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The Shards Of His Beloved	By : EvilConcubine Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 18387 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
To Nubia: Thanks a lot for reviewing every chapter!

To Jonah: It's true! The previous chapter was posted too soon and I ended up correcting some things a day or two later after posting it. Thanks for your help. When I thought about Al and what to do about voicing him I ended up listening to the children in the park (several months ago I was in a business trip in England), so I could have a better idea about English speaking children of four or five years old. Now, after your review, I remembered some important things and I hope the chapter looks better now. But it's still a great challenge for me and I know it's not perfect at all. What of Al's politeness, yes, he's too young for it, but, for example, before entering Draco's room he was surely guided by Harry. My nephew is three and he also asks permission to enter, but only because he's reminded about it every time :). Thanks!

To moodysavage: God, I actually feel bad for tormenting you and what happened to Scorpius is still shrouded in mystery. But I think I'll give you more information a couple of chapters later. Thanks for reviewing!

To thrnbrooke: Haha! Yes, I can imagine him as a very good parent, but I find it hard to imagine him enjoying the company of any other children, especially those who annoy him :). And, indeed, Draco can be unbearable, but it's a part of his charm, isn't it ;) ? There's more of it in the new chapter. Thank you!

To Sparrowbirdie: Hi! Well, yes, Draco is very well aware that Harry has a hero complex, but he doesn't even know how far it has gone (he still has no idea about certain people in Azkaban), and Harry doesn't disappoint. He knows that Draco would never forgive him for using his power. I'm glad you liked it and I'm glad it hasn't challenged you to the point of thinking about not reading the story any further :P. And Harry, indeed, has a lot of patience. He still blames himself for buying Draco (even if he wouldn't let anyone else do it), and, in part, that's what makes him endure all the crap, because he thinks it's his cross to bear now. Letting Draco be a pain in the neck is also a way to give him some freedom to express his opinion, no matter how infuriating it is. As I've already mentioned in the story, Harry understands that he's taken a great responsibility, because he owns Draco's soul, and he's afraid to destroy it. And he's also afraid to become any kind of abuser, which means changing his own personality for the worst. So he thinks that patience is the only answer. I'm sure, if you were in Harry's position, you'd think twice, too :). Thank you so much for your great review!

To RRose: Thanks for reviewing! I know it's slow, but I just don't feel like hurrying them up and change their relationship abruptly. They do change, but it's quite slow. There's too much hostility on Draco's side right now, and I don't really understand authors who just skip through such things. I think it really needs time, especially given the circumstances. I don't know if you're going to consider the new chapter as a step forward, but it actually is :). I hope you're going to enjoy it.

To jwjhg, liebe herz, Grey_Archangel, EspejoNiffler and WillingPrey: Thanks so much and, please, enjoy!

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8. Your Royal Bitterness

     Draco found himself standing in front of some big building. There were children, fooling around in the playground, situated near the building, but it was surprisingly quiet, as if his ears were stuffed up. The area itself was surrounded by the wrought-iron fence, but Draco couldn't find the gates, especially feeling as weak as he felt right now. He felt like he was more than one hundred years old and walking was a difficult and incredibly exhausting challenge. And he felt like he didn't belong here at all. The feeling was strong and it confused him, but he could somehow feel it in the air. Finally, Draco saw the gates opening and he wondered why he hadn't noticed them before. He also saw the blond youth, who looked about sixteen years old. He came out, leaving the building behind the fence forever; at least, for some reason, it seemed like he was leaving the place forever, and the dark-brown roll-aboard suitcase strengthened this impression. At first Draco thought that he saw himself, because the youth looked almost like his own mirror image, but soon he realised that he was looking at his own grown up son. The thought just came to him instinctively, as a given. It wasn't surprising that the boy still looked so much like Draco, because Scorpius had been practically his father's copy since his birth. Draco was awed. He tried to come closer to his wonderful son, but his tired legs weren't obeying him; he tried to talk, tried to scream his son's name, tried to beg the boy to look at him, but he only managed to produce some pathetic, wheezing whispers, no matter how hard he tried. Oh, Merlin, why was he feeling this weak?! Tears were streaming down his face. He reached out his desperate hands to his boy, who was the centre of Draco's universe right now, but his son wasn't noticing him, as if Draco wasn't even here. Broken-hearted he watched his boy leaving, unable to follow him. And then Scorpius was just gone; he disappeared in the foggy street, among the strangers. After that Draco found himself crawling on his four along the cobblestone road. He was surrounded by the fog, but kept crawling blindly, consumed by the atmosphere of hopelessness, helplessness and isolation from the life itself. He was so unnaturally slow. Sometimes he felt like he was making no headway at all, sometimes it felt like all of it wasn't even real. Was he dead?

     Some of his voice seemed to have returned, and he was calling his boy's name again and again. He saw some passers-by that paid him no attention, but his son was nowhere to be seen. He suddenly was imbued with such pain and despair that he gave up and stopped. It felt like he'd just lost the last chance, the last hope to reunite with his boy, his dear Scorpius.

     The acute feeling of heart-wrenching loss was still with him as Draco woke up with a start. His face was tear-drenched, and he found it hard to think clearly. Surprisingly, he rarely saw any dreams about his son, and this particular dream had been devastating. Hyperventilating, he got up and quickly headed to the bathroom, reeling and nearly falling on the stairs, feeling like his chest was about to explode as its content felt enormously swollen. He felt the strangling pressure that simply refused to release him. His boy... His child... Draco locked the door unconsciously and retrieved the dagger from the drawer; the movement seemed nearly perfected, even if it was the first time he was doing it since placing the item here. He kneeled before the bathtub and turned on the water, so its noise would drown cries of pain, in case he'd produce any. He rolled up the sleeve of his nightshirt and brought the blade closer to the skin of his forearm. Suddenly the curse forbade him to cut himself and his hands were shaking even more violently now that his attempts didn't work to his frustration. He sobbed desperately. Gods, he was so overwhelmed with emotional pain! It was just tearing him apart. And though it was very hard for him to think clearly, in his thoughts he tried to convince the curse that he wasn't going to attempt suicide, even if he didn't really mind right now. He could almost feel the curse calculating if the blade was clean enough and how much damage it could cause to his health. In the end, the curse was satisfied and let him regain control over his body. He cut himself immediately, doing it above the bathtub, so it wouldn't be necessary to clean the floor or his clothes later. The cut was a little painful and he bit his lip. As soon as he felt the burning sensation of the blood, leaking from the wound, his breathing started to normalise gradually. But it wasn't enough. He cut himself again, deeper; and the cut was longer - from the side of his wrist to the middle of his forearm (he carefully avoided the sensitive patch of the scarred skin that had left of his Dark Mark). The curse nearly stopped him again, but then punished him, anyway; it pierced his body with pain for self-injuring that might end with damage that wouldn't let him do his chores properly. He almost screamed, but ignored this pain pretty soon, concentrating on what he'd done to himself. Yes! The second cut was the 'healing cut' that started to make his chest, and then his entire body, relax. He watched his blood leaking out into the bathtub and running down its side. He placed his head on the edge of the bathtub comfortably and kept watching himself bleeding. The pressure was letting go, the unbearable pain in his soul seemed to be easing, dripping out along with his blood. 'Scorpius, I'm so sorry...'

     The dream had unsettled him greatly and, even though he almost always made his housework automatically, today even less of him was there.

     It was almost evening when Harry came back home and found Draco in the kitchen, tidying up. Harry wasn't noticing anything strange at first. His greeting was completely ignored, but it wasn't something new. He ate his dinner rather quickly right here, in the kitchen, and was about to go and spend some time with his children when the quite large, dark-red stain on the left sleeve of Draco's white shirt attracted his attention.

"Oh, my God, Draco..." he gasped and grasped the blonde's elbow lightly. Draco recoiled from the unexpected contact, but then he looked down and saw what had startled Potter. He had taken care of the cuts, bandaged his forearm, but, apparently, it hadn't been enough. He hadn't even been noticing that he was bleeding and that his sleeve was red with blood. It had left the imprint on the side of his white shirt.

"Sit down," Harry urged him and Draco sat down at the table. "Let me see." Harry reached out to unbutton his sleeve.

"No," Draco refused firmly and wanted to get up and leave, but, of course, Potter didn't let him.

"Please, just once, don't argue and let me help you."

"I don't want your help. I don't want you to heal me."

"I only want to staunch the bleeding."

"...Haven't done enough heroic deeds for today?" Draco grumbled very quietly, but he really wasn't eager to argue right now. Potter unbuttoned his cuff and rolled the sleeve up. He carefully removed the bandage, heavy with blood that saturated it, and it vanished away with the spell he cast. Harry's eyes widened at what he saw. He'd previously thought that the cut (or cuts) that Draco had made with the shard of glass had somehow been disturbed, so it had started to bleed again, even though almost two weeks had passed since the incident, so it was rather unlikely, but now he saw the truth and barely suppressed a shudder. There were three cuts. One of them looked thick and rough, with uneven edges that still hadn't entirely grown together. There were still several small gapes, filled with dry blood. It couldn't have been made with a straight and evenly sharp object, so it was obviously the glass cut. The other two were fresh and even. One of them was longer and deeper; it was the one that had soaked the bandage and sleeve with blood. The other one was hardly bleeding by now.

"My goodness..." Harry sighed. He sterilised his hands with a spell and very carefully cleaned Draco's wounds. Most cleaning spells would scrub the wounds, disturbing them even more, which could seriously increase the bleeding and inflammation, and ruin the healing progress. And thus Harry used the potion and clean towels for this purpose. "I could heal it. Not entirely, but I could patch you up a bit, so it would heal much sooner."

"No."

"Draco..."

"I don't think it's up for discussion."

"At least, let me use the spell to connect the edges of your wounds."

"Are you seriously going to do it every time I cut myself?" There was more curiosity in his voice than annoyance.

"If necessary. But I'd rather you stopped doing this to yourself," Harry sighed. He pressed the towel harder to the deepest wound and kept it under pressure. Draco winced a bit. It hurt, but he could endure it. Harry used both mechanical pressure and the spell to stop the bleeding. This combination usually worked fine, as far as he knew.

"If my memory serves me correctly, we've already decided that it's none of your concern. I didn't try to kill myself and these cuts aren't lethal. You know it would be impossible for me to end my life, since it belongs to you. It's your decision to make if you prefer to put me out of my misery or keep me alive and suffering."

"Draco... Why?"

"Well... It comforts me; makes me feel that I control something, eases the other pain. You may also call it... rehearsal. I'm just getting ready for the real thing. You told me that Granger has been trying to abolish the slavery; I seriously doubt that she's going to succeed, but, anyway, let's pretend that she did. If I owned my life again, I already know what I'd do with it. I just wanted to know what it would feel like. Oh... I already knew... Well, I believe I just want to get used to the feeling then, so when I pick a day to off myself, if that day comes before I die as a slave for some other reason, it would feel like something normal to cut my flesh, a little bit deeper, though," Draco said, sounding unbearably casually. Harry closed his eyes for several moments. He really wanted to run away right now or yell at Draco for being selfish, saying things like this to the person who cared for him and who hurt over him. He sincerely hoped that the blond was just mocking him.

     Harry decided not to say or ask anything else, so he wouldn't hear any more terrible confessions from Draco. Instead, he concentrated on his wounds. When he removed the pressure and took the towel away, the wounds filled up with blood again, but the blood was hardly flowing out, which was a very good sign. On the carefully cleaned skin around the wounds Harry noticed the faint scars that indicated the similar self-cutting experience in the past. And, of course, he noticed the dirty-pink, tender-looking patch of skin where the Dark Mark had once been. Harry had noticed it almost immediately after removing the bloody bandage, but now that the skin was cleaner he could take a better look. It had probably caused Draco too much pain to keep bearing the Mark if he'd decided to take such drastic measures to remove it. Somehow, Harry was sure that the blond had done it himself. He had a feeling that Draco had started to feel that he was being scrutinised and wasn't happy about it, so Harry returned to the task at hand and brought the antiseptic ointment and the new roll of bandage. Very carefully he applied the ointment and then cast the spell to bring the edges of the wounds together. It took some time to make a good work.

"It'll be over in a few moments," he promised, feeling Draco's tension and looking up at the slightly distorted face. This spell could, indeed, cause pain, not like muggle stitching, but it was still pretty painful. When it was done, Harry dressed the wound properly. He spelled the dressing to make it waterproof, so Draco could wash himself without soaking the wounds and the bandage itself. It took a few minutes to clean Draco's shirt magically without damaging the fabric.

"Please, let me know if it starts bleeding again," Harry asked softly. "I don't give a damn about the curse; you're injured, so I dismiss you from all your work today," he said in a peremptory, but calm tone that was rather intended for the curse than for Draco. The blond shivered slightly at the strength in Potter's voice. He could admit to himself (but only to himself) that it was quite remarkable. He felt the curse letting him go.

"I'm not that fragile," the blond said, nevertheless. But he wasn't about to refuse to have a good rest. Somewhere deep inside, somewhere where he didn't want to look, it felt nice to be taken care of.

     Harry followed the blond with his worried eyes. He had no doubt that all he would ever be able to get was aloofness or hostility, but it didn't matter anymore. He cared about Draco; unconditionally. But, at the same time, he felt helpless. He needed someone to talk to, and, as usual, it was Hermione, who was willing to listen at any time.

     However, almost two weeks later it was Hermione who needed his shoulder. Harry had been waiting for her when she flooed into the living room. Her face was wet with tears.

"Mione, what's wrong? Your message has scared the hell out of me," he said, deeply concerned. The message had explained nothing. Harry couldn't help but think that something had happened to Ron. Hermione sat down in the armchair and started crying again.

"She's dead, Harry... Babette..." she whispered. Babette had been Hermione's slave for more than a year, but they'd been very friendly with each other and the woman, who'd been almost ten years older, had been very grateful for being saved from the monster that had owned her before.

"How?.." Harry gasped.

"She died of suffocation in her sleep. Her immune system was already weakened, but she caught cold... And then it turned into severe bronchitis despite the healing. She seemed to start feeling better, so they discharged her from hospital. And tonight..." She couldn't continue.

"Hermione, I'm sorry... She was a very good person."

"I wanted to save her... I hoped I'd be able to free her someday. It's so unfair. Healers were right about slaves, and I thought it was just a myth."

"God..." Harry buried his head in his hands. It was Albus who interrupted several moments of silence.

"Daddy, Jamie waked and cwying," he informed.

"Sorry, Mione, I'll be right back," Harry apologised.

"Go. I'll be all right," she assured. She wiped her face with the handkerchief and decided to go to the kitchen to have a glass of water. Draco was there, making tea and paying her no attention. She drank some water, looking at him covertly.

"Draco, are you all right?" she finally asked. "Are you feeling well? I mean your health..." she corrected herself in the end. Draco was irritated after the sleepless night and his still healing cuts were itching; not to mention his strong dislike of her nosiness, so her questions were enough to make him snap.

"I see you've found the more entertaining occupation than killing the house elves, mudblood. I don't need your pity and your care, so kindly fuck off. I have some work to do for my Master," he almost hissed. The curse punished him (he hadn't expected it to hurt him for insulting someone to whom he didn't belong, but, since Granger (now Weasley) was his owner's friend, the punishment probably made sense), and Hermione, seeing him shaking in pain and arching his back slightly, left him alone. For now.

     Her next visit more than one week later was more optimistic. She was slowly moving on after Babette's death and had some news. She asked Harry to invite Draco to the living room, so they could talk. The reluctant blond was offered to sit down, which he did. Hermione told him that she and several other people were making the research about the curse and they were probably on the way to find the opportunity to give slaves a bit more freedom, such as making it possible for them to take a payment for their work, which currently was unthinkable. It was still remained to be seen how well it would work, so they needed more slaves to take part in it, and, perhaps, it would be the beginning of some more important discoveries. Hermione thought it was important, even if her main priority was abolition of slavery.

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" Draco sighed tiredly. He always thought she was one of those people that would pester their acquaintances with questions like: 'Where are you going?', 'What are you looking at?', 'What are you thinking about?' and so on. It irritated him and, fortunately for him, they were in bad enough terms, so he was spared of such infuriating attention. She was, however, the one who had a finger in every pie. Her Gryffindor friends took it well, which, in Draco's point of view, was sickening. "I refuse to take part in that stupid research of yours, unless you order me to." He cast a glance at Potter in the end.

"There's a chance for you to have more rights and to be less dependant on the curse," Harry tried to convince him, but he already knew that it was useless. He just wanted to support Hermione.

"Are you trying to treat me as an equal? Well, it's not going to work. I'm a slave. I'm going to keep doing my chores as before; it's better than taking your help or your fucking handouts. Shove them up your arse, because I won't take anything from you. Slaves aren't servants; they aren't supposed to be paid for their work. It's your fault that slavery exists, and I'm not taking part in your idiotic attempts to 'set things right', so you'd be able to ease your feeling of guilt at my expense. I'd rather be a good and obedient property, as I should be. I want you to be ashamed of yourself every time you look at me. I know it's too much to hope for, but I want you to hate yourself for what you've done to this world."

"Thank you, Draco, I already do," Hermione said, even though the words full of accusation had mostly been addressed to Harry. Draco ignored her.

"If you're so eager to help me, Master, and save yourself from my further burdening presence, let me die. You only humiliate me and torture both me and yourself with your unhealthy altruism, so why don't you let me end it? Why do you keep hurting me? I might start thinking that you enjoy it. Just give me your permission to kill myself. I'll do it silently, without bothering your family, without any blood to clean. I have nothing, not even my life, because it doesn't belong to me; I don't belong to myself. Pathetic? Well, sorry, you wanted to hear what I think. And now that you've got my answer, may I go?" he asked impatiently. Harry nodded in defeat and Draco left. Something had broken inside of Harry at the blonde's words.

"Well... We had to try anyway. I knew he'd refuse, I just wanted him to know that we're not giving up," Hermione sighed.

"Do you think he seriously wants to commit suicide?" Harry asked carefully.

"I think... I think he really feels like doing it, but I don't think he'd do it if he had a chance; not before doing anything and everything to find his son, anyway."

     Living under the same roof with Potter's wife seemed less and less bearable. It seemed that the bitch was only happy to show her power over Draco in front of the other people, even though her husband was the real owner. She often was unhappy with his work, so she ordered him to remake the same things again.

     Several friends decided to gather in Harry's and Ginny's house to celebrate Ron's homecoming and his holidays after a good amount of successful games. Harry was still at work, so it was Ginny who was welcoming the guests. Harry usually let Draco do something else away from the guests, knowing that it was much more comfortable for the blond to stay away from all of them, but Ginny never allowed anything like that when Harry was away.

     When some arrived guests (Hermione, Ron, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas with his girlfriend and Oliver Wood) gathered in the living room, Ginny was livid, ordering Draco to bring this or that and constantly mumbling how useless he was, as he hadn't prepared everything in time, before everyone had arrived, and she'd been too busy with cooking to make sure he wouldn't 'ruin the party with his worthlessness'.

"Malfoy looks even less amicable than in school," Seamus noted quietly, but not quiet enough, because Draco heard him, though he couldn't care less what ex-Gryffindors thought of him.

"Don't mind him. He's just a work-shy idler and he's still mad that the purity of his blood doesn't make him important anymore," Ginny replied loud enough, so everyone in the room heard her. "It's true, isn't it, Malfoy? Tell us. I order you to answer."

"Ginny..." Hermione frowned. Draco would have ignored Potter's bitch, as usual, but he couldn't ignore the direct order. The curse wouldn't let him. Very insistently it urged him to answer.

"So authoritarian," he sneered at the redhead bitch mockingly. "Yes, I'm proud of being born as pureblood. Only purebloods kept this world the way it should be; it's the wizarding world, after all. At least, it was."

"What's going on?" Harry asked, entering the room. Everyone ignored him, which was unusual.

"See? He doesn't even consider muggle-borns as real wizards and witches," Ginny exclaimed. Draco had known she would distort his words the way she wanted to. "I find it odd that you and your family had run from your dear Dark Lord and decided not to die together with him, since you still sound like his devoted follower."

"No, I don't. But you're not really burdened with enough intelligence to understand. He was a bloodthirsty maniac and he wasn't even a pureblood, by the way. And he killed purebloods, too. I would've never served a monster like him of my own free will, just like I would've never served people like you," the blond replied calmly. The curse still urged him to answer and he didn't hold back. At the same time, it wasn't pleased with his arrowy tongue.

"Right. I bet serving us, mudbloods and blood traitors, is worse than death to you. Who would've imagined Draco Malfoy being owned by the family he hates the most."

"The irony, indeed. Just like the bunch of 'virtuous' and 'blameless' philanthropists that wanted to change the world and free it from all the evil and injustice, but ended up buying slaves. To save them, undoubtedly. Oh, I'm sorry, back to the point. It's not even about the blood purity, I couldn't care less if you had no blood at all, it's about ruining the traditions and the way of life of your own world. Tell me, Weasley," he addressed to Ron, who was listening like everyone else in the room. "Do you remember your childhood life before the Dark Lord's return? Before all that anti-muggle-born and now muggle-born propaganda? Do you remember what the world was like? Was it bad?"

"No... It was mostly peaceful," Ron admitted.

"Exactly. The world was normal even for muggle-borns to live in peace. Purebloods only protested against the mudbloods to take up high positions in the Ministry and other important organisations. And, for the most part, it was justified by the purpose of doing everything possible to avoid the influence of the muggle culture. Because most muggle-borns don't really respect our traditions or even have absolutely no idea about them. They've always tried to drive this world to the way that it simply shouldn't take. And what now? It was some mudblood with great ambitions that allowed human slavery. You helped him to become the minister, by the way. And, naturally, all of you find it normal that in Hogwarts there are several required subjects of the muggle orientation these days. In the school of magic children nowadays study muggle history, literature and philosophy. And what about the wizarding literature and philosophy? It's just non-essential. You're pathetic parasites that occupy the world that you hardly even know. Weasley, send your parents my regards. I guess today's world is what they've always fought for."

"You have no right to blame us!" Ron fired up. "This isn't what any of us wanted! Some foul people used the opportunity to satisfy their thirst for power and tricked common people."

"Oh, poor common people!" Draco chuckled sarcastically. "They say people get the government they deserve. What an irony, it's a muggle expression. Well, our poor common people were stupid enough to elect the opportunistic bastard that enjoys hearing the sound of his own voice, because, of course, he'll avenge all the victims of war and set things right. Isn't that what he promised during his election campaign?"

"My parents have nothing to do with that and with all the anti-purebloods propaganda!" Ron kept arguing.

"...That's why they turned their backs on your brother Percy long ago; because he was proud of being a pureblood and persisted in his opinion."

"Shut your mouth about our brother!" Ginny hissed.

"Ginny, please..." Harry tried. God, it was going too far.

"Well, sorry, but you've ordered me to speak and the fucking curse forces me to obey," Draco sneered at Potter's wife again, even though he felt that he was dangerously close to being punished by said curse. Oh, gods, he hated her freckled face!

"It was he, who turned his back on us," Ron frowned. "He was the ex-minister's puppet. Don't talk about things that you have no idea about. And we're not ashamed of our blood, either. We just never make a fuss over it, unlike you."

"...He was so alone among all of you with his different point of view," Draco continued, knowing that he'd found the sore spot. "He didn't stand a chance, I reckon. There's no way his own family would accept such a black sheep with his 'wrong' beliefs. Even worse, he married the conservative pureblood witch, which, I imagine, your father has strongly disapproved."

"You don't know a fucking thing." Ginny looked at him angrily, but he wasn't impressed.

"I know quite enough. But trying to explain anything to the pigheaded fools like you is a thankless waste of time."

"I don't think we should reckon with the opinion of a Death Eater, a complete failure of a man, and an idiot, who solves all his problems by cutting himself and drawing blood. It's so pathetic," Ginny said and this time it was she who knew that she'd hit the nerve. She looked at Draco's shock victoriously, glad that she'd found the fortunate moment to use the ace she'd been keeping up her sleeve. Just for one second there was a deep look of betrayal on Draco's face as he cast a glance at Harry. The dark-haired man felt absolutely mortified. He hadn't told Ginny any of it on purpose; she'd just entered the room when Harry had been firecalling Hermione to ask for her advice and to tell her about Draco's self-mutilation, feeling too terrible to keep it to himself and knowing that Hermione would never betray a secret that wasn't her own. Ginny had heard some small part of their conversation, but obviously she'd heard enough. In any case, Harry hadn't expected her to use this information against Draco or him. It was too personal to just reveal it in front of everybody! That brief look of betrayal in Draco's eyes made the dark-haired man aware that it was he, Harry, who was blamed for absolutely everything. Again.

"That's enough," he said and took Ginny by her arm to lead her away.

"Really, guys, that was a bit too much," Oliver agreed quietly.

"You cut yourself? It's... sick..." Ron muttered before he could stop himself. Hermione glared at him sharply, making him know that there was going to be a one-hour-long lecture once they return home.

"You're right, it is," Draco answered, nevertheless. "You see, Weasley, it's like an arachnophobia; it's sick, but there's nothing you can do about it." It was probably a very poor retort, but he couldn't come up with anything better than that, taken unawares and still shocked by what Potter's bitch had just said.

"Draco... If the curse is satisfied with your work, you're free to go," Harry said softly. And Draco left right away; he'd already exceeded his minimum quota of work for today, but the bitch hadn't been letting him go.

"It was a low thing to do, Ginny," Harry frowned and Hermione supported him.

"He insulted your family and you keep excusing him," Ginny disagreed. "I don't think I said something any worse than he said. He deserved it."

"It's not the same. Not in his situation. You shouldn't have started it," Hermione shook her head. But no one was eager to continue arguing.

     Soon Harry, finding no peace, was about to go after Draco to apologise, but Hermione stopped him, quietly saying that it was too soon.

     More people arrived, including George, Luna and Neville. Harry's mood had been ruined, but he tried his best to have fun, spending time with his friends. He wasn't alone, though; Hermione was still sad because of Babette's death.

     Later in the evening Harry was a tiny bit tipsy and courageous enough to leave the party and go downstairs, straight to Draco's room. To apologise. The urge to do it seemed to inflate his chest. He'd made sure Hermione was busy talking with some other guests, so this time she wouldn't stop him like she'd done before.

     He knocked on the door. There was no answer. Harry frowned. He couldn't be just ignored right now when he wanted to ask for forgiveness so badly, so he just entered (after all, he'd knocked before it, hadn't he?). What met his eyes stunned him and sobered him up at once. Draco was standing there, with his hair still wet after bath, holding the hairbrush in his hand. And, oh, dear God, he was naked. The blond was just as stunned. Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. 'Turn away... Turn away. Now!' his frantic mind commanded him, but he couldn't obey. God, it was better than all his fantasies back in their sixth year. Draco was captivating... His lean body looked so chiselled. The skin was as porcelain as Harry had imagined.., only better. He had very little body hair, and what hair he had were very light and thin hairs on his forearms and shins. They seemed invisible everywhere else, except for his pubis and, most likely, armpits, though the latter Harry couldn't see, because Draco's arms were lowered. The blonde's chest and stomach were completely hairless, as far as Harry could see from this distance. The flat stomach was lightly toned. There, below it, was the pale penis, surrounded by the soft-looking blond hair and resting peacefully against the scrotum. The pink head was peeping out of the foreskin teasingly. Draco had narrow bones, narrow chest, waist and thighs; he had pointed elbows and lean arms, prominent collarbones and absolutely beautiful neck. The bandage, still tightly wrapped around the healing forearm (which had been healing for quite a long time, probably because of the curse), seemed to be the only thing that kept Harry aware that all of it, all this beauty, was real, not imagined, not embellished. He feasted his eyes upon this beautiful body. His manhood was waking up with curiosity. Harry wasn't sure if he was breathing, but he simply couldn't stop looking. As Draco, still quite astounded, slowly turned to grab the towel that was lying on his bed, his side view, and partly his back view, opened to Harry's greedy, unblinking eyes. The delicious curve of the small of Draco's back made his pert bum look even more attractive. This sweet curve sent another wave of arousal to Harry's pulsing groin. And two small, breathtaking dimples right above Draco's bottom on each side of the spine were too much for Harry to take. He felt himself growing down there, filling with pleasant tension. He felt dizzy and needed air, so he finally inhaled. Inhaled the smell of the wizarding brand of shampoo and cologne that somehow resembled the freshness of rain (the one he himself had chosen for Draco and kept buying it, because the blond used it eagerly); inhaled the smell of Draco...

"What the fuck are you looking at?" the blond hissed in shock, looking back with wide, disbelieving eyes. He wrapped the large bath towel around his hips, covering his most private parts.

"I..."

"You're staring at me..."

"Sorry, Draco," Harry whispered. Beautiful narrow feet on the Persian rug... Long legs... 'Oh, fuck, turn away... What the hell are you doing?!' he tried to reason with himself.

"You don't look sorry. You keep staring." Draco was getting furious and Harry wondered if he should start preparing himself for the apocalypse. He lifted his face and met two angry grey eyes. "Is this what you want, Master? Do you want me to be that kind of slave now? Come on, you only need to order and you can have it all. It's your prerogative, is it not? You can burst in whenever and wherever you want, and that's fine, because it's your house."

"I knocked," Harry argued quietly and weakly. But Draco wasn't listening.

"...You can discuss my 'dubious methods of solving all my problems' with the other people, with your bitch of a wife especially! So what stops you from taking everything else you want? I'm your property, and thus you can have me any time and there'd be no punishment, because technically you have every right to do it. So go ahead!" he taunted angrily. Just as angrily he ripped off the towel in frustration and threw it back on the bed. Harry stormed out, mortified to no end.

     Draco slammed the door furiously. Why, oh why Potter had to be such an idiot?! The meddlesome, moronic Gryffindor! Draco really doubted that Potter was really interested in his body; he thought that his nudity had merely taken Potter by surprise and put him in the awkward situation. Well, perhaps, there'd been some curiosity (why else such scrutiny?), but not a dangerous one for Draco. Nothing to worry about. 'Just a nosy fool.' But Draco had wanted to embarrass Potter, so he wouldn't have been the only one embarrassed; and it had worked, judging by the colour of Potter's face. Draco probably wouldn't have made such a fuss if he wasn't this agitated by the twat that Potter had married. He would've probably mocked Potter, in any case, but without taking it to heart. However, he was still seething with anger and imagined hitting the freckled face of Potter's bitch against the wall! And, just think, he'd just started to have a faint feeling that Potter really cared about him a little, not because of his idiotic heroism, but... just cared, which included keeping Draco's secret! Draco had been deluded by the way Potter had taken care of his wounds back then and it had really felt like care; like Draco's mother had been treating his cuts, without blaming him, without telling anyone else (and not because she'd been ashamed of him; she hadn't been ashamed of her son at all, and she'd made him aware of it). It had been very nice of Potter to leave the vial of pain relieving potion in Draco's bathroom in a plain view the very same day. And, relieved to find it there in the middle of the sleepless night, Draco had taken it, because that very first night the pain was too strong to fall asleep. He had secretly appreciated Potter's thoughtfulness and care. But, obviously, Draco had made a mistake and paid for it. And now he felt stupid. Potter wasn't a trustworthy person; not for him, anyway. Of course, Gryffindors couldn't keep their fucking mouths shut! They shared everything with each other within their small community, even things that were none of their concern. That's why Potter had told his fucking wife, even knowing that she hated Draco dearly, just like Draco hated her. That's why Granger (well, Weasley, not Granger anymore...) hadn't looked surprised; she'd already known everything from Potter. He hated all of them. And hated himself for even conceding that he could relax in Potter's strong presence.

     What Draco hadn't noticed was the hard bulge in Harry's pants. But, for Harry's sake, his rapturous and hopeful erection had started to droop unhappily due to Draco's harsh words that had been a very effective turn off. And, once Harry had got to his bedroom, locked the door and pressed his back against it, still flushed and breathing heavily, the erection was gone completely. God, he couldn't remember when he'd felt more aroused than he'd felt whilst ogling Draco's beautiful, naked body! He also tried to remember when he'd been more ashamed of himself than he was right now (when he'd bought Draco, probably?). He hoped that the blond hadn't noticed his arousal; it had been mortifying as it was. 'Fucking wonderful...' Now Draco was probably thinking that Harry was a pervert, not to mention that it was a very inappropriate behaviour near a rape victim, even if it had been months since that terrible night. Harry was nothing like Dawson, whatever the swine had told him. '...How unfortunate; having him as a slave and having no guts to do what I did. You do want that, don't you? You should try some time. I could tell you how it felt. I could tell you how it felt, having control over him, having him squirming under me. I assure you, Mister Potter, I've made it unforgettable for him...' He remembered only the scraps of those words, but it was enough to make him shiver and hate himself.

     For these reasons he was torn apart when later in the shower his hand reached down to his renewed arousal and it didn't feel right. 'Do it and calm the fuck down...' he soothed himself. 'You have no inappropriate intentions, no intention to take advantage of him. So what if you're hard? You know you wouldn't act on it, so stop feeling guilty. It just can't get any worse than it already is, so have fun...' Angles and slight curves of Draco's body had stamped an impression on Harry's mind. And Harry allowed himself the guilty pleasure of stroking himself, whilst imagining what it would have felt like to press his own body to Draco's and rub against it, touch the smooth, porcelain skin with his own. The very thought made him start panting. He was sure it would've felt like haven if only he had a chance to try... He imagined guiding the pale hand down to his groin, making it grasp his rock hard erection and squeeze it lightly. He imagined looking into the grey eyes, full of need, not hostility. Biting his lower lip, he came far too soon with a deep, guttural moan, and rested his head against the wall, while the lukewarm water was softly cooling his body and mind.

     When he finally made it to his bed, he couldn't fall asleep and was just looking up at the ceiling. Too many thoughts were plaguing his head. All of them were full of Draco. If it had been possible to fuck up everything between them even more, he'd done it today, undoubtedly. He was so tired...

     For the next two days Draco ignored him completely. He silently made his work and left to his room in the evening. He was still mad, having no doubt that Potter had told the bitch about his self-mutilation. Even though all those people, their guests, meant nothing to Draco, being humiliated like that in front of them was simply unthinkable.

     In the end of the second day restless Harry followed Draco to his room.

"Wait," he called, stopping Draco from closing the door. The blond turned to Harry just beyond the threshold. His unforgiving and, at the same time, indifferent eyes were discouraging, but Harry wasn't about to give up.

"Look... I thought I could, at least, have a chance to explain myself and apologise," he started, his voice calm and confident. The door was shut in his face.

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The Shards Of His Beloved