankly at him.

“Next week, with your permission, of course, I could come to the house to save Ginny the stress of traveling.”

I swallowed hard, finally facing the inevitable. “Of course, Healer. I’ll leave directions with your receptionist.”

“Mr. Potter…” He looked at me again with more sorrow than even I felt.

“I know. And, thank you.” Gamely, I smiled at him.

He stood to walk me back to the reception area, and my wife. I spent the next day in a fog. Talking to the children was the hardest part. Their trusting, hopeful eyes peered at me with utmost confidence that their father would make every thing all right. I could win invitations to pure-bloods’ balls, but I couldn’t fix their mum.

New Year’s Eve dawned with a dismal foggy mist clinging to every available outdoor surface. For the whole day, the temperature hovered just above freezing, leaving everyone merely cold and damp. Excited, the kids bounced off the wall all day, pestering both me and their mum about when to start getting dressed. Finally, after sending one and all to baths, we began our preparations.

Assembled in the master bedroom, the kids bubbled and chattered about the Ball. Ginny fussed and fidgeted with Lily’s hair. James soberly stood in front of my mirror, fumbling with his tie for the fourth time. I stood behind Albus, next to James, to tie his silk for him. He smiled up at me happily, meeting my eyes in the mirror. I smiled back, feigning happiness I certainly didn’t feel. A vague sense of dread weighed me down. I attributed it to being forced to spend time with Draco, again.

After I shooed the kids out to wait for their cousins, Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron, I sat on the bed next to Ginny.

“I don’t want to go, Gin.” I held her hand in mine, staring down at the blue-tinged nails, feeling how cold she was.

“I know.” She pulled my hand to her lips. “But the children would be disappointed.”

“They can go with Ron and Hermione,” I persisted stubbornly.

“Yes, they could. But, what kind of appearance would that make – the Boy Who Lived shuns Malfoy hospitality – I can see Skeeter’s headline now,” she whispered with a rasping cough. “I can just hear Malfoy’s sneering laugh.” She coughed harder now, her frail body quaking with the effort.

“The rest of the world be damned, Gin. I want to stay with you.”

“I know.” Weakly, she smiled at me. “But think of this as my private time with Mum and Dad. It means a lot to me to have some time alone with them before…” Her voiced trailed off as a single tear rolled down her cheek. With a sniff, and grim determination, she continued, “I want you to go and show those pure-blood snobs that you and our family are better than they are.”

“You want me to put on my best dog and pony show?” I chuckled at her.

“Yes. Do it for me, and do it for the kids.” She giggled at me then, her dull eyes lighting slightly. “Show that fucking ferret who really owns this world.”

Her words inspired me. I felt a snake of some unknown emotion wind up through my stomach and squeeze around my heart.

“Your wish is my command, milady.”

I flashed her my best grin. Maybe I should show the ferret who owns his world. We each held on to the Portkey invitations as the appointed hour approached. The last thing I saw was Ginny waving to me from her bed. We landed as inelegantly as ever in the foyer at Malfoy Manor. Scorpius was on hand to greet us and escort us into the ballroom.

“Mr. Potter, welcome to our home.” The young man bowed in a stately manner.

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I am very pleased to meet you.” He extended his hand to Ron, who glowered at him suspiciously as he held out his on hand. Scorpius shook his hand firmly, meeting his glower with a calmness belying his youth. The young blond turned towards Hermione next, offering his hand as well.

“Mrs. Weasley, a true pleasure to welcome you as well.” He bowed over her hand, brushing her knuckles with his lips before stepping back. He offered his arm to Rose, and led us all into the ballroom.

The black and white-checkered marble floor gleamed with polish. Scorpius escorted us all directly to his parents and grandparents, standing in the oh-so-formal receiving line.

“Grandfather, may I introduce Miss Rose Weasley?” Scorpius politely inquired of Lucius.

“Of course, Scorpius.” Lucius bowed his head and offered his hand to Rose, who blushed prettily and offered her hand back, just as she had seen her mother do. Lucius brushed a light kiss on the back of her hand then turned his attention smoothly to Hermione and Ron.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, welcome to our home,” his smooth voice flowed like rendered honey over all of us.

No wonder he got away with so much.

“We thank you for your gracious invitation, Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione answered him in her sickly-sweet, reserved for public functions voice. Hopefully, only Ron and I recognized her tone. The remainder of the introductions went just as smoothly: cold and absolutely polite.

James couldn’t help from gawking around the room at the guests who were already assembled. With a hint of aggravation, I noticed Draco watching him.

I hissed at my oldest under breath, “James, don’t stare.”

“Yes, sir,” he whispered back, his eyes still darting to and fro to take in every last detail.

The awkwardness I felt inside was hidden away under my best Savior of the World mask. I chatted aimlessly and politely with the other guests until dinner was served. My ire began to rise as Draco ignored me at every turn. I watched him as he eased from group to group, the consummate host, yet he never approached me, or mine. Thankfully, we all were seated at the same round table where the white linen gleamed and the silver glittered. The children chattered excitedly, taking in every detail of their ritzy surroundings to store away as memories.

As the dessert dishes were cleared, I noticed Draco slipping away from the head table. Waiting just a scarce second, I excused myself as well, making for the entryway. As the doors slipped closed behind me, I spotted his blond head just as he turned the corner. Quickly, I followed him. As I entered the long hallway, lined with portrait after portrait, I called out to him. “Draco?”

He seemed to freeze in his tracks momentarily. Then, ever so slowly, he turned to face me. “Yes, Potter?”

I closed the distance between us with long, purposeful strides. Mustering all of my strength, I pinned him against the wall between two portraits. He gasped, staring into my eyes with surprise.

“Now?” he queried incredulously. “You pick now for me to play puppy? Here?” His eyes iced over, narrowing in anger.

I couldn’t resist. I locked onto his lips, plundering them, forcing them open with my teeth, tasting the chocolate from the dessert still in his mouth. When I pulled back, he was the one panting now. The faintest tinge of pink highlighted his cheeks and his lips were much darker now, much darker and beckoning me to return to my previous task.

“Merlin, Potter, not out here.” He gasped for air. With a jerk of his head, he indicated a door just a little further down the hall. I backed off just enough to allow him to slip from between that wood-paneled wall and my body. I fell into step beside him. I thought we would look almost companionable to anyone who would happen to see us. He opened the door to a study; a large burgundy leather sofa was in the center of the room, and a desk was tucked into a corner next to large bookcases stuffed with leather bound books in every possible color. Draco stepped to a side table, pouring the beautifully amber liquid from a cut-glass brandy decanter into the waiting snifters. He turned, handing me one then he settled into the corner of the couch, draping his arm carelessly over its arm. He sipped from his brandy with his eyes locked on mine, waiting, simply waiting.

I too took a sip then set the delicate glass on the table. He stared at me mockingly, waiting for me to make a move, daring me to make a move. I sat myself down on the couch next to him, close enough to feel his body’s warmth, even through our formal attire. I turned to stare straight into those icy eyes only to find them glittering with an indefinable fire. I leaned in to kiss him once more. I found myself enjoying being the dominator in this encounter. My hands found his waist, then his hips, holding him steady under my onslaught. My fingers seemed to know what to do before my conscious brain accepted what I was going to do. Draco’s pants were open and his cock was out before I even acknowledged my own desires.

With my foot, I shoved his low table back, and I sank to my knees onto the intricate jewel-toned Persian rug, worming my body between his knees. The overwhelming urge to taste him took over my every conscious sense; I licked his entire length from base to head, moaning almost as if the act pained me in some way. The act should pain me in some way. Shouldn’t it?

I looked up at Draco then, his blond head was thrown back against the couch with the snifter on the side table now. He grasped the back of the sofa on either side of his head. His eyes were closed. His face looked utterly peaceful. I tasted him again. My fingers dug into his thighs. His fingers dug into the leather. He arched upwards, straining towards my mouth more. He appeared almost angelic. I could easily have imagined him sprouting wings.

A shout, a familiar voice from the hallway. We both jumped, supremely startled.

“DAD!” James bellowed from the hallway.

“Father?” Scorpius echoed him.

Wistfully, Draco smiled down at me, and with a perfunctory pat on my cheek, he added dolefully, “Another time, then, Potter.”

With nimble fingers, he tucked everything away. I sprang to my feet, snatching the brandy snifter and settled into the leather wingback chair just as Draco opened the study door, calling out to his own son.

“Scorpius, we’re here in the study. Whatever could be so wrong that you would run shouting through the Manor?”

James barged past him, quite rudely, panting, hair sticking out and wild-eyed. “Dad, Granddad just came to the gates.” The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. Arthur would never have come here, unless…
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A Valentine's Day Massacre