Trophy

Author's Note: Thanks to Angel for her beta work on this chapter. This one is mostly Drarry to make up for the lack of them together in the last chapter.

Chapter 13 Unexpected

Harry heard the doorbell ring but paid it little mind as he waved his wand, flipping a sauté pan gently in the air. The aroma of fresh garlic, lemon and saffron met his nostrils and he sighed with pleasure. He didn’t often cook, but sometimes to relax he would hide away in the kitchen for hours practicing recipes and techniques he’d discovered from watching too much Muggle telly.

He turned the burner down and let the fragrant mixture simmer for a moment before pouring it over the spinach stuffed chicken breast and fresh snapped beans he had waiting on the plate next to the stove. He would enjoy this one, he could already tell.

“Master Potter,” Kreacher called from the doorway. “There’s a Lord Malfoy in the parlor to see you.”

“Lord Malfoy?” Harry proclaimed out loud, even though he was merely musing to himself. He was merely shocked that Lucius could or even would come to call on him at his home. He assumed it had something to do with Draco, but alas, he didn’t know how the man had achieved escaping all those wards forcing him to hold fast to his Ministry mandated house arrest.

He cast a quick warming charm on his plate and whisked passed his loyal House Elf to the door, where he found Draco waiting in front of his massive receiving fireplace. “Oh, it’s you.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, his nose lifted like a sniffing bunny. “Who did you think it was? Didn’t your House Elf announce me?”

“Well, yes, but he called you ‘Lord Malfoy’, so I only assumed it was your father,” Harry explained.

“Does my father often visit you in your home? You looked rather eager until you saw it was only me,” Draco drawled, the first stirrings of jealousy and distain making it into his tone.

“I was curious, not eager,” Harry countered. “The facial expressions look entirely different.”

“Oh?” Draco asked, his voice dripping with mock amusement. “Do give us a demonstration then.”

Harry rolled his eyes but suddenly looked at Malfoy with hooded eyes, running the tip of his tongue surreptitiously across his bottom lip as he sauntered closer to the blond on his doorstep. He slipped his index finger beneath Draco’s belt and tugged the man closer, pressing their bodies close enough that Harry could clearly feel how Malfoy was reacting to his performance. “This,” Harry purred seductively in Draco’s ear, “is eager,” he finished, dropping the posture and stepping away from Draco once more. “See the difference?”

Draco frowned at being made the arse of Harry’s joke, but he had brought it upon himself, so he could scarcely complain –not that that ever stopped him before. “Now that you’re through teasing me, do you think you might invite me inside?”

“Why would I do that?” Harry asked, leaning casually against the oak banister beside him. “Did we have a date?”

“Well, no. I thought I might surprise you,” Draco admitted, showing off the bottle of wine in his hands.

“Who told you that I enjoy surprises?” Harry asked, his tone and posture civil even if his glistening eyes were not. He remembered all too well some of the things he read in Draco’s file that very morning, and he wasn’t likely to forget them anytime soon. He didn’t want the man in his home and he didn’t want to be alone with him –at least not yet. If Malfoy proved himself then all would be well, but Harry had a feeling that the former Slytherin would fail to pass any test Harry threw his direction.

“N-no one,” Draco stammered, obviously taken off-guard by Harry’s odd behavior. “Are you busy? Did I interrupt something?”

“You might have,” Harry mused. “I just might have a date over right now and you would know that if you’d bothered to owl first.”

“You’re dating someone else?” Draco asked, clearly both angered and hurt by the blasé remark. “What happened to your rules?”

“I didn’t say I was dating someone, just that I could be, and you might know this if you were even remotely considerate,” Harry quipped.

“I come over baring a gift and get refused in the entryway and I’m the one being inconsiderate?” Draco demanded, his tone leaking out the anger he felt at Harry’s hypocrisy. “What happened since lunch yesterday, Potter? What did I do?”

Harry sighed and shook his head, no longer able to make the blond feel as though he’d done something directly to him. It wasn’t that at all, of course, it was merely Harry’s own fear that Draco hadn’t changed holding him back. “I’ve had a long day. I wouldn’t be very good company,” he tried; hoping Draco might take the hint.

“You’re trying to get rid of me,” Draco mused, letting his gray gaze search Harry’s. “Why? Everything seemed fine the last time we were together.”

“Everything was. Now it’s not. Are you a glutton for punishment, Malfoy? Why keep after me when you know I’m damaged goods?” Harry asked, regretting his words at once. He was damaged goods of course, but he rarely let others have a glimpse into his low self-esteem. This wasn’t about him anyway; it was about Malfoy and his own issues. Or was it?

Was Harry projecting? Was he refusing to trust Draco because he feared the man would inflict the same kind of pain on his heart that Harry himself had inflicted on so many others? Or was he simply worried about slipping back into that sordid lifestyle if he took Draco as his companion?

“I don’t see you that way,” Draco whispered, his voice sweet and genuine to Harry’s ears. “I see you as beautiful and brilliant and worthy of affection.”

A noise that sounded every bit as authentic as the trademark Malfoy scoff escaped Harry’s lips and he shook his head, but didn’t bother to reply. He knew that the blond was an expert at saying the right thing. Harry was more charmed and won over when Draco said the wrong thing.

“Can I see you tomorrow night?” Draco attempted. “We can go out if you prefer?”

Harry wanted to scream his frustration into the still air of the foyer. Draco was so persistent and only part of Harry found that endearing, the rest of him wished the man would stop his unyielding pursuit of him. Draco was the wrong type of partner for Harry in every way imaginable. He was obnoxious, boorish, and to put it nicely, a whore. He really didn’t need to take part in any of Malfoy’s games. Unfortunately, enough of Harry’s heart and mind still found the man attractive, clever, and charming. If only he could smother those parts of himself, everything would be fine.

“I’ve made dinner if you’d like to join me,” Harry sighed, the words coming almost unbidden from his mouth. His desire for the blond was outweighing his good sense, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

“Are you certain?” Draco asked, clearly not wanting to overstep his bounds.

“Why not?” Harry replied, sighing in defeat. “I would just be thinking about you if you weren’t here.”

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“That was delicious, Harry. I had no idea you could cook,” Draco praised before savoring the lone string bean on his plate. His mouth was still singing from the mixture of flavors on his tongue.

With a humble shrug, Harry levitated their plates to the sink and set them to washing themselves while Draco looked on. Harry Potter was an enigma. It was plain the man had as much in his vaults if not more than the Malfoy family fortune, he even had his own personal House Elf, but there he was, preparing his own meals and even cleaning up after himself. Draco barely even knew the spells for simple household Charms having never needed to use them in the past.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Harry remarked as he lazily slumped against the back of his chair. “The wine was enjoyable as well.”

“Father would be pleased to hear it. The bottle is one of his favorites,” Draco commented, half pleased to have parted the wine from his father’s lips.

“Well, you’ll have to thank him on my behalf,” Harry noted, his gaze drifting up to the tin ceiling.

They were sitting in the alcove near the kitchen that, in a home like this, was usually used for breakfast, not dinner. Draco found it amusing how much Harry rebelled against his inherent noble blood. The Potter’s would have no doubt taught him the ways of a Pureblood wizard had they been alive, but as it was, the man was rubbish trying to figure out general customs on his own. Had it been anyone else, Draco would have been offended at having such an informal dinner with a Pureblood, but he knew Harry didn’t know any better. Although, the more Draco studied Potter the more he wondered whether or not the Gryffindor did know the proper ways of things and simply didn’t care. Either could easily be applicable to the silent man.

They hadn’t spoken much, as Harry seemed to be lost in thought and Draco thought it rude to disturb him after he conceded that Draco stay and even serve him half of the meal he’d prepared. Still, Draco nearly jumped from his skin when after several long periods of silence; Harry chose to talk once more.

“So, how did you find me?” Harry asked casually, as if he didn’t have the ability to simply throw Draco into Azkaban if his answer was sneaky or false.

“I have my ways,” Draco replied with a smirk.

“Are any of those ways illegal?” Harry asked, his own smirk evident on his face.

“Really, Harry. You’re residing in a Black family home. It’s not so hard to track down if you know what you’re looking for,” he huffed.

“Fine, if you won’t tell me that, then tell me something else,” Harry prodded.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, wanting to avoid the subject of himself as much as possible. Normally he didn’t mind blathering on and on about his life and his achievements, but Harry knew him better than that, he would see right through Draco’s manufactured gusto.

“Tell me some intimate detail about Draco Malfoy that I didn’t already know,” Harry specified.

“I sleep in the nude,” Draco offered simply.

“Who doesn’t?” Harry asked with a cheekily raised eyebrow. “You can do better than that.”

Draco sighed and shook his head in defeat. “Okay, but if I tell you this, you have to promise not to let it leak. I know you’re mates with the editor of the Quibbler, that Lovegood girl.”

Harry grinned and nodded, leaning in to hear Draco’s big secret. Draco’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper and he leaned forward as well so that his mouth was just beside Harry’s ear, his breath making the ebony-haired man shudder slightly. “I swear if this gets out I’ll know who told,” Draco prompted one last time.

“I wouldn’t tell a soul,” Harry promised, his own breath tickling the side of Draco’s neck.

“Okay,” he began softly, letting out a deep breath. “I really, really… I mean really enjoy sex.”

Harry only took a moment to let the words in before he shoved Draco away from him with a roll of his eyes. “If you can’t even take a simple request for honesty seriously, how can I trust you take the rest of it seriously?” he demanded.

Draco chuckled, holding his hands up defensively, but Harry wouldn’t have any of it. He didn’t think the blond was funny at all. “Harry, calm down. I was just teasing.”

“Every time I think that maybe you’re capable of changing, it all comes back to sex,” Harry scoffed. “You’re insufferable.”

“I understand the waiting, really I do. I wouldn’t trust me either if I were you, but I was only trying to joke with you, Harry. You really need to lighten up,” Draco replied, trying to keep his own cool. He knew from the start that this relationship could only take one hotheaded temper so if Harry was being irrational, Draco would have to stay calm.

“You just don’t get it!” Harry shouted, pushing himself up and away from the table. “I don’t need this, I don’t need any of this. That part of my life is locked away for good. I’m not some sexual deviant for you to conquer anymore.”

“Why don’t you tame the beast instead of locking it away completely,” Draco suggested calmly. “You don’t have to be a prude to keep from shagging a new man or two each night.”

“And how would you know?” Harry hissed. “That’s exactly what you do.”

“Not since you and I started dating,” Draco corrected.

“We’re not dating,” Harry scoffed. “We went to lunch a few times and I appreciate the opera and the wine tonight, but this isn’t going anywhere. I have different needs than you do.”

“What is it you need, Harry?” Draco asked, his tone leaning more toward begging than he would have liked. “Tell me and I can give it to you.”

Harry sighed and slumped back into his chair as he massaged the tips of his index fingers into his temples. “Right now I just need you to leave,” he said simply.

“Fine,” Draco resolved with a heavy sigh. “But you can’t get rid of me this easily, Harry. I’ll call on you for lunch tomorrow,” he promised before leaving Harry alone in his home.

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Lucius was growing increasingly impatient as he paced the floor of his study. It was nearing midnight and still his son had yet to return from Potter’s. No doubt the boy had gotten Potter drunk on wine and charm and was already collecting his victory.

A shudder ran through his body and Lucius sneered at the empty room. There was no one to lash out at; he’d all but fired Hedrick, telling the man he’d call on him if needed again, and his wife was fast asleep in their bedchamber. He didn’t understand how her heart could remain so completely untroubled by the knowledge that their son was pursuing a man that could ruin their family with a wave of his hand. Potter had already done it once, sending their life into turmoil with a simple Disarming Charm when he took out the crazed wizard Lucius had put his entire stock into. In hindsight, Lucius wouldn’t have cast himself in lot with a half-breed hell bent on revenge, not justice. In the beginning he had truly believed the tripe that Voldemort professed; that Purebloods had the right to rule and that wizards were far better than Muggles in every way and should therefore control them all. It all made sense to Lucius’ regal upbringing and his innate desire to manipulate things into his own favor.

Still, as time progressed it became more and more obvious that Voldemort was a fraud. It was clear that the Lord he made his family worship was merely just Tom Riddle, a powerful man no doubt, but completely insane. He noticed it soon after the wizard was resurrected and his theory was confirmed when Voldemort began executing Purebloods and Muggles alike without a single care. Voldemort hadn’t wanted to seize control at all; he just wanted everything but himself to die.

It was then that Lucius began consulting his wife on how best to break their allegiance to the Dark Lord. It was far too late by then of course, but they weathered the storm better then some of the others who had pledged themselves to Voldemort’s lunacy.

Now it seemed things were crumbling again, and his son would follow in Lucius’ shiny, patent footsteps. He was courting the right side of the war –for it was obvious even to Lucius who the stronger wizard had been on that fateful evening at Hogwarts- but he was going about it in the wrong way.

Why couldn’t Draco simply make a choice to befriend the Gryffindor? Why did he have to go about this charade of making him his unlikely companion? He supposed even in friendship it wouldn’t take long before sparks were seen. Potter and Draco were well-matched in almost every way –looks, wit, intelligence- but Potter had the clear upper hand when it came to power, authority and influence, which was what worried Lucius the most.

Perhaps he was going about it backwards though. Maybe Lucius should extend a dinner invitation to the pair. Corral them into having a meal with he and his wife so that they could better assess the situation. It would either serve to ease his own mind or to get Narcissa on his side so that he could utilize her cleverness in devising a new plan to end or postpone things between the boys.

Lucius was so enthralled in writing out an elegant invitation on his best stationary, that he didn’t seem to notice his son’s arrival home, nor the dejected look on his face. It may have heartened him somewhat to see that his son had failed in his advances once more and that his relationship with Potter remained pure, alas he was too busy with his own scheming to take note.

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“Who is ‘X’?” Hermione asked her husband, pulling his attention away from the Quidditch article he’d been absorbed in.

Ron only shrugged in response and went back to reading the Prophet. His wife was going through the day’s owls while he slumped on the sofa after a large meal of dumplings and gravy. He loved that Hermione was taking the occasional cooking lesson from his mum, and she was getting better and better at preparing his favorites.

“Mr. Weasley,” she began reading the letter in a far deeper octave than her own, “I’m not sure what information I might have that would be of use to you, but as a loyal member of wizarding England I am always at the Ministry’s disposal.”

Ron’s eyes went wide and he leaned over and snatched the parchment out of his wife’s hand, eliciting an indignant huff. “What are you doing reading my mail?” Ron blurted before reading the rest of the note. It merely said that Xander, for it was obvious now with the context of the letter that ‘X’ was in fact Xander Scott, would meet him at the specified pub at noon the next day and that he awaited Ron’s questions.

“So, who is it?” Hermione pried.

“Just a witness for a case I’m working on,” Ron lied, feeling like rubbish even as he did. He knew there would potentially be extreme fallout from what he was doing and it wasn’t fair to involve Hermione until it was absolutely necessary. It would be easier for her to plead innocence with Harry if she was actually innocent and knew nothing of what Ron had been investigating.

“It’s an awfully obscure signature,” she noted, her tone making Ron certain she was still upset over his rude behavior.

“It’s his first initial,” he explained, trying to be as forthcoming as possible with his wife. “I sent him a letter today asking him to meet with me tomorrow.”

“What case is it for?” Hermione inquired passively as she flipped through the rest of the mail.

“A very important case,” Ron replied vaguely. “It’s very hush-hush.”

“Right, because I constantly leak information to the papers,” Hermione huffed. “Why are you being so secretive?”

“I’m not!” he replied, staring to panic. Hermione wouldn’t stand for being lied to, but he couldn’t tell her about what he was doing behind their friend’s back, not yet. He sighed, a tad over dramatically, but tried to force himself to blush. “The truth is we have no information yet. I’m hoping this Xander guy I’m meeting with tomorrow will have some answers.”

“Well, that’s all you had to say,” she quipped, putting the stack of mail to the side and reaching over to pat her husband’s knee. “I’m sure you’ll get your bad guy, Ron.”

“Right,” Ron sighed, wondering who that might be. For all Ron knew, he was the bad guy of this particular tale, but worry that it was actually Harry made him continue on his quest. He would talk to Xander Scott tomorrow, he would find out what the man knew about Harry’s past and that would be it. He’d close up the file and send it back to Stephanie in the Archives Department –unless of course he found something terrible from Scott’s information –but that was impossible. Harry Potter was a stand up guy, practically a saint. In fact, Ron imagined Harry probably spent all his days lounging on a nice beach before turning in early every night just like he did now. His friend was honest, true and conservative –maybe even a bit too much so. Ron doubted he would find out any different from this Xander character.

Author's Note: Ron is going to be in sooo much trouble, but aren't you so eager to hear why he and Harry broke up? Theories? You know I love to hear em.