What Shakes The Elephant

What Shakes The Elephant

Chapter 21 – Stones Taught Me To Fly

Draco saw Potter to the door, bid him goodnight and went back to his private sitting room. He sat down slowly in the armchair once more and stared into the fire. The flames danced and roared before him but he did not see it. Instead he saw the bright green eyes of Harry Potter staring back at him and felt not the heat of the fire but the warm breath caressing his cheeks. And suddenly the memory changed.

He felt Potter’s hands on his back, running down the line of his spine, slowly massaging the sensitive skin where the burns had been. He felt Potter pushing up against him and closing the distance between their lips and brushing his mouth against Draco’s. He felt something dance in his stomach at the softness of the feeling, haunting his senses though it had not been there to begin with. He felt Potter’s thighs press hard on each side of his hips and he felt himself –despite that it was just a fantasy –lean forward to feel more of the other man.

Draco heard a whisper. He heard Potter call his name in a breathy moan and suddenly the images he longed for flashed before his eyes. Draco gasped from the sudden tightness he was feeling and laid back against the chair, wishing that he had not allowed this of himself.

He could not think that way of Potter. He was a married man and he was in love with his wife and he was… He was Harry Potter. Draco could never… he could never see his dreams fleshed out. He would never feel Potter that way. There was no doubt there.

Unless he let Potter’s wife die… and then he’d have nowhere else to turn…

NO.

Draco cursed himself and tilted his head back to arch his neck, exposing his throat to some unseen attacker. He would not do that. He could not think that way. He could not sacrifice a life for his personal desires. He had never been capable of that, no matter how important it had been.

He simply had to accept that his fantasy would never be anything more than that: a fantasy.

And then he felt hot lips against his neck and his body flushed with heat in response, causing his every muscle to clench in a pitiful attempt to deal with the sensations. His mouth fell open, involuntarily, and a soft groan escaped his lips.

He couldn’t give in to his over-active imagination. He could not give in to that. It was not real. It was not real.

“He doesn’t care about you,” Draco murmured to himself. “You are just a friend and nothing more.” He urged his mind to come to terms with the idea and force his body to cooperate. “Just a bloody friend…a friend…” He repeated the words again and again until his body finally gave in and gave up. He was sweating now and breathing heavily.

Draco brought a hand to his face to wipe his eyes and fought against the urge to sob or fall to pieces. There was no need to. So Potter did not care for him as anything more than a friend? Was this a surprise at all? Did he really expect Potter to ditch his wife and family?

No, of course not. That’s Harry Potter.

Draco laughed viciously at himself and his naivety. He shook his head and got to his feet, wavering slightly under the exhaustion from the emotional rollercoaster. He got to his feet, brushed himself off and left the room.

He needed to tend to his father.

On his way to see Lucius, Draco stopped in the doorway of Scorpius’ now empty room. His son had returned to Hogwarts two weeks earlier in order for his life to get back to normal but from the moment he left Draco had missed him. There was something comforting about having Scorpius with him. He enjoyed the distraction of helping him with his homework, or reassuring him about his future and his friends. He enjoyed, most of all, teaching his son every trick that he had ever discovered on how to make things work out for him. He taught him advanced spells and useful charms and hexes he could use. He taught him to duel and he taught him everything he knew on how to be a Slytherin… though those things are more natural than taught.

Draco enjoyed fatherhood and he would never have imaged that he would.

A smile crept onto his face and relaxed him. It would be the Christmas holidays soon… in just a few weeks’ time. He hoped that Scorpius would want to come home to visit. Perhaps he should suggest that he bring little Albus Severus along.

Perhaps Potter should accompany his son…

Draco frowned at himself and the hollow feeling in his chest returned. If he did not stop imagining things like that it would eventually destroy him. He could not let himself be fooled into thinking his attraction was anything more than physical, or that Potter would respond in any way.

These were foolish schoolboy musings and nothing more. He needed to grow up.

He left his son’s doorway and made his way down the hall and towards his father’s room. Lucius should not yet be asleep.

More accurately, Lucius should be asleep but very likely was not. He never obeyed the orders of the Healers as to how he should behave until it was proven that he was fully recovered. Sleep, fresh air, light meals… Lucius would have none of that.

Draco pushed the door open and stepped into the room. His father was still sitting in the chair in front of the fire, his face obscured by the back of the chair. But Draco did not need to see his father’ s face to know that he was cross. He knew just from the feeling of tension on the air, from the way the fire burned off in the distance and from the precise positioning of his father in the room.

He had learned years ago the finer details of his father’s moods and how to recognize them. Draco learned quickly how to read everyone he met. He knew from day one that Hydra was not trustworthy, though he would admit that he perceived it as a Slytherin characteristic more than a homicidal one. He knew from the first moment he had met Potter that they would either turn out to be best friends or enemies.

Pity Potter had first chosen the latter.

He knew that Pansy Parkinson would inevitably betray everyone that had ever trusted her. He knew that the Weasley girl (again, now “Mrs. Potter”) was not a good match for Potter, though telling him that was like signing your own death warrant.

Draco normally had a very good grasp on the people he met. Ironically, the two people he had the most difficulty figuring out were his mother and his son.

And, consequently, Potter when he so chose to be absolutely and frustratingly enigmatic.

Draco feared that he would never learn to understand Potter in his moments of obscurity without his mother by his side. If he had understood her, perhaps he might better know how to deal with the issues he was facing, but he did not. No use dwelling on it.

For too long, anyway.

“Father,” Draco said quietly. “You need to take your potion and get to sleep. I will not have you back in St Mungo’s simply because you are contemptuous towards authority.”

“Please, Draco,” he scoffed, his voice as cold as ice but smooth as silk. “Healers have no authority over me. I know how to care for myself.”

Draco made no comment at all, opting instead to head toward the cauldron in order to prepare the potion for his father. He did not care if Lucius wanted the potion or not. This was not a matter of pride but a matter of health and Draco knew that subject much better than his father did.

He poured out the thick red liquid into a goblet for his father and walked over to where he sat. Draco held out the cup for him but he took Draco’s wrist instead and looked up at his son with piercing eyes. Draco did not react though years ago he would have flinched.

“What did Potter want?” he asked, slowly taking the goblet with his other hand. He took a sip and paused, as though to pull a face at the taste, but then soldiered on and downed the whole thing.

“He wanted to discuss an assignment of his at work,” he lied seamlessly. He knew the lie would get him nowhere, but he tried it nonetheless.

“You are getting better,” Lucius commended him, placing the goblet on the table in front of him. “But you will not fool me, Draco. I know that look in your eyes and I know that tone. You called him by his given name, Draco.”

There was warning in Lucius’ voice and his eyes became a transparent silver as he stared at his son. Draco’s lip twitched momentarily into a sneer but he forced it away.

“It was a slip of the tongue,” he explained curtly. “My mind has been elsewhere of late. Nothing meaningful there.”

Lucius very near glared at Draco before turning his attention away and back to the fire. His long, silken white hair fell in a fine sheet to cast a shadow on half of his face and gave him a very intimidating look.

“I trust you know what you are doing,” he warned darkly. “Playing games of this nature can severely jeopardize your future. Remember that, Draco.”

“I never forget,” Draco replied in a terse tone. “Goodnight, father.”

His father bid him a short goodnight and Draco left the room, feeling more stressed than he had before. He went to his bedroom and removed the long open robe that he wore in the house before slipping into bed.

As soon as he did, the images from earlier that night flooded his mind and lulled him into a tormented sleep. He knew he would not rid himself of them. They would stay there until he was adequately distracted or forgot about Potter.

Or until they became more than simple visions.

******

Draco sneezed as he pulled the dusty old volume from the top shelf of his bookcase and caused a cloud of dust to grow around his nose. He glared at the book and wondered why he had decided it would suit him better to retrieve the book manually rather than summon it with his wand.

Then he remembered the last time he had summoned this particular book and it had hit him square in the stomach. He hadn’t been able to catch his breath for the rest of the day.

He grumbled and dropped the heavy volume onto his already overcrowded desk with a loud thump. He flipped it open to the pages he had previously indicated and began to scan the articles therein once more. This the seventieth time he looked at these pages, though only the first time in just under a month.

He did not know why he had expected his feelings towards the articles to change if he looked at it again. They had been useless then and were even more useless now as they were eating away at the short time that he did have.

He knew he was not going to find the answer to Potter’s problems in these books… the ones he had already scoured for ages, going over them and back over them in hopes of finding a solution for his mother. He had not found a solution before, it was unlikely he would now.

Draco shut the book again and thought of what other books he might look into. He could always take a trip down to Knockturn Alley and look into some of the shops there. They normally had a much richer selection than Flourish and Blott’s as they were not bound by the rules of what kind of magic was ‘acceptable’ and what was not.

But Draco dared not go into Knockturn Alley during daylight. He had an image he needed to maintain if only for his credibility. He had not gone back to any of those dodgy shops in years and did not make it a plan to try and revisit them now.

He would have to find some other way.

He got to his feet and began to pace his office, ignoring the books that lay scattered on the ground and every flat surface that he could find. There were fewer books on the bookshelf now than there were off. He considered his options and weighed them out.

It had been a few days now that Draco had begun his research without Potter. The other man had planned to start their searching tomorrow, as he needed to deal with his wife in a calmer manner… when they were both level headed. Draco had doubted that it would ever happen for them to both be thinking clearly at the same time, but he had agreed nevertheless.

He began on his own, going back through his old notes to see if they might offer up a clear connection this time around. They had not, much like he expected. Now he searched for alternate options… he was wracking his brain and expending every possibility just to help save Potter’s lying, treacherous wife.

Then as he walked, something hit him and he stopped in his tracks. He was doing all this work, putting in all this effort for someone he cared nothing for… but while his mother was alive he had not thought to go and find other resources. He had not thought to ask for help, or rather had not wanted to. He ignored the obvious solutions and continued on on his own, fighting single-handedly in a battle that required the help of many more.

Why had he refused to seek advice? Why had he not fought harder to save Narcissa?

Draco’s face fell and he felt guilty. He felt as though he had not tried hard enough for his mother. Was she not important enough for him to try everything he could? He had not gone to far enough lengths, he had not given his all to searching for a cure.

He had been distracted by Potter and distracted by work. He had not been good enough… he had failed her.

His heart dropped to his stomach and he cast his eyes down. He wanted to rid himself of this feeling of guilt, the thought that he was solely responsible for her death, that had he done better she would never have died. He wanted it gone, he wanted to be free but he couldn’t. He, himself, was responsible for the terrible feelings, the need to blame himself and find himself culpable for everything that went wrong.

Draco had never been this way before. Never in his youth did he think he was responsible for what happened…perhaps that was a result of fatherhood… or perhaps that stemmed from having to take responsibility and be the pillar of strength for both his parents from the time he was eighteen.

Perhaps it was a result of many variables all working together against him.

Perhaps he was a bit paranoid.

Draco walked back around his desk, attempting to push the nagging in the back of his mind and the pinching at the back of his chest away. He began closing the volumes on his desk and setting them aside in a pile, hoping to regain some order in the chaos if his office.

As he attempted to clean, there was a soft knock at the door.

Draco, finally, grew tired of his manual labour and spelled all the books back onto the shelf. He adjusted himself in his chair and brushed the stray locks of hair from his face.

“Come in,” he said to the door. It creaked open and, though Draco did not know whom he expected, he had not expected this.

Hermione Granger (now Weasley, though he found it difficult to consider her married to the red-headed prat) walked into his office, holding a simple purse. Her face was calm and she seemed rational enough upon first glance, but Draco instinctively let his fingers close around the tip of his wand from his robe pocket.

“Good morning, Granger,” he greeted, purposefully using her maiden name. He gave her a pleasant smile that was not totally devoid of malice. “What brings you to my office?”

She took a step forward and swallowed. Looking into Draco’s eyes with every ounce of determination that she had, she tried to find her resolve.

“I came to speak with you about Harry, Malfoy,” she told him with a strong voice. It was not unkind but it was not soothing either. “And my name is Weasley now.”

He sat back and gave her an even look.

“Of course,” he replied in the same pleasant but manipulative voice. “My mistake. Please, take a seat.” He offered her the chair facing his desk but she shook her head, clearly mistrusting his every word. And as she should.

“I will not stay long,” she explained, keeping her position behind the chair and near the door. “I just wanted to say, I know what you are doing and I need to warn you.” She paused. Draco’s eyebrows raised slowly. “You’ve always had a much stronger effect on Harry than either of you realizes… and I know he claims you both are friends, but,” she looked directly into his eyes again, her dark brown irises speaking volumes to her fears. “I frankly can’t simply take his word on it.” She took a step forward. “I’m just here to say, if you really are going to help him, then I’m glad and really, very proud of both of you… but if you hurt him in any way… you will sorely regret it.”

Draco listened closely to her every word and his face did not change much at all. His eyes were fixed on hers and his expression showed nothing of what he was thinking. In truth, he was amazed that she was even willing to give him a chance, disregarding the threat that followed right after. He considered her a moment longer and then nodded once with a small smile.

“I am helping him,” he replied silkily. “I have no intention of hurting him. I would like to think that I’ve grown up since Hogwarts and besides,” he paused with a smile that held a wink. “Why should I want him to end up in my own hospital?”

Granger almost smiled but held it back and nodded instead. She held her purse up and opened the clasp at the top.

“Then if that’s the case,” she said softly, her tone more soothing than before. “I want to give you these. They should help you in your research.”

She pulled out a number of thick volumes from the small bag and placed them on Draco’s desk. He had never seen these before, though many he had heard of. They were rare books and some were actually banned from stores for their contents. He looked up at her with an intentionally impressed look on his face.

“Why are you giving me these?” he asked simply. “You could easily help him, could you not? I was under the impression you loved to study?”

Granger turned to leave but paused at the door and gave him a very sad smile. He immediately wondered what had caused it.

“I do, and I would love to help him,” she answered. “But I’m afraid he won’t accept it of me right now. So I’m helping him indirectly, through you.”

Draco raised a brow and tilted his head.

“Why shouldn’t he accept your help?” he inquired further. She looked away.

“Because I’m afraid, at the moment, he doesn’t trust me as much as he does you.”

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A/N: RANDOM hahaha no, no all has a purpose. I love Hermione. She’s a sweetie. Protective. Dawww *hugs Hermione*

Anywho, Draco Draco Draco… tsktsktsk poor poor Draco. Having very vivid fantasies is never really all that useful lol.

Anywho, I hope you liked it!

BTW, for anyone who noticed/wondered/cares, many of the title of my chapters are taken from Damien Rice songs… either lyrics or song titles. Only a few are not, and the reason is because his songs serve as most of my inspiration for this fic. They are very sad songs most of the time… though I don’t know how you should take that hahaha

Anywho, love to all! 8D