What Shakes The Elephant

What Shakes The Elephant

Chapter 19 – It’s Not Hard To Fall

Harry stood outside the gates of Malfoy Manor, looking out upon the darkened estate. The whole of it seemed much more imposing in the dark, when the only light streamed from the illuminated windows and the fine rays that hit his back from the moon. The shadows fell around the house like petals from a wilting flower and Harry was captured by the exquisite melancholy that he felt.

Everything in his life lately was just some beautiful disaster.

With every passing moment of staring at the house, of knowing who was inside, of wanting to find his company there but fearing that he would never do so, Harry felt his heart crumbling slowly. He walked through the gates, which did not dare stop him, and hurried up to the front doors, attempting to disregard the silvery peacocks.

Stopping in front of the massive doors, Harry’s eyes followed the grooves once again and found silvery inlays that he could not see during the day. He held up and hand and hesitated before knocking. Was this right? Did he really want to risk a row with Malfoy now? Was this qualified betrayal of Ginny?

No, he told himself. It was not betrayal. If anything, going to talk to Malfoy was hardly as hurtful as keeping fatal secrets from him. Lying to him. This was nothing. He needed to speak with Malfoy. He needed him…

Just for tonight.

Before Harry had even brought his hand down on the door, it opened, once again, wheezing as it did. Harry instinctively looked down, assuming he would find Scorpius standing there, but his eyes fell instead on a small House Elf with big floppy ears but bright eyes and a button nose. This was, possibly, the most attractive House Elf he had ever seen.

“How can Leeny help you, Sir?” the high-pitched voice asked, nearly puncturing Harry’s eardrums. He was caught off-guard and nearly forgot why he was there. He hadn’t expected to deal with a House Elf and suddenly his request seemed much more complex.

“Er, is Mr. Malfoy home?” he asked after hesitating for a moment or two. The discomfort of the realization of where he was and what he was about to do hit him hard. Malfoy would not want him here. He would send his House Elf to kick him out. And what would he do to the Elf for having let Harry in? Assuming, of course that the Elf did…

“Yes, Sir!” Leeny –apparently –replied. “Master just got back!”

Harry gave the elf a forced smile.

“Can you take me to your Master?” he asked softly, feeling more and more anxious with the passing moments. The Elf looked at him with wide eyes, probably amazed that he has asked instead of ordered, but nodded happily and stepped aside to allow him entrance.

“Follow Leeny, Sir,” the Elf told him as it led him off through a passageway to the right.

Harry took the time to observe his surroundings this time. The walls were decorated in rich colours with extravagant displays of artwork throughout the halls. In the rooms with open doors, Harry saw plush area carpets with complex designs that could originate from nearly any culture. The furniture varied from leather to suede. The tables were deep wood or glass and the whole of the house seemed to be the perfect balance between complexity and simplicity, though Harry was hard put to understand how.

Leeny led Harry into another hall with a beautiful sprawling staircase of cherrywood, or perhaps mahogany (Harry was never good at identifying wood). The design reminded him of water pouring from a spout into a pool. They walked up the stairs and around the balcony. The doors of these rooms were more often closed than not and the details in the framework made Harry’s head spin. He would have thought that the décor of the house might appear too busy or old-fashioned but every little aspect seemed to serve a greater purpose in supporting the atmosphere of Malfoy Manor.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Leeny stopped in front of two grand dark wood doors. Again, the carvings spoke of high class nobility and caught Harry’s eye. The Elf looked up at him.

“Please wait here a moment, Sir,” it asked him quietly. “Leeny must see if Master is welcoming guests.”

Harry nodded, shifting in his shoes and suddenly wishing that he had decided to go visit Hagrid instead of Malfoy. But Harry reminded himself that he had not seen Hagrid in a long while and that he would probably side with Ginny and Ron on the matter.

Realizing this, Harry concluded that his decision might have been slightly biased, looking for someone who would disagree with whatever Ginny said without fail. Nevertheless, it was far too late now and he found himself standing in front of the doorway to one of Draco Malfoy’s private rooms.

Leeny reappeared with a pop and smiled brightly at him.

“Master is ready for you,” it informed Harry. The Elf slid the door open for Harry and urged him to step inside. He took a step into the doorway, hoping that he would not get hexed into oblivion by simply being who he was. He looked around the room and noticed many things he would never have expected.

It was a bedroom, first and foremost, which sent chills down Harry’s back. There was a fireplace on the far wall with a blazing fire but nothing of it seemed welcoming. The walls were decorated in dark colours and the bed hangings were black. His attention finally shifted to the sitting area. Black leather chairs with high winged-backs were positioned around an ebony table with clawed feet. He let his jaw drop slightly as his eyes finally rested on Mr. Malfoy.

But it was not Draco sitting in the chair, waiting for him. It was Lucius.

His hair was white now, not blonde, but still as long and elegantly coiffed. He wore a thick black robe over black trousers and shiny black shoes, but his skin was pale as death. His hands rested on the armrests but Harry was horrified to see that there was deep bruising that blossomed under his skin, making his limbs appear purple. A cauldron sat off to the side, simmering softly and there were a number of vials on the table filled with potions of different sorts that Harry was sure were meant to help him recover. His face was as stern and composed as ever but his dark grey eyes told of layers of emotions that Harry could not even begin to delve through. One thing was clear, however.

Lucius Malfoy was an ill man.

Harry stopped dead once everything had sunken in. Lucius looked up at him with questioning eyes and one brow raised. Harry hesitated and stammered.

“Oh, er,” he began, completely taken aback by the awkwardness. He attempted to remove himself, but knew he had to say something first and step inside to do so. The result was a strange move where he poked his head in and out several times achieving nothing more than looking like a complete fool.

“Potter?” Lucius asked. His voice was weaker than Harry had ever heard it and something about that knowledge seemed very wrong. “What are you doing here?”

“I just,” he began, still fumbling for words. “I didn’t realize you were-… I came to see-… I’m sorry for barging in, I just –”

Harry stammered through several half-sentences and felt his face getting redder and redder as he did. He was thirty-six years old by now, one would assume he might be more composed than he actually was when facing someone like Lucius Malfoy. But assuming things had never done Harry any good. He had assumed that he would live out his whole life with Ginny and that they would die together one day, old and decrepit and happy. He had assumed that he could trust his wife and best friends to tell him vitally important things, that they would not keep secrets from one another or lie.

But he was wrong about both those things.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Malfoy,” he finally spat out. “I just came to speak with –”

“Harry?” a familiar voice came from behind him and he froze, loving the way his name sounded.

*******

Draco had said it before he had even thought it and the fact that it actually escaped his lips in a tone loud enough for even his father to hear disturbed him more than could be said. His pupils contracted as he kept his face as blank as possible, but his heart rate jumped and he tensed. Potter was standing half-inside the doorway of his father’s room, stuttering about something or other.

“Draco,” Harry said in relief as he wheeling around. His eyes were panicked and worry was etched on his face as clear as the carvings on the doors. Draco wanted to throw him out and make him leave and get out of his life forever before he let himself fall deeper into a pit that he could not escape, but the sound of his name on Potter’s tongue was too bittersweet to resist.

That and the face the man was making nearly sliced right through him.

Draco, almost grudgingly, stepped past Potter into his father’s room and pulled at the doors.

“It’s alright, father,” he assured the man inside. “Just Leeny’s mistake. You can return to bed now. I will handle this.”

He closed the doors with a soft click and turned back to Potter. The man’s green eyes looked him up and down slowly before resting on Draco’s bare chest. He was wearing a long, black sleeveless silk robe that hung open over his chest. His black trousers hung low on his hips because he did not wear a belt. He had not expected visitors. The bandages that Draco had worn before no longer covered his arms completely, but were localized to specific areas where the burns were still too raw.

Draco saw Potter’s eyes trace the lines of his chest and rest on the finely laced silvery scars that were only just visible. The mark Potter had left on Draco from sixth year. Draco fought the urge to smile as Potter was looking at him in awe, treating him like some kind of mystical being.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” he said, adjusting the manner in which he addressed the dark-haired man. His voice did not come out the way he wanted it to. Instead of sounding cold and demanding, there was a hopefulness in his words that irked Draco more and more. This was not right.

He could not do this. He could not let Potter know how he truly felt. He couldn’t let himself be hurt again.

He was the only one in his family who was standing strong, the only one left who could support the others. He could not break down and allow himself the luxury of dreams. Scorpius needed him. Lucius needed him.

Draco bit back the need he had in his voice and adjusted his mask, wanting to push Potter away. But something pulled at him. Something made him want to touch Potter, to feel his face, brush his hair away and calm his nerves…

NO. NO.

None of that!

“I need to talk to you, Draco,” Potter continued, stubbornly refusing to address Draco by anything other than his given name. He winced inwardly and tried not to notice the desperation gleaming in Potter’s eyes.

And yet he could not ignore it. The man whose eyes were normally fiery and shining powerfully with his emotion and determination held no such power today. There was no life, no energy in the green irises now. They were flat and darkened in a way that Draco could not stand. Harry Potter should never look like this to anyone, least of all Draco.

“Then talk,” Draco told him, his tone still not nearly as aloof as it should have been. He stood motionless, staring deeply into Potter’s eyes wanting, at least, to make the other man feel as strongly as he did about the whole situation.

“I… Draco,” he began again, speaking the name as though it was some kind of calming chant. “I was doing more research on pureblood curses and… oh god, Draco…”

He began rambling incoherently in his panic and Draco’s throat closed up. He looked from side to side, as though worried that someone might see them.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s go sit somewhere.”

Potter did not say a word but followed Draco as he led him casually through hallway after hallway of the Manor’s interior labyrinth. Finally, Draco pushed open a thick door and cast a fire into the hearth. He gestured for Potter to enter and then followed him in.

This was Draco’s private sitting room. He had always found it rather useless as there was no need for it at all. Normally his guests would join him in one of the general sitting rooms on the first floor and Draco never had to entertain a guest to himself.

Yet now that he was faced with the situation, Draco was grateful that he had this room, even if Potter was the first outside person to see it.

“Sit,” he offered, as he took his own seat in the large green armchair. Potter did as he was told and sat, though he paid little attention to how and where he did. He dropped himself into the chair as though he had walked a thousand miles and only now sat down to rest. The expression on his face was weary and worn and Draco wondered, if he could see the state of Potter’s soul, what it might look like now.

“You aren’t going to kick me out?” Potter asked suddenly, as though he only just realized what had been happening. Draco could not fight the smirk.

“Apparently not,” he sneered softly. Draco called to a House Elf to bring them some tea and to make it strong. They did not say a word while waiting for the Elf to return. The tray held two teacups, a teapot, sugar, milk, biscuits and a fine bottle of Irish whisky.

Draco smirked slightly at the way that the Elf had interpreted his directions. He poured some tea for Potter and himself, then sat back with his cup and looked intently at the man before him.

Potter took his cup and laced it with whisky without thought or question, before sitting back and sipping at it. His face relaxed slightly after that but his eyes told Draco of more anxiety that could not be removed by alcohol.

“Now talk, Potter,” Draco offered smoothly. “What is so important that you would barge in on my father for?”

Potter’s attention snapped back to Draco’s eyes and he frowned softly in embarrassment. His cheeks burned pink and he hesitating in speaking.

“I didn’t know your father was out of hospital,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to barge in on him. Is he doing better?”

“Naturally,” Draco responded, feeling that this bit of ice-breaker chat was unnecessary. “He must be doing better if he is home now and not under twenty-four hour supervision. Though I’m sure,” he continued silkily. “That you did not come here in such a panic to discuss the subject of my father’s health. So why did you come, Potter?”

The man looked up at Draco with anxious eyes. He looked directly through Draco and he felt as though Potter had stripped him, in that moment, of every mask he wore, every façade he put up and every protection he had built. Draco felt as though he was standing there, naked in every sense of the term and vulnerable before Harry Potter.

“I needed a friend.”

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A/N: Dawwww. So, I hope you guys liked it! I like the way this chapter came out for the most part…. Things are going to get weirder hahahaha, and I’ll get to explaining more about the blood curses soon. I promise. Two chapters tonight and two tomorrow then I leave! Hurrah for camping! I hope I don’t disappoint you before I go or anger you or anything!

Love for reviews and thanks for all the support so far!