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Like The Unlikely	By : Zarafla_Kirtan-Pherrin Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2580 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling characters and anything related to Harry Potter do not belong to me; I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
A/N: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe, not me. Don't sue blah blah blah get over it blah blah blah...

Pairing: Harry PotterXDraco Malfoy

Like The Unlikely

Chapter 1-Interrogation

It was about mid-June with the sun banking in the sky, char-broiling the occupants of central London. Everyone knew that the season would only get hotter, for the drought had lasted so far now. Rain did proceed to pour down, if only in little, slight gusts. But that wouldn't be until the end of August. The western skies were a pale robin's-egg blue with insignificant clouds raiding in the south. The unbearable humidity and lack of reassuring wind only collaborated with the civilians' unified insistences of light attire.

Inconspicuously, a tall, lanky youth with wild black hair and emerald green eyes and a faint scar on his brow strolled down an unremarkable avenue on an impulse of searching out his destination. Despite the warm weather, his long overcoat flapped unenthusiastically behind him like a mourning specter as the eighteen year old pushed up his round glasses to his eyes. He kept one hand in his black khakis, running a forefinger along the reassuring grainy texture of his phoenix tail-feather wand. The boy's pale skin only reflected how much his complexion must be sun-starved from his usual voluntary house arrest. It was only through Ron Weasely and Hermione Granger that he had been imposed to leave his one bedroom apartment in downtown London with the threat of being dragged out at five in the morning in his pajamas.

Harry sighed. The dry air about choked his lungs as a car speedily drove by. It was only for his not wanting to be discovered and impended with never-ending questions by the wizarding world that he chose to hide out in muggle London. It actually soothed him to be away from them all. He was just as unremarkable as the flagstones underneath his dress shoes in the muggle world. Harry was free to remain unnoticed and uncared for. No one to search him out; no one to bother him… Except for his friends that bombarded him with letters every so often through Hedwig to see how he was. And how he was… Well, not even he was sure of how he was doing. He was too preoccupied in his thoughts and his job as an Auror, the only connection to the wizarding community he had, and it kept him busy enough.

And now, Hermione and Ron (Hermione mainly) had interrupted his seemingly quiet retreatment from the world and had made him promise to meet them at Hermione's flat in central London, which was about six miles from his complex. He blew the hair out of his eyes and continued onward. Harry had one more mile to go, knowing the way there very well. He had refused to travel by Floo Powder and he didn't want attention on himself in the peaceful muggle community if he decided to travel by broom. Harry was still uncomfortable with Appirating, so he rejected the idea. Travelling by muggle transportation such as the bus or a taxi didn't quite suit him (yes-he's very picky this day), so he had decided to walk all the way there. The black-haired youth had thought that he needed fresh air and atleast some time to recollect his muddled mind together so the idea of walking all the way there appealed to he still wasn't happy at the thought of getting his brain examined by an over-worried Hermione. In fact, he wasn't even happy at the thought of meeting with his two best friends at all.

It wasn't the fact that he didn't like them anymore. Far from it. He was confused as to why as much as they would've been if he told them he wasn't inclined on meeting with them, since an explanation to his self-induced exile eluded him, but he felt that he couldn't face anyone that he knew and cared for most in the world. It sounded like guilt in his own mind; then again, what wasn't guilt that didn't come out of his head these days? Voldemort was long dead and his followers were locked up or on the run in hiding, too weak to carry on what their master had wanted them to accomplish. Shouldn't Harry be relieved, if not happy?

Something weighed deep on his conscious, like a thick, suffocating veil of darkness and wallowing depression. A pinprick of regret had wormed its way into the equation, making Harry feel somewhat worse. What was this feeling of vacancy? He continued on his way, shaking his head. Litter swathed the sidewalks as he passed brick buildings and establishments of business. The heat was making him swelter, but he didn't notice, too void of consciousness to notice. To any passersby, they would think he was to only be found on another plane of existence the way he dragged his steps, like some restless victim of supernatural terrors...

Suddenly, a lump hatched in his throat, choking him. Tears almost broke free from him again. Last night, he couldn't help it. But among people, he had to hold onto them with a tight leash. Not in public... He didn't need anyone to stop and take notice of him. He didn't need the sympathy. Not the pity... He had to control it, keep it inside. For someone's concern in him was the absolute last thing he needed.

Harry wrapped his thin arms around himself, pulling the overcoat tighter like a clamp, and walked at a brisker pace so in case if he did break down, no one would see the was close to Hermione's place anyway, so he felt the need to get this confrontation with her and Ron over with. All he wanted was to get back to his one bedroom apartment and go back to bed. The memory of warm blankets and a firm mattress made him breathe just a touch easier. If only sleep came to him that simply... But the ability to lie there and have his eyes shut comforted him only slightly. He couldn't sleep much at all. Even with the thick, dark red curtains drawn over his ten foot high window that made his room glow an eerily blood-stained darkness and with over-stuffed feather pillows that piled high around his queen-sized bed to smother him in a dark purple shadow in the small depression in the middle of the bed that wasn't taken over by pillows didn't lull him to sleep anymore. Since his depression began, he had went out and bought about twenty pillows of all shapes and sizes, to the bewilderment of a salesclerk, and a king-sized dark blue padded quilt an inch thick. The thing draped and had covered his floor around his bed as he remembered it. At that thought, he became nostalgic for it. To hide underneath all his pillows and fall into his blanket sounded like a good idea at the moment. Instead, he made his way up the concrete stairs to Hermione's flat, which was a squat building, half-covered in brown dried moss.

The metal railing that outlined the stairs was rough and blistering hot in the afternoon heat, but Harry hardly noticed it burning his skin. He seemed invincible to sensation-even less to pain. He walked along the tiny catwalk around the building and came to a door with a brass plaque above it that read the number 173. He rapped his knuckles on the soft wood of the white door and shifted his weight against the railing behind him as he stood, waiting. A shuffling of feet sounded from within and a loud curse from a male voice as a loud clatter hit unseen tile floors near the inside of the door. Harry smirked as he distinctly heard Hermione scold Ron for knocking something over, but he only awarded himself that smile for a brief second as he sobered when bushy brown hair peeked out from the opening door.

The next thing Harry knew was being almost tossed over the railing as the eighteen year old wide-eyed girl in a lavender blouse, sky-blue tie, and tight pinstripe pants wrapped desperate arms around his torso. After the bear-hug, a red-headed, freckled boy in an ironed pre-tailored, yet distinctly second-hand, suit smiled sheepishly from the other side of the threshold as he leaned against the door way. To Harry, it seemed time did not lavish Ron with any different look except for an increase in his height and an odd taste in clothes to be working in his dad's department at the ministry. The same went for the anxious Hermione in front of him. She seemed to not have aged a day since last year. And to his perspective, she seemed to have gotten shorter. In that case, he knew he had grown about two inches over the summer. But he could never beat Ron's record of growing three and a quarter inches every summer since they first met.

"Come in, Harry! We've been waiting so long to see you!" Hermione ushered him inside, grabbing his wrist and stepping around Ron in a flourish.

Ron laughed a little, and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Good to see you again, mate. Hermione's been unbearable without you around, dragging on how you should visit more often." He rolled his eyes and closed the door after his friend.

"Gee, thanks Ron." Hermione drawled sarcastically as she waved her wand to fetch cups from the cupboard and begin to pour tea magically from the teapot on the stove. "Glad to know that I'm unbearable."

Harry smiled and responded. "Sarcasm doesn't really suit your complexion, 'Mione."

Ron theatrically feigned surprise and pretended to drop on an overstuffed chair in the living room in shock. "My God! He speaks!" Harry picked up a throw pillow from the couch and teasingly chucked it at him.

It was when he had picked up the pillow that he noticed Hermione's place for the first time. The walls were pristine white with a few pictures hanging from the walls of her family and a single picture hanging above the couch of her, Harry, and Ron waving and wrapping arms over each others shoulders. He remembered last year and when she had asked Collin Creevey to take the picture for her. She then had enchanted it herself so the occupants of the portrait actually moved, reflecting the mood of them when the picture was taken. The Ron in the picture had held a butterbeer in his free hand and was now gulping from it. The couch that lurked underneath it was peach in color and was overstuffed like the matching chairs across the glass coffee table from it. The pillows also matched. The carpet of the living room was elephant gray and a couple plants sat in corners of the room, one on either side of the fireplace, that looked like they came from Professor Sprouts' greenhouses at Hogwarts. One had red leaves on it and it waved in a non-existent breeze. The other was tall and dark green and the vines that grew outward from it covered the corner in which it occupied. The vines occasionally grew another centimeter and perched its small leaves over the mantlepiece, reminding Harry of someone who'd casually lean against it in conversation. The sight of the unrecognizeable plant unnerved him a bit. Against the wall where the overstuffed chairs and Ron sat, an oak bookshelf full of numerous spell books and Lockhart's infamous autographed "autobiographies" (sitting on the top shelf) took up most of the wall. Harry had noted that he had seen two more smaller bookshelves in the main hallway full of muggle fictions and even more spell books.

'Just how many books does Hermione have?' Harry asked himself increduously.

At that minute, Hermione waved her wand in the clean, white, uncluttered kitchen and sent the cups of steaming tea, complete with saucers and biscuits on a tray, zooming into the room and settling itself onto the coffee table. Taking this as cue, Harry sat on the couch. Hermione came out and sat on the other overstuffed chair next to Ron's and picked up her cup. Ron followed suit wordlessly. They both kept their eyes trained on him as if he was a circus freak, ready to do a trick. It made Harry shift uncomfortably and he grabbed his tea and gulped it, suddenly regretting it. It had scalded his already parched mouth into flames. He set his cup back down. The tension in the air made him think of him being the mentally disturbed patient in a psychologist's office. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

"So when's the interrogation going to begin?" He asked skeptically. He didn't mean it to be harsh, but he also didn't care to give them an apologetic look either. He lifted the collar of his overcoat to cover half his face, sat back, and crossed his legs with his arm perched on an armrest on his right side instead in that dramatically foreboding way.

They weren't intimidated and weren't amused with his tone either.

"Mate," Ron started, a bit surprised with his friend's immediate change in attitude, "what makes you think this is an interrogation? We wanted to see you, that's all." He sipped his tea and bit into a biscuit, spraying bits of it on his lap as he talked. "You know...just to catch up and talk about all the things we've all been up to?"

'So this is interrogation without using the word interrogation...Interesting...' Harry mused to himself, his anger quick to rise. Hermione seemed to read his mind and shot him a look of warning and venom.

He only adopted an expressionless gaze to send back to her and then turned his attention back to the freckle-faced boy. "I've been alright."

"Okay..." Ron ventured cautiously, picking his words carefully, "That's good. How's work been?"

These seemingly simple questions enraged him. It was frustrating to converse in such a manner when he knew and they knew that this wasn't about small talk. It was about whether he was going nutters yet. It was about what happened to his psyche after their seventh year. It was about what caused him to lock himself up mentally as well as physically. It was about... loneliness... It was eventually going to be about him and Ginny...

He didn't want that to happen. He loved her, or so he thought, in that way. But as every day had passed since their seventh year, he second guessed his feelings for her. Sure, he cared for her and wanted her to be safe, but it wasn't the same infatuation with her anymore. He had grown-did he dare think the word willingly-bored with his feelings for her. He hadn't grown bored with her in particular, but had grown bored with the feeling of loving in that way wasn't interested in pursuing a life partner, a wife, a girlfriend even. He only had time for work and resting-not really sleeping-nowadays. He hardly ate and when he did, it was something small.

Harry hardly bought food and the last time that Ron and Hermione were over, which was about less than a year ago before he abandoned the outside world from his attentions besides work at the ministry-in which he kept to himself there mainly anyway-his friends flipped out at the lack of food in his pantries and fridge that they left for a couple hours and came back with piles of food that would last him for a month or so and scolded him, forcing him to promise them that he'd buy food and eat. They didn't anticipate on that he found a loop hole and only bought food whenever he felt like getting out of bed on his off days-which was hardly ever-and only ate as much as his stomach would allow. In that case, he barely ate his food and just picked at it for an hour and threw the rest out. But then he had resolved to eating maybe something to the likeness of, for example, a bowl of soup or two slices of bread a day.

But his friends never found out about those particular instances when he began his "dead-to-the-world" disappearance act last year. It had only been lately that they had owled him and made sure that Hedwig nipped his fingers to welts to make sure that he wrote back to them instead of ignoring their letters like in the years previous before.

But here and now, they kept searching glances on him, checking his lean frame to make sure that bones didn't grow out of his body instead of in it.

"Work's been work. Still searching for Notte, unfortunately. Our main priority at the moment." Harry added, picking up his tea again and slurping another generous amount into his mouth to the approval of Hermione.

"Still no sign of him, eh?" Ron nervously mumbled, playing with the corner of a throw pillow. "Well, I'm sure you'll catch him soon enough. I mean, you killed Voldemort. How hard can it be for you to find a follower?" He went on that optomistic track. "I'm sure you'll have that bloke put in Azkaban by the end of the month, Harry." Ron smiled and took another biscuit from the tray like as if he won a debate.

Hermione pipped up at last. She must've been not able to stand the uncomfortable awkwardness of the conversation and would've exploded if she didn't say something to end the tranquility.

"Have you been eating properly at home?"

"Yes." He snapped.

"Have you talked to anyone lately besides us? Like Tonks, or Lupin, or Mrs. Weasely?" She spoke quickly. "Or Ginn-?"

"No!" He interrupted before she could speak the name he didn't want to hear, for guilt had started to writhe like hungry snakes around his heart and lungs again.

"Harry..." She seemed on the verge of tears. "What's wrong with you lately?"

Ron supressed a groan. 'Here we go again...'

"Nothing."

"Harry, please be reasonable. You've been avoiding the wizarding world and everybody in it like the plague. We have to force you to see us. You hardly sleep. You don't eat. You work all the time, and like a zombie, Mr. Weasely had noted when he finally got the first glimpse of you at the ministry-"

An old memory, much like a festering battle scar, erupted within him and he exploded like a cornered wolf. "If Mr. Weasely has something to say to me, he can come to me and say so if he damn well pleases and not behind my back!"

Ron stood out of his seat, fists balled. "Don't speak about my father that way." He snarled.

"If he wants to refer to me as an unpleasant, fetid dead thing, I see no problem in requesting that he should atleast have the decency and the balls to confront me with it!"

"Harry, you've been avoiding everyone. How can you expect him to confront-?"

Hermione didn't have time to finish her thought. Ron had already yelled a battle cry and jumped over the table and at Harry, knocking over his half-full cup and spilling its contents out on the carpet. The brawl began as the infuriated red-head impacted his knuckles on his friend's jaw. The boy with the unruly hair toppled off the couch and kicked out at Ron's shin as they rolled out on the floor.

After sustaining a black eye and bruised shin and sprained shoulder on Ron's account and Harry sustaining a pulled arm muscle and a cut lip and a couple broken ribs, Hermione had enough sense, after yelling at them while they wrestled, to take out her wand and fling each one of the men into opposite walls so they stopped moving but not enough so they were still conscious.

"Enough of this nonsense! This is my house and I will NOT tolerate you two fighting like a couple of starved dogs over a bone! What would Dumbledore say? You should be ashamed!" She scolded, not sounding different from Mrs. Weasely when she would scold her sons. Hermione waved her wand and repaired the smashed cup and waved her wand again and vanished the spilled tea.

Both boys finally recollected themselves and sat back down as the angry witch took the cups and tray to the kitchen, muttering to herself, the word "unbelievable" escaping coherently from her quiet ranting after every other curse.

After five minutes of uneasy silence, she came back into the room and plunked herself down on her chair.

"Apologize." She said vehemently. "Both of you."

Reluctantly, Harry sighed and looked up at Ron, who had avoided his gaze and concentrated on massaging his eye. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to attack your dad like that." Hermione cleared her throat pointedly. He added, "And I'm sorry for hitting you. I'm sorry for being a prat."

Ron remained quiet. Hermione turned her icy death stare at him. Ron felt the stare like it was a laser and looked back at Harry with glowering, but it had begun to die down when his best friend apologized to him. "Apology accepted."

Hermione raised her wand threateningly.

"And I'm sorry for pummeling you like that."

"Apology accepted."

They both sat there, looking into each other's eyes, not moving or speaking another word as the brunette observed them closely. It was Harry, who finally penetrated the pregnant pause.

"You got me real good there, mate." He chuckled softly. "You been working out?"

Ron smiled smugly, arms folded over his chest. "Maybe a little. But I have to admit, you got me clobbered up quite a bit, too."

Harry laughed aloud this time, but doubled over in pain as his ribs vibrated painfully.

"You okay?" Ron rushed to his side, worried.

Letting his ribs go, Harry continued to laugh despite his wincing. " I'll be fine. Like I said, you threw in a good couple of punches."

"Well, you have some mean kicks to you." The red-head rubbed his shin absently. He then clapped a hand on the black-haired youth's shoulder.

Hermione, who had been spectating the entire time, jumped to her feet and half-cried, half-smiled, "You both are so helplessly stupid!" And she hugged them both and went back to her kitchen, almost in a fit of sobs.

"Mental, that one." Ron stared after her.

"Yeah."

Silence grew between them. Then Ron helped Harry to his feet and had whispered so faintly that Harry almost didn't hear, in which he thought he wasn't supposed to hear anyway, because to his surprise it happened to be something he least expected to hear coming from the youngest son of the Weasely family, "God, I love her..."

Author's Note: What you think? Please R&R!
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