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Salt in Our Wounds	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7362 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters portrayed herein. This is made for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Part VIII

Chained

�What do I use this for again?� Draco asks me, eyeing the peeler in his hand suspiciously. I snort, but fight to keep my face neutral when he gives me a murdering look.
�That�s a peeler. You peel the skin off the potatoes and carrots with it.� I explain, gesturing towards the vegetables in front of him in the sink. Draco doesn�t look any the wiser, but keeps glaring at the metal blade. I sigh exasperatedly, taking the peeler from his hand and grabbing a potato.
�This is how you use it,� I demonstrate , slowly pulling the blade over the vegetable and removing the skin. Then I hand the peeler back to Draco. �Try it. But go slowly, don�t cut yourself.�
Draco just nods silently, biting his lower lip in concentration as he runs the peeler over a carrot. He learns quickly, and I leave him to peel the rest of the vegetables while I cut the meat. Cooking with Draco takes double the time it would take for me to do it by myself, just because I have to teach him how everything works. Surprisingly enough though he doesn�t whine much, except for the occasional remark that �a house elf would have made that pie in three minutes�. I actually think that he likes cooking, he looks very focused whenever he is doing something in the kitchen. I just hope he would show some enthusiasm doing everything else the Muggle way.
I sigh out loud as I think about yesterday.
First was the horrible fit he threw at the mall, when the saleslady looked at him oddly for asking for his jeans to be charmed to fit correctly and then owled to him. On the way home he almost got hit by a car, twice, because he can�t understand that certain roads are meant for vehicles only. �A Malfoy can walk wherever he pleases!� is his excuse.
Then there is the dishwasher, which he claims not to fear. Yet I refuses to be in the same room when I put it on. Still, I doubt he would rather do the dishes by hand.
He is not easy to live with, that much has become obvious to me within these first days. Not that I expected anything else. Not that I would have it any other way.
I look over to the sink where Draco is now cutting the vegetables and putting them in the pan. So far it has been surprisingly simple, this task that I have taken upon me. Except for yelling at some Muggles, Draco isn�t throwing any fits, not complaining about his situation, even as I see a painfully distraught expression glimpse on his face now and then. I try not to use my wand excessively, try not to remind him of the existence of magic. A task made noticeably easier by living here in the Muggle world, secluded from all the rumours and magazines speculating about my life. I have no desire to hear what is being said about me. Or about Draco, for that matter.
Not that I wouldn�t like to know what happened to him.
I know what he told the court. I know the rough drafts of his story. But what I really want to know, I simply can�t ask.
Why did he kill all those people? Did he really think he was doing the right thing? When did he marry the Greengrass girl? Did he love her? Does he still love her?
Does he still love me?
All those questions, swirling in my head, on the tip of my tongue so frequently I constantly have to bite them back. I have no right to ask him. I have no right to ask him about her, to demand anything from him. I have no right to be jealous of a ghost, when I have Ginny.
I love Ginny. I have always loved her. There�s no question of that. But somehow the want, the longing I have had for four years to find Draco, to make sure that he�s alright, culminates into these days that I share with him. As he stands here, only a few yards from me, I suffer from an nearly irresistible need to reach out and touch him.
Ginny I can�t even manage to miss that much when she�s away.
The guilt and confusion tears at my intestines whenever I let those thoughts surface. But in the end, the biggest problem is that I can�t seem to feel as guilty as I should. Because whenever I do, I look over to look at Draco. And he feels my gaze, looking up with a stern and serious expression on his face, his gunmetal eyes piercing me, seemingly erasing every remorseful thought I ever had. He traps me with that gaze, making me feel like I am back in that cell four years ago, still unable to escape.
And what is more disturbing, this time I don�t particularly want to.

*******
Life without a wand is horrifying. I try not to think about it, try not to think about the fact that it has been months since I last held a wand, and that it will never happen again.
I manage. There is no question about that. I try make the best of my situation, to get through this with at least some of my dignity intact. Not to say that it isn�t hard. Not to say that I don�t hate it. But I am a Malfoy, and this is what we do. We survive even the most despicable situation, coming out on top in the end. After surviving months of torture followed by a trip to Azkaban, the real humiliation would be to let wandlessness kill me.
I just wish they had executed me and saved me all this trouble.
Now I am filling my days with tedious tasks that Potter sets for me. Getting accustomed to Muggles and their ways, learning to live without magic. Things that would make my parents roll in their graves.
Still, it is remarkably easy to suppress such thoughts here. It is as if I have lost a part of my memories, and what I am left with are only pale shadows of the past. My entire life has suddenly shrunk into my current existence in this Muggle house. With Potter.
I feel his gaze on me all the time. He tries to hide it, to pretend that he is merely observing my work. And I in turn try to pretend that I do not notice.
He does not talk much. I wonder if it is because he is accustomed to being alone, or because he can�t say the things he would like to. Not that I mind the silence, it is oddly peaceful, wrapping around me and sustaining this illusion of a simpler existence.
�Harry? Are you home?�
Until now.
I turn to see the Mudblood and Weasel standing in the doorway to the hall, their gazes shifting cautiously between Potter and me. And they have every reason to be careful when I am holding a knife. It might just slip and-
�Oh! Hi guys!� Potter exclaims, an expression of delight passing on his face before he realises the tension in the room.
�We just thought we�d drop by, we haven�t seen you since�� Granger trails off, gazing at me uncomfortably. She immediately looks away when I meet her gaze, and I can�t help the ridiculing snort that escapes me in a breath.
�I think I�ll just leave the three of you alone,� I mutter, sneering at the Weasel as viciously as I can as I pass him and the Mudblood in the doorway. Weasley takes a step back to give me room, careful to not have to touch me in the small space. I feel victoriously unpopular.
�You don�t have to-� I hear Potter�s dejected voice from behind me, but I ignore it, and Potter doesn�t seem to press the issue. He wouldn�t want to make his little friends uncomfortable, now would he?
I am already by my bedroom door, when I realise I might actually be missing some real entertainment. I peek into the living room, where the door joining the living room and kitchen stands half-opened, letting in the voices from the kitchen. I grin.

Perfect.

�Harry, do you really think this is a good idea?� Granger�s nagging voice sounds, screeching unpleasantly in my ear as I approach the door.
�Yeah, Harry!?� Weasley interrupts before Potter has time to answer. �I mean, I know you felt sorta like you owed him something, but you got him out of Azkaban! That should be enough. There�s no need to do all this!�
�Guys, don�t be like that,� Potter answers meekly. �He needs help getting up on his feet, they took away his wand for God�s sake!�
The words seem to cut Granger and Weasley as much as they do myself, making me feel like some helpless handicapped. An awkward silence follows Potter�s words, one that does not help my mood as I keep imagining the pitying expressions those morons are wearing. How dare they feel pity me?
�But still�� Granger tries, her voice low and apologetic. �You�ve done enough.�
�Exactly! There�s no need for you to have to live with the bastard!� the Weasel exclaims, sounding almost desperate by now.
�Yes, there is!� Potter cries out, and I hear him letting out a heavy sigh before he continues. �I don�t want him to have to live with some other Auror, some scum like Jones! Do you know how he would be treated!�
�He deserves it!� Weasley shouts out, seemingly finally expressing his true feelings. I must say, he has done a good job of hiding them so far. For a Weasley.
�You�re just thinking about him! Well what about you? Have you read the Daily Prophet during the last few days? Have you any idea what they�re saying about you?�
�Ron, calm down-� Granger tries, but is immediately silenced.
�No! I won�t!� Weasley continues his disgraceful rant. �Malfoy is fucked up, Harry! And now you took him to live with you, and everyone is thinking that you�re� That you�re like him!�
He doesn�t have to say the exact words. Everyone knows what he is talking about. I feel a humiliated blush spreading on my face, and feel the urge to cover my face with my hands even though I know they can�t see me.
This is the ultimate embarrassment, the ultimate disgrace. The Malfoy heir was in love with Harry Potter. Forget the fact that he is also a convicted Death Eater and murderer, but Merlin, he�s gay!

And the fact that everyone believes Potter to be just the poor victim of a wicked queers affections makes it all just that much more ridiculous. Unfortunately the irony can�t seem to amuse me much right now.
�And what about Ginny?� Weasley asks, just when I thought the topic couldn�t get worse. �What about my sister? What is she supposed to think? She�s being taunted and ridiculed by her own students because of that bastard!�
A horrible silence follows. Potter does not respond, and as the silence draws out it seems that Weasley understands that he has gone too far.
�Harry, I didn�t mean to-� he begins, his pathetic attempt to apologize sounding for deaf ears.
�Just leave.�
Granger tries. �I�m sorry, Harry. We didn�t mean any-�

�Just go!� Potter cuts his friend off abruptly, his voice sharp and raw. I can�t see his face, but I have seen him angry and know how frightening he looks then.
I hear steps on the hardwood floor, and Granger�s last weak apology. �I�m sorry.�
They walk through the hall into the living room, both of their eyes widening as they see me standing there. The Weasel opens his mouth to say something, but I only sneer, piercing them with my most murderous look.
Merlin, if I only had my wand.
Heading for the kitchen, I only hear the two of them Floo away.
Potter stands leaning against the counter, head hanging and his hand has come up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He holds his glasses in his other hand, clutching them so tightly I tense up, only waiting for the sound of them breaking.
For a moment I stand in the doorway, uncertain of what I am to do. Why am I here? To try and comfort him? What does one say when you�re friends turn against you? I have never comforted anyone, how am I to start with the worst possible person and scenario?
For a moment think I should just go to my room and leave Potter to sort this out on his own. He probably wants to be alone anyway. But somehow my feet prevent me from trying to move, refuse to let me turn my back on him.
In the end I make up my mind, walking slowly over the floor and reaching for Potter�s hand. Softly I twist the glasses out of his shaking fingers, reaching over and putting them on the counter.
Potter looks up at me, as if he only just realised I am in the room. I am just about to move away when his other hand comes up to grip my wrist, keeping me in place. He keeps staring at me, emerald eyes somehow completely void and at the same time so filled with emotions that it makes me breathless. I feel my throat grow dry, feel the unmistakeable feeling of recognition creeping under my skin and taking control.
When he leans forth to kiss me, I am too absorbed in that feeling to move away.
The kiss is soft and sweet, and Potter stands almost immobile in front of me. Then he opens his mouth, his tongue sliding over my lips, binging with it memories from far away, rushing over me like waves. I suddenly feel as if I�m drowning, but my life line is nothing but Potter, his kisses, his breath in my mouth now.
I feel my breath exhilarate, and I suddenly realise that I am pushing Potter back, grabbing the counter for balance. Potter�s arms wrap around my waist, pulling me against him, making me gasp for breath at the contact.
Then Potter breaks the kiss, lowering his face to nuzzle at my neck. �Oh God� Draco�� I can hear him whisper, his breath on my throat making me shiver. He holds on to me tightly, desperately, his hands tearing at my sweater as he breathes against my neck. My own dazzlement slowly begins to fade, my consciousness returning and screaming at me for what I did. I want to move, to escape, to run away, but Potter is still holding on to me for comfort. I let him do so for a while despite my own discomfort, but after a while I am forced to pull away.
�I think I�ll go to bed,� I murmur, barely able to look into Potter�s bewildered eyes as I turn away and walk slowly out through the door.
Merlin, what have I done?

End of part VIII
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- 9
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Salt in Our Wounds