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Precious Things	By : psychocatblah Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3313 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Precious Things
- 1
"Feathers! Poof your feathers!" Scorpius demanded, poking a stick at the unimpressed albino peacock.

If a peacock could, it would roll its eyes. As it was, it threw its head back and gave a short cry that sounded somewhere between an annoyed cat and an angry baby, puffed slightly and then turned around to walk away.

Undaunted, Scorpius followed it, picking up small pebbles along the way that he tossed onto the bird's back, trying to get it to raise its hackles.

The bird was a long-time resident of Malfoy Manor and was quite adapted to Scorpius's summer restlessness. He shrugged off the pebbles, gave a desultory look back and then strutted forward, head bobbing leisurely.

Scorpius threw the stick at the bird in irritation and then kicked the ground. It vexed him when the world at home didn't bend to his will. His grandmother said he took after his father in that way.

He was nearly to the gates when he heard a booming voice that came from an enormous man.

"Hey, kid."

Folding his arms, Scorpius stopped in his tracks, taking in the fatty before him. He had a huge pumpkin head and wore cheap Wizard robes. He was already in his third year at Hogwarts, old enough to know plenty of hexes (and dark ones thanks to his da and his godfather) but not old enough to use them for no good reason.

He regretted tossing away his stick. He wondered what kind of noises the fat man would make if he poked him with a stick.

"What?"

"You want some sweets?" The fat man held out a half-eaten Jaffa cake and Scorpius rolled his eyes.

"Yes of course I'd love to share manky sweets with a homeless person outside of my fabulous manor. Can I aid you in any other way at trying to bugger a nubile young child?"

The fat man looked at him blankly like a cow. His eyes blinked slowly and it took him a moment before he realized he'd been insulted. "I have puppies... just back over there."

"You're really bad at this, did you know? They ought to rip up your NAMBLA card," said Scorpius. He really should raise an alarm, but he was bored and telling off this fat perv was more amusing than chasing mutant birds.

"You really are just like your da," he man mumbled. He sighed and went to put his hands in his pockets, but he still had the Jaffa cake in his mammoth paw. Startled that it was still there, he jumped and tried to fish it back out. All of the movement made his fat jiggle and his robes set to shaking until a glossy magazine flopped from somewhere in the depths of his rolls of fat and polyester fabric.

The book fluttered to the ground just outside of the gate, but Scorpius's keen eyes detected at once the bare mammary glands on the cover, as well as the lacquered nails moving them in circles for the camera.

"Is that... porn?" asked Scorpius. He took a few steps forward to verify his suspicions.

"You're too young for that!" said the fat man. He grunted as he bent over to pick it up. Muttering to himself, he reached for it on the ground in front of him helplessly.

Spotting an opportunity that he couldn't miss, Scorpius deftly slipped beyond the gates and snapped up the magazine, cackling at the helplessness of the old man.

"Hah! Fatty!" he said, waving the publication in the fat man's face. "Too slow!"

The fat man stood up, rubbing his lower back looking confused and vexed. He looked at the magazine, then at Scorpius, then at the gate.

The realization looked like it took him great time and effort to achieve, but he was still ahead of the teenage boy who was drooling and flipping through the picture book. All at once he grabbed Scorpius, clamping his meaty hand over the boy's mouth.

In a blink of an eye, the strange pair had vanished from the Manor, leaving nothing behind but a plump pinkie toe.

—

The day started pleasantly and blessedly quiet. Draco rolled over and stretched in his empty bed, plush sheets buffeting his naked skin.

It was a lonely life since his wife died of dragon pox, but Draco found that being a wealthy widower with a son suited him. There wasn't a single witch in London who wasn't vying for his attention and the married ones baked him sweets and cooed over what a brave and sweet man he was raising his boy all alone.

Alone—with a nanny, three house-elves, his parents and his dead wife's sister.

Draco would give a dignified nod and sigh, thanking the ladies for their well-wishes and baked goods, accepting their pity and monetary gifts "to see him through."

Pushing through the French doors into his white marble bathroom, Draco pondered why people felt motivated to give him money. He never turned it down, naturally. That would've been rude. Plus, it gave him some extra money to put towards worthy political causes that he favoured.

He was just bending over to draw a bath when he heard Daphne's shrill voice.

"Draco! Oh Draco... where... Oh!" she said before adding, "Ooooh my."

With a swift flick of his wrist, Draco summoned a flannel to him and wrapped it over his body. At least Daphne had the grace to blush through her leering.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he snapped, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. It had been a pleasant morning. Now he had to deal with the older Greengrass who seemed to think it her duty to take over where her sister left off. Draco let her stay because she wasn't too pushy (usually) and she helped run the house and was good to shop with.

She'd averted his eyes, but her gaze kept driving back to his chest forcing Draco to cross his arms over himself. "I um... oh well... it's just that... Scorpius has vanished."

Draco sighed and waved her out. "We should be so lucky. He'll be back around. He's probably just sulking because I didn't think he needed the new Quasar 9000."

"No, Draco. There's really something amiss. He isn't anywhere. When he's hiding, the elves can find him and I just play at not being able to find him because it keeps him out of my hair. But this is real!" said Daphne, her arms flailing.

She looked like she might cry. Draco hated it when women cried because they always expected someone to do something about it. He was just about to tell her off when the pop of an arriving house-elf broke the tension and handed her a wadded up piece of parchment.

"Oh! Oh no!" she shouted before she swooned. The house-elf looked at Draco expectantly to catch her, but Draco simply lunged forward enough to snatch away the parchment and read it over several times before throwing it at the house-elf's head.

"I'm going to draw my bath," he informed the elf. "Get her out of here and summon Theodore Nott for a Floo call in two hours."

"What should Kinky be telling Master Nott for Master Malfoy to be calling for?" asked the elf as he grabbed the blonde lady's arms to unceremoniously drag her from the bathroom.

Sounding bored, Draco sighed and threw some herbs into his bath, stirring it with his hand after. "Oh, let him know that my son has been kidnapped."

—

"Oh good heavens! Not sweet Scorpius Hyperion!" Theodore Nott's voice rang out through Draco's room, his face green with the flames facilitating the Floo call.

Draco reached through to smack Theo on the side of the head, careful not to snag his cashmere robes. "Fuck off, Nott, this is serious!"

Dodging the next blow, Theo said, "Don't tell me to fuck off. I'm not the one who named my sprog like a mid-range Muggle vehicle!"

"...you're the one who decided that opium was a good idea that night!"

"You were so histrionic I couldn't tell which of you was in labour. I thought it would help."

Draco huffed. "You seemed to think that it was the coolest name you'd ever heard when I said it at the time. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's an exact quote."

"Yes, well, I was really fucked up. I don't even recall agreeing to be his godfather."

"Well you did, and when the ransom comes, that means you have to pay half!" said Draco. He sat back and straightened his silvery sleeves, plucking off errant bits of ash and dust.

"What?" Theo's voice was questioning, but not particularly alarmed. He had money to spare, not that he went throwing it around everywhere.

"You heard me!"

"Look, I helped train him up so he wouldn't get bullied over his name. I get that his name is on my head, but why am I paying to get him back?"

Draco sighed. "Because I don't want to."

Theo reached through the Floo to smack the side of Draco's head. "That's your son!"

"You mussed my hair!" Draco wailed before batting Theo's hand away. "Anyway, obnoxious as that boy is, I wonder how long before they offer to pay me to take him back."

"What? Scorpius Hyperion is a prat? I wonder where he got that from," said Theo, tapping his finger to his lips.

Draco was not amused. He rolled his eyes and shrugged. "His mum was young, what can I say?"

There was a long moment of silence as Draco stared down at the embers of the fire. In spite of his behaviour, he really had loved his wife. Maybe he'd never been in love with her, exactly, but she'd been a great comfort to him and was great to shop with besides. When moments were silent like this, he missed her. She would've known exactly what to do. In recent years, he'd started to lean on Theo more for that sort of support, but it wasn't quite the same. Theo had his own life, his own concerns and he wasn't at all interested in being a father or having a family as far as Draco knew.

Still, in times like this, he could be surprisingly sensitive considering the reputation he had for being a cad.

"Have they asked a ransom?" asked Theo, his voice soft as he reached out through the flames to pat Draco's hand.

"No." Draco shook his head and looked at Theo's hand on his and turned it over, enjoying the warmth of touch. He'd known Theo his whole life and though they'd been semi-rivals in school, he was his best mate now and he wasn't sure he could've made it this far without him.

"Look," said Theo. "I know somebody, an ex-Auror. He's a bit unusual, but very good at what he does. I know in these cases it's best not to get the Ministry involved, but he's close enough to them that he can get the intelligence out of them that he might need."

"Is he friendly?" Draco looked up into Theo's eyes, knowing that he would understand exactly what that meant.

"Not exactly," said Theo, furrowing his brows. "But you've not been... that isn't what this is about, is it? I thought you weren't in contact with any of that..."

"I'm not," Draco admitted. "I just... I'll need to put a few things away, if you know what I mean."

"Bad boy," Theo chided, but his eyes sparkled that Draco wasn't entirely done with dark magic.

"Oh hush," Draco said. "It's just some old family relics. More sentimental than threatening."

Theo nodded. "A couple of hours good enough?"

"That should do it."

"Brilliant. I'll track him down and send him over," said Theo. He looked at Draco for a moment and said, "No matter how strange he seems, he really is the best. So you must promise me not to throw him out. You'll give him a chance to help, yeah?"

Theo's tone worried Draco, but what was he going to say? "Who is it?"

"Someone who will keep this from the papers and who will find your son."

Draco stared hard at Theo, but his face remained impassive.

"Trust me," said Theo.

Squeezing his hand, Draco said, "Fine. I promise."

Theo's face broke into an impish grin and Draco's stomach dropped. "Just remember that: you promised."

With that, Theo was gone and Draco just stared at the dying flames and wondered if he really wanted the brat back this badly.

—

"I'm bored!" Scorpius announced to no one in particular. He was sure his captor was outside the door, he heard his fat arse moving around just outside of the dank closet he was stuck in. He wished now he'd been paying better attention to what his godfather had said about wandless magic, but at the time it had seemed so dreary. The whole lot of adults were rather depressing what with their fancy outfits and talk of nothing of any importance at all.

No one ever wanted to talk Quidditch or about who would win Wizarding Idol or whether Rose Weasley really let boys look in her knickers for a Galleon. That last one had earned him a sour look from his father and the protest that he was trying to eat and it was inappropriate to bring up Weasley bits at the dinner table. Still, Scorpius bet that it was true. Those Weasleys were always flat broke and though Rose spent most of her time in the library, he thought that was the perfect cover for showing off bits. Not that he wanted to see them, but it was still a scandal.

Kicking the door, he said, "Did you hear me? I'm bored!"

The lump on the other side of the door barked, "This is a kidnapping, not a trip to EuroBeetle Bard's. What did you expect?"

Scorpius crossed his arms over his chest petulantly, huffing. "Kidnappings are supposed to be exciting with broomchasesbroom chases and dramatic Apparations!"

"You watch too much MSI, kid."

"I do NOT watch Magic Scene Investigation! That show's boring. You always know it's the Mudblood they show at the beginning!" Scorpius flopped onto the poor excuse for a bed. There weren't even feather pillows and the sheets were only percale. As little as he cared for MSI, he'd watch any episode gladly now. All that was in here were books. What was he supposed to do with those? Read?

"You should be glad you're not in for a bumming! That's what a lot of kidnappers do!" the large man said, voice muffled, making it sound like he was getting up. It was probably about time for him to eat again. Scorpius noticed that man ate a lot. He supposed to be such a fatty, one would have to.

"As if you could find your prick in amongst all of that fat!" Scorpius spat, but quieter. In fact, it was a whisper, for as bold as his words were, sometimes he did get scared that something truly bad might happen. The anticipation was killing him. "You wouldn't dare," he shouted loud enough for the man to hear. "My father will have you for this!"

"You sound like your father," said the man after a couple of minutes. Scorpius's stomach growled as he smelled the sweets being eaten just outside of his door.

People always said how much he and his father were alike, but frankly, Scorpius never saw it. His father was boring and brooding and he drank too much. His mum said that his father just had wanderlust but Scorpius thought that wasn't all it was. Not that he had any idea what made his father so distant sometimes. When Scorpius had been younger, he'd see his father looking so forlorn and lonely that he would sit in his lap and hug him tightly and they'd just cuddle like that for a while. But after his mum died, his father didn't want anyone touching him at all.

In rare moments of honestly, Scorpius would have to admit that he missed snuggling with his father more than he missed his mum most days. He loved his mum, she always seemed very happy. His father just seemed to need him more. But that was before. Now everyone was at arm's length and Scorpius felt alone, hurt and bored.

Stretched out over his cot without the distraction of shows or people to torment, Scorpius was forced to think about things he didn't care to think about. The pillow was wet from lonely tears and he punched it a few times for good measure, to let it know that he wasn't sad or angry. He was a big boy and big boys didn't cry. Ever.

—

It was well into the afternoon before Theo gave Draco the heads up that the person he'd hired would be Flooing in. In spite of himself, Draco had gotten rather nervous for his son and what might be happening to him. He fidgeted with the buttons on his long robes, debating whether he should change into something less formal, but finding the high collar buttoned to his neck somehow comforting. His mum had once told him that the genteel often relied upon their manners to see them through. That was what formality was for.

Hearing the inhale of the Floo that was the quiet announcement of someone coming through, Draco stood and smoothed down his robes, not sure at all what to expect. Theodore had been into some pretty rough dealings before he'd 'gone straight' so to speak. Not everyone had the word of Harry Potter to bail them out of the bad times, but Theo had wriggled free using his connections.

He wondered who this ex-Auror was going to be. There were a few who had quit when Potter took over and straightened the whole place up. Many didn't agree with his policies and many were forced into early retirement in order to maintain their pensions. All of this before Potter retired early himself. There were hints of a scandal there and Theo sometimes teased with salacious details, but never did say exactly what had happened before Harry Potter decided he wanted to 'spend more time with his family.'

In a gush, a dark-haired man whirled from the Floo, hair wild and spiky, wearing leather trousers that couldn't have allowed for much breathing and a shirt just as thin and tight.

Draco folded his arms in a graceful motion and perked a brow as the man steadied himself and pushed up his glasses. He smiled in far too cocky a way and ruffled his dark hair, mussing it further.

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

All Draco could do was stare at the tight mesh shirt over a well-sorted abdomen that was far too trim to have been toned by Quidditch alone. "Been keeping your family in the gym?" Draco blurted before he could censor himself.

"What?" asked Potter. He looked around Draco's house and then at Draco as if there were a clue as to what that meant somewhere around him.

Much to Draco's chagrin, Potter didn't seem at all surprised to see him, which meant that dear Theodore had told Potter who he was coming to see, but left Draco conveniently out of the loop. Draco clenched his teeth, flexing his jaw a few times to control the rising tide of screaming inside of him. His son was missing, which was annoying enough on his own. Now Harry Potter was in his drawing room wearing a homosexually tight t-shirt and making things far too complicated for no reason at all.

"I don't keep my family in a gym, Malfoy..." said Potter. He ruffled his hair again and Draco looked up and away, for reasons he couldn't quite explain.

"I know. I know. it's just... you said that you were going to spend more time with your family as a reason to leave the Aurors. But then you come here and you're all..." Draco gestured because he couldn't come up with a derogatory term for being well-built and he certainly didn't want to seem to be complimenting Potter. Or even noticing.

Except that he just had noticed. Draco flushed and looked the other way, spying an elf poking its head in. "You. Absinthe. Now."

By the time Draco turned back to Potter, he was already at home on a divan, looking far too casual and comfortable with himself for Draco's taste. "Just water for me. I'm on the job."

"You don't look dressed for the sort of job I'm hiring you for," Draco snapped. He turned on his heel and summoned a cloak and threw it on Potter. "Cover yourself."

Potter just laughed and held the cloak up. "This is too small, Malfoy. Besides, I'm not here to dress for you. I'm here so you can spend more time with your family," he said far too easily.

"I can't help you've gotten fat. Just... put it... over yourself." This wasn't going well. Draco felt like he was losing, but he had no idea what the game was. Potter was meant to be an employee and should therefore do what he said.

"I'm not putting your cloak on. I'm here, I'm queer, get used to me," he said, smiling as he said it and far too charming about it.

"Queer?" asked Draco, wondering how that was going over with the family he was supposed to be spending time with until... it hit him. He was forced out. Boy heroes were only considered heroic so long as they didn't want to bugger other men. "Ohhh."

"Is that a problem?" asked Potter. His voice was defensive and he sat up, looking ready to fight.

That was the Potter Draco remembered, always ready for a fight, noticing any slight. "No. Not at all. I'm just... not. So that you know."

Potter nodded and rubbed his head again. Sprinkles of glitter fell from his dark locks and Draco watched them curiously, wondering just what it was Potter got up to when he wasn't Flooing into enemy territory.

"Not a problem," said Potter as he stood and pulled the cloak on, looking ridiculous with the sleeves midway up his forearm, but at least he was covered somewhat, even if he didn't close the front. "Believe me."

"What does that mean?" asked Draco, head back, chest out.

Potter shook his head and sighed. "Malfoy, I'm just here for your son. I understand he's missing? Have you heard anything further from the people who took them?"

"I've... no, nothing else." Draco squinted at the little sparkles in Potter's hair and then took a step back, trying to pull himself together.

In reaction, Potter put his hand in his hair and brought it away and smiled shyly. "Out last night, slept late, didn't shower, sorry."

Draco's eyes widened, surprised because he knew just what manner of place it was that left sparkles in your hair. He had a hard time picturing Potter in such a place. But then, given the shirt and the trousers... He shook his head, shrugging it all off. "Look Potter, I'm trying to keep this quiet. I haven't told my parents, even. Daphne knows as she's the one who found the note, but she's currently sedated." He looked a little shifty at that statement, but she really did have a big mouth and if he left her to her own devices, everyone would know that Scorpius was missing.

"Don't worry. I know how to be discreet," said Potter. As he shook his hair, he released a shower of fairy dust on Draco's Persian carpet.

"Indeed," he said sourly, staring at the particles.

"Sorry," he said, pulling his wand. With a neat spell, the sprinkles were off of the floor and Potter swirled them into a circle that wriggled and glittered around his wrist. He grinned up at Draco who was staring at it warily. "Jealous?"

Draco sniffed in reply. "Not my style."

"Really?" The way that Potter peered at him over the rim of his spectacles made Draco feel queer. Like strange. Not the other queer. Not at all. Definitely not.

Pulling the ransom note from his pocket, Draco shoved it into Harry's hands before he could say or do anything more off-putting and he took a few steps back to be safe, shoving his hands back into his pockets in an attempt to look cool and casual.

"I half your son," Potter read. "Have is misspelled."

"I've read it, yes."

Potter eyed Draco a moment and then looked back at the note. "That's all there is. That's the whole thing?"

Draco nodded.

"Daphne didn't see anything?"

Sighing, Draco related that in the short conversation that he had with her, she'd found the note tied to a dead white peacock of the sort that Scorpius was fond of tormenting.

"The peacock was dead?" Potter asked, giving him a disapproving look.

"Yes. It choked on what appeared to be a man's little toe. Not much left of it now, though."

Potter gaped.
"Probably splinched off. We don't feed people to our peacocks, no matter what you've heard," said Draco.

"Could it have been an animal rights activist?" asked Potter.

"Those birds are treated well! The Malfoys have had white cocks for centuries! We know how to care for a cock!"

"I have no doubt," said Potter.

It took Draco a moment to realize what he'd said and to whom, and only a moment after that to notice that even if Potter wasn't taking the bait verbally, his trousers were making a statement of their own. Draco covered his face with his hands. "You know what I mean!"

Chuckling, Potter said, "I'm not really one to judge, but I figured you meant the birds."

Draco looked up a bit shyly between his fingers and then exhaled. "I'm sorry. I'm just not used to..."

"Dealing with gay people?"

"My son being kidnapped and my old arch-rival showing up in tight trousers?"

It was Potter's turn to blush and he nodded. "Well, it sounds like it must be someone that you know, someone who isn't terribly bright, but someone who bears some sort of grudge against you. Perhaps one of the ladies who hopes to be the next Mrs. Malfoy? It seems like perhaps they're not sure what they want from you, or they would've said so in the first place."

"Is that good news, or bad news?" asked Draco. He tried to think who amongst the bints that he let flutter around him would steal his child, but he honestly couldn't think of even one that would want to hurt him. Most of their fun seemed to be in nursing his "wounds." Still, women could be jealous creatures... perhaps...

"Good news in that I don't think your son will be harmed. Bad news in that there's not much you can do until they decide what they want and contact you," said Potter. He folded the note gently and handed it back to Draco.

"Aren't there spells or anything you can do to figure out who touched it?" asked Draco, eyeing the paper suspiciously.

"No, it's been through too many hands. Besides, it's just ordinary parchment and ink. There was no enchantment on it. I would've felt it." Harry stepped back and stuck his hands in his back pockets. Draco wondered how he got his hands into his pockets and suddenly realized he was staring at the bulge in Potter's trousers.

The bulge Potter was doing nothing to conceal.

"Right, well, what do I do until then?"

Potter shifted to one foot and said, "You should sit tight... and I should... hang about. Monitor your Floo calls, check out the grounds to see if I can find any clues. It's best if I'm here when they contact you again, though."

Sputtering, Draco asked, "You mean... stay the night?"

"Possibly a few nights. It depends on the kidnapper."

He sounded so calm about it, but Draco's pulse was racing and he could feel a blush going all the way to his fingertips. He was exceedingly pleased to be wearing long robes as well. "What about your... family?"

"They're with Ginny. This isn't about me or my family, Malfoy. It's about yours. Your friend hired me and I mean to stay until your boy's back, all right? Don't worry about me."

Draco was hardly worried about Potter or his family in spite of what he'd said. Still, the concern felt good to hear and he nodded. "Right. Right. Very well then. Kinky will show you to a guest room."

—

Try as he might, Harry couldn't sleep. The Wiltshire manor was far too quiet compared to what he was used to in London these days. Or maybe it was the strange memories he had of this place; Hermione's screams, his face puffed up, Voldemort on his way.

He walked the corridor in his boxer briefs and an open borrowed silk dressing gown, the initials DM embroidered with great flourish on his chest. He held his wand aloft, peering at the ornamented walls, trying to remember which door was Scorpius's room. As long as he was up, he might as well see if he could find any clues.

The first thing he'd asked Nott was whether there was any chance at all that Scorpius ran away from home. Kids of that age could be quite turbulent and he'd heard from his son that Scorpius was every inch the pill that Malfoy had been. He couldn't imagine Malfoy running away from home, though. Then again, Malfoy never lost his mum and from his understanding from Nott, their relationship was strained.
He took a few more steps down the dark hall, spooking at an unexpected mirror (there were a lot of mirrors in this place, Harry noted) he all but tripped over a house elf.

"Master Potter is not to be wandering the hallways alone!" the house-elf squeaked.

Harry knelt down to get eye level with the elf, watching it recoil in terror. "You can call me Harry," he said, holding out his hand.

Shyly, the elf took it and shook it, standing up straighter. "No, no, I couldn't Master Potter. You is a wizard!"

Smiling, he said, "As a wizard, I ask you to call me by my first name as a friend."

Kinky set his ears back, staring up at Harry with his eyes wide and bright. "Friend? Master leaves me sweets, but he never has to be calling me a friend. I am your friend?"

"Yeah, you're my friend," said Harry. He stroked Kinky's ears back with his thumb, watching the elf lean into the touch and smiling at him. "Were you Scorpius's friend?"

"Tch! No. That boy has no friends. Not a happy boy, always brooding and kicking and making lots of noise," Kinky fussed.

Harry figured that couldn't be too unlike how Draco was, but then, Draco had never lost his mum. "Do you think that he would've run away?"

Kinky made a face, stroking his long, pointed chin as he gave it serious consideration. "Scorpius is having nowhere else to be. He is having all the sweets and all the clothes he is wanting. There is no fighting. Just lonely boys."

"He's lonely?" Harry asked, standing up again as he gave that some thought.

"Boths of them is lonely boys. No mum, no friend. So sad, lonely boys." Kinky looked up at Harry with his big, dark eyes. The elf appeared really to care about Malfoy's family and Harry had to wonder if people just couldn't help rooting for them.

Scorpius wouldn't have left willingly. It didn't appear that the two were especially close, but they certainly had enough holding them together to keep him from running away. "Is this his room?" asked Harry, pointing at the door of what he believed to be Scorpius's room.

"That is being his room, Mas—Pot—Harry," the house-elf sputtered. He was saying something else in the gibberish when Harry opened the door.

The moonlight poured over the room done up in dark wood with marble trim. There were Quidditch posters on the wall, one of which held a slightly racy image of his ex-wife straddling a broom. Harry blushed a little and smiled, figuring that this had to be Scorpius's room. He wondered how irritated Malfoy was at having a Weasley pinned to the wall of Malfoy Manor.

But that would have to wait. For now, Harry saw a blond tuft of hair in the middle of a giant four poster bed. It was dripping with lace and gauze, shading his face and form, causing Harry to take a few steps in closer. It was then that he realized that Draco was curled up around a stuffed Thestral.

He heard sniffling and simpering moans. Malfoy's back shook and he sniffled again, rubbing his face against the Thestral plushie's fur.

Harry wondered what it was that drew them together in moments like this. He couldn't imagine that Malfoy just cried that much, but then it just felt like when Malfoy was at wit's end and letting it out and being vulnerable, Harry was there. This time, he decided he wasn't going to make a show of it. After a quick glance around the room, Harry started stepping backwards to leave.

"Potter?" Malfoy's voice was thick and nasal and Harry wondered what he was going to do or say. He was shite at dealing with girls crying and worse at men crying.

He'd spent the past couple of years learning to maintain a comfortable distance from people. Just a shag. Doesn't need to be a thing. Just two blokes having it off together. Emotions... those were difficult to have and harder to navigate. Harry gave serious consideration to not answering and slipping away, even going so far as to take a step back, but relented. "Yeah?"

Malfoy sniffled and said, "Were you out there making friends with my house-elf?"

Whatever it was that Harry thought Malfoy was going to say, that wasn't it. He stared blankly at the dark lump of Malfoy on the bed, remembering how bitterly Dobby had complained about his treatment here and felt a twinge of sadness for his lost friend. "Yeah."

The mound rustled and shifted. "Mfftnnnat."

"What was that?" asked Harry.

"I said," Malfoy repeated, lifting his head. His expression was pained, face puffy and eyes swollen. Somehow, he was still beautiful all painted in shades of blue darkness. "You're a twat."

In spite of himself, Harry laughed and shook his head. He pushed his glasses up again and nodded. "I'm sure you think so."

"I know so," said Malfoy. He pushed up from the bed, sitting up, hair rumpled as he rubbed his palms into his eyes boyishly.
Harry didn't want to think of his client as being 'cute' as that was not the service he was providing, but Malfoy did manage to make stressed father look good. "Kinky says you leave him sweets."
Malfoy's hands dropped from his face as he huffed, "Lies." He patted a spot on the bed and Harry found himself sitting there before he'd even thought about it. There was just something about Malfoy that seemed to make people want to do things for him. Normally, Harry bridled at it, but he supposed having a seat on a bed with an attractive man was enough up his alley that he couldn't be fussed.
"Kinky wouldn't lie to me," said Harry, watching in surprise as Malfoy crawled closer to him and dropped his head in Harry's lap.
"House-elves are prone to fabrication and conflagration. I leave the beast no treats and I never rub his ears." He grabbed Harry's hand and pressed it to his head.
Taking the hint, Harry stroked Malfoy's hair the way he'd seen Pansy do on the train all those years ago. His hair was just as silky as it looked. "He never said you rubbed his ears. I think you're protesting too much."
Malfoy pulled the covers up over him and made himself comfortable, but didn't respond to that accusation.
"Don't you have a harem of single witches to do this for you?" asked Harry as he stroked Draco's stubbly cheek.
"They're not here, are they?"
"Opportunist."
Malfoy smiled. "Are you complaining?"
"Are you paying extra?"
"Is this how you supplement your income?" asked Malfoy. He opened one eye and looked up at Harry.
"Strictly speaking, no." He flicked Malfoy's nose and rolled his eyes at him.
"But for the right amount..."
"I didn't come in here to be insulted, Malfoy," said Harry. Truth be told, it didn't sound like a bad way to earn some money, but he didn't think it would be right. Malfoy was obviously upset over his son and probably talking big as he always did.
Closing his eyes, Malfoy snuggled in under the blankets. "What did you come in here for?"
"I thought maybe there would be clues...And I couldn't sleep." He curled the silvery locks over his fingers, watching the strands cascade through them.
"Yeah, that's why I came in here, too," said Malfoy, his voice thick again.
Harry rubbed Malfoy's temple, looking down at the troubled face pinched up and ready to burst into tears again. "We'll get him back all right, Malfoy. You'll see. I swear it."
"Do you get to see your kids?"
"Yeah. As much as I want. We have an arrangement. I never get to see them as much as I like, but there's work and they have school. They're great, though," said Harry, smiling at the thought of them.
"Was Weasley angry when you..." asked Malfoy. He kept his eyes closed, but the storm had passed and the conversation seemed to distract him. It was personal, but Harry didn't mind.
"Oh yeah. She was very angry at first. She felt betrayed. Can't blame her for that. But I think after the initial shock, she realized it wasn't her, wasn't personal and she knew it was something I had to be honest about. I think we're closer for it. She's one of my best mates now," said Harry. It had been a painful time for them both. Harry had carried a lot of shame and grief. He'd always wanted a family, but he also knew that not being honest would hurt them both in the long run. Ginny deserved someone who would and could love her for all she was. As much as Harry loved her, he knew that wasn't him in the end. In retrospect, he should've known that from the war. Instead of clinging to her, he'd avoided her, putting distance where there should've been longing.
But he could never regret what they had, or the children they had.
"She's doing all right?" asked Malfoy. He looked up at Harry with curiosity.
"She's a sexy redhead with a love of sports. She's just a brewery away from being every straight man's dream girl. Why? Are you interested?" asked Harry.
"Don't be gross," said Malfoy, snorting in derision. "Even if I were interested in your leftovers, the Malfoy-Weasley feud is alive and well."
Harry rolled his eyes and nodded. "You just sounded concerned for a moment there."
"Lies," said Malfoy. His lip curled into a quick smile and he closed his eyes. "You can keep doing that until I fall asleep."
"Lucky me," said Harry as he leaned against the headboard to get comfortable. Damn Malfoy, Harry thought as he continued petting him.
—
The wind felt cool and crisp with a bite to it from the stinging mist. After being cooped up in the tiny closet all of this time, even the elements felt good on Scorpius's skin. His nerves were on edge, knowing that at some point that great oaf would wake up from his drinking-induced stupor and find him walking out on the tower, but it wasn't as if there was a whole lot the man would do. He'd never even raised a hand to Scorpius. He didn't think the man dared.
Scorpius had tried to escape, but the door to the stairs was bound closed magically. He wondered who had locked it for the pathetic fat lump. Surely the man couldn't have secured it that well himself.
He tried to get his bearings by looking out on the misty horizon, but clouds were rolling in, obscuring any tell-tale landmarks. Looking down, Scorpius couldn't even see the ground to know how high up he was. he felt like he was in a Muggle fairytale—locked away in a tower with a big ugly beast.
He wondered if his father would even want him back, let alone come and get him.
His eyes filled with frustrated and angry tears. Gritting his teeth, he pulled them back, willed them into submission. Lightning struck from somewhere in the distance, followed by the rumble of thunder.
"Don't jump," said the man, his voice sounding panicked.
"Why not?" asked Scorpius, more of a matter of interest than actual suicidal thoughts. "Afraid you won't get the Galleons you want if the goods are damaged?"
"Galleons?" The man seemed surprised by the assumption. Scorpius wasn't sure if he was that clueless or if he had other motives.
"Yeah. What else would you want? You're not some pervert, are you?" With that thought, he turned around, pressing his back to the half wall.
Instead of being offended, the large man smiled and laughed. "You really are just like your father."
"If you know him, then you know he'll have you killed for this," Scorpius snapped, too creeped out to know how else to respond to that. He wrapped his arms around himself, hoping that it was true, that his father cared about him that much. There was a time when he wouldn't have doubted that, but of late it had been so difficult to tell.
Rain tumbled from the sky after another crack of lightning and roar of thunder. He was cold and wet and confused. None of those things made him happy.
"What do you want from me?" Scorpius wailed.
The man peered at him a long while. He felt in the pockets of his robes and found a flask. Opening it, he took a swig, all the time eyeing Scorpius. It made the boy feel naked and nervous. His clothes were dampening and clinging to him and he knew that if this kept up, he was going to cry, which he hated doing. Instead, he lunged at the man, throwing himself on top of him, bringing his fists down onto his chest until fat fingers wrapped around his wrists. The flask fell to the ground, spilling acrid Firewhisky on the stones.
Scorpius twisted in his grip, kicking and screeching. "Let me go! Let me go!"
The man whirled Scorpius around, pulling his back to him as he crossed his arm over him and lifted him up. "I don't know!" he grumbled as he carried Scorpius back under the cover of the roof. "I don't know what I want from you. I want him to be my friend again."
"You... you know him?" Scorpius froze as he as carried back to his room. His pulse raced as the man threw him on the bed. He flipped over immediately to face him, but the man just stood there panting, water dribbling down his face that made it hard to tell whether he was crying or not.
"We were friends. When I was your age. But then Crabbe... he just... and we thought we could... we didn't think we needed him. But we did. Crabbe is dead and he just didn't want to talk to me anymore."
"Goyle?" Scorpius had heard the name a few times in the past. Usually his godfather would mention Goyle with a Crabbe and talk about his father's little gang when they were at school. Theo seemed to find the whole thing amusing, but his father would look stricken at the mention and Scorpius had been under the impression that Goyle had died at some point, too.
"Yeah," said the large man. He sat at the end of the bed and sniffled. "Gregory Goyle."
Scorpius watched Goyle for a moment, but decided he wasn't going to do anything gross, he sat up and looked at him curiously. "But you're a Pureblood. Shouldn't you be... clean?"
"Being a Pureblood doesn't make you clean," said Goyle. Then he stopped and furrowed his brows. "Does it?"
All of the things Theodore said about the density of his father's friends were ringing true. "You should have pride in yourself," said Scorpius. He poked at Goyle's beard. "You need to fix that."
Goyle looked down at Scorpius for a moment and then said, "Draco always told me what to do. But he said I reminded him too much of Vince, and Vince is dead and I made him sad."
The revelation made Scorpius feel sick. His father associated this man with someone who was gone, who he missed, and he'd cut him out. He looked exactly like Draco Malfoy, but it was inevitable that he reminded his father of his dead mother. Scorpius looked down at his hands as he shivered from the chill of the rain and the thought. "I guess he just does that."
Goyle put a large arm around Scorpius and though he smelled bad, Scorpius leaned into it, rationalizing it was for shared warmth. "He shouldn't. I miss him."
"I do too," said Scorpius. He closed his eyes and then said. "I think we should do something about it."
—
"Draco?" Narcissa's voice was soft and a little worried.
It only took Draco a second to hear it and piece together what would make her sound so concerned. Caught in his son's bed with Harry Potter. He was lucky that she hadn't just started hexing.
Jumping up, he shouted, "It's not what it looks like!" as he threw off his covers to reveal that he was stark naked and standing in the middle of his own bedroom.
Draco grabbed a pillow to cover himself, blushed and scanned the room for any sign of Potter before looking back at his mum. Her hand was over her gaping mouth, normally pale skin bright red. "Were you having a bad dream?" she offered after a moment of them standing there staring at each other in alarm.
"Must've done," said Draco, furrowing his brows as he scooted towards his wardrobe to get a dressing gown. His mum turned around to give him some privacy.

He wondered just how much of it had been a dream. Maybe the whole thing was just a nightmare.
"Daphne has been saying some disturbing things," said Narcissa.

Draco's insides froze. "Has she?" He tried to act casual as he pulled his dressing gown on.

"Oh yes, she seems to think that someone kidnapped Scorpius!" said Narcissa, a bit of light laughter in her voice. "Isn't that silly?"

Wheeling around, Draco looked at the back of his mum and folded his arms over his chest, trying to think of how to put this to her. He knew she'd be very upset, but he couldn't keep it from her anymore. "Mum, the thing is..."

Scorpius ducked his head in the room and Draco stared at him for a moment before flinging himself across the room, wrapping his arms tightly around him. He kissed the top of his son's head, relieved that it really must've all been a bad dream. Or maybe Scorpius had run off and come back. Or perhaps Potter found him. At the moment, he was far too relieved to care.

"Da... da, slow down," whispered Scorpius.

Draco clung to him tightly, crossing his arms over him, unwilling to let him go. He felt something rigid pressing back against him. It was on the tip of his tongue to rebuke him for keeping his wand in his pants when Draco had told him not to when his son moaned. It felt like he was trapped in a dream now, as his mum hugged them both saying, "Oh, my boys. I'm so happy that you two have made up!"

Trying to rationalize that Scorpius was a teenager who probably would pop wood at the slightest of friction, Draco pulled his hips back, trying not to blush. He was worried for what Scorpius might say about this reunion, worried where he'd been or what had happened, but he couldn't say any of this in front of his mum. "Mum... do you think you might... give us a few alone?"

"Oh dear, of course, dears! I was thinking that perhaps your father and I could take Daphne closer to the sea. Maybe we could go to our vacation home in France, spend a few days there. I'm afraid the stress of losing her sister must've caught up to her for her to believe something happened to sweet Scorpius!" she said, stepping away and fluttering her arms.

"That would be brilliant," said Scorpius. He looked slyly at Draco who released him and took a couple of steps back. "I think da and I could use some time alone."

Scorpius closed the space and hugged Draco tightly. Feeling that same nudge of something that really had better have been a wand, Draco tried to squirm away, only to have Scorpius cling to him tighter. He was just on the verge of having a shrieking fit at Scorpius's mouth brushing his ear when his son said, "It's me. Potter. Let her go."

Relief swept out his revulsion and he exhaled and sagged against Potter-as-his-son. "Yeah, mum. You and da should go," he said, feeling suddenly exhausted. At least now he knew his son wasn't a pervert, but it didn't change that he was missing. "With Daph. We need some father and son bonding time."

Narcissa smiled and nodded and after a few cheek kisses, she was gone to make the arrangements.

Draco untangled himself from Potter and sat on his bed, shoulders and head sagging. "That was rather a lot to deal with before tea."

Potter pulled his wand from Scorpius's robes and charmed the door shut and locked and then sat on the bed next to Draco. "Yeah, sorry about that. I'd hoped to be able to warn you before anyone else saw you, but Daphne needed reassuring."

Nodding, Draco rubbed his temples. "That just about did my head in. And by the by, why was I naked and in my room?"

"Oh, well." Potter at least had the grace to blush. "I woke up rather early and decided it would be weird if your family found you in your son's bed with or without me, so I brought you in here. I was going to change you into proper nightclothes, but I heard your mum in the hall and had to stop. I just threw the covers over you and slipped back to my room where I'd some Polyjuice potion I'd brought with me in my pack. Since you didn't want anyone to know that Scorpius was missing, it was a natural choice."

"Hair from his comb, then," said Draco. "So he's still missing."

"Yes, no progress there, but at least this will all buy some time for us to get things resolved before upsetting everyone else."

"That was all... pretty smart for a Gryffindor," said Draco. He looked at his son's face, fancying that he could see Potter's influence in it.

Potter rolled his eyes. "A simple 'thank you' would do."

Draco eyed him a moment, then took his hand and squeezed it. "Thank you."

—

Staring at the ransom note in horror, Draco was very aware of how close Potter was to him, reading over his shoulder now that he'd returned to his usual Potter-ish self and he was tall enough to do so. Potter's breath tickled the hairs raised on the back of Draco's neck as he scanned the words over and over again.

"This... can't be real," said Draco, eyes wide. He was glad that his family had been packed off hours ago because surely he was going to scream.

Potter was nonplussed. "That's certainly the oddest ransom I've ever seen."

Draco stared at the note helplessly.

"So we'll make the drop tomorrow morning?" asked Potter. His hand was warm on Draco's shoulder, but it did little to comfort him.

"I don't know that... I can. Tomorrow morning? That's so quick," said Draco. He placed his hand on Potter's and frowned when Potter yanked it away.

"It's for your son, Malfoy!"

Spinning around, Draco looked at Harry, at the horror on his face at Draco's petulant pout. "But it's my haaaair," Draco wailed. He slid his fingers through his silken tresses and frowned at it.

"It'll grow back," said Harry, shaking his head.

Draco knew that his hair was a small price to pay. He'd been prepared to empty his account at Gringott's, to sell the manor, to offer up Daphne as a sacrifice—anything to get his son back. His hair, however, had not been on the table. "What are they going to do with it?"

"No idea," said Potter. He reached out and petted it gently. "I can put some charms on it to make sure they can't use it in potions."

"That doesn't stop them from having their wicked way with it! What if they toss off on it?" he asked, whirling around to leave the library where the owl had found them looking up tracking spells that could be used by blood. Draco had been hopeful, but Potter found all of the magic too dark to be comfortable using.

"What do you care? It's not like it'll still be attached to your head!" said Potter as he lumbered after Draco.

At that, Draco stopped and looked at Potter, causing the man to stop and blush. Draco perked a brow and then whirled around, headed for his room and his vanity. "But I'll be... hideous! No one will want to even look at me!"

He flopped onto the vanity chair, grabbing his silvery comb to run through his hair. His expression was anxious and he was definitely getting wrinkles between his brows. It was that boy's fault. All of the wrinkles and now he was going to have to cut off his hair. Potter stood behind him, trying to look sympathetic. But how could he know? Why would he care about hair with that mop of hot mess on top of his head?

"You could get a wig?" asked Potter.

"RARGH!" Draco bellowed. He turned and smacked the back of Potter's hand with his comb.

"Ow! Hey!" Potter snapped his hand back and nursed it with his other hand. "It was just an idea."

"And a really stupid one. What do I have you here for anyway? You're useless! My son is still missing and now I..." Draco turned back around to face himself, his face reddening, eyes bright with tears as he reached for the scissors.

"Wait! I have a friend who's a stylist. He could..." Potter started, but it was too late. Draco was already cutting his silvery hair by the fistful.

"No. I have to do it now. I... If I wait, I won't be able to. I need to just do it. It doesn't matter. You're right. He's my son," he said, watching as the hair broke between the blades, fluttering over his hand, some landing on the floor.

He cut and cut, feeling mad with it, but thinking only of his son back home, of him being safe and happy and secure. Scorpius may be a brat, but he was Draco's brat and he would have him back, no matter what indignities he might have to endure.

His face was wet, though it was less to do with his hair than it was to do with the thought of having his son back. He worried for what was happening to him, if he was scared, if he was lonely, if he doubted that his father would come for him. Tears rolled down his long, narrow nose, dribbling off of the point, dotting his sky blue robes.

"Oh Mal-Dra-Malfoy," said Potter. He set his hands on Draco's shaking shoulders and knelt behind him. Resting his head on Draco's shoulder, he looked at him in the mirror and said, "You still look beautiful. Your hair is lovely, but look at how this shows off your cheekbones."

Potter traced along Draco's cheek, his fingers so soft and warm and silky. Draco inhaled slowly at the tickle of touch, turning his head to the side to look at the hollow of his cheek. It exposed more of his long, white neck and Potter's hand drifted down, caressing it in a slow circle.

"Do you really think so?" Draco asked, lifting his chin up as Potter dragged his nails lightly over Draco's throat.

Draco turned enough so that he could see the indecision etched on Potter's face. "Never mind," Draco snapped and started to pull away.

Potter cupped Draco's face and pulled him in, fucking his mouth with his tongue. Draco was so surprised that he jumped, trying to pull away, but succeeded only in falling off of his chair and dragging Potter on top of him. His length dug into Draco's thigh as he rubbed against him, taking his mouth brutally.

It had been so very long since anyone had touched him and no one had been this indelicate about it. "Potter," Draco said as Potter pushed his robes up.

"You're beautiful. You really are," said Potter. His mouth was everywhere on his face, his hands stripping him of his clothes and his resolve.

Draco gasped as Potter's fingers rubbed him through his pants. He squeezed his legs together instinctively, knowing that this was wrong and yet, it felt brilliant to be handled so roughly, to not have to do the work, to not even be given much of an option, though he knew he could throw him off if he really wanted to. He just couldn't make himself want to.

"Yeah?" Draco asked. In a flash, the chair was knocked away and Draco was on his knees, his hands on the edge of the vanity, looking at himself and his half-cut hair. One side was cropped a couple of inches from his head, the other side was a long, tangled mess, but still shiny and magnificent for all of the mussing.

"Yeah, look at yourself." Potter was behind him, his belt open and jangling.

Blushing brightly, Draco averted his eyes, knowing what was about to happen. His pants were tight at his knees and Potter was unbuttoning his robe from the front this time. He should stop this. He needed to stop it. He looked horrid and Potter was obviously keen on buggering him and Draco wasn't sure what to make of that. He'd certainly never done anything of the sort, and had never given it serious thought. Before he could form words to object, his robe dropped from his shoulders and Potter was wrapped around him, one hand on his prick, the other wet from his mouth and teasing his opening.

He grunted at the liquid slick feel of Potter's finger feeling him out, spiralling slowly, lightly. Potter was very good at this. Draco wondered just how much practice he'd had at it when he felt the twinge of being breached. His skin felt humid with perspiration instantly. His head was spinning, and Draco looked up into the mirror, his eyes locking on his reflection. Potter was behind him, staring intently at what he was doing. He felt the nudge of Potter's wet prick against his bottom and his toes curled.

This was so wrong, so dirty. He shouldn't be doing this. He thought of his dead wife, his son, of his parents who had just left that morning and what they would all think if they could see this, see him here with half his hair gone letting a half-blood befoul him.

Draco groaned as Potter entered him. It hurt worse than he'd imagined, like he was being stabbed in the tenderest of areas, and yet, after the initial shock and pain ebbed away, it started to feel good. There was something in the widening of his body, of making space. A spot that Potter slid against that made his eyes cross and his softened prick respond. Potter had his prick again, his other arm wrapped around him as he kissed Draco's neck, muttering to him how beautiful he was, how good he felt.

He kept staring, flinching at his reflection. He'd brought his arms up to Potter's arm around him, holding it tightly as he watched his body shift, the slick tip of his prick bobbing between Potter's fingers, peeking out and vanishing. Setting one hand on the vanity to steady himself, he grabbed the long, silver scissors and nudged Potter to hold his hair while he cut it.

Hair fell onto his shoulders and down his bare back. It tickled his face and down his torso. He pushed back against Potter, wincing and moaning in equal measure. He felt so full and so sore and yet it was all so incredibly intoxicating to feel like this. Potter finished cutting and dropped the scissors. They clattered on the floor as he grabbed Draco's hips, thrusting into him wildly. Their bodies slapped together as Draco arched his back, dropping his head down to close his eyes and bear it.

After a few more hard smacks, Potter pitched forward, holding him tightly as he gasped and came inside of him. Draco remained still, half-hard from the attention. Potter pulled out and whispered a spell. Draco felt something inside of him, light and fluttery as a breath and then he felt clean.

"I want to get you off," Potter whispered into his ear, wrapping his hand around Draco's cock. Pushing his hand away, Draco grunted, but Potter wasn't so easily put off. "Do you want to fuck me?"

Draco shook his head. He'd never had sex that way before, not even with a woman. He wasn't sure he liked the idea.

"Want to fuck my mouth?" asked Potter. He kissed along Draco's shoulder, whispering again that he was so gorgeous and he wanted to have his sexy prick in his mouth.

Draco nodded and Harry sank to his knees behind him, dragging his tongue between his cheeks. He pushed Draco's leg up and slid under him, kissing and sucking under his bollocks. He took each one in his mouth, swirling his tongue and Draco practically sobbed with how intense it felt. No one had ever really touched him in that way, not in all of these places. It was obscene and when Draco caught his reflection in the mirror, he saw how red he was.

Then he looked down at Potter, his lips opening and stretching white around his cock. It took him a few strokes before his brain could catch up with his body. He marvelled at what he was seeing. Harry fucking Potter, on his knees in front of his mirror, sucking him off. His arse still ached from where he'd been inside of him. He never in a million years would've seen this for himself, but it felt amazing.

Potter didn't quail when Draco grabbed his hair and pushed his hips forward, fucking his mouth ruthlessly. In fact, he moaned and his green eyes flashed and rolled back in his head. He pushed his fingers inside of Draco again, reminding him of where he'd been, what he'd done. Draco wanted to drag it out, wanted this exquisite warmth around his prick forever, but at that thought, he exploded in Potter's mouth with barely a warning.

His knees buckled, and Harry caught him, pulling him close before kissing him. Draco had never tasted his own come and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to now, but the warmth and sweetness of the moment overwhelmed him and he surrendered to it.

After a few minutes of kissing, Potter said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."

Draco blushed. "You're seeing someone?"

"Erm, no, it's not that. It's just..."

"It doesn't have to be a thing, Potter."

"I took advantage."

Shrugging, Draco wriggled away.

"I'm sorry," said Potter. He looked shy and defeated. "I should go."

"You were hired to help me get my son back and he's still not here. You don't leave until he's back," said Draco as he picked up his robe from the floor. He could still feel Potter inside of him and Potter was trying to get away. Draco wasn't going to deny that he needed to get laid, and he refused to make a big deal of it. It had been nice before it got all Gryffindor'ed up.

"I guess so," said Potter. He pulled his trousers up and wiped his mouth off.

Draco couldn't help but smirk at that. "While you're down there, pull my hair together and... " he said, turning his head as he looked into the giant round mirror of the vanity, "go ahead and call your hair cutter friend. This mess needs to be corrected."

—

Since he wasn't technically being held prisoner any longer, Scorpius didn't see why he couldn't nip back home to grab something to read and Blackie, his stuffed Thestral toy. His godfather had promised him that he had his own Thestral in the Nott stables and that as soon as Scorpius saw someone bite it, he would teach him to ride them. Scorpius couldn't wait to watch someone die.

He hoped it would be a Weasley.

Arriving through the Floo in the kitchens, where he knew his father would never go under any circumstances, he slipped up through the back stairs and into his room. His duvet was mussed and Blackie had been moved, but otherwise everything was as he left it. It was very late, so he was surprised to hear voices down the hall.

"The look was definitely very just-been-shagged, but with your bone structure, you need something more refined." Scorpius heard a high and rather queer-sounding voice that he didn't know. He crept down the hallway and stood just outside of the open door listening.

"Very just-been-shagged." That voice Scorpius recognized. It was his godfather. He hadn't thought about how worried Theo might be about him and felt a pang of guilt for putting him through it. "What's wrong, Draco? Is that chair uncomfortable?"

"Hey, Nott, I have an idea. Why don't you fuck off?" said Draco. He knew his father's voice, and that teasing tone between them. His father didn't use that kind of language around him, but he'd spied enough to know that the two men said a lot of naughty things that he'd get swatted for repeating.

"The chairs here are uncomfortable," said someone that sounded familiar but Scorpius couldn't place the voice. He dared a peek around the corner and gaped at Harry Potter standing in his father's room along with a young man in hot pants holding shears.

Shears.

Scorpius couldn't believe it. His father had cut his hair. He really had given up what he was most proud of for him. For some reason, Scorpius hadn't believed it would really happen. He didn't think his father would ever give up his hair for him. It was a running joke in their family that Draco loved his hair more than his mum. Goyle had said he'd been the same in school.

It was a shock to see him with a close-cropped cut, some of it still longish in tufts, but quickly being shaped away by the young man behind him.

"Indeed," said Theo. He gave Potter a pointed look and Potter suddenly found the carpet very interesting.

"I look like a dyke," Draco whined, tilting his head from side to side.

"Did you just now realize that?" Theo teased, poking Draco in the shoulder.

"He does not!" said Potter. Scorpius looked between the men, confused by what that all meant.

The hairdresser continued working in the standoff and then said, "We could do something edgy and fun. I could make your hair pink!"

"You'd look like Tonks," said Potter, his smile bright as if he'd said something that would meet with approval. "Nymphadora," he added to the silence.

"Fuck. I do look like a dyke!" Draco said, huffing and folding his arms.

"I thought you worked the look," said Theo, his smile amused verging on nasty.

"Tonks wasn't homosexual. She was married!" Potter protested.

"Lupin was practically a woman," said Draco.

Theo snickered as Potter looked between them incredulously.

"There's nothing wrong with..." the hairdresser started.

"They had a son! Did you forget about Teddy?" asked Potter.

Scorpius vaguely remembered Teddy Lupin. It wouldn't surprise him to know his mum liked girls. That boy was strange.

"Turkey baster," Draco replied.

"HAHA!" cackled Scorpius. He clapped his hand over his mouth as soon as he made a noise, but it was too late, everyone was looking at him.

"Scorpius!" Draco gasped. He yanked off the haircutting gown and tossed it aside, bowling over the man with the shears and shoving Potter out of the way to get to his son.

Scorpius thought Draco would hit him and interrogate him as to why he was here, but instead, Draco grabbed him close and lifted him off of the ground, clutching him tightly. He thought his father was laughing until his neck was wet and he realized that he was crying. Guilt cut him in half and he clung to his father, tears springing to his eyes. "Dad," he sobbed.

"You're home. You're home. Oh, you're home," Draco said, spinning him around and clinging to him.

"Yeah, I'm home." Scorpius really wasn't sure what to say, so he just relaxed into the snuggling.

"He escaped!" Draco said, setting Scorpius down, but not letting go of him. "That's my boy!"

Theo was smiling at him, but Potter looked suspicious. The hairdresser leaned against the empty stool and filed his nails, nodding in agreement.

"He's wily and slippery like his father," said Theo. He took a couple of steps forward and patted Scorpius's head. "Good show. You're all right, then?"

Scorpius basked in the praise, pushing away the niggling worries about the promises he'd made to Goyle and how much trouble he might get into.

"Who took you?" asked Potter. His green eyes were narrowed, his arms folded. "How did you escape?"

"I...uhhhh..." said Scorpius.

"Don't grill him, he's obviously traumatized," Draco snapped, pulling his son protectively close.

"If there's someone out there kidnapping young men, then we need to find out who it is and put a stop to it," said Potter. He stood to full height, chest out, daring someone to contradict him. "We should get this information out of him while it's still fresh."

"Oh no, he wouldn't kidnap anyone else," said Scorpius. "It's okay, really. I'm fine. No one hurt me. See? I'm fine!"

Wriggling from his father's grasp, he held his arms out and turned around a couple of times to show off just how fine he was.

"Are you certain you didn't simply run away?" asked Potter. He was taller than Scorpius and his green eyes bored into him, like he could find the truth somewhere inside of him. He knew his father could do that, but it didn't feel the same looking into Potter's eyes. He wasn't going to have the truth pulled from his mind, he just felt compelled to tell him.

"No. I didn't run away! I was kidnapped!" Scorpius protested.

"Of course you were," said Theo. His hand squeezed Scorpius's shoulder in support. "What are you playing at, Potter? The boy's been through enough. I hired you to bring him home and he's home. Your job's finished now."

Potter blinked and then looked at Draco who had paled considerably as he looked between Theo and Potter. Scorpius didn't understand why his father didn't just dismiss Potter out of hand, but his godfather perked a brow, the corner of his mouth twisted up just a fraction.

"The part I'm paying you for is finished, anyway," said Theo. The comment made Draco blush and Scorpius furrowed his brows in confusion.

"I just... don't want anyone else to suffer their children missing," Potter said, looking down at his feet. "I'm not trying to... I mean, I took advantage, I get that."

Draco stiffened. "I am not an easily manipulated Gryffindor. I did what I did because I wanted to. But if that is what you think of me..."

Theo stepped in and pulled Scorpius back by his shoulder. "This isn't appropriate talk for..."

"Scorpius?" The voice was deep and loud and very confused. Scorpius winced as he looked over his shoulder to see the lumbering baboonish figure of Gregory Goyle standing in the doorway in all of his bedraggled glory looking every inch the kidnapper.

"Greg?" asked Draco. "What are you doing here?"

"I... er... well... Um... Scorpius said he was coming back to..." started Goyle. He looked flustered and scared, his dark eyes wide and appealing to Scorpius for help.

"He rescued me," said Scorpius. It was going to mar his glory with his father at having escaped, but it seemed like the best way to get Goyle out of it. Goyle stared at him shocked.

"Well of course he did," said Theo, rolling his eyes and looking dubious. Scorpius gave him a pleading look and Theo sighed, waving his hand. "He's very heroic."

"Since when?" asked Draco. he didn't look like he was buying it, really. "Goyle, you need a wash. When was the last time you changed out of those rags?"

"Er... I don't..." Goyle babbled.

"You know where your room is here. I'm sure there's something left over you can wear. Get a bath and a shave," said Draco.

"Oooh I can help. I just love bears!" said the hairdresser, although Scorpius suspected the man just wanted to get out of the tense room.

"Yes, see to his hair," Draco barked. The man took Goyle by the arm and led him out.

Draco eyed Scorpius for a moment and Scorpius felt the tendrils of his father's mind searching his and looked away.

Scorpius expected his father to be angry, to start yelling. Instead, he just looked a bit sad and finger-combed Scorpius's hair back. "I see," was all Draco said.

Potter likewise seemed to have sussed out the situation and said quietly, "I should go."

"You don't have—" Draco started.

"I'll send the payment on," said Theo with a finality in his voice.

Draco stared at Potter intently and Potter looked back at him, but then nodded and headed for the door. Draco's shoulders sagged a moment but then he took hold of Scorpius again. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" Draco asked.

Scorpius wasn't sure what was going on, but felt terrible for his father. He stood on his tip toes and kissed his cheek and gave him a wan smile.

Surprised, Draco blushed a little and then smiled in such an unguarded way it made Scorpius wonder if he'd ever really seen his father happy before now.

"Come on. You smell like Goyle's castle. Did I ever tell you about his family?" asked Draco as he turned Scorpius around and led him out. He reached up to push back a length of hair that no longer existed. He sighed a little but didn't complain. "Clueless, the lot of them. The Goyles were lucky to have us to tell them what to do. I suppose we'll have to make sure that he's all in order. Don't know where Goyle got to. Haven't seen him in years. I'm sure we'll catch up."

Scorpius smiled up at his father and nodded, feeling more like a family than he ever had.

—

The beats were pumping and the club was jumping. Harry was all up on a hot blond man half his age, but all he could think was that the kid wasn't nearly as sexy as Draco was. Every time he closed his eyes he thought about the way he bit his lip as he took him, the warm, tight feel of his body.

But then he'd think about the hurt in Draco's eyes, the way he'd averted his when Harry had agreed to leave. Guilt settled in his stomach, twisting him in knots and Harry decided definitively that a flirtini was the only way to resolve it.

Slipping away from the young man, Harry didn't even give him a sign to follow. He truly didn't care if he did or not. Sex with others had become dull and lifeless, just a bodily function like pissing or eating. Nodding to the barman, he rested his hand on the bar, checking out the scene, trying to keep Draco Malfoy as far from his thoughts as he could.

Goyle had been celebrated in the press as a hero for rescuing Scorpius, although no one knew who had kidnapped him in the first place. Harry strongly suspected that either Scorpius had run away or Goyle had taken him. Either way, he knew from the moment he'd seen the note asking for Draco Malfoy's hair as ransom that it was personal. No ransomer who didn't have intimate knowledge of Draco or his pride would ask for such a thing.

The child looked guilty, but Harry wouldn't expose Scorpius. Not only for the child, but Draco seemed to be willfully ignoring the obvious. Who was Harry to bring reality crashing down on him?

Besides, he still felt as if he'd taken horrid advantage of Draco by fucking him at that weak moment. On his good days, he rationalized that he'd only wanted to show Draco that he was still desirable, that he was still the incredibly sexy man who'd been giving him wood for hours on end. But he knew that deep down, he'd done it because he just plain wanted him. Draco was sexy and vulnerable in ways he'd never seen him and he wanted to be part of him, to be part of it. He'd never really felt so connected to someone during sex and he desperately wanted that back.

Only he knew he had no right. He'd taken it, and he hadn't really asked. Sure, all Draco would've had to have done was to say no and he would've stopped, but it didn't change how it had started. He downed the flirtini as soon as it was served and tapped the bar for another.

When he looked up again there was a weedy gentleman with a spiffing hat in front of him, looking quite dapper and slightly amused. "He has that effect on people," said Theodore Nott.

"I received my payment," said Harry, pretending that he didn't know what he was talking about.

"I considered not paying you," said Nott. He leaned against the bar and ordered a double scotch on the rocks. Staring derisively at the crowd, he said, "You took what you wanted and then left, didn't you?"

"He's not gay. But you're right. I shouldn't have," said Harry. He swigged half his flirtini down and considered moving to something harder.

"Of course you should've. Why do you think I hired you? Ten thousand detectives in Greater London and I call you. Why do you think that was?" asked Nott. He stood lean and tall, looking regal and imperious even as he nursed his scotch.

Harry's eyes widened as he sorted out what Nott was implying. "You... wanted me to..."

"Don't be crude. I just thought you might open his eyes. The way you two were so hyper aware of each other, I thought he'd give the matter some thought."

"We weren't hyper aware. We were enemies." Finishing his drink, Harry set it down on the bar and said, "Funny, I'd've thought that you would've been interested in hiring a proper detective to get your godson back."

"Your reputation preceded you in that department. You really are simple if you think a Slytherin would have only one motive for anything he does. I saw an opportunity and I took it. I know you understand how that is or you wouldn't be standing there looking so guilty."

"I'm not..." Harry started.

Nott held up a hand to stop his protests. "I'm not here to hear your self-denial, Potter."

Harry had about had enough of this enigmatic conversation. It was just making him feel worse. "What are you here for, then?" he asked, pointing to his flirtini so the barman would bring him another.

For a long moment, Nott was silent, eyeing the drink as it was served to Harry and then Harry himself. Never had Harry felt quite so weighed and measured as Nott's eyes went from his mop of hair, to his scar, to his glasses and down to his fishnet shirt and leather trousers. Harry stood a little taller, defiant at being judged. He would've left were he not so curious as to what Nott wanted.

"You are on his mind. He doesn't say so, but I've known him long enough to tell. I've tried introducing him to younger men, more attractive and certainly more attentive ones, but he brushes them off," said Nott. The way his brows furrowed and nose twitched, Harry could tell that Nott didn't approve.

He wondered what it was about Draco Malfoy that made people care as much as they did. His family had always plainly adored him, but that was natural. He'd always thought the Malfoys to be cold and cruel people, but then he saw the familial love from and for Narcissa Malfoy. Then there was the way that Draco had reacted towards Crabbe and his betrayal and death. Goyle was alive because even in the midst of mutiny, Draco still cared. He thought on the obvious love he had for his son, even as he tried not to show it, tried to distance himself from the boy. In the end, Draco came through for his son.

In spite of what Harry had always wanted to believe about Draco and Slytherins in general, they could and did care for each other. He could see that now, even as Nott pretended to be detached.

As he thought about Draco thinking about him, his heart fluttered and he blushed faintly. He brought his refilled drink up to hide behind and sip as he let that news settle. "He's been on my mind, too."

The corners of Nott's mouth twitched in the briefest of smiles and he turned his head to where the young blond boy was dancing, looking over at them now and then, trying to pretend like he wasn't watching. "I'd gotten that impression."

Harry sighed as he looked at the boy. He wasn't as elegant as Draco. Not as vulnerable and not as alive. He didn't have any shared history with that stranger. The kid was hot, just not who was on his mind or in his heart. "So what should I do?"

Nott smiled and perked a brow. "Before we get into planning, let me just tell you that a man does not get to where he is without knowing where the bodies are buried." He finished his scotch and set the glass on the bar. He pointed to all of the empty glasses and set a bag of Galleons onto the counter, not even bothering to count the amount. "Should you hurt him, I will be bothered not at all about adding to the body count."

"Thank you," Harry said, regarding the drinks. He wasn't sure what to say about the threat, so he just nodded that he'd heard him.

"Very good. Now. Come with me and we'll see about getting you presentable."

—

It was two a.m. before they reached Potter's flat, such as it was. It wasn't much to look at construction-wise, but it was tastefully decorated in a means that surprised Theo. After being directed to Harry's clothing choices, Theo screamed like a girl and returned to the living area to tell Harry that his choices were not up to the task.

By three a.m. they had finally bypassed the half-blood sensitive wards on Nott's castle. This time, Harry walked into the rather large closet, screamed like a girl and returned to Theo's bedroom.

"None of this is going to do. We'll simply have to make you a new suit," said Theo.

Harry looked less than impressed with that notion.

"I have my own tailor. We could write a tailor song while you're being measured," said Theo as he flourished his wand to summon the man from his bed to Theo's half darkened castle of horrors.

Seriously, the place looked a bit like Geiger decorated it. Or threw up on it. Or threw up while decorating. "This is very... medieval abattoir," said Harry.

"Kind of you to notice," said Theo as the tailor started to measure every inch of Harry to get the most precise fit. Harry felt like a tool.

After a couple of hours and some possibly illegal sewing charms, Harry was dressed up in his long robes of scarlet and gold. He felt like a princess. Or at least what a princess would feel like if she were a boy who wanted to ask another boy out on a date after sucking his cock.

Make an animated story out of THAT, Disney.

It was four a.m. before the men were ready. Harry was all dressed up with nowhere to go.

"Don't be silly!" said Theo to Harry's protests that it was far too late to go to Draco's. "As we stand here and babble, the moody git is probably awake writing bad poetry about how he's losing his looks. Let's head back. You know he'll want to see you."

Harry wasn't sure about all of that, but he did want to see Draco and try and sort out what happened between them. So, with much trepidation and a lot of goading, he went.

—

If Draco had been composing poetry before Harry's arrival, he didn't seem to be feeling very poetic now. His cropped hair was rumpled and the sleep was still in his eyes. Drawing his dressing gown tighter around him, he squinted at Harry in the grand entryway of the Malfoy Manor. The house-elves had been kind enough, even if they looked terrified to wake Draco from his sleep. They'd sat him down to wait with a cup of tea. Harry would've preferred Firewhisky.

He still had no idea what it was he was supposed to say to Draco to make him want to give him a real chance. And as he stood there, he felt increasingly foolish as the silence not only stretched out, but yawned, stole the covers, and turned its back on the both of them.

Finally, Draco spoke.

"That's a lovely dress, Harriet. Thank you for coming by before the break of dawn to share your cross-dressing exploits with me."

Harry looked down, eyes wide as he pulled the velvet from his chest. "It's a proper Wizarding robe."

"Oh, is it?" asked Draco. His brow arched up as his lips pursed to contain his amusement. "Looks like a dress on you. Some people just aren't meant to dress like witches."

"I am not dressed like a witch! I'm dressed like a wizard!" said Harry, but then he started to wonder if this wasn't Nott's idea of an elaborate prank. One look out the window to see Nott snickering in the bushes answered that one.

"Riiiiight. Potter, I knew you were gay. The cross-dressing doesn't really surprise me. Showing up in the middle of the night does."

"I didn't come here to be mocked by you!" said Harry. He tossed his head back but lacked the hair to pull off a proper swish. He comforted himself that Draco couldn't do it either.

But he tried. And huffed when there was no hair to swish. "What did you come here for, then?"

"To ask you on a date!" said Harry, thinking this was a terribly obvious reason to show up at four o'clock in the morning in a dress that he didn't think was a dress.

Draco paused a moment and then smirked in that vicious, leering way that warned that something mean was going to come out of his mouth. "Are you sure you weren't hoping you'd come over dressed like a bird so that I'd ask you out?"

"Look. Nott said you liked me. He said that you'd like me better dressed like this," said Harry, bright red and seething.

"I'm surprised he didn't know that Malfoys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses..."

Harry had had enough from Malfoy and he pushed him against the wall, glaring. He expected Draco to pull his wand and hex him within an inch of his life, but instead Draco just stared at him expectantly.

"I may be dressed like a woman, Malfoy, but you're nothing but a bitchy little twat," said Harry before he mashed his mouth to Draco's, biting at his lips until Draco parted them. To his surprise, Draco was hard and pressing his length insistently against Harry's belly. He broke the heady kiss long enough to say, "Is that a yes to the date, Malfoy?"

"You make an ugly woman, Potter," said Draco, looking both defiant and debauched as Harry pressed their erections together and frotted him against the wall.

"I'll leave the dress at home, then."

Draco pretended to be thinking, but his silence dissolved into moans as Harry worked his hand under Draco's dressing gown and palmed his prick. "Yessss...." Draco hissed through his teeth.

Grinning, Harry pushed away from him, sliding his hands into his robe-dress pockets. It pained him to do it, but it was worth it for Draco's tormented expression.

"Great then. I'll see you at eight," Harry said, backing towards the door.

Draco looked murderous, but his lips twitched up and then pursed again as he tried to pull himself together to look dignified. "A.M. or P.M.?"

Harry laughed. "Sod off. P.M., you git."

"Brilliant," said Draco, his voice flat, but he looked terribly amused. "And Potter?"

Putting his hand on the door to Malfoy Manor to let himself out, Harry was almost scared to ask. Who knew what crazy thing Malfoy might ask him to do? "Yeah?"

"Stop letting Nott dress you. I don't think he likes you much." Draco winked and spun, making his long black silk dressing gown flutter as he made for the marble stairs.

"I'll keep that in mind," said Harry. He stayed to watch Draco gracefully ascend the stairs, robe trailing behind him. He sighed at the sight, knowing that Draco was both beautiful and complicated and likely as treacherous as his best mate. But Harry knew he was more than equal to the challenge.

"See you at eight," he said to no one in particular before he headed out the door, knowing that this was the start of something.
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Precious Things