Antidisestablishmentarianism

(after Jaded, Harry and Draco start seeing a lot more of eachother.)

Wow, the response to Jaded was so much better than I'd anticipated! Thanks for the reviews, guys! Here's a sequel. (It'll have hot, smexy boy-love. Man-love. Lovey...between Harry and Draco. XDD)

This is in honor of the fifth movie hitting theatres TOMORROW. :3 I'm going to see it tonight, however, at a midnight showing. I'm very excited, especially because the seventh book is out this month, too. I want to read it so badly, but at the same time, I DON'T WANNA KNOW. DX Nearly every fanfic ever written is about to become horribly, painfully au. T_T
***

I've settled nicely into Remus' old cottage, and Tonks comes by often to see me. I really used to get along well with her, before, but now it seems as though we're inseparable. I know she lost Remus and a lot of her comrades during the 'long death' and I know that she knows that I've lost too many people, too.

I've been here a little over two weeks, and I still have most of the bottle of whisky left, something I'm proud of. It's the first drink I'd had in six months, and I still want to start smoking pot whenever I taste it, I can keep the cravings at bay. I'm so happy that I'm finally home, that I can finally live my life instead of live from high to high. I feel like a completely different person now. Before, when I went to Hogwarts, all I could do was battle the things life threw at me, and keep moving on. After Voldemort died, and I was exiled to the United States, all I did was try to forget everything. Now, I don't have my old friends, from Hogwarts or my drug circles, or any of the things I'm accustomed to.

Still, it's been a trip on it's own, trying to readjust to driving on the other side of the road, and even the accents throw me sometimes. Tonks teases me about the way I talk sometimes, but I can't help it.

Oh yeah, Malfoy comes around all the time, too. I see him standing by my mailbox almost every morning. I still haven't figured out what he's doing. Tonks tells me he really does work for the new Ministry, that he's been working in secret for the Freedom Fighters ever since I was chucked out of the UK. It doesn't make me feel any better about his presence, or his mocking commentary.

I see him standing in his usual spot as I drive up. The grass is getting long enough to brush his ankles, and I absentmindedly think that I need to cut it. He's looking particularly fine today, wearing a pair of well-fitting yet somehow loose jeans, and a button down shirt over a plain tee. He's growing his hair out, too; it already looks longer, brushing his eyebrows now. Tonks told me he used to go to have it cut once a week, but that after I reappeared, he evidently stopped going. I wonder who he's trying to impress.

"Potter, what is that monstrous beast you're riding?" he calls out to me, eyeing my new motorbike distastefully. I grin, and pat the warm metal between my legs. She's purring nicely, and I just got back from having a lion decal added.

"Malfoy, meet Beatrix," I say jokingly. He delivers a scathing look to the bike, and apparates away. I park her next to Remus' old pontiac in the garage, and grin to myself. The look on Malfoy's face was worth it. Coming inside, I realize immediately that there's something different. The air feels strange, as though someone other than myself has disturbed it. I find Anja in my hand, and settle my finger on the trigger. I move from the kitchen into the living room, completely aware of everything around me. Upon entering the den, I see someone I never thought I'd see again, casually leaning on the arm of my chair.

"Hello, Harry," he says, and I feel the gun drop out of my fingers and clatter to the floor.

"Mr. Weasley?" I can hardly believe my eyes. He looks so old now, and his robes are much nicer than the last I saw him, but he seems happy to see me.

"I like what you've done with his house," Arthur starts without preamble. "He would have liked you living here. I want to personally welcome you back to England, my dear boy, and tell you how sorry I am that I couldn't be there for you the first time."

"Is it true that you're Minister for Magic?" I blurt out, and retrieve my gun from the floor. He looks embarrassed.

"I was part of the Freedom Fighters, and when we over turned the Death Eaters, they sort of shoved me into it. I haven't been Minister for very long, but the rest of them have been taking orders from me for so long that it was simple for them.

"Not so simple for me, though, I'm afraid. I'm terribly worried that I'll foul something up beyond recognition. I must first apologise for having Malfoy follow you around. I was very worried, you see, when you slunk back into London with nary a word or a whisper. I have informed him that he is free to discontinue hanging about your house, but he tells me that he enjoys seeing what new things you come out with every day."

I can' t believe what I'm hearing. Malfoy is coming around of his own free will? This is shocking. Still, I'm sure that ten years of dictatorship can change a person, so I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, just this once.

I feel more carefree than I have in a long time. I'm not worried about anything, because there's nothing to worry about. Not drugs, not Voldemort, not even Malfoy, whom Mister Weasley assures me is 'mostly harmless' now. The minister leaves, and I see Malfoy out on my front lawn again. They stop to talk to one another, and I strip down to my trousers, leaving my jacket and shirt behind. I take the old push-mower from Remus' back shed, and haul it out to the front. Malfoy's standing in the road, about to leave, when he catches sight of me.

"Merlin's bloody beard, Potter, what the devil is that?!"

I almost laugh at the tone in his voice; half scared, half curious. "It's a lawn mower," I tell him, and arrange myself and the mower at one end of the yard. I push it forward, watching the blades spin and inhaling the sweet scent of fresh cut grass. Malfoy has wandered over to the fence surrounding the yard and is watching me avidly.

I don't know how the conversation starts, but soon we're deep in talk of what happened while I was away.

*

Somehow, the sun has set, and a light drizzle has set in. The yard is only half done, but I invite Malfoy in; I'm not going to get anything else done today. He looks wary, but accepts, cautiously walking in as though he expects the walls to cave in around him at any moment.

"Don't be so nervous," I tell him, and he slips his shoes off at the door, following my example.

"This place is a wreck, why shouldn't I be nervous?" He asks derisively. I let the comment slide, and light up. He makes a disgusted face when I offer him one. "You think I'm going to allow you to pollute my body any further than I've already managed just tailing you?"

I don't know why I invited him inside, and I'm beginning to regret it. Finally he sighs.

"I apologize Potter, I've been reprimanded about smart-ass remarks before."

While I'm still recovering from the surprise of his sudden repentance, he picks up the bottle of whisky I bought and takes a sniff.

"This is good," he says, giving me a surprised look. I grin back at him.

"What, you didn't think I'd know how to buy whisky?" I settle on a cool, teasing tone, deciding not to take anything to seriously or personal. It is, after all, still Malfoy.

Though now that I've got him here, my intentions stray from the path of the straight and narrow. I may as well pump him for information. "Would you like a glass?" I offer, mentally calculating how much I've drunk of it and how much has been consumed by Tonks on her visits. No more than half the bottle is gone, and I've had about a third of it. My alcoholic tendencies haven't resurfaced yet, but I'll need to keep an eye on the bottle. The last thing I want or need is to become dependent on alcohol yet again. It was a spiral; smoking led to alcohol, which lead to pot, which lead to heavier drugs, which led to a time period of approximately eleven and a half years that I remember a total of about three. In a completely anonymous environment, that was completely acceptable, but having pulled myself out of those pits, I am determined not to fall to them again.

Malfoy, meanwhile, has accepted, and served himself. This surprises me; I'd expected him to demand house elf service or that I serve it to him. He even offers to fill my glass, but I look at the fingers-width I've got left, and decline. He takes a long sip, and sighs heartily.

"This is extraordinarily good," he tells me again, and I don't wait for the alcohol to hit his system before giving him the third degree.

"Tell me, Malfoy, why, exactly, was it you who was sent to follow me around?" I keep my words impersonal and my tone distant. He smiles up at me, a rare but true smile.

"Exactly, why, it was me, I can't tell you, because I do not know. My theory - not to toot my own horn or anything - is that the Minister asked me to do it because it was a rather high profile job, and any of the other bumbling fools he's got working for him would have muddled it up somehow. At least with me, he knew that the job would get done, and get done well. Also, I know you, Potter. I knew you better than anyone back in Hogwarts, and I probably still know you better than anyone by the simple expedient of being the only still left alive who knew you at Hogwarts."

For some reason, this strikes me as funny, even though I know with every fiber of my being that I should not be laughing about horrible jokes like this. Still, I can't stop the chuckle that slips out. He looks amused at himself, as well, and I spare a brief moment to wonder what life would have been like had I accepted his hand of friendship so many years ago. I might have been in Slytherin, and things would have been drastically different.

Well, as my American friend Anya - incidentally, the one my gun was named for - always used to say, there's no use crying over spilt milk. It always confused me when she said it - there was no milk to be spilled! - but now, I think I understand her little Americanism. What's done is done, and you can't change the past.

"Potter, do I still have you here with me?"

Malfoy's voice cuts into my mental soliloquoy, and I abruptly recall that I am no longer alone in my home. Looking up at him, he seems to be more than a little drunk, a becoming pink tinge on his cheeks and a warm glow to his eyes. With the happy smile pulling the edges of his lips upwards, he reminds me of one of those cartoon characters, the way the artist's would show them in love. I'm expecting poetry and flowers at any minute.

Because of the look on his face, I'm only half surprised when he moves closer to me, settling himself practically in my lap. "Want me to give you a blow job?" he offers, and this takes me by surprise.

He doesn't wait for me to tell him yes or no, and instead begins undoing the buckle on my trousers. I don't know why I let him; I can't tell if I'm more shocked that he's offered, or that I didn't immediately tell him no. He reaches into my open trousers and begins stroking me, and it's been just long enough since I even touched myself that his clumsy carresses feel amazing, and he gently stirs my erection into life.

I'm vaguely aware of myself making small gasping noises that turn into full blown moans when he puts his lips against the head of my cock. The heat from his mouth travels up my length and seems to spread through my body. The warmth is followed by tingling sensations as he envelopes all of me into him, and the sensations increase ten-fold. I've got a death-grip on the arms of the chair, and he's slid to his knees in front of me, kneeling between my legs.

It's been so long, that it's an almost embarrassingly short time before I'm at the edge of climax, hovering just beyond that precipice. Malfoy seems to sense this, and chuckles quietly just before he begins humming in his throat, the theme song to some american flick that I'm surprised he knows, and then the stimulation rushes up to my brain and it's too much. My hips thrust forward, and I feel the back of his throat with the tip of my cock, and then I'm coming and it's dripping down into his stomach and then his face as he pulls back.

I'm a little bit buzzed, but I'll remember the sight of Malfoy with swollen red lips and my come dripping down his chin for the rest of my life, alcoholic intervention or not.

I'm feeling a lazy lethargy creeping over me, and his tongue slips out, wiping up the last of the come on his face. "Tasty," he murmurs, and I act before I think, yanking him up by his shirt and kissing him deeply. He doesn't object, instead leaning further into me. I can feel his erection pressing into my leg, and abruptly switch places with him. I press my palm into the 'v' of his legs, and he moans quietly, urging me on. I can't believe how nervous I am suddenly - blow jobs are something intimate that I haven't done in a long time, and I'm almost afraid of bolloxing it up. Still, he's three sheets to the wind, and horny as hell, I don't think he's going to mind if it's not spectacular.

With that in mind, I begin, trying to remember all the things I've learned over the years about pleasure. Gentle licks, probing fingers, warm breath, all of it comes together on him, again and again until he comes, and I swallow everything that I can, just pleased to have been able to get him off. I note that he didn't last much longer than I did, and wonder which of us is in worse shape.

Malfoy falls asleep almost immediately after he does up his pants, and I sigh. Well, I suppose he can stay the night. It's not like I have any one else coming over. I pick him up, stagger a little under the dead-weight of him, and carry him into the bedroom. Settling him on the bed, I don't make any effort to cover him, instead opting to take my spare blanket from the hall closet and return to the living room. I clean up a bit, and settle onto the floor. The last thing I'm aware of thinking is that I'd really love to get a cat.

*

I jerk awake when I hear the toilet flushing, wondering who the hell is in my house. I immediately reach for my gun, and then panic when I don't find her. Finally, reality catches up with me, and I realize that I'm not in the dingy flat I shared with Anya in America, but my own house, the one that used to belong to Remus, and the mystery person in the toilet isn't one of her johns, but Draco Malfoy.

I flush deeply when I remember what preceded us going to sleep the night before, but decide that if he doesn't bring it up, I won't. I get up, and stretch, picking my rumpled blankets off the floor. I find Malfoy leaning against the wall in the hallway, looking a bit green around the gills.

"You want some coffee?" I ask him, and am rewarded by seeing the green tinge take on a darker shade.

"You heathen, get me some proper tea. You are, after all, the reason I'm so terribly hung over today, so it is of course the least you can do to make it up to me."

I'm not sure whether to laugh, or push him over, so instead I put the blanket away, and check on my room. My wand, mostly unused, is still on my dresser where I left it, and the bed is still slightly rumpled where he lay. It looks as though he didn't move at all. I straighten the blankets out, and fluff the pillows before returning to the kitchen. I have a bit of a headache, as well, and feel a little bit fuzzy, but am otherwise alright. I set the coffee to brew, and put on a kettle for Malfoy, and then poke my head around the corner.

"Are you wanting some breakfast as well, Malfoy?" He waves at me, making some inarticulate noise. I decide that some toast won't be too objectionable to him, and put some in, just as the kettle starts to whistle. I turn it on low while I make my coffee, and wait for the toast. Finally, everything is prepared, and I find Malfoy sitting on my chair, holding his head in his hands. I offer him the plate of toast, small dishes of marmalade and butter off to the side with a knife, and the tea. Also included on the plate is a pair of pain killers. The look Malfoy shoots up at me is almost worshipful, and he swallows the advil dry before taking a long pull on his tee.

"Ah.." he sighs happily. "I'm feeling better already. Potter, you're an angel." He sets into his toast, and I grin, seating myself on the other chair and sipping at my still-too-hot coffee. After a few moments of almost companionable silence, Malfoy looks speculatively over at me. I ignore him for a moment, but when the staring goes on too long, I look at him questioningly. "Nothing," he murmurs, looking embarrassed. I wonder if maybe he doesn't remember last night after all. Briskly, he changes the subject. "Potter, where on earth did you find this antique?"

I give him a blank look; there are quite a few things in this house that are older, mostly because I can't bring myself to get rid of so much of Remus' things. "Which antique, Malfoy?" I drawl, tasting the coffee on my breath.

"That ... television. It's not even a television. It's a radio with a screen. How long has this been here, fifty years?" His derisive comment is laced with amusement, and I don't take it seriously.

"I doubt it's that old, Malfoy. It was Remus'. I've been meaning to replace it, but it's got some charm. Besides, the cable box is new enough, and the picture's good. It's not like I need a new television."

Malfoy groans. "How on earth do you live without high def?"

"I'm going to assume that that's a rhetorical question," I reply, and somehow I'm sucked into a conversation about the merits of flat screen high definition televsions as opposed to the 20 inch seventies monstrosity I'm currently using.

For a while, it seems like we're almost friends.

He suddenly realizes that it's past noon, nearing one, and stands. "I'm sorry to cut this short, Potter," he says, and he sounds sincere. So am I; I've been enjoying his company as strange as it sounds to admit. "But I've really got to get to the Ministry. I promised the Minister I'd turn in the paperwork I've been neglecting. I'll pop back over when I'm through, shall I?"

I nod; why not have him back over? "I'll make dinner," I tell him. "What would you like?"

He looks surprised. Tell the truth, I'm surprised. I haven't done any real cooking in a while. "Surprise me," he says finally, and winks before hurrying out the door. I hear him apparate from the mail box, and settle in to think about what I'm making tonight.

I end up in the supermarket, wandering around, until I stumble upon something that seems like it'll be perfect. I pick up an entire duck, and some blackberries, intending to make duck in blackberry sauce. While I'm looking for some wine to go with it, I feel strange. There are people watching me, I can feel them, but I can't see them. I start to panic, because I've left Anja back at my house, and I don't have my wand, either. Carefully controlling my expression, I hurry to the cashier and pay for the things I need before leaving. I apparate back to my house and lock the door behind me. Malfoy didn't tell me when he'd be returning, but from the way he spoke, it sounded as if it would be later tonight. I put the dinner fixings away, intending to start on it later, and am settling onto my chair, the same one Malfoy and I had our encounter on the night before, when someone knocks on the door.

"Harry, it's me!" It's Tonks, and I settle back into my seat.

"Come on in, Tonks," I call back, and she comes in, grinning.

"So do you mind telling me why Malfoy was three hours late?" The first words out of her mouth make me flush in spite of myself.

"He overslept," I tell her honestly. She waggles her eyebrows at me as only she can do.

"And you would know that ... how? C'mon Har, you can't tell me that in less than a week you two went from hostile indifference to best friends."

I shake my head. "Maybe not best friends," I say cautiously. "But he did come in last night, and we had a few drinks, and then he passed out, so I let him sleep here. He woke up hung over, so I gave him some breakfast, and then he looked at the clock and rushed out. He's coming back over for dinner tonight." She looks at me speculatively for a few moments, long enough that I'm beginning to get a little worried, and then grins broadly.

"I knew you had it in you, boy!" she shouts, and lunges across the room to hug me. I'm surprised, but happy that she's not going to tell me to back away from him. In that vein, I decide to start asking her questions, as well.

She's not as forthcoming as Malfoy, although she did say that he'd been dosed with so much Veritaserum over the years that it probably had replaced his blood, which explained the honest answers I always got from him. It also makes me nervous of asking things of him.

A few hours pass, and she winks at me. "You'd best get started on dinner if you want to be done by the time he gets home," she says, and lets herself out. I stand, smiling. I'm glad I came home.

Cooking has never been difficult for me; I've been doing it since I was old enough to reach the stove. Just because I haven't for a few years doesn't mean I've forgotten how, and I begin on the old recipe from memory. It's coming along fantastically when the rain begins.

I check the clock every so often. Around six, the time I'm expecting Malfoy to return, I place a note on the door.

Hey Malfoy. Door's locked, but go ahead and use alohomora. I'll probably be in the kitchen. H

Just as I was setting everything down on the table, and thinking about getting my wand and casting heating charms, Malfoy walks in. His eyes practically bug out at the sight of what I've prepared him.

"Good grief, Potter," he says in surprise, but I can tell from the gleam in his eyes and the way the corners of his mouth turn up that he's pleasantly surprised.

"Good timing," I tell him. "It's all ready whenever you are."

We make light conversation over our meal, mostly about Draco's day at work. It's very surprising to me, how homey this is. I stayed home, cleaned, did a bit of shopping, and then had dinner on the table when Draco returned to the house after work. I know he came straight here because he's still wearing what I've come to consider the 'uniform', a simple suit and tie covered in outerwear robes. Tonks comes over wearing something similar on occasion.

"This is fantastic," Draco says to me, and for a moment I'm so startled by the pleasant words from him that I can't say anything. Just a moment, though, and once it's passed I smile.

"I'm glad you like it. I haven't cooked anything large for such a long time that I was a little nervous about how it would turn out." After the meal, we stay at the little table for a while longer. Malfoy twirls the wine glass nervously for a few minutes, and just when I'm about to snap at him to just get on with it, he gives me a hard look.

"Do you remember what transpired last night?" He asks suddenly.

Here it is, I think, and nod. "Yes."

He's not expecting that, I can see, and I think some part of him was hoping I'd say that no, I didn't remember it, I was too drunk. "Yes. Well. Hmm. You see..."

I can't believe he sounds so nervous. He clears his throat, and avoids looking at me.

"Well, it was pleasant," he says. "I wouldn't be indifferent to another go of it, sober this time, if you aren't."

For a long minute I can hardly believe my ears, and then I realize that he's probably going to take my silence the wrong way. Even as I think that, he's getting up, looking embarrassed.

"I apologize, Potter, that was out of line." I grab his wrist, and shake my head.

"Oh no. It most certainly wasn't. I'd be very interested in making another go of it."

He looks at me as though he can't quite believe it, and I don't blame him, because I don't quite believe it, either.

I put the dishes into the sink, and follow Malfoy back into the bedroom, both of us shedding clothes as we go.

*

I wake up curled around something warm, and for a moment I think I've wandered into Anya's bed again. I'm about to roll away with an apology when I realize that as small as I am, Anya was a lot smaller, and the body next to me is definitely quite larger than me. Memory kicks me in the head, and I remember that I've just slept with Malfoy. I'm still too tired to do more than blush, and cuddle closer to him.

The next time I wake up, the bed is cold and I'm alone. This suits me just fine, because I don't know if I wanted to wake up to Malfoy so soon in this weird relationship we've got going on. I get out of bed, and pull some pants on, and wander into the kitchen. There's a note on the fridge, and the dishes are done.

Morning sleeping beauty. I hate to just run off without at least waking you up, but I've really got to be in to work on time today or they'll have my head. Thanks for last night; the duck was most excellent, as were you. I'll see you tomorrow, if not tonight. DM

I can't help but smile a little at the note, and I take it and put it in my top drawer, hiding it so that he doesn't realize that I'm sentimental about it. I decide that this is as good a time as any to finish up the yard work, and I'm about to go change when I see something strange outside. I put some proper clothes on, and go out to check it out. I've got my gun, and my boots and jacket, but I still feel somehow exposed, and I don't like it.
The spells come without warning - first expelliarmus then stupefy. I dodge the stunner, duck into a roll, whipping Anja up and looking around for my assailant. I see no one, but when another stunner comes at me, I don't dodge fast enough, and I go down.

*

I wake up to the familiar feeling of a needle being pressed into my arm, and liquid fire being injected. I never quite got used to the sensation of things entering my bloodstream, and the familiar rush of dizziness that accompanies it this time makes me nauseous.

"no.."

The noise is so faint that at first I think I've imagined it. It comes again, and I realize that it's me making it. Someone's put something into me, some drug. They have to have known about my history, the things I did in America to be able to shoot me up with the same stuff I used to use. The drug's kicking in now, and reality is fading away. I'm losing my grip on my thoughts the things I think if I could sink a wink I'd blink i'd i'm losing it...

*

"James! Hey, Jim! Come on, I just got something new in. Wanna try it with me?"

Harry's face twitched at the annoyingly familiar sound of his room-mate's voice. He'd just come down off a hit of heroin, and wasn't looking to be filling up with anything else any time soon.

"no," he practically slurred. "no more needles. Sickov needles."

Anya popped up beside him, her short hair bobbing with the motion. "It's not a needle baby, it's a pill. E. C'mon, don't let me trip alone! I'll buy you more pot if you want."

Grudgingly, Harry accepted the pill, swallowing it dry.

*

I came to dizzy and thirsty. I can see that I'm in a dark room, and I can't move my feet. I'm terrified of who has me, and what they want, but my head's still spinning from whatever they gave me. I don't have my gun, and I don't know what time it is, or how long I've been here. I hate not knowing, but I think I hate not being armed even more. Even before I had Anja, I had a knife, and before the knife, my wand. I can hear someone moving around in the darkness, and then a match flares to life. It blinds me momentarily, and then there's something on my eyes.

"There's a good lad," the voice is almost friendly. "We were quite surprised when you came crawling back on your knees, and imagine how much of a shock it was when we found out you were keeping Draco Malfoy at your place, too? I hear you were a great fuck back in the states, Potter. Mind giving me a go?"

This is the last thing I want. I gave this up, dammit! I quit! I shouldn't be feeling the rough sheets that come on cheap hotel beds, or the burning after-effects of a hit of heroin being injected into my arm. I feel sobs welling up inside my chest, and they're at such complete odds with the 'tough guy' I've tried to be since I quit that it almost makes me laugh.

Then this mystery man is turning me over, and pulling my clothes off, and I'm terrified that he's really going to rape me. I may have been a whore in America, but at least I never let myself into situations I couldn't handle, and I always made sure they used a condom, and were disease free, and I have no idea who this person is or what the hell they want, and I know that a few short weeks ago I was hoping to die, but I'm making a life for myself now, a real life with friends and a boyfriend, and a house I love and I've only just come back to England I'm not ready to leave yet and please don't do this to me, please...

I feel the sting of a needle going into my arm, and this time they're not even aiming for a vein. I hope to god that it's a clean needle, at least, and then my head starts spinning wildly and whatever he's given me has taken a very quick effect, and I can see Anya again.

*

Harry grinned up at his room-mate. She was a spunky, petite run away who'd turned to whoring herself out for food and drugs. When he teamed up with her, she'd looked terrible. Her hair was stringy and lank, and her ribs poked through her skin, and she had a dirty, run-down look about her.

They'd switched off turning tricks behind the restaurant until they'd saved up enough money between them for a small apartment. Funnily enough, Harry never even knew the name of the restaurant he frequented. It was on the main road, a brightly lit haven for the good, upstanding, and moral citizenry, and he and Anya, and a few others did their business in the alley that ran behind it.

When the two of them got the apartment, they settled on two beds, a curtained off divider splitting the one bedroom down the middle, and a couch. The couch had to be comfortable, because they decided that the beds would be used for their work, and most of the sleeping would be done on the sofa; it would be kept clean and free of johns. Eventually, the mattresses made their way into the living room, the couch found it's way into the 'bedroom', and the johns didn't even see the inside of the bedroom any more.

The couch was upgraded to a sofa-bed, and the old couch wandered back into the living room to be used as a prop. Between the two of them, they never really lacked for money, food, drugs, or anything else they needed, but it was never pleasant business for either of them. Ashamed by what he'd become, Harry spent the majority of his time trying to forget his own existence.

Before too long, one sofa-bed became two once more, and they slept separately, unless one ended up in the wrong bed by accident or on purpose.

Funnily enough, he thought, they'd never slept with eachother. Except that they had, once, and it had been like fucking his sister, and not enjoyable for either of them; it was at that time that Harry realized he really preferred men, and Anya was just not interested in him like that.

Years passed that way, blurred together into endless days of drinking and getting high moulding into an eternity of nights spent fucking nameless, faceless strangers for money.

It was the cocaine that did it, finally. It was Harry's twenty eighth birthday, and the two of them had gotten enough drugs to last through the next month, along with a cake, and some party favours. Harry went through his usual routine of pot, whisky, heroin, and then normal cigarettes twice, all the while Anya kept inhaling more and more coke.

They'd just sung happy birthday to him, Anya dragging out the last few notes when her voice turned into a hacking cough. Blood was dripping from her nose and mouth, and she gagged a few times, turned to Harry, and fell limply back onto the couch, dead.

In a horrified haze, Harry set fire to her body, and the house they'd shared so many years in, and took a backpack and the money they'd stored. He stopped using drugs altogether after that, though he often drank to drown away the image of the sound of her voice calling out "Jim" weakly as the life left her body.

News reached him of the uprising in England, plans to overthrow the Death Eater regime, and he even made the effort to stop drinking. Six months later, word reached him that England was free, and he instantly bought a one-way plane ticket to Heathrow, not knowing what he'd do when he got there, but deciding to figure it out when he arrived.

*

I wake up feeling sticky and sore. My arms have been creatively bound behind my back, and my feet are still tied firmly to the end of the bed I'm on. I can taste sweat, come, and soap in the pillow that's pressing against my face and threatening to smother me. I press down further, hoping to hurry the process. I'm feeling numb and sick, even the motion of sliding my face into the flat, disgusting excuse for a pillow making me nauseous. I'm still blindfolded, but I can hear people moving around in the room behind me. Somehow, being deprived of my sight has only made my hearing that much more acute. I've heard of this happening, but I didn't expect it to occur so quickly. I can hear panting breaths, and agitated footsteps. Someone - my captor, I assume - is speaking quietly into something, or to something.

"They're coming, Lestrange, I can hear them. I know they're out there, they're gonna kill me, you have to get me out of here..."

I can hear the other person on the phone clearly. "Avery, you imbecile, I've warned you that if you play with fire, you're going to get burned. You've made your bed. Lie in it!"

There's a crashing noise, and the man, Avery, drops the phone nervously.

"Harry!"

"Oh, christ, Harry!"

"Avada-"

"Stupefy!"
"Avada Kedavra!"

"MALFOY!"

"Stuff it! Harry, oh god, are you alright? Tonks, help me untie him. Shit, they put something in him. Harry, can you hear me?"

I try to nod, tell him that I can, thank him for coming to my rescue, but I can't manage anything. My vocal cords seem numb, and I can't even feel anything below my neck. I'm worried, briefly, that I'm paralyzed, and then there's movement at my feet as someone removes the bindings, and I'm aware of blinding pain as blood rushes back into my extremities.

"Am I dead?" It comes out sounding like 'm'I deh?'

"Harry? Oh thank Merlin, you're alive. Can you tell me what happened?"

I shake my head, and feel sick again. I turn my face away from him, and vomit violently, shaking. He holds my hair, murmuring soft words of encouragement. I can hear Tonks in the background, talking into something.

"Yes Minister, we've found him. No sir, the perpetrator is dead. No sir, it wasn't Malfoy. I saw Harry and lost my head, sir."

There's a violent motion from Draco as he turns to look at her. Despite being related, the two of them have never truly gotten on well, and Draco is clearly surprised that she's covering for him so immensely.

I'm about to sick up again, and try to pull away from Malfoy, but he's got a tight grip on me.

"Don't," he whispers. "I want you to tell me what happened as soon as you can. We need to know if there are any other rogue Death Eaters still lurking around. What did you see, what did you hear? Who was here? Things like that. And..."

I look up into his face. It's drawn tight, lines around his eyes and mouth that I don't remember being there when I last saw him.

"Don't ever do that to me again, Harry." His voice is warm. "I was so scared we'd find you dead. I don't ever want to be that scared again."

He holds me close, and I don't object.

*

It's been three weeks since my abduction. I learn that I spent a little over seven days in that dingy motel room with Aaron Avery and Rabastan Lestrange, and that they were injecting me with experimental potions; muggle drugs combined with illegal potionry, enhanced drugs, things of that nature. It's no wonder that I was so sick afterwards. I'm still fighting off the need to continue getting high, something I thought I'd rid myself of after Anya's death. This little foray into being a hostage has brought memories back that I thought I'd pushed away for good.

I also learn that Malfoy returned to my home early from work that night to find my gun resting against the post box, and spell scars in the yard. He told me that he'd just begun thinking about how much he liked me now, and regretted his days at Hogwarts spent terrorizing me. To find me so abruptly and violently gone spurred him into overdrive, and he nearly went mad trying to find me. To my surprise, Tonks managed to convince everyone that she had indeed killed Avery - everyone had automatically, and correctly assumed that it had been Malfoy - and despite that, was let off with barely more than a slap on the hand. She and Malfoy were given medals of bravery for my heroic rescue, and for once I was glad to not have to be the one on the recieving end of so much press.

I wasn't totally neglected. My dear old friend Rita Skeeter had written article after article on my abrupt return to England and subsequent violent disappearance, though Malfoy and Tonks outshone me in the press department.

I've spent the last two weeks in St. Mungo's, recuperating from the illegal spell uses on me, and I'm finally well enough to return home. Malfoy and I are going to make something serious of our fling, and he's moving out of Malfoy Manor - which turned out to be a little over ten minutes away from my home at a brisk walking pace (No wonder he spent so much time in my yard before we began talking!) - and into my home. We've upgraded the television to a sixty inch, flat screen, hi def number with a built in DVD drive, and he's replaced my small collection of movies with the majority of his, over two hundred videos. We have a computer in the corner of the room that neither of us uses, and I'm finally getting around to buying new sheets. Tonks is ecstatic about our moving in together, and hardly ever leaves. When she does, I often catch a glimpse of a strange man waiting by the mail box to pick her up, but no more than a glimpse as they're gone before I can see any details. I've told Draco, and he's just as determined as I am to find out who this mystery man is.

Somehow, my abduction brought Draco and I over the worst of the things keeping us apart, and though I'm only just coming home again, these past two weeks would have been hellish without him.

Looking up at the sky, I heft my backpack onto my shoulder and light a cigarette. "Peace, Anya," I say quietly, and open the gate to my front walk. Draco opens the door with a huge grin on his face, welcoming me back. He's told me he's got a surprise for me, but wouldn't even give a hint.

When I walk into my sitting room, everything falls. My mouth, my cigarette, my backpack, and almost me, without Draco behind me for support.

On the computer desk is a picture of Anya at her prettiest, blue eyes sparkling and her short brown hair flying wildly in the wind. She looks care-free and young, and most of all happy. Sitting in front of her is a very thin, timid looking Hermione. Ron is at her feet, staring at me as though he's just seen a ghost. Tonks and Charlie come out of the kitchen.

"Surprise, Harry!"

She's carrying a cake that reads Happy 31st, and I swear it's got at least thirty candles on it.

"Hurry up and blow that thing out before we have to call the fire brigade," Ron says gruffly, and I grin, taking in a deep breath.

-Fin-

I LOVE THAT ENDING!! LMAO. I don't even know where it came from! It just busted out of nowhere. I had myself in tears as I was writing this, wondering what would happen next. And then this!! AHH! I hope you liked it! Third part/Epilogue coming soon.

Y|B