A Dream For The Dead

A Dream For The Dead

Chapter 23

He’s Always Looking at Men

This was ridiculous. Truly ridiculous. In every imaginable way.

Also, it was embarrassing.

They were just clothes, after all. Why should they be so infinitely difficult to bear? They weren’t even bad clothes, of poor quality with shoddy craftsmanship. No, they were high quality clothes. Silky and smooth. They were lightweight too. Everything about them should have made them simple to pull on and just wear.

But no. These clothes had to be uncooperative and, against all magical logic, ridiculously painful to wear.

Alright, so they were not ridiculously painful to wear, and in fact only felt as rough as unrefined wool on normal skin, but still. Draco was used to a certain level of comfort from his clothing and he was quite miffed at the idea that he should, regardless of the reasons, be forced to wear anything if they did not feel wonderful on his body.

In an effort to find the least offending garments imaginable, Draco had emptied his entire wardrobe over the floor of his bedroom and had rifled through them all as though looking for a needle in a haystack. Consequently, he felt very much as though he was searching for a needle. He could hardly find anything that didn’t chafe in inappropriate places or cause him undue discomfort when he did so much as breathe.

Draco was a firm believer that fashion was worth the pain it entailed, but he drew the line when said fashion hampered his survival.

Thus, Draco had picked up the lightest silk robe he owned. It was fitted around the chest (because all of his robes were) and was of a deep green shade. When he slipped it on and fastened the ties, he felt the familiar scratching along his overly sensitive skin, but all it all the discomfort was minimal compared to the heavier robes he had tried.

The serious problems involved in wearing this set of robes was that it was now Halloween and, as such, the weather was less than warm. The fabric of these clothes was really meant to be worn in the summer months, during the hottest stretches. Furthermore, the cut and design of the green robes was actually meant for… well, it wasn’t really meant for public display, simply put.

Draco had not worn these robes since his wedding night with Aurora and, generally, he didn’t like to think back on the whole ordeal. Certain things about himself had been confirmed that night and, though he thanked the robes for having ultimately caused Scorpius, he did not want to relive the experience of conception, thankyouverymuch.

Draco frowned at his own reflection, which was not something he had a habit of doing. He had managed to keep the robes on his body for longer than five minutes at this point, gauging his ability to stand to wear anything for long enough to prove to Potter he was capable of actually going to his spa appointment. The new problem, however, was that Draco was unsure if he could stand to wear anything else but the robe. He had already removed his pants so that the rest of his body could breathe through the light fabric and as little of himself could be touching cloth as he could manage.

Unfortunately, there was still the matter of shoes. While he might be able to get away with going pantsless into a public arena, he was almost certain that someone would notice his lack of footwear.

The truth was his feet were not burned like the rest of his body. They were not as sensitive as his torso and thighs were. However, given his body’s uncanny decision to radiate enough heat to warm the entire house, just the thought of putting on shoes made him itch. Even in the cool October air, he wasn’t sure if he could manage the stifling nature of footwear.

Thus, he stood in front of his mirror, every pair of shoes he owned laid out before him, his toes wriggling as though they were nervous about the decision. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth and began to nibble at it before coming back to himself and mentally scolding his mouth for their traitorous behaviour.

Draco refused to allow anything to mar the perfection that was his mouth. He must have learned the behaviour from Potter, whose incessant lip-nibbling left his mouth swollen and red and ridiculously kissable.

There was a serious problem with that.

And why is everything ridiculous today?

Draco stared at his shoes and tried to remember the task at hand. He needed to focus. Generally that wasn’t a problem, but apparently Potter and his lips thought differently.

He assessed his shoes. While he was particularly fond of his dragonhide boots, and despite the fact that they were appropriate for the weather, Draco was sure that his body would explode into flames if he so much as tried to slip one toe into them.

The other unfortunate thing that occurred to him, staring at his shoes, was that all of them were made of some kind of animal hide. Mostly leather.

Leather was not breathable. Not in the slightest. The only pair that was not leather was his slippers. Those were cloth, but they were thick and, most importantly, slippers.

Draco may be prepared to wear nightclothes out into public but he was not about to complete the look by shuffling out into daylight wearing his slippers.

He briefly pondered that he might have to invest in some of those canvas trainers that Potter always wore casually, before he shut the idea down and decided that the heat must be getting to his head. He had certainly not just considered taking fashion tips from Harry Potter. Certainly not in his right mind.

Draco finally decided to go with the leather summer slip-ons. He stepped forward to slip his foot in but caught the edge of the heel and stumbled, causing the fabric of the robes to pull roughly over his chest.

With a hiss, Draco pulled back and stomped his foot, glaring at the offending shoes. He nearly decided not to wear them on principle. Then he remembered that the shoes would not acknowledge any kind of punishment and he was also a grown man.

He raised a hand to his temple and began to rub in circles, hoping to stave off the inevitable insanity.

“Need some help?” a smug voice called from the doorway. Draco very nearly jumped out of his skin. In retrospect, he might have preferred being out of his skin for a while, but then shook of the idea entirely. Turning, he saw Potter leaning quite comfortably against the doorframe, watching him.

Draco narrowed his eyes and shot Potter a glare.

“Have you forgone knocking now too?” Draco drawled, turning back to his shoes. “Your impropriety knows no bounds. I could have been naked, Potter.”

Draco could see Potter frowning at him in the mirror. He tried to ignore it.

“But you weren’t,” he replied. Draco thought he could detect a hint of disappointment in the words but then shook the thought away as madness. Unbidden, Potter stepped into the room and the door swung silently closed behind him. Draco was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was alone with Potter in his bedroom. Draco had never let anyone into his bedroom other than Aurora, and that was not entirely his choice. “And Inky let me in, if you must know.”

Draco frowned again. He would have to have a talk with Inky. To say the elf had warmed to Potter when Draco allowed him frequent visits was quite the understatement of the century. Inky was positively smitten with Potter, much to Draco’s displeasure. He seemed to want Potter to stay with Draco forever, every second in order to ‘keep Master safe’. It was somewhat stifling, really.

Draco would certainly need to have a talk with Inky.

“Why are you here, anyway?” Draco shot, glaring down at his shoes and wondering if he had enough control over his levitation charms to be able to put on his shoes that way.

Probably not.

Draco hated levitation charms. When he was performing them, anyway.

“Nice to see you too,” Potter answered shortly. He was now standing directly behind Draco, watching him watch his own shoes.

“I told you I was going to the spa today,” he snapped, rolling his eyes. “And I do recall you saying you would rather be caught dead than do something as ‘poncy as go to a spa’.” Draco punctuated the statement with a flourish of his hand. “Although that would beg the question, who precisely would like to catch you dead? I would have thought killing you would be the most satisfying part.”

“Says the man with threats on his life,” Potter shot back. Draco glared and tried to bend over to pick up the shoes, knowing that Summoning them would be a horrible mistake. Bending over was also a mistake, however, considering how roughly the cloth pulled over his back and chest. He fought the urge to hiss and grabbed his shoes roughly before righting himself. His teeth were clenched and Potter was eyeing him suspiciously. “I told you, I’m coming with you to guard you. You clearly can’t do anything without someone there to help you.” He took the shoes from Draco’s hands and motioned for Draco to move backwards and sit on the edge of the bed. Draco did as he was bidden, however reluctantly. “You can’t even put your own shoes on without wincing in pain. I don’t know what you think a massage will do when you can’t stand to be touched.”

Draco sneered as Potter knelt down before him with one shoe in hand. The image was something he had always dreamt of as a child. Well, not precisely this, but rather the idea of Potter kneeling before him much like a servant.

The actual sight, however, was not as cruelly satisfying as he had hoped. Potter gently pulled at Draco’s foot and slipped it carefully into the shoe, sliding it expertly so that the heel did not fold and scratch his skin. It was unnaturally intimate and Draco felt himself flush slightly.

“I can so stand to be touched,” he retorted, desperate for something to say. “As long as there is some kind of cream involved in the touching.” His voice was silky. He knew the underlying meanings of his words and tried not to feel uncomfortable at them. He was trying to make Potter uncomfortable. With the other shoe in hand, Potter held Draco’s foot and looked up at him sharply. His cheeks were red and his eyes were wide.

Draco, much against his knowledge, cocked his eyebrows at Potter. Potter’s eyebrows responded by making a run for his hairline. Draco smirked to himself and then Potter’s eyes trailed down Draco’s body and back up again. He felt awkward and being so obviously appraised.

“Draco, you look…” he began slowly, his voice coming out in an odd raspy tone. His hands were suddenly rather hot on Draco’s foot. He swallowed and then quirked a brow up at the blond. “Like a ponce.”

Draco’s eyes flashed and he felt his jaw fall open slightly. Then, collecting himself, he jerked his foot and kicked Potter square in the chest, sending him sprawling back on the floor.

“Ow!” Potter cried, rubbing his chest where Draco had kicked him. Draco shoved his foot roughly into the shoe and got to his feet, ignoring the pain. “I was only kidding!”

“It was an accident,” Draco said deadpanned. “Muscle spasm.”

Potter glared at him and got to his feet muttering something about his arse and how the next time Draco tried something like that he would show Draco precisely where he could put his foot. Draco tried to ignore him in favour of being smug.

Suddenly the door swung open and Aurora rushed in, wrapping her arms tightly around Draco. He hissed and gritted his teeth as her embrace –if you could call it that, Draco preferred to call it something of a choke-hold –caused unpleasant movement against his skin.

“Oh Draco,” she cried dramatically. “Are you leaving me?”

He lifted his hands to try and extricate himself. Potter watched in stunned silence for a moment before realizing that Draco was in pain and trying to find the appropriate way to react.

“I have an appointment, Aurora,” he told her carefully. “I told you that. I will be back later.”

She squeezed tighter and Draco actually whimpered very slightly. Contrary to appearances, Aurora had a very, very strong grip. Potter winced oddly and then gritted his teeth. Draco had no clue why, considering Potter was not the one being tortured by a vice.

“Don’t be long, will you?” she asked, still more dramatically. “I will miss you terribly.”

Draco tried to pry her arms away from him without actually throwing her off. As the pain increased, however, he soon began to consider the merits of violently dislodging her. Potter seemed to have noticed this as he finally stepped in and helped to pull her off of him.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Potter said in the kindest voice he had. Draco hated that Potter used that voice on everyone but him. “I will be with him and I assure you, the sooner you let him go, the sooner we can leave and the sooner you he can return to you.”

She seemed somewhat pacified by this and, thankfully, released Draco. She sighed heavily and flitted back towards the door.

“I will be a good wife while you are gone, Draco,” she promised him oddly, as though she had any household responsibilities that the house-elves did not attend to. “Though I do get so tired sometimes I wish I could take off my feet, place them on my shoulders and then fly away.”

Without another word, she flitted out the door.

The two men stood there, completely motionless, staring at the spot on the ground she had just vacated. Neither could quite manage to speak or move. Draco’s eyes were wide and his jaw was tight. Potter’s eyes were wide as well but he also looked rather mortified by the whole experience. Draco grimaced inwardly.

Maybe her insanity is actually rubbing off on me.

“We should go,” Potter said suddenly and with as much conviction as he could muster. Draco nodded, though he realized that Potter could not see him, as they were both still staring at the empty space by the door.

“Yes, definitely,” Draco responded. And never come back.

+++++

The world spun and tugged violently beneath them. Harry felt Draco brace into him and they were clutching each other tightly against the onslaught of ethereal movement. When it stopped, they looked up at each other, their eyes wide. Harry swallowed hard.

“Rough landing,” he said lamely. Malfoy nodded to him. Harry released Draco’s arm and they appeared in front of a nondescript building with a clean face. The stone was white and generally uninteresting. The building seemed to be four or five stories high. There was nothing particularly interesting about this building except for the fact that there was no discernable door. Anywhere.

Harry stared, momentarily puzzled by it. He glanced around himself trying to discern their location. It looked much to be any other street in London, but for the unnerving lack of sound.

He frowned. He was used to wizarding buildings appearing to be things they most certainly were not –it was always a way to deter Muggles from idly walking in –but this was not like the abandoned department store that housed St Mungo’s, nor the unnoticeable presence of the Leaky Cauldron. Those two establishments, and many others, banked on the notion that Muggles did not pay attention to things that did not stand out of the ordinary.

This building, with its lack of door and eery silence, certainly wouldn’t manage not to attract attention.

Draco had already started to walk toward the apparently impenetrable wall. He stopped, a foot or so away from it and pulled out his wand. Instead of tapping it on one of the bricks, however, like Harry expected, he simply proceeded to walk until he had passed through the stone itself.

Harry gaped for a moment, both angry that Malfoy would walk in without saying a word or waiting for him, and frustrated by his uncanny ability to still be surprised by the wizarding world. He immediately proceeded after Malfoy, walking at the same point where Malfoy had disappeared.

Must be like Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

He finally steeled himself for the awkward moment between stone and stepped right into the wall. His face met hard stone and he was bounced back slightly, his nose and face stinging with pain. His cheek was slightly scraped where the stone had hit him and he groaned, rubbing his wounds.

What the hell? Was it locking him out like the Platform had in his second year? Had someone sabotaged it? Did they wait for Malfoy to pass and then close the portal behind him, effectively trapping him?

Harry panicked momentarily, cursing himself for letting Malfoy get ahead of him, and then pulled out his wand. He raised it to cast a destructive spell, pointing the tip of it to the stone wall, and then something yanked him unceremoniously through the wall.

Harry stumbled forward and bumped right into a reception desk before regaining his footing and looking around. There were a handful of witches and wizards sitting in comfortable looking armchairs. The reception desk Harry had hit was large and made of cherrywood. There was a smiling witch sitting behind the desk, wearing all white. On the desk surface he read the name of the spa they had entered. Runespoor’s Three Minds Retreat. Several small tables were set around the room, bearing magazines of all sorts. Harry noticed one woman holding up a copy of Witch Weekly with deeply unsettling picture of Malfoy and Oliver Wood on the cover. Draco’s hand was pressed to Wood’s chest and Wood had one arm draped over Malfoy’s shoulder, holding a broomstick. They were both shirtless and the air around them seemed to be steaming. Their bodies were angled toward each other and the headline read ”Captain Wood and his World Class Seeker: Up, Close and Personal”. They leered out from the picture and Harry found himself flushing with a mixture of several emotions he did not want to consider.

He told himself that he was not jealous at all at the idea of Wood owning Draco in any way, nor was he hot and bothered by the image of a shirtless Malfoy staring out at him with bedroom eyes. He was most certainly not cursing the photographers for cutting off the image at their waists. Of course not.

The woman holding the magazine was staring from him to Draco and back again, clearly wondering if she was dreaming and debating whether or not to pinch herself. Harry turned to see Malfoy standing with his arms crossed over his chest (which Harry suspected must have been worth the effort, considering how painful it must be for him) and a very characteristic smirk playing on his lips.

“Did you not see me pull out my wand before entering, Potter?” he asked silkily. “Or did you, once again, believe that simply being the great Harry Potter would allow you passage through walls?”

Harry glared and glanced back at the portal. His cheeks burned painfully as he realized that the stone was just an illusion. The doorway, from the inside, was just a wall of glass with an opening. He must have looked quite the fool to walk straight into a glass door.

“I hate you,” he murmured at Draco before turning back to the receptionist. He realized, then, that everyone in the room was staring at him.

“I love you too, Potter,” Malfoy replied in a smug undertone. Harry stilled and then shook off the idea. Malfoy was baiting him. The blond stepped up to the witch and offered her a winning smile. Harry’s frown deepened. “I have an appointment at one.”

“Of course, the name?” she asked pleasantly. Draco smirked.

“Cormac McLaggen,” he purred. Harry blinked several times before registering what had occurred. The woman smiled sweetly.

“Certainly,” she said with a small nod. “If there anything I can do for you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry stammered momentarily and knew he was blushing.

“Er, no,” he said quickly. “I’m just here with him.” He pointed to Draco and decided to revise his statement. “I mean, I’m not with him, I’m just...”

“Of course, Mr. Potter,” she answered in a much more understanding voice than Harry felt comfortable with. She got up form behind the desk. Harry tried to ignore the fact that Malfoy was grinning wickedly and shaking with his silent laughter. “Please follow me.”

Harry would have punched Malfoy had he not already been in so much pain. Instead, he shot dirty looks at the blond as they followed the woman down the hall. She stopped in front of the lifts. The doors opened and they stepped inside, but the woman did not follow.

“The lift will take you to the appropriate room,” she explained with a smile that Harry was sure was permanent. “You know what to do, Mr. McLaggen. Tracy will be with you shortly.”

The doors closed in front of her and Harry gaped. Then his attention snapped back to the unpleasantly amused blond.

“What are you playing at, trying to impersonate McLaggen?” he asked rather more snappishly than he had intended. “Surely she knows who you really are. There are pictures of you strewn around their whole reception area. And I never thought that you would want to deny your own name.” There was a bitterness in his voice that Harry wished he could have better concealed.

Malfoy stopped laughing but the smirk still lingered on his face and his eyes sharpened as they looked at Harry.

“Of course she knows who I am,” he answered smoothly. “With or without the pictures.” Harry felt his irrational rage increase. He tried to force it down. “And I only use McLaggen’s name so that they bill his account instead of mine.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he gave a humourless laugh. He should have known that was what Malfoy was after. He should have expected it.

“You know,” he began somewhat sarcastically. “There might be a reason that McLaggen hates you.”

Draco sniggered and rolled his eyes.

“Nonsense,” he answered plainly. “That man is ruled by anything but rationale.” He glanced back at Harry with his eyes twinkling. “And don’t get your Auror robes in a twist, Potter. The Department of Magical Games and Sports pays for all work-related treatments. A deep-tissue sports massage certainly qualifies.” His smirk grew as the doors pinged open. “I’m only cutting out the middle man.”

Harry shook his head, trying not to laugh. He hated McLaggen too and, frankly, thought that the bloody git deserved whatever Malfoy could dish out and more. Still, he couldn’t quite allow himself to condone any of Draco’s shenanigans. Could he?

He walked into the room, vaguely wondering what kind of lift they had enchanted to bring people directly to rooms, rather than to assigned floors. The room itself was not all that large. The walls were painted in creamy shades of sage. The lighting was dim but everything was visible. There was a table in the corner. On the table there was something concealed by a large green sheet. In the centre of the room there was a cushioned massage table with a hole in the top for a person’s face. It was covered with fluffy cream towels and there was a wide linen cloth lain over the top of the massage table.

Harry blinked and realized that Malfoy was staring at him. He looked up at him and shrugged.

“You should probably wait outside, Potter,” he said simply. Harry stared at him with raised eyebrows and he rolled his eyes. “I have to undress. Unless you want to watch.” The words caused a rush of blood to move southward in Harry’s body and he choked slightly.

“No, you prat,” he shot. “I do not want to watch. But I can’t very well leave you alone in this room, either. Someone could come in and attack you while my back is turned. That wouldn’t make me a very effective bodyguard, now would it?”

If his own words had not sounded rather nervous in his own ears, Harry might have congratulated himself. He wasn’t sure for what, but either way, it did not come out the way he wanted it to. He frowned. It occurred to him that he frowned quite a lot while in Malfoy’s presence.

“Potter, no one is going to attack me in here,” he answered dismissively. Harry opened his mouth to argue but Malfoy shook his head. “But since you are so keen as to guard my body,” he continued, his tone smooth as silk. “Then by all means, hang around.” Then, much to Harry’s horror –and secret pleasure –Malfoy’s hands began to carefully unfasten the toggles of his robes. Harry watched in muted shock as the material parted to reveal a strip of the pale skin that Harry had been treated to for somewhere near two weeks now.

“Please, Malfoy,” he said, much as a reason to speak rather than stare. Draco’s eyes were trained on his face as he worked, toeing off his shoes. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Two pale eyebrows rose up in mild surprise.

“You’ve seen me naked before, have you?” he asked, bemused. Harry was taken aback.

“No, but I have seen you in nothing but trousers and with little more than a towel to cover you,” he explained, hoping that his cheeks were not tinted pink at the memory. “And surely your pants cover as much as those did.”

Harry was sure that some of his own blush had rubbed off on Malfoy because there was no good reason that the blond would have flushed after that. He covered it well with a waggle of his eyebrows and a smirk.

“You’ve never been to a spa, have you?” he asked oddly. Then, in one swift movement, Draco pulled the robes over his head. Harry gasped roughly, realizing that Malfoy was entirely nude beneath the robes, no pants at all.

“You--… you,” he began inarticulately. Malfoy smirked and turned his back to Harry to face the table. Harry’s traitorous eyes travelled down the lean back to take in the swell of Malfoy’s pale arse. He swallowed, apparently having given up on words. Then jerked back violently, aware of what he had been doing. “Why aren’t you.. wearing pants??”

He asked the question before coming to the conclusion that he did not want an answer. Draco bent over the table slightly to pick up the linen cloth. As he did, Harry’s mind betrayed him deeply and conjured, completely unbidden, images of Malfoy bent over the table while Harry held him and pushed deeply into –

Harry made some incomprehensible noises as he drove the heel of his hand into his eye to try and distract himself.

“This massage requires I be naked, Potter,” the silky voice punctured his fit. Harry immediately straightened and tried to put on an air of calm. “No need to get your knickers in a knot and worry that I will taint you with my Slytherin perversions.”

Harry was relieved when the comment brought a sense of normalcy back to the situation. He snorted and crossed his arms over his chest as Malfoy laid himself down on the table, on his front. He propped himself up on one elbow and carefully tried to drape the linen over his exposed arse. Harry saw he was having trouble and decided that it was only polite to help.

He was doing Malfoy a favour really.

Without a word, he took the linen cloth and spread it out over Draco’s bum, carefully shielding him from view. He felt his throat get dry as he did and knew that there were silver eyes watching him intently.

“I couldn’t stand to stare at your pasty arse any longer,” he offered in way of explanation. Malfoy hummed at him and laughed softly.

“Staring, were you?”

Harry flushed and cursed himself. He bloody well was mad. Completely mad.

“Shut up,” he shot, backing towards the chair in the room. The ground suddenly shifted again and sent him flying into the chair with a thud. He looked up, unnerved and wondering if Malfoy heard. He realized that the blond’s hands were tightly clasped to the table, as though fighting something that was trying to throw him.

Harry considered the hands for a moment, wanting to ask the question that had been niggling at the back of his mind for weeks now. Just as he opened his mouth, however, a woman swept into the room. She was very tall and thin. She had long black hair, pulled back into a long tail at the base of her skull. She wore all white, much like the receptionist.

“Draco,” she said with a pleasantly low voice that elicited shivers along Harry’s spine. Harry wondered if she had the same effect on Malfoy and then felt a familiar monster roar within him. He quashed it and looked to the side. “So glad to see you again. I thought you might be back, given what the news was saying about you.”

There was a familiarity between her and Draco that Harry did not like at all.

“Ah, Tracy,” Malfoy hummed quietly. “You know I can’t stay away for long, no matter what the news says.”

He flashed her a smile before lying down and placing his head in the hole on the table. Harry wanted to push it down further as a punishment for flirting so openly with the massage therapist when Harry was still in the room.

And when he was already married.

That too.

“Quite the charmer, isn’t he?” she asked, addressing Harry now. Harry’s attention snapped away from Malfoy’s covered arse where he had apparently been staring and up to the woman.

“Er, right,” Harry said oddly. He was caught off-guard. “Charming as a snake.”

Tracy laughed a tinkling laugh and nodded at him.

“Will I get to relieve your stress next, Mr. Potter?” she asked simply. Harry shook his head.

“No, no,” he answered, trying to sound relaxed. The idea of relaxation was that you shouldn’t have to try to achieve it. “I’m fine. Just here for… observational purposes.”

Right, observing Malfoy’s arse.

Harry cursed the part of his mind that insisted on being disobedient.

“Of course,” she said. Then she turned to the table in the corner and pulled the sheet off the concealed item. Standing in front of it, she blocked most of it from Harry’s sight. He waited, thinking she was probably picking out a cream of some kind.

When she turned around, however, she was not holding a bottle of cream, nor anything at all like it.

She was holding a massive, bright red snake.

-----

A/N: So a bit of a departure from the previous chapters. O_O I hope you enjoyed it. :D I send my hearts to you all! Love for reviews!

This fic baffles me sometimes. XD Not a good sign, neh? Ah well. *cookies*