Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Under the Manor	By : WillGirl Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13318 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I make no claims to Harry Potter, either books or movies, and all rights belong to JKR. No money or other recompense is being made from this story.

Chapter List
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Thank you, guys, that was all quite helpful. (Especially CJB and Janelle, what ideas you've got! Get writing!) As you can see, obviously, it's continuing. It may take me a while to get new bits posted, though, so please be patient. Thanks, and I hope you continue to enjoy!

Harry spent the next week so cheerful that he actually disturbed his co-workers. The other Aurors were used to a driven Harry, or an angry Harry, or a tired Harry, or sometimes even a juvenile and joking one, but always underlaid with a sense of inescapable duty. They were not used to a Harry Potter that whistled as he entered the office; or one who slept late and dashed in sheepishly, handing out pastries as penance for his tardiness; or one who could be caught dancing to the wireless in his office when he thought that no one was looking.

Martins suggested—not entirely jokingly—that he must have been Imperiused, because only Dark Magic could possibly make the Chosen One act so irrepressibly lighthearted.

Harry just grinned and shrugged mutely while they teased him.

He was trying very, very hard to not think about why he was so cheerful; he told himself that it was because it was over now, the disquieting desire out of his system, and he could now go on with his life and never think about it again.

He tried to pretend that he didn’t know that he was lying.

He managed, mostly, and his good cheer faded from giddy elation without evaporating completely, and when Friday came and the week-day shift tried to talk Harry into hitting the pub with them, he surprised everyone—including himself—by saying yes.

Harry ended up having a marvelous time, perhaps a little bit too much so; certainly he drank more than he had meant to. But it was nice to just sit with his friends and relax, and not have to worry about Dark Lords or dark thoughts, or horcruxes, or dreams, or anything at all that was unpleasant.

Harry left several messages on Ron’s answer-machine, telling him—with increasing volume and jocularity—to come and join them, despite knowing that Ron had no idea how to retrieve said messages, and that Hermione was bound to end up being the only one to ever hear them.

Eventually the evening started to wind down, and Harry found himself, for once, reluctant to let it do so. Instead he managed to convince Martins and Proudfoot and Hughes that they had to come with him to this Muggle pub that he had been to this one time, to try this one really good drink that he couldn’t remember the name of. In their mutually tipsy state it had seemed a brilliant idea to go questing for such a vague cause, and they set off arm-in-arm to help one another stay upright.

They arrived laughing and dizzy and shushing one another, only to stumble upon someone else who had perhaps been enjoying the evening a little bit too much, and was currently arguing with the bouncer about the taxi that he didn’t want to be helped into.

“There,” Harry said, his words slightly slurred, “that’s the place, I’m sure of it this time.”

“Well it looks like they got good shit there, sure enough,” Hughes said, grinning. “Leastwise if that feller’s any indication.”

They all shared a laugh, but Harry’s quickly trailed off along with his good cheer.

The bouncer Harry recognized, vaguely, from his previous evenings here; the man that he was arguing with was skinny and pale and awfully, terribly even more familiar. He was trying to insist that he was fine, and would walk home thank you very much, no need for a bloody cab. The way he was wobbling as he struggled with the large Muggle rather gave the lie to his assurances, but even dead drunk Draco Malfoy somehow possessed an elegant sort of dignity.

That, even more than the shock of white-blonde hair, made his identity all too obvious to Harry, even from half a block away. He slowed, chivvied on by his friends, who had not yet realized that the inebriated fellow remonstrating with the bouncer was a wizard, let alone which wizard.

Harry swallowed hard, and wished that someone could tell him what to do.

He thought about vomiting. He could just bend over right there in the gutter, and then no one would ask any questions about why he had suddenly changed his mind, and now wanted to go home. But his mouth seemed to have gone totally dry and his stomach had divorced itself from his body to float heavily like a chunk of ice miles away. Harry couldn’t do anything but stagger forward at the irrepressible tug of his co-workers arms.

He wondered how drunk Malfoy was, and what he might say, and heard only the roaring sound of panic in his ears.

“Here,” said Martins suddenly, “is that a Malfoy? The dumbass kid one?”

“Shit,” swore Hughes, “I think you’re right. Ah, if our evening gets tied up in Memory Charms and Statutes, I’ll bleeding murder the little arse...”

“I’ll take care of it,” Harry heard someone say, and then realized that if his mouth was moving, that meant he was the one speaking.

“Nah, Potter, come on, you hardly ever have a pint, and Malfoy’s not your problem.”

“No, it’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ve had too much already, honestly,” Harry protested automatically. “I should be getting home as is. I’ll deal with Malfoy.”

“And what are you gonna do with him?” Martins asked. “You’re certainly not planning on dragging him back to the Ministry to sleep it off in the cells, his parents will have the department brought up on seven different kinds of charges, we throw their precious little prince into the drunk tank...”

“Look,” Harry argued, “it’s not likely that a Muggle cabbie is going to be able to even find the Malfoys’ house, now is it? Besides, they don’t exactly live within driving distance of London, if I remember right.”

“Wiltshire, is it?” Proudfoot asked no one in particular.

“And it wouldn’t do to let Malfoy babble anything too honest about why he doesn’t want to take the cab, now would it?” Harry pressed on. “What if he’s drunk enough to try and explain Apparition?”

“Shouldn’t be Apparating if he’s that sloshed anyway,” Martins muttered.

“Or the floo, then. Whatever. He certainly didn’t come by Muggle transport, he’s not going to get far leaving that way.”

“And how’re you going to convince the Muggle to leave off about the car-traption?” Proudfoot asked, glaring at the car balefully. Proudfoot was nearly as pure-blooded as Malfoy, and prone to distrusting Muggle technology.

“Well, I’ll get him in the cab, then,” Harry said, a little more harshly than he meant to. He smiled to hide his irritation. “I’ll just—I’ll take him to my house, and then throw him through the floo.”

Hughes wrinkled his nose. “You sure you want...that in your house, Potter?” he asked.

Harry shrugged. “Well, it used to be the Blacks’ house, so I’m sure it’s seen worse,” he grinned with a shrug. “Just don’t tell Ginny—she’ll make me have the whole place fumigated or something if she finds out Draco was there, even for half-a-minute.”

Martins snorted. “Girl’s got taste,” he said approvingly, then frowned. “So what’s she doing with you, then?” he asked.

“Ha, ha,” said Harry, and pushed his comrades towards the pub’s well-lit door. “Look, just go on, all right? I’ve got this.”

He waved off their further protests, pressed a thin square of plastic into Hughes’s hands—with a Muggle-born mother, Hughes knew what a credit card was, and how to use it—and insisted that they all go in and have a few on him. They grumbled, but mostly just for show, and filed into the pub despite many a backwards frown.

Harry sidled up to the ongoing altercation. He waited for a good moment to intercede, but Malfoy’s inebriated slur didn’t seem to be doing much to impede his customary volubility—albeit leaving him a little less intelligible than usual—and he was doing his best to, as always, talk his way out of an unwelcome situation. Harry finally realized that he wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise if he didn’t interrupt, and cleared his throat.

Then he tried again, louder this time, almost shouting, “hey!” into the bouncer’s ear.

Both men turned to look at him, Malfoy blinking blearily and frowning as if he was having trouble bringing Harry into focus. “Hi,” said Harry. “Look, sorry to budge in, but—having some trouble?”

“Nothing to worry about, mate,” the bouncer said coolly. “Just sending one on his way who don’t know when he’s had enough, is all. You go on in, have yourself a pint.”

“Right, well, I just, I know this, er, this gentleman, and I, ah, I can help you out, if you like...”

The bouncer just stared balefully, but then Malfoy frowned. “Potter?” he said, as if uncertain if what he was seeing was really standing there.

“Hey, Malfoy. Look, why don’t you get in the cab, okay? I’ll get you home.”

“The hell are you doing here?” Draco asked.

“Long story,” said Harry. “I’ll tell you on the ride, all right?”

Realizing that Harry and Draco really did seem to know one another, the bouncer was slowly relaxing his grip on Malfoy’s shoulder. It seemed that either the repentant Death Eater was drunk enough to not object violently to being man-handled by a Muggle, or else he was still sober enough to remember not to use magic in front of everyone. Harry was glad a least that that particular, ugly sort of scene had been avoided, whichever the reason.

“Not getting in the bloody car,” Malfoy protested.

“Sure you are,” Harry argued, taking Draco’s arm and pulling him forward gently but insistently; it was a technique he had practiced a lot as an Auror, and it worked on the petulant pure-blood. Draco stumbled a bit but allowed Harry to tug him into the taxi cab.

“All right?” Harry asked, glancing back out at the bouncer.

The tall, burly man frowned, but nodded. “Your problem now,” he proclaimed, and turned away to shuffle back into his pub.

Harry sighed with relief and turned to the driver. “Number 12 Grimmauld Place, please,” he told the man who grinned, nodded, and replied with an affable, “right you are, mate.”

It took Harry a while to get Draco settled in the cab. Either he was very, very drunk, or he had never been in a car before, because he kept poking at everything curiously and Harry had to argue for a good ten minutes before Malfoy finally caved and allowed Harry to buckle him in.

Harry sank back with a sigh of relief and closed his eyes, letting his head flop back tiredly against the seat cushion. It had been a very long evening, and—he had to admit to himself—he was rather more drunk than he could remember being in a good long time. Add to that the awkward, emotional roller-coaster of seeing Malfoy again, and then the struggle over the cab, and he was nearly ready to collapse himself.

Then something bumped against his shoulder and Harry’s eyes snapped open. It was Malfoy, the slim blond man having slumped sideways against Harry, his pale head now leaning on Harry’s shoulder. His eyes were closed and his breathing heavy.

“Aw, fuck,” Harry muttered.

The cabby laughed at him. “Seems your mate there’s had a hell of a good night,” he remarked cheerfully.

“Apparently,” said Harry.

“Well, lucky him,” said the cabbie.

Harry grunted noncommittally. He thought about shoving Malfoy away, but in the end he just sighed again and tugged the limp, unresisting body into a more comfortable position resting against his side. Draco murmured something in his sleep but Harry couldn’t make out what.

A bump in the road sent Draco’s arm slipping off of his lap and across Harry’s, their hands now pressed together. Harry swallowed hard. His thumb seemed to move of its own accord, gently stroking Malfoy’s long, thin fingers. The metal of his heavy rings was cold against Harry’s skin, and a shiver that had nothing to do with temperature slid up Harry’s arm.

He glanced at Draco, but those cold grey eyes were shuttered and his surprisingly warm mouth hung half-open—invitingly, tantalizingly; Harry looked away quickly. He did at least seem to be genuinely asleep, and he hadn’t reacted at all to Harry’s touch. Maybe...

Harry licked suddenly dry lips and, summoning his vaunted Gryffindor courage, he tentatively laced their fingers together. Malfoy murmured something and Harry froze, his whole body going rigid, but Draco simply settled himself more firmly against Harry’s shoulder, and then was still once more.

Harry couldn’t stop a wide grin from creeping over his face, even as he cursed himself for a fool.
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Under the Manor