What Shakes The Elephant

What Shakes The Elephant

Chapter 22 – Courage Teach Me To Be Shy

The room was dark. The only light came from several thin white candles and flickered with the movement around them. It was comfortable and warm. His head was pressed back into a pillow and his body was trapped under someone else’s, bearing the weight of it on his torso. One arm was around him, fingers twirling in his hair while the other arm was… doing marvellous and terrible things… somewhere else.

He didn’t mind though. There was nothing wrong in what this person was doing to him. Nothing at all. It felt good. It felt right.

His fingers were sliding up the other’s body, caressing every groove and every inch of skin he could. Finally he reached up and buried his hands in the other person’s hair. It shone gold in the candlelight and made him think of an Angel.

But this was no Angel.

Hot lips were tracing blazing roads over his body, planting scorching kisses all along the way. His body was on fire and he moved to feel more, touch more, be more with this other person. Finally, the kisses stopped their descent and moved back up towards his mouth. Then, in a blinding moment of pleasure, their mouths met and he smoothed his tongue over the other’s. He felt it all, wanted it all and so much more. The heat was mounting and suddenly the room was not so comfortable anymore, but far too hot and sticky.

A moan escaped his lips and the first syllable of a name before he was cut off by his need to cry out. He needed to release, needed to let go and take it all in. The other person held him tighter and whispered in his ear a chant of words that set his skin ablaze.

“Harry…” the voice whispered in his ear, as though the name would anchor it in reality. “Potter!”

Harry was jolted out of his sleep so abruptly he knocked his head against the table he was sleeping on. His eyes were unfocussed and itchy from his lack of rest and having strained them all day. It took him a moment to realize where he was and what was going on. Finally, when his surroundings became clearer, his memory returned and, with it, the embarrassing realization of everything that he had just dreamt.

He was sitting at a table with Malfoy, pouring over massive books once more. Harry looked over and realized that it had been Malfoy who had woken him. He had fallen asleep –again –through their research. The blond was wearing a very smug look on his face indeed and Harry turned an even darker shade of red. He suspected he knew why Malfoy was so amused but hoped against all hope that it was not so.

Harry immediately felt a seed of guilt blossom in his stomach and encompass his entire being. This was not the first time Harry had dreamt of intimate actions between himself and Malfoy. Neither was it the first time it had occurred in the other man’s presence. He had done it several times before and each time he’d jolted out of his sleep to Malfoy smirking like a pleased snake and a horrible tightness in his trousers.

Which, naturally, made him feel even more guilty.

He was MARRIED. Not only that, but his wife was dying and he was working with Malfoy to find a way to let her live. He had a family and children and they were JUST dreams. Just dreams.

Harry had grown used to paying little mind to his subconscious visions. Since Voldemort’s defeat they held no meaning anymore and he could rest easy that they did not foretell the future or give him insight into the minds of any dark wizards. The frequency of these particular dreams, however, was what bothered Harry.

Every night –or close to it – he would fall into a deep sleep and dream of nothing but being with Malfoy. The situations and actions within the dream varied incredibly but each and every time it was the same person with the same intent.

Harry shook himself of the thoughts and concentrated on his wife. She was sick and needed help and the only reason he was having these dreams was because of his repressed sexual energy and the fact that he felt closer to Malfoy than anyone else at the moment. It was his mind’s way of dealing with that part of the stress. It would be the same if he felt closest to Hermione and were in the same situation.

Then his mind jumped to an image of the two of them and he grimaced without realizing it.

“Another one of your secret dreams, Potter?” Malfoy asked with a sneer. Harry had always refused to offer any information on what he dreamt, for obvious reasons. He glared.

“No,” he answered lamely. He had no reason to lie, or rather to foundation to do so. It was quite clear from the blush on his cheeks and the way he avoided Malfoy’s eyes that he had indeed had another dream.

The fact that he refused to say what they were about was also rather telling, considering Malfoy was much more adept at reading between the lines than Harry was. Harry knew this. He honestly could not understand why he was unable to simply recount the dream and laugh about it as though it was all absurd.

Oh, wait, that’s right…

“You know, Potter,” Malfoy mused with a dark smirk. “They say that dreams are manifestations of the heart’s deepest and darkest desires.”

Harry snorted and turned his attention back to the book that he could no longer read.

Surely that was all bullocks. Dreams like those did not mean a thing. Harry did not want to do anything of… that nature… with Malfoy. He had no intention to, no interest, no motivation. He loved Ginny and that was that.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Draco,” he shot back, flipping through the pages of the incomprehensible book.

“I don’t need help sleeping,” the blond replied. “I enjoy my dreams. Though, by the sounds of it, so do you.”

Harry froze momentarily, his pupils contracting and his heart racing. He had not spoken in his sleep. He had not. He had not said a word. Not even let out a single small moan… or gasp… No, he couldn’t have, he couldn’t have!

“What are you on about?” he demanded from the blond who was casually surveying him from the other side of the table. His blond hair was informal and hanging loosely over his eyes. Naturally, it still looked perfectly coiffed, but it was more relaxed. Harry much preferred Malfoy’s hair this way.

“I do so love it when you talk in your sleep,” Malfoy answered smoothly. His grey eyes were piercing and Harry avoided them, trying to ignore what must have been lies. They had to be. “Or, rather, moan in this case. Was it really that good, Potter?”

Harry bit his tongue and calmed his face, turning back around to face the other man more fully. He placed a coy smirk on his face and waggled his eyebrows.

“Are you sure you weren’t the one dreaming, Draco?” he asked huskily. “Something you’d like to share with me?”

Malfoy’s face broke into a Cheshire grin and he sat back in his chair to look back at his own book.

“There are a great many things I’d like to share with you, Potter,” he answered malevolently.

Harry shook his head and smiled, despite himself. He had to admit, he did enjoy his time spent with Malfoy, no matter what they were researching. The banter between them excited him somehow. He enjoyed it. Whether they were arguing or throwing insults at one another, it made no difference. Harry felt comfortable.

But his mind returned to Ginny and what she was facing and Harry cursed himself. He had no right to be enjoying this the way he was. This was not a game, it was actually life or death. He needed to find a way to save her and let her live. What would happen to their family if she died? How would the children cope with it? How would Harry cope?

And Lily… was she at risk as well? What if she grew sick and died? Harry could not bear the thought of losing his daughter. She was far too young to have to worry about death or disease. He would not allow it. He could not.

But then… Victoire was also at risk… and Rose. Harry worried more and more about his daughter and nieces. He could not let that happen to Ron and Hermione… or Bill and Fleur. Now that he knew about the whole thing –something he was still trying to forgive Ron and Ginny for keeping from him –he needed to do something to help… to fix it.

“Have you found anything new?” Harry asked, looking up at Malfoy with a hopeful expression.

“Nothing new,” he replied. He closed the large volume in front of him and tossed it off to the side, picking up a new one which was twice as large in its place. Malfoy paused a moment, holding the cover of the book between his fingers and staring off into nothingness. He then turned very slowly towards Harry, his eyes shut and a look of slight pain on his face. “How is your wife doing?”

Harry was shocked. Malfoy rarely mentioned Ginny, though he knew why. They did not get along and Harry knew they never would. He disliked Ginny very deeply and Harry could not convince him otherwise. He claimed that he disliked her for other reasons than her family. He claimed it had to do with her behaviour and the way she had treated Harry.

Harry had, naturally, mocked Malfoy for that but he stood strong in his perspective. He claimed that there were some things that, no matter who you are, you never do. Something that Harry did deeply respect about the blond were his family values.

“She’s…well,” Harry began wondering how best to phrase Ginny’s condition. “She’s not doing well.” There was no better way to put it. “She’s been getting worse, I think. She is always cold and her skin is much too pale. She hardly manages to eat and vomits much of what she does. The Healers have provided her with potions that can provide her with the adequate nutrients she needs to survive, but she’s losing weight from the lack of actual food.”

His voice had become quieter as he spoke and his tone had changed. It was tense and encumbered with worry. He knit his brow and stared hard at the words on the page in front of him though he took in nothing of the meaning.

Suddenly there was a hand on his arm, reassuring him in the weight and warmth of the touch. He looked up and saw Draco looking back at him. His face was smooth and softly smiling. His eyes were reassuring and he squeezed Harry’s arm.

“It will… be alright,” he told him, apparently having some difficulty getting out all the words. Harry only ever heard him have trouble speaking when it came to the subject of Ginny’s survival. He supposed it was because the topic dealt so closely with his mother, but he couldn’t be sure. It might be residual grief for Narcissa, but it could easily be something else. “We’ll find an answer, Harry.”

Harry’s body reacted immediately to the use of his name. Shivers ran down his spine and spread over his limbs, raising gooseflesh all over him. He ignored the reaction and nodded to Malfoy, turning back to the book.

He did not like the way he reacted to Malfoy. The man was far too easy to feel comfortable around. He was smooth and clever and when he smiled –without mocking you –he could light up an entire city.

Harry shook his head. DON’T THINK THAT WAY.

It was NOT the moment.

He tried to immerse himself in the world of pureblood lineage. He found an article on the meaning of ‘pure blood’ and what constitutes a pureblood wizard. Harry’s eyes darted through and he suddenly felt like he had been doused with freezing water. His eyes widened.

“This can’t be…” he whispered, searching for a ‘however’ or ‘but’ in the lines yet there was none.

“What is it?” Malfoy asked, peering over the stack of books to see what Harry was reading.

“A wizard is considered of pure blood,” he began reading aloud. “If the grandparents on both sides of the family are all wizards. Thus, a child with four magical grandparents and two magical parents can consider themselves pureblood and be subject to all related categorizations.” Harry’s breathing became rapid and uneven. He couldn’t believe that. It had to be wrong.

“So?” Malfoy asked, confused. He could not see the relevance to Harry’s situation and he wanted to glare at him.

“So??” Harry repeated in slight panic. “My parents were both wizards and Ginny’s parents are both pureblood. That means that Lily is in greater danger of getting this disease! She might die! And Bill’s daughter… but what about Ron’s… fuck… they’re all in danger!”

Harry held his head and tried to calm his breathing. He flipped through more pages looking for another answer but there was none.

He might lose his daughter… and Bill and Fleur might lose Victoire…. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it all, he couldn’t do it.

“Poppycock,” Malfoy replied simply and went back to his book. Harry veered on him with wide eyes. The blond looked up at him, rather confused but at Harry’s look, he explained. “First of all,” he began slowly. “I’ve already told you that the pureblood family curses are passed down through the father, not the mother.” Malfoy turned his undivided attention to Harry. “Your daughter, Lily you said, cannot, thus, be at risk for the Weasley curse as she is a Potter.” He took a deep breath.

“Ok,” he said still alarmed. “But then she’ll have the Potter curse, whatever that is. Furthermore, what about Bill’s daughter and Ron’s daughter?? They were both born Weasleys!”

Malfoy looked as though he was fighting very hard not to smirk. Harry wanted to hit him.

“Very good, Potter,” he went on. “Ron,” he said after a long pause, trying to avoid calling him by name. “married Granger and so their children are not pureblood. The curse has little to no effect on those of mixed descent.”

“So you are saying only Victoire is going to die,” Harry demanded crossly. He was angry at the amount of ease with which Malfoy discussed children’s lives. “She’s a pureblood.”

“Only legally,” he replied with the same aggravatingly smug look.

“What??” Harry snapped, wanting to get more than fragmented answers out of him. It seemed Malfoy enjoyed torturing Harry a tad too much. “The book said both pairs of grandparents –”

“That’s a Ministry rule of thumb,” he explained, waving the idea aside. “Blood does not obey Ministry rules.” He closed his book. “In true pureblood lineage, the purity of blood has to trace back ten generations to be considered entirely devoid of contamination –pardon the phrase,” he said quickly at the expression on Harry’s face. “Malfoy blood traces back for centuries and thus we are considered purebloods in all senses. Weasley blood traces back for centuries as well. Your blood is impure –so-to-speak –because of your mother’s birth.” He paused to give Harry a moment to deal with the information. “And Fleur Delacour, or Weasley, or whatever, is descendant of a Veela. Her blood is also impure as far as true purebloods go.”

“So…” Harry began, his eyes darting around as the realization sunk in.

“Your children are all quite safe,” he concluded for him.

Harry looked up at Malfoy who had an amused smile on his face. He felt elated. His daughter would be alright. His nieces would be fine. They were safe. He felt glorious. He felt suddenly bursting with energy and excitement and he wanted to scream and let it all out. He wanted to act on impulse and do something crazy. So he did.

He leaned over and pulled Draco into a kiss.

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A/N: ZOMG HARRY WHAT DID YOU DO?

Would like to note two things here: LOTS of time has passed… I had to skip weeks at a time to make the plot advance adequately so now it’s about two and a half weeks until Christmas holidays. Yeah. Time flies. Haha.

Bad pun.

Anyway, SECOND thing I’d like to note is that this is an odd thing for Harry to do, so what will the outcome be? DUNDUNDUN all will be answered after I return! Sorry to leave you like this I didn’t mean to I swear!!

*runs away and ducks flying objects*

Ohhh I’m a horrible person.

I love you allll! Reviews = love and possibly fewer cliffhangers… though I doubt it because they just COME OUT THAT WAY lol. Sorry *hangs head* <3