Out of the Night that Covers Me

Out of the Night that Covers Me

by Mephistedes


.:.

VIII. Dust to Dust

.:.

Gareth’s murder wasn’t unlike Jimmy’s or the others. In fact, everything was the same, down to the liquefied brain, the lack of witnesses, and the dead animal — his cat Humphrey — somewhere in his flat. Gareth himself was found spread-eagled by his open window, a copy of Quidditch World by his body. At that sight, Harry had nearly broken a lamp in his rage.

The murder was pitch-perfect with the others, with the exception of a few minor details. One, Gareth wasn’t a Gryffindor. Two, he never played for a Quidditch team. His murder completely broke the established pattern. So why was he targeted?

Even more strangely were the black pellets found on Gareth’s clothing and in his hair. No one had a clue what they were — though McLaggen was the first to suggest some type of illegal substance so as to besmirch the young Auror. It was the first and only time Harry was actually glad they’d kept Pash around.

They’d garnered more than a few strange looks from the Aurors and other S.P.O.O.K.s when Malfoy strutted into the flat with his usual arrogance. His menacing stride was futile, however, given the bright-eyed ball of fur nestled in the crook of his arm. Before Harry opened his mouth to explain, Cottenham rubbed his temples with a strained expression and walked away. Harry decided he’d try again when the S.P.O.O.K. director was more amenable to hearing nonsense.

So when the boastful S.P.A.R.C. swaggered by Draco, Pash leapt from the blond’s hold and lunged for McLaggen’s neck. She only managed to grab hold of his robes with her short paws before she tumbled, saved by Harry’s diving grab. McLaggen escaped without injury, but there was nothing Harry could do for his battered reputation. Harry chuckled to himself many a time that night when he passed the frightened S.P.A.R.C. by, steadying hand still clutching at the neck of his robes.

One would think any creature would be grateful to him for that near miss, but of course, Pash wasn’t any creature. She established nothing between them had changed by snapping at him when he’d tried to pat her for her good work. Harry still frowned when he thought of the praise Draco had given her for that alone.

Of course, Harry carried around a sense of guilt in the weeks following Perkins’ death, feeling he should have at least followed up on Gareth’s progress. While he hadn’t known the clever Auror too well, Harry believed he owed it to Gareth to solve his senseless murder, as well as the others’.

The weeks went by rather quickly after their impromptu chinchilla rescue and the Auror’s murder. Both he and Malfoy had returned to work the next day having not said a word to Cottenham about their deviation from protocol. Malfoy had been more reluctant to return to the messy lifestyle of volunteerism since they’d cleared the manager of any suspicion. Speaking of whom, Rhys had become considerably civiler towards them and the sheltered animals since then.

“Well, you asked me to modify his memory,” drawled Malfoy once more, this time from his doorstep. “You didn’t think I’d put him completely back to rights? And why are we still working there? Haven’t we ruled out the possibility of Bleeding Heart being the brains behind the homicides?”

Harry rolled his eyes as he guided the blond inside, giving the enclosure with the chirping chinchilla wide berth. As he softly closed the door, so as not to set off Mrs. Black’s portrait, Draco paused halfway in to sniff at the air.

“And I still say it smells like vomit and Firewhisky in here.”

With a nervous laugh, Harry led him up the stairs to the drawing room.

This had also become a frequent occurrence: Draco’s visits to Grimmauld Place. Since they couldn’t go back to Cardiff or hand Pash over to Rhys, Harry had grudgingly agreed to ‘joint custody’ with Malfoy. Draco didn’t want her, but Pash latched on to the Slytherin like Teddy did Harry.

If the creature wasn’t so nasty to him, Harry would have thought it endearing. And while Harry also didn’t want the testy chinchilla, especially around Teddy, he had to admit they were only in this position because of him. Well, there was that reason, and there was Hermione’s.

He was reluctant to approach her for help, as she’d been busy sorting the final details of her fast-approaching nuptials. (Ron had suspiciously been spending more and more time at George’s joke shop of late. He cited the lone twin needed an extra hand, but there were six other workers already under employ.) Being Hermione, Harry knew she’d started planning the moment Ron fell on bended knee three years prior. But as she was the only one he knew with membership to the public library, he had no other choice but to ask her.

Again, being Hermione, she’d grilled him for details as he was being fitted for his morning suit. When he’d asked about the Muggle fitting, she’d nattered on about wanting a ‘balanced wedding,’ since her relatives were all Muggles.

Only Ron was allowed to wear his dress robes as Hermione’s relatives had met him frequently over the years. Due to their constant exposure to his spontaneous exclamations about plugs and toasters and fellytones, Hermione’s family anticipated Ron’s weirdness. Harry was stabbed several times by the pins in his trousers from laughing so hard.

But it hadn’t deterred him from the brainy witch’s interrogation. Harry knew he couldn’t tell her the truth, as it was confidential. Citing a coworker’s predicament, Hermione suspiciously agreed then, more than likely assuming he was doing it to impress a lovely witch at work. (She’d been asking about his companion for the wedding, not-so-subtly hinting at Ginny or perhaps Luna.) By the next afternoon, Errol had crashed against his bedroom window with a tightly-bound package of eight library books.

He’d skipped over the books referring to the rodents’ South American legacy and loaded up on the basic needs, relaying the information back to a disgruntled Malfoy. (“You mean to tell me I can’t just set that thing loose in the park and be rid of it?”)

Since he didn’t want Rhys overhearing about their stowaway and didn’t have an owl (though he was starting to see the ghostly doppelganger of his familiar more frequently), Harry swallowed his dignity and suggested they meet at their homes to both discuss the case and care for their chinchilla. Naturally, Malfoy objected to that idea, citing it was Harry’s fault they were even in this mess.

He had been a lot more agreeable when Harry proposed meeting at Grimmauld Place. It was ideal after all, Harry convinced himself. Draco’s house was unlikely to have a speck of dust anywhere; the blond probably would have balked at hearing he’d have to buy dust just for the rodent to ‘bathe’ in.

Which brought him to tonight’s visit. Harry rolled his eyes as they climbed the stairs. “You say that every time you come here. D’you have nothing else to say?” he asked, his tone light and casual.

“Have I commented on your décor yet?”

“Just last week.”

“Well, it’s still horrendous.”

“BURK!”

“No one asked you your opinion,” Harry replied to both of them, pausing to let Malfoy go through first.

“That’s too bad,” Draco mockingly groaned as he appraised the corridor. Harry gave him a pointed look when the blond stopped in the doorway, wryly grinning just inches from his face. Strangely, Harry found his lips stretching into a smile as well. “Because you clearly need my personal touch.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Your personal touch?” Draco nodded once. “And what would that be?”

He followed the blond’s impish grey eyes as they darted about the drab hallway. “Oh, a dash of Sickle silver here, some Slytherin green there, gold Galleons raining from the ceiling, and if you’re really bold, a Muggle or two dangling from the wall sconces.”

Harry drew back, feigning shock. “Was that a joke?”

The pale wizard chuckled in true amusement, a sound Harry would’ve never heard from him. This was the most relaxed he’d ever seen Draco, a far cry from the strained teenager or cavalier agent he’d pictured these days. He liked Draco more like this, at ease and untroubled. Human.

“Potter?”

“Mm?”

“You’re staring at me.”

Harry blinked at his wry expression before clearing his throat and finally entering the drawing room. “So, shall we?” he clapped his hands together with a nervous titter. He could practically feel the blood vessels bursting in his cheeks. Why was he this edgy all of a sudden?

Pash chirruped irritably and noisily rolled around in her cage as Draco set her down on the table.

Harry stared at the grumpy chin distastefully. “Still as sweet as ever, I see.”

“Been like that every night,” Malfoy resignedly said as he shucked his traveling cloak. “It’s maddening.”

“They are nocturnal.”

Harry took the proffered traveling cloak and set it on the armchair. “So what are we doing about shutting her up?”

“Oh, um ... I read up about dust baths this week — ”

Draco chuckled as he straightened the hem of his robes. “You ought to be careful, or you’ll turn into Granger.”

“Had a hard time coming by fine pumice round here, so I got sand instead,” explained Harry. “She’s supposed to have a dust bath several times a week to keep her coat soft. Not that I’d know, since she won’t let me get within an inch of her.”

“Give her time. She’ll come round.”

Harry scoffed. “Yeah, when McGonagall starts prancing around Hogwarts in a tartan negligee.”

“Oh, that’s nasty, Potter.” Malfoy groaned. “How do you sleep at night?”

“I can’t. Not with that image to fall asleep by.”

Kreacher popped in then with his usual earsplitting crack, croaking, “Master Harry,” and bowing low. Harry spied Regulus’ locket barely sweeping the floor around his thin neck. The house-elf straightened, immediately noticing Draco. His tiny eyes glittered with something akin to delight, for which Harry stifled a snicker. “Kreacher has come to inquire about dinner, for Master Harry and the son of Miss Cissy?”

Harry turned to Draco. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

Draco tore his eyes off the expectant house-elf long enough to reply, “Couldn’t hurt. Unless McGonagall’s dropping in half-naked.”

“There will be more guests?” Kreacher questioned.

“No, Malfoy’s just being facetious.” The Slytherin’s eyebrows rose, a clear indication of his approval. “Thanks, Kreacher.”

“You looked it up.” Malfoy’s tone held mild approval.

“I had to,” Harry said through a chuckle. “I didn’t know what it meant.” He’d actually asked Hermione, but Malfoy didn’t need to know. “Right, then: dust bath! Pop her out of the cage before she manages to break through.”

Draco nodded and moved to open Pash’s cage as Harry fetched the old pot with sand he’d filled just before the blond had arrived. He watched as Malfoy tried, with great difficulty, to grab hold of the fuzzy creature seemingly keen on avoiding his grasp. “Trouble, Malfoy?”

The blond leveled him with a glare before he made a swipe for Pash who, again, escaped. As he pounced a second time, Harry heard the distinct rrrip of tearing fabric followed by the sound of tinny plastic bouncing off wood.

Malfoy exclaimed loudly before rushing into a scrambling frenzy. As he made to grab the tesseract badges, Harry frowned at noting a spark of fear in his grey eyes.

Harry jumped up to help, catching two badges the blond had missed. He rolled them over in his hands to study them before handing them over. When Malfoy shoved them deep within his trouser pockets, a curiously relieved expression came over his face.

“D’you always carry those around?” Harry broached, smiling slightly. “Your tesseracts?

Malfoy appraised him with a serious look, sobering the Gryffindor instantly. He nodded. “Keeps me focused on the bigger picture, I suppose.”

A crease in his brow, Harry said, “This is really important to you.”

“And you.” Draco quietly returned. When Harry gave him a questioning look, he clarified, “Someone’s murdering Gryffindors, and your friend in the General Aurors. I’d think that would strike the heart of you.”

“It does,” Harry agreed softly. “I just.... Where’s Pash?” He glanced at the open cage to find it empty, as well as the pot beside it. Though there was a slight mess of sand nearby showing the rodent had taken its bath. “That monster’s running loose in my home?”

“Calm down, Potter,” Draco demanded, peering around the room. “She can’t have gone far.”

“Of course not: the rodent escape artist who can leap over bookshelves and break out of cages, not far at all! I’ll bet she’s never done this with you,” he growled as he began searching beneath the sofa pillows. He only found Teddy’s stuffed Harpies bear that he’d lost on his last visit, as he was busily poking his fingers into the burn marks on the Black Family tapestry.

“Now that you mention it,” Draco chuckled, “she hasn’t.”

“This is not funny, Malfoy!” Harry snapped at the sniggering Slytherin. “I’ve got a barking, biting beast running amok in my house, and you’re laughing.”

The blond threw him a naughty smile as he pulled off his robes. “If it’s any consolation, I’m laughing with you.”

“But I’m not laughing!”

“Oh ... well, then: ha, ha.”

Harry emerged from behind the chair, shaking dust from his hair and scowling at Draco. “We’ll see who’s laughing next time when I — ”

“GRIKT! VRIRRT! GRIK!”

Harry froze, as did Malfoy. So the infernal chinchilla was still in the room. Of course she was: she lived to terrorize him, after all.

There was a silent exchange between them during which Draco agreed he’d take the front of the room and Harry, the back. Harry skulked quietly to the place where he’d last heard the noise, the left glass-front cabinet. As he approached his destination, Harry gestured wildly at Malfoy to get his attention. He hadn’t heard it before now, but there it was: a scritch-scritch-scratch sound.

“On three,” he mouthed to Malfoy.

But the blond shook his head and soundlessly replied, “Why not ‘one?’”

He must have really frightened Malfoy with his black look: the Slytherin conceded his argument just as soon as he’d started. Holding up three fingers, Harry lowered each one after a few seconds before he dove at the empty space beneath the cabinet.

“Aha! Gotcha!”

“BURK!”

He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

Before he even landed on his face with a pained, “Ooof!” the insane rodent shot out of the dark and leapt into the open.

“Agh, blwah! Malfoy, grab her!” shouted Harry as he spat balls of dust from his mouth. Kreacher seemed to have been remiss in his duties while he was off at work.

“VRRRIRT! VRIT! KRIKT!”

Together they darted around the room after the elusive rodent, crashing into armchairs, smashing the writing desk, cracking the glass of one cabinet (he’d grabbed a brass poker and had gone swinging), and stuffing was poking out of every chair. He was sure Kreacher would be burning his meals for a month; then again, with the amount of dust in the room, they might draw even.

“Bright side to all this,” Draco grunted as Harry splintered another glass-front, “she’s getting her dust bath. And this would be the place to go: the dusty mecca for all giant rats.”

“Chinchillas!”

“Whatever!” laughed Malfoy. And Harry laughed, too, because he couldn’t remember a time when he’d heard Draco laugh so richly.

The euphoric feeling came to a screeching halt when a startled cry from Malfoy had Harry fumbling to stand up, and hurdling over the sofa with a nimbleness he never knew he possessed. He found Malfoy on his knees by the coffee table staring at his hand. “Malfoy? What — ?”

“She bit me,” he declared in disbelief. “She bit me! Me!”

“Welcome to my world,” Harry tetchily panted. “Where’s she gone....”

He trailed off, spotting the large-eyed chin standing a yard from door on its hind legs, greyish ears erect and pink nose twitching. Oh, he really despised that rodent.

Standing stock still, Harry faintly whispered, “Malfoy.”

And of course the beast’s ears had to pick up his voice. With a swish of her tail, Pash was bounding towards freedom.

“The door, Malfoy! The door, the door!”

“Wha — oh, Stupefy!”

The red spell crackled as it fired from Draco’s wand and struck the chinchilla, but it must’ve barely cleared her heels. Harry was sure the spell hit, but the ball of ivory fluff scurried into the corridor and out of sight. Slumping over the sofa’s back with a groan, Harry groused, “...bollocks.”

If he listened hard enough, Harry thought he could hear her laughing at them.

With a frustrated sigh, Harry ran his fingers through his dust-covered hair, turning to Malfoy. He felt somewhat ill-at-ease as a real serious look clouded the blond’s expression.

“Fuck this. I’m Summoning the bloody rat.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot into his fringe. He absently realized he’d never heard Malfoy swear, before he heeded Malfoy’s second declaration.

Malfoy had already raised his wand again when he shouted, “No, you can’t!” Harry couldn’t believe he was defending the chinchilla after everything she’d done. “Don’t hurt her.”

He winced at the flabbergasted look storming Malfoy’s face. “Are you serious? Damn it, Potter, look around you!” the blond all but screeched as he waved his arms about. “She's destroyed your home!”

“I know! And I hate her for it,” Harry said through a huff, “but I will not risk breaking her neck just to Summon her!”

Draco said nothing for a while and just stared at him stoically. Harry counted twenty-three blinks before the flaxen-haired wizard sighed, stashing his wand away.

“You are such an idiot.”

Harry grinned cheekily, counteracting with, “Would you rather I be facetious?”

Malfoy blinked again, but rather than hurl insults, the wizard smiled at him, wryly shaking his head.

Harry sniggered through his nose and looked around at the chaos. He decided he’d at least try to fix the room a bit so Kreacher didn’t have to do everything; he preferred his meals cooked, not scorched. Speaking of which: “C’mon. We’d better go find Pash before Kreacher mistakes her for tomorrow’s fresh catch of the day.”

But as he’d turned away, Harry felt the warm spark shoot up his arm that only came about whenever Malfoy grabbed his wrist. “Hang on, Potter,” the blond quietly said, tugging him back around. Harry swallowed thickly as he was spun around to face Malfoy and locked on his eyes, his sharp eyes, like eagle’s eyes, but nooo, he did not just think that....

He suddenly went stiff (God, he hoped not in more than one place) as Draco gently pulled him closer, a tiny grin playing on his lips. Harry swallowed again, begging whoever was having a laugh up there at his expense that he didn’t turn a bright shade of Weasley-red.

Malfoy’s too-hot hand released his wrist and Harry didn’t know whether to cry in relief or anguish. But why would he feel anguish? It wasn’t as if he fancied Malfoy; he couldn’t even tolerate being his non-partner partner....

He started slightly as Malfoy slid a forefinger down the bridge of his nose with a low chuckle.

“Still can’t keep your nose clean, Potter.”

He was moving without thinking, and Malfoy was, too, and before he knew it, he was kissing him. He was kissing Malfoy.

And he liked it.

Which was why Harry pulled back from the mindless kiss, holding the baffled Slytherin at arm’s length as he caught his breath. How long had they been kissing?

“Hang on, just ... wait,” he emphasized with a braced hand on the blond’s chest. He was shaking, but with what? Passion? Longing? Anger? Malfoy eyed him expectantly, and Harry only realized the pure-blood’s hands were around his waist. “You’re a ... bloke.”

Draco fleetingly glanced at the ceiling before nodding hastily. “I’m aware of that.”

Harry barely had time to breathe before Malfoy’s lips were on his again, and there were teeth this time, teeth! And Malfoy’s thumbs were circling a pattern over his hipbone, driving him mad....

“Mmm — wait!” Harry broke their kiss again, and this time it was harder for him not to just shut up and snog, because Draco’s tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lips and Harry all but wet his y-fronts —

“You’re a bloke,” he gasped, gently squeezing the — God in Heaven, was that pure muscle? — firmness of Draco’s chest. “I’m a bloke.”

Again, a sharp nod from Malfoy. “Also aware of that, yes.”

And that mouth was back, dragging life from his lips, and Harry could feel Malfoy wringing breath after breath from him and — oh, why was he feeling this?

He pushed Malfoy off when he felt he could at least string two words together coherently. Harry feared he might never be able to do again if Malfoy kept kissing him that way. With a grunt of frustration, Harry lightly punched the blond in the arm.

“Stop doing that!”

Draco reared back somewhat, his eyes large. “You really want me to?”

“No!”

“Okay.”

Draco’s expression of relief alone caused considerable tightness in Harry’s jeans. He very badly wanted to further explore the best and worst asset of Draco Malfoy, but Harry was determined to make sense of what they were doing.

Never before had he felt like this — and it scared him terribly. But he had to do this. He’d faced down Voldemort twice, damn it ... he would not be defeated by Draco Malfoy’s mouth!

“Okay, okay ... all right,” Harry huffed, straightening his knocked-askew glasses. He absently licked the corner of his mouth and thought he heard a small hitch in Draco’s breath. Neither of them would last much longer if he didn’t hurry up! Harry held the blond’s gaze and motioned between them. “We ... are two blokes.”

“I think we’ve established that,” Malfoy growled impatiently. God ... Harry just knew his pants were going to melt.

“We’re snogging.”

He could’ve exploded at the gorgeous, guttural laugh pouring from Draco’s lips. An embarrassing whine escaped as Draco guided him until their foreheads touched. Harry found his hands sliding up the front of Draco’s grubby shirt, gently testing the strong chest underneath it.

Draco’s hot breath blazed a blistering path across his cheek to his ear as he whispered, “I think we’re going to do more than just kiss.”

And then it didn’t matter that Malfoy’s too-large hand was on his neck, his long fingers kneading the flushed-hot skin as he pulled him into another kiss. Harry didn’t care that the blond’s soft moans were lower and throatier than a woman’s. He absolutely reveled at feeling hard angles and a strong back beneath his palms. Invisible bristles were scratching at his own....

Harry was snogging a man, and was damn well enjoying it.

Draco’s tongue traced a wet swipe across his bottom lip before nestling at the seam of his mouth, seeking something more. Harry’s hold tightened briefly in excitement on Draco’s shoulder before he yielded to the questing tongue, feeling wave after wave of uncharted ecstasy wash over him.

Malfoy’s was no dainty, docile tongue that timidly sought his out, or laid in wait while he made the first move. Draco’s tongue was raw magic: irrepressible, delivering strong bursts of power with each pass, and fervidly twisting the world of Harry’s mouth into moaning reaction. Harry was certain Malfoy was making sure he could never speak again. If he kept doing that, Harry certainly wouldn’t mind.

And his hands, Draco’s hands were absolutely everywhere. Under his shirt, fisting in his hair, clawing at his back, squeezing his buttocks ... everywhere but there. Malfoy was teasing him, purposely dragging his nails up, down, and inside his thighs, closer and closer, higher and higher ... but never right there.

Harry canted his hips forwards, breathily chuckling at Draco’s sharp hiss and answering hardness. When he tried pressing forward again, he was taken aback when Malfoy drew away, breaking the kiss.

His steely eyes were shining with lust and naughtiness and just a hint of something enigmatic, all of which combined were just as intense as Malfoy’s kisses. So captivated by the range of emotions he’d spied, Harry gave a start when his world lurched and he suddenly landed on something squashy and rough.

The sofa, he realized, and gave a hoot of laughter when Draco joined him as well (landed on him, rather). Harry grinned wryly as dry fingers began stroking the skin at the waist of his jeans.

Malfoy nudged at his chin with a thin nose, and Harry could only see blond hair before something moist and warm moved along his throat. As the blond’s tongue baptized his neckline in aimless patterns, he murmured, “What are you smiling at?”

Harry moaned quietly, eyes falling shut as Draco blew cool air on his wet trails. “This.”

“This?” He sucked in a sharp breath as Malfoy’s warm tongue was replaced by the biting sting of his teeth.

“Oh, ha! Learnt a few tricks from Pash, have we?”

He felt Malfoy shift before the pale face came into view. Draco’s eyes gleamed as he gruffly said, “Plenty. Would you like to see them all?”

Harry’s next breath died in his lungs as Draco’s hand slithered across his stomach to rest on the bulge stretching the front of his jeans. He licked his lips, sweeping his eyes from Draco’s taut hand at his groin to the blond’s eager expression and slowly, Harry pushed into that hand, increasing the sweet pressure finally there —

CRACK!

They both jumped, Harry nearly knocking Draco in the jaw when he abruptly sat up.

“Master Harry?” Kreacher stared from Harry to Draco to the destroyed drawing room with a puzzled expression adorning his wrinkled face.

Harry heavily swallowed, wincing at the suspicious look on the house-elf’s face. “Um, I-I’m sorry, Kreacher. As you can see, we’ve made a bit of a mess, heh.” He tried not to react when Draco’s snort at the understatement vibrated through the palm still cupping his cock. “We’ll clean it up, I promise.”

But Kreacher shook his head so hard his bat-like ears were slapping each other. “Kreacher lives to serve Master,” he croaked with a crooked smile. “Kreacher comes to tell Master dinner is ready for when Master Harry and Master Draco Malfoy settle business.”

Harry shot Draco a look before turning to his genuflecting house-elf. “All right, then. Thanks, Kreacher.”

“Kreacher will mend the damage while Master and guest feast.”

“No, Kre — !” The proud elf disappeared with a loud crack before Harry could tell him not to fix their mess. “I didn’t even warn him about Pash. I’ll wait ‘til he gets back.”

He caught Draco’s furrowed brow before the blond stood up. Harry grunted as he was pulled to his feet and let himself be dragged into the corridor. When they reached the landing between stairwells, Draco paused, a puckish grin on his face.

“What will it be, Potter: fancy a nice dinner?” he haughtily drawled, gesturing to the descending staircase. Harry thought he would’ve been more convincing if his shirt hadn’t been disheveled. Malfoy then cocked his head to the ascending stairs. “Or dessert?”

Harry took to the upper stairs two at a time, hauling an amused Draco in his wake.

.:.