What Shakes The Elephant

What Shakes The Elephant

Chapter 23 – Little Bit Of Your Taste in My Mouth

It’s not a cliché. When you are told that time stops in that moment that what you’ve been waiting for –something glorious, overwhelming, powerful and wholly horrible that you’ve been longing for secretly for ages –actually happens, they aren’t lying. For that one brief and almost irrelevant moment, the world stopped. Real, unidentifiable magic hovered on the air and amplified the most imperceptible movements as their lips met. They pressed their mouths together and, forgetting or willingly forsaking all other matters, pulled at one another. They each, knowingly or unknowingly, deepened the kiss and drew each other in because in that one moment, nothing else mattered.

There was nothing else but this.

But then that moment ended and Draco came back to himself and the reality that shattered all his dreams and hopes. His mind returned and knocked him back to his senses, screaming warnings in his ears.

The kiss ended and they both pulled away in shock. Potter jerked back more violently than Draco had and that abrupt movement was enough to send the world shattering around him. The overwhelming sensations of rightness and pleasure died away as quickly as they had come and left Draco with a feeling of guilt and growing dread. His heart was racing in his chest and beating hard against his throat, making it infinitely difficult to speak.

He licked his lips slowly and straightened, his eyes never leaving Potter’s face. The other man’s bright green eyes were wide and wrought with fear and guilt. The thoughts that buzzed through his mind were clearly etched on his face as Potter’s lips parted slightly, unsure of what else to do. His gaze was fixed on Draco as though he was expecting some kind of explanation, or rejection. Perhaps he was waiting for a quip to return the mood to what it once was. Perhaps he was hoping for Draco to pretend it had not happened at all. The blond was unsure of what Potter wanted (he doubted that Potter knew precisely what he wanted at that moment) but he knew, either way, he could not give it to him.

Draco could not make the deed go away, no matter how much he, himself, wanted to. He could not undo what Potter had taken it upon himself to do. What’s more, he could not make Potter’s feelings in any circumstance more evident than they were. He would pay to meet the man who could accomplish that feat.

No, Draco did not have these powers. What he did have was a torrent of uncertain emotions rushing through him. On the one hand, he wanted to feel smug. He wanted desperately to revel in the turn of events, no matter how unexpected they were. Potter had kissed him and done it of his own accord, without prompting or underhanded inciting on Draco’s part. He had simply, and willingly, kissed him.

Draco wanted to absorb the feeling of it. He wanted never to lose the forcefulness of that embrace, nor the wondrous tide of heat and euphoria that had torn through him like thunder when it first happened. He wanted to relish the idea that Potter wanted him more than his own wife; that he did not care for the little weasel any longer, despite their efforts to save her, and instead sought Draco’s companionship.

Yes, he wanted to boast about having stolen Harry Potter’s heart away from the unworthy little red-headed bint that had first claimed it as her own.

Yet, no matter his best efforts, Draco could not. He was no longer that spoiled little child that got off on his father’s reputation and could manage to get away with murder –quite literally. He was a grown man now with a child of his own and a family so tightly surrounded by drama and scandal that it was wholly unsettling that Rita Skeeter had not yet written a book on the subject.

Most importantly, Draco was a better person than he used to be. He was not as selfish as he wanted to allow himself. He was not as self-serving and snobbish as he had been; too many life-lessons taught and learned had made sure of that. He had rid himself of the habit of looking down his nose at people after his time spent in the Ministry cells and witnessing what he had.

No, Draco Malfoy could not revel in the suffering of any person, not even Ginny Weas-…Potter.

Instead of the bemused look he should have sported, his face had pulled itself into a much different expression.

The better part of Draco was warring with his feelings and the guilt that laced his every thought. Potter was a married man. He would never boast for having stolen his heart because it was nigh impossible. Potter had not acted out of attraction or lust and certainly not love. That was sure. Draco had not been serious in his taunting about Potter’s dreams. He was just marvelously good at making Potter blush. It had nothing to do with reality. He had acted on impulse or some kind of temporary insanity that only afflicted him late in the evening. Perhaps it was the books. Or the dust of the room.

Or perhaps his fear for his wife’s life drove him to the madness that spurred this act.

Whatever it was, it was nothing of Draco’s doing. He could not have Harry Potter and he would simply have to come to terms with that. He was untouchable…accounted for.

As he let his mind race along these lines of thought, Draco felt his insides crumbling and instead of having the unpleasant sensation of his heart beating against his throat, his refused to beat at all and left his airways constricted and closed. He turned his head away finally, allowing the tip of his tongue to retrace the line of his lips and savour the last morsels of Potter’s flavour.

The bitterness of reality sobered Draco completely. He knew this was a mistake. He knew Potter would not speak to him again. He knew their sad excuse for a friendship would die here with the last of Draco’s hope. He knew Potter would leave him tonight and never think on him again –except in the event he sought to give himself nightmares.

Draco knew this as fact and his heart no longer responded. He had known from the beginning that this whole ordeal would hurt and he had warned Potter against it. He had meant the hurt to be Potter’s and his alone, but Draco was ultimately always the one to suffer at the end of Harry Potter’s misadventures.

So Draco accepted the bitterness and let it flow through him, stealing away his hurt and his optimism (all that was left in him and he knew there was still some) and replacing them with disdain and cold.

He turned his attention back to Potter, his eyes now icy and distant as he looked upon the man he dared say he might have loved. The dark-haired man’s eyes were still as wide and almost hopeful as he waited for a reaction. Then, after the interminable silence, Draco spoke.

“You should get back to your wife,” he said softly, his tone thick with the pain he thought he had released from himself.

Damn his unstable emotions! Damn them to hell! Why could he not feel properly disdainful? Why was he incapable of even controlling himself in the slightest when around Potter? Had he lost all semblance of power over his feelings? Did Potter really have this kind of effect on him? Was it that strong?

Draco dropped his head and stared at the book before him, willing himself to stop from crying and losing all composure as he heard the muffled sound of the chair next to him moving. The door closed softly, putting an end to the soft footfalls that marked Potter’s escape.

Immediately regret rattled his bones and he let himself collapse into his hands, shaking from the pain. He had not meant those words. He had not meant them. He wanted Potter to stay. He should have said something else. He should have let Potter speak instead. He should have done something.

But once again, Draco’s own, special breed of cowardice took over and somehow managed to turn Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, into a sinner in his own right. This was the second time Draco had chased the man away from him and Potter’s fateful words resounded in his head. He wondered if Potter would ever fight for him again. He wondered if he deserved it the first time.

Without his explicit consent, tears dropped in fat beads from his face and dappled the page of the thick volume beneath him. He did not notice them at first, but once he did, he wiped them away and got to his feet to leave the damnable study and get some air.

He walked like a spectre through the halls of the Manor in no particular direction. Draco let his mind wander back and forth, trying to ignore the obvious mistakes that were made. He tried to ignore the misery blossoming in his chest, shaming him for having let the opportunity he was looking for pass him by.

He finally came to a dead-end and looked up, a tormented scowl drawing itself on his face. He had avoided this alcove since his mother had been admitted into St Mungo’s. Tears were streaking his face like newly formed rivers and his eyes were red. The effect made the silver of his irises glow eerily in the darkness. He shook his head and leaned back against a marble pillar.

“Why do I have to care about HIM this way?” he demanded exasperatedly, reluctant to fight the flow of tears any longer. “Why, of all people, Harry Potter?!”

Draco looked up, once more, into the artfully painted face of Narcissa Malfoy as she shook her head sadly at her only son.

“Draco, darling,” she cooed in the beautifully soft voice that he, and he alone, had heard from her. “You have only ever truly wanted what you cannot have.”

*******

Harry stared out the kitchen window in such a manner that suggested he was looking for where he might have lost his heart. His eyes were distant as he scrubbed at the dishes in the sink.

The sky was grey today and sorely reminded him of someone he dared not think about. The clouds blanketed the heavens and promised heavy storms in some kind of pathetic fallacy. The ground was already covered in a pleasant sheet of white and the snow-topped trees that grew around their house glowed spectrally in the early morning light.

How many days had it been since that night with Draco? He knew it had not been very long but it felt like an eternity to Harry.

He still cringed at the thought of what he had done. Not because it had been unpleasant, in itself. In fact, it had felt rather good –a thought which haunted him more and more as time passed –but rather, he cringed because of what that meant, precisely. He cringed at the idea that he had kissed not only another person, not only a man but Draco Malfoy, of all people, whilst his wife lay sick and dying in a bed and his family was falling to shambles around his feet.

It was some form of betrayal that Harry had never actually known in his lifetime but had never given a moment to consider. Every couple he had ever seen was happily married, excepting those brief moments of fear and doubt in Remus’ eyes when he confessed his fears in relation to his marriage to Tonks. Still, his own parents had been happily married until their deaths. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were happy and in love. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been faithful and loving to one another until Narcissa’s death. The Dursleys were happily married and a wonderful family if you disregarded their treatment of Harry in his early years. Hell, even Bellatrix and Rudolphus Lestrange were faithfully married –through the insanity –Harry assumed. From what he could tell, anyway.

In fact, the only couple that Harry could honestly say he knew to have failed miserably in marriage was that of Tom Riddle’s parents, though frankly, Harry had not thought on that in… well, ever.

In truth, he had never faced the dissolution of a marriage for any other reason than death. Up until he had witnessed Draco’s marriage to Hydra, anyway.

Yet even then, death was involved and it was not the same form of betrayal as Harry, himself, had committed.

No, he was alone in his sin and he would pay dearly for it.

He could not even explain, no matter how hard and long he sought to do so, the reasons behind his actions. He had argued that it had been a ‘spur of the moment’ kind of thing, that it hadn’t meant anything. He argued that it was momentary insanity. He had expended every possible excuse for his actions until he finally came to realize that that is precisely what those arguments were: excuses.

The truth was that Harry could not afford to deny to himself what was true, despite how much he wanted to. He had kissed Draco and he had done it on his own terms. Draco had not lured him into it.

In fact, judging from his reaction, Draco had not appreciated it at all. He had been hurt and cold in his reply and the simple knowledge of rejection filled Harry with shame and agony that he sought not to explain. He didn’t know why it hurt so much to think that Draco did not like the kiss, but it was better that way.

Harry could not face the blond again, not after that.

In the last few days, he had set up a more organized home-office, bringing all the books he could to study the pureblood curses and possible cures on his own. He stayed at home and worked from there in order to care for Ginny in her failing health. He wanted to spend as much time with her and his daughter as he could. He wanted to distance himself from these inexplicable feelings, these confusing emotions that ruled him every other minute.

He glanced back at the book that lay open on the table. He had gone through it endless times but still found nothing new, nothing promising… no answers.

No magical solutions –pardoning the pun.

Draco was so much better than he was at this. He knew health issues. He knew the health system inside out and he understood pureblood curses. He understood the implications of different cases and different bloodlines. He understood everything so much better than Harry, it seemed.

And now Draco likely hated him once more.

Harry felt his heart sink as he heard a troubled cough from the bedroom and picked up the pot of tea to bring to Ginny. He tried to brighten his face but there was a troubled expression underlying the smile.

Problem was, Harry could not be sure if the feeling stemmed from the fact that Ginny was dying and couldn’t adequately concentrate on her, or from the fact that his wife was dying and he could not adequately concentrate on Draco.

--I think I have an idea and, for it, I’m a horrible person…--

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A/N: Ah I’m so sorry! I’m a horrible, evil person! I ran away and left you all with those cliffies but you all sent me such lovely reviews and I felt bad *sheepish look*.

BUT I plotted lots with my friends while camping and have MANY wondrous and dastardly things set for the next little while so I hope it makes up for the cliffie! I will do my absolute best to keep up with the two-chapters-a-day posting promise. I hope I don’t get messed up with school and all but I will work my best at it! I’m really enjoying this and I hope you are too!

Annnnd many questions you have all asked will be addressed in the next few chapters so I hope you’ll be satisfied! If I miss your question somehow, feel free to kick me! haha 8D

Love to all for reviews!