Broken Toy

Warnings: Language and a little bit of smut, violence mentioned,
Author's Notes: Want more barns to explode? *g* Hm, no, not this time. At least no barns…
Or more of paranoid Draco?

Hope you’ll enjoy chap seven as you enjoyed the previous chaps!

ETA: Beta'ed by ravenqueen55!

Chapter Seven

Both men were strolling down a dusty track across the fields in mutual silence. Neither seemed to have eyes for the beautiful landscape with the lush meadows and bright summer flowers. Nor had they ears for the dogs frolicking around them, every now and then chasing each other, barking with delight.

After breakfast, Potter told Draco he was taking the boys for a little walk and asked him if he wanted to come along. Draco had nothing better to do, so he agreed to accompany Potter on his dog-walking excursion.

Potter had changed into beige shorts and a white shirt. It was still morning, but the temperature was already rising. It was a hot summer this year. Draco’s eyes lingered on Potter’s exposed lower legs for a moment. He could make out lots of fine, black hair on the muscles beyond the knees. Thankfully not too much: in fact, just about right… He wondered if there was similar hair higher up. He knew exactly how the hairs would feel if he touched them, soft and smooth as silk.

Now how would it look if Potter was wearing some hot pants instead of those boring, modest jams? If he was wearing some real shorts? Shorts so tight his firm buttocks became apparent beneath the fabric? Pants so short that Draco could see the muscles of Potter’s thighs flexing with every move he made? And the material of the shorts so close-fitting that it showed the outline of the perfect body’s genitals? Shorts that were displaying everything that mattered rather than covering it up?

Draco pulled himself together. There was business to think of, serious business. His whole future depended on the goodwill of this thoroughly virile, well-proportioned young man strolling innocently beside him. Draco had to remind himself constantly that he had to please Perfect Potter. Which didn’t seem to be an easy plan, for Potter’s jaw was set, and his brow was slightly wrinkled. The whole man radiated unfamiliar calmness and reserve. Where was the ridiculous Gryffindor, guided solely by impulsive emotions and acting upon noble, silly principles?

Draco almost stumbled when he was suddenly addressed by the stern young man beside him. His flinching earned him one of those irritated sidelong glances. Damn. He had missed completely what Perfect Potter was saying.

“Wha-hat?” There wasn’t anything else Draco was able to choke out.

The green eyes were watching him closely, he could sense it, but Draco didn’t intend to meet those eyes. He didn’t intend to look up at all. Staring firmly at the ground, he waited for Potter to continue. But all of his sinews and nerves were on the alert.

“I just suggested that we’d better do some shopping tomorrow. You need some clothes.”

Shopping? Clothes?? For HIM???

“I don’t know about Diagon Alley and the shops there. I mean… I don’t know if we’re allowed to buy wizard things for you. Any idea?”

Draco shook his head faintly.

“Well, then... Better not risk anything. We’d better go to Muggle London, if you can stand to wear Muggle clothes, that is.”

Draco’s heart did a somersault. Clothes. For him! But then his heart tumbled into his stomach. What kind of clothes? Leather garments, sexy underwear? Latex tangas, tight suspender belts? Collars? Handcuffs made of shining steel? What kind of kinks made Potter…

“So if you don’t mind wearing Muggle garments, we’ll pay my favourite shop a visit. You can get anything you want, anything…”

Draco’s heart sank even lower, if possible.

“…from undergarments to evening dresses. So?”

Potter was watching him expectantly, so Draco forced what he hoped to be convincing smile and nodded feebly.

SHIT. That was insufficient. He had to entertain Potter, make him happy! So he managed a low “Thank you!”, but that didn’t seem to please Potter at all. Shit again.

If Draco wanted to succeed, he had to amuse Potter, to adjust himself to the conceited git. He should at least be able to manage some small talk. Babbling, that’s what they liked, what they all liked…

“Are you married?” Draco blurted out.

Now what was that? Heavens! How in the world had Draco managed to put his foot in it in such a blunt way? Hel-LO? Had he gone mental?

Starting to shiver slightly, he dared a quick sidelong glance at his protégée-to-be. But Potter didn’t react in any way. He didn’t seem to have heard the question. Or did he?

Draco felt little droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. Please don’t let him get angry. Please don’t let him get mad. Please... Please no beatings for undue behaviour. Please no hot metal burning the skin of my bum. Please no clamps administered to my testicles. Please no cutting of the tender skin around my nipples. Please no pain… PLEASE. NOOO. Not again…

“No.”

Potter’s simple response came like a shock.

Still strolling leisurely along the dusty road, never hesitating in his steady, slow pace, Potter shot a quick glance in Draco’s direction, then looked down at the lane again. After an awkward silence, Potter went on talking in a low voice.

“No, I’m not married. Not that I didn’t get any offers…” Draco was astounded how detached the man’s voice sounded.

“I didn’t want to. Marry, I mean.” Potter’s voice was still somewhere far away. “It just didn’t seem appropriate…” A somewhat cheerless chuckle followed.

All of Draco’s senses became alert. What? This sounded Gryffindorish all right! Too noble to marry? Why?

The Slytherin inside Draco, which had been asleep in its hideout for such a long time, stirred. Slightly dazed, it lifted its head out of the warm nest where it had securely buried its head these last years. Leisurely it shook its head, stretched its long neck, and slowly opened its eyes. Shrewdly it took in its surroundings, the vertical pupils able to detect every small gesture of weakness, and the little slit-like nostrils able to take in every faint smell of insecurity.

“Why not appropriate?” Draco dared to investigate further, but cautiously, careful not to disturb Potter’s train of thought.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Another one of the humourless chuckles followed. “How can I have a family when there’s so much of…. when I can’t… when there’s still… AH, FORGET IT.”

Draco tensed up, but there was nothing to be worried about, for Potter’s rage subsided the instant it had flared up. “Forget it,” Potter repeated softly. The young wizard abruptly bent down and picked up a blue cornflower. Caressing it tenderly with his lips, his nostrils flaring slightly, a restrained smile appeared upon his features.

Taking advantage of the balanced mood, Draco wondered if he had the nerve to ask what had been nagging him ever since Potter had taken him away from the Restricted Corner. Did he really dare? But of course. He had to know. “And… why me?” He held his breath for an instant. “I mean… Why did you buy me out? … After all the things I did to you…You have to… You must hate me!”

Draco didn’t know what kind of reaction he had expected. But nothing could have ever prepared him for Potter’s intense response.

“Hah! Hate. ” Alarmingly high-pitched hysterical laughter followed, hurting Draco’s ears. The cornflower slipped out of Potter’s hand. As soon as it touched the ground, Potter stepped upon it, crushing it. “HATE?” he bellowed.

A mass of untidy black hair whirled around, and gleaming bright green eyes were fixing him. “What do you really know about … hate? And what it can do to people?”

Draco instinctively backed away, but Potter advanced in his direction. Aggression was increasing, Draco could sense it by the heat radiating off the outraged wizard. Cold fear, creeping up his stomach, let his limbs go weak instantly, but he managed to retreat a further step backwards.

Draco whimpered, trying to get his trembling body under control, when Potter grabbed the hem of his shirt and pushed it up to his Adam’s apple, nearly suffocating him. He stared down as if he was hypnotized into the huge, frantic emerald eyes. Paralysed, Draco’s arms were hanging at his sides, unable to put up any kind of resistance.

Both men were panting audibly, and neither of them knew who was shaking more. Potter’s face was just an inch away from Draco’s, their noses almost touching.

And just for one wild, incoherent dreamlike second Draco expected Harry to kiss him. Hard. On his lips. With passion.

Draco’s mind went blank. His palms got soppy. His legs turned to jelly. His stomach contracted uncomfortably. His prick twitched slightly. His eyelids fluttered, and his lips parted expectantly to receive the possessive kiss he longed for.

Potter let go of Draco’s shirt as if he had burned himself.

A strange emotion, feeling like he had lost something, something rare and important, made Draco wince.

Potter’s hand reached out towards him again, as if to adjust Draco’s crumpled shirt, but jerked back an instant later. Emerald eyes were boring into his, pleading.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. It’s just… Sometimes I’m just not in control of things. Of myself. Of … anything...”

The head with the incredible shock of messy black hair bent down. Draco had to strain his ears to understand what the famous star of the wizarding world was saying.

“Hate is the worst thing that ever happened to me. Hate brought me to where I’m now. I’ve hated so much, I’ve been too blind to see…”

Goosebumps were building up on Draco’s arms, running up to his neck, hurting the roots of the hair on his head. An inspiration flashed through his mind, and suddenly he simply knew. He understood everything.

“Snape? Severus Snape?” His question was cautious, not wanting to provoke any kind of outbreak again.

For a long time there was silence, and Draco wondered again if the other man had heard his question at all. The dark head was still bent down. Fascinated, Draco started to examine the thick black hair closely. Never before had he seen such thick strands of hair. His right hand twitched, longing to stroke the unruly shock, wanting to set it in order.

“Yes. Snape.” Potter’s head jerked up so suddenly Draco’s head moved instinctively back a few inches. The agonized expression on Potter’s face made Draco’s insides tighten painfully.

Potter turned his head slowly around, as if searching for something. Squinting his eyes, he at last looked dreamily up at the cloudless, deep-blue sky.

“It’s entirely my fault.” His lips curled up into a bitter smile. “I killed him.” The grief in Potter’s voice made the blood in Draco’s veins freeze. “I’ve been so blind, so blind of hate…And he was innocent. Yes. Snape was innocent. He was the bravest of us all, spied for us, endangered his life. And I killed him. Just because I hated him. Because I decided he was the bad one. I was so sure of myself, so sure that I was right, dim-witted imbecile that I am...”

The harassed smile deepened upon his lips. “But do you know what’s even worse?” Sudden fear welled up in Draco’s stomach. He wasn’t too keen to find out what was worse than killing off an innocent man. But Potter didn’t expect an answer anyway. He simply continued in his far off, enervating voice.

“It was the way I killed him…”

Goosebumps tickled Draco’s entire body all at once. No. He didn’t want to know, he didn’t! His eyes were still fixed on some far off point in the bright blue sky as Potter continued his toneless narration, every now and then breaking off as if reliving some certain, unpleasant memory.

“I’ve always had trouble with my temper. Sometimes I just wasn’t able to control it…maybe you remember, at Hogwarts? Ah… but of course you do… When I came of age, it got worse… my temper, I mean. Yeah, and about the same time I found out that I’m really good at non-verbal spells… a deadly combination…”

Again Draco heard the strange cheerless cackle. His heart was pounding so loud in his chest he could feel the beats thudding in his ears. But he couldn’t escape; he was forced to hear the rest of it.

“When I finally hunted Snape down, he just sneered at me. He sneered at me, do you understand? Called me names. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it. Why didn’t he just explain? WHY? If… But he didn’t. And when he finally made fun of my dad, again, humiliated me and my dad, again, like oh so many countless times before, I exploded… Yes... Something inside me simply exploded. And so did Snape. Just like that….You see? There was nothing left of him. Nothing. Just ashes.”

The features of the handsome face contorted slightly. Obviously Potter still had the scene vividly in front of his mind’s eyes.

Thoroughly dumbfounded, Draco was beyond feeling shocked or even horrified. He felt nothing. Nothing at all.

“After I finished Voldemort, I went to St. Mungo’s for awhile. Voluntarily. They taught me to get my temper under control. Self-awareness, breathing techniques and so on. After half a year, they told me that I was healed. That I was in control again. But I didn’t believe them… That’s why I’m living out here. That’s why I’m not married. And that’s why I swear to myself every single day of my life that I will never, never give in again to such a primitive feeling as hate.”

Potter’s eyes wandered dreamily about Draco’s face, but Draco was sure that the man with those incredible handsome features didn’t register anything of what he saw.

“No. I don’t hate you.”

Green eyes suddenly gazed intensely into grey ones. Both of the men’s faces were completely expressionless. The intensity and significance of their locked eyes seemed to be increasing the longer they kept on staring.

One of the dogs suddenly let out a bark.

The emerald eyes behind the round glasses instantly blinked one or two times, breaking the intimate contact. In a split second, Potter whirled around and shielded Draco with his body, which seemed to have become taller, broader. The dark head hastily turned around, his intense stare scanning their surroundings for any signs of danger, his wand hand at the ready.

The dogs had tracked down a rabbit. Calmed, Potter let out a small sigh. Nothing to worry about. His body relaxed, and he turned slowly around to face Draco. Before his investigating eyes could return to Draco’s face, something on the dusty ground caught his attention.

“Oh.”

Potter bent down abruptly and picked up the remains of the crumpled cornflower. Absentmindedly, he closed his hands upon the shattered herb. A ghost of a sweet smile flashed across his lips.

“And by the way, I know that you never would have killed Dumbledore, that time at the tower. You’re not made that way. I know. I was there. I saw you. ”

A real smile spread on Potter’s face. When he opened his palms, he raised a completely intact blue cornflower towards his face and caressed it tenderly with his lips.

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