Gone Awry

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no harm intended, no profit made.


Gone Awry
Chapter 1 of 3


Draco and Harry stood side by side in front of the house. An arm around each other’s waists, they stared at their latest acquisition and suffered from acute pangs of buyer’s remorse.

Harry tilted his head towards Draco’s, dark hair mingling with light. “It’s not too late. We can put it back on the market without ever moving in.”

“No,” Draco sighed. “No. We’d might as well accept it. It’s ours now.”

There was a twinge of excitement at his lover’s words as Harry repeated, “Ours,” and Draco edged his gaze towards him with a smile.

“That’s right, ours.”

Their smiles grew into foolish grins and they shared a kiss before turning back to the house. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the house. It wasn’t as grand as Malfoy Manor, though it did make the Dursleys’ look like a rundown shack. It was a perfectly respectable, extremely expensive, yet fashionably understated, three story house. Harry loved it for the privacy and extensive lawns, having missed both while living in a flat in the city. Draco loved it because it reminded him of the house he’d grown up in, but was warmer and more welcoming. Looking at their new home, he believed that if he and Harry couldn’t be happy here, they couldn’t be happy anywhere.

And therein lay the core of their hesitation. They’d flirted. They’d dated. They’d slowly invaded each other’s flats, leaving behind toothbrushes, clothes, conversations, arguments. There was only one more fork in the road. They could either move in together and make it permanent, or admit things couldn’t work and go their separate ways. When they saw the house, they knew which path they were going to take.

If they could just make it work.

Their furniture had been bought and delivered, the remodeling completed, their belongings unpacked. All that was missing was the two warm bodies willing to make the house a home.

“Well, should we go in?” Harry asked, and Draco shrugged.

“I think we’ve effectively proven that looking at it won’t make it go away. Nothing left to do but go in.” Draco paused, glancing at Harry with a crooked smile. “You weren’t planning on carrying me over the threshold, were you?”

“Depends,” Harry answered with a grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

“On what?”

“On whether you can beat me over it.”

The silver eyes widened ever so slightly and both men took off running across the lawn, up the stairs, and through the front door. They then proceeded to the ritual christening of each room of their new house with every sexual act known to man. And when they ran out of those, they invented a few of their own.



Though their belongings had been unpacked, nothing had been placed to Draco’s satisfaction and he decided the first order of business would be to rearrange the house. Harry, on the other hand, decided to get the garden started. He wanted one corner dedicated solely to the plants Draco would need for his potions, but the rest of both the front and back lawns were his playground, and they’d agreed he could do whatever he wanted with them.

In return, Harry could provide input for the inside of the house, but only two rooms were truly his to, as Draco put it, “ruin whatever atmosphere I’m trying to create, but I suppose that’s what doors were made for.” Harry would have been satisfied with one, considering how few personal items he had, but Draco insisted, saying he didn’t want Harry to feel as if he wasn’t a presence in his own house. He’d tried explaining to Draco how ridiculous that was, but after coming up against the infamous Malfoy stubborn streak both times, he’d accepted his two rooms without further argument, and promptly forgot about them.

Not that he could convince Draco of that.

“If you don’t like where I’m putting things, just say so!”

Harry, who’d just come in from a long day of working in the garden, was completely taken aback by this sudden attack. “Draco, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Every time I turn around, something else has moved! A lamp, a chair, a painting--I thought we agreed that the inside of the house would be mine!”

“We did--I mean, I do, I haven’t touched a thing. I love what you’re doing with the house.”

Draco blinked at him a couple times, tilting his head as he studied the Gryffindor. “Then you’re not moving anything?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry said, stepping forward to plant a kiss on his lips. “I think it’s beautiful.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, still not convinced, and Harry began nibbling at his ear.

“Positive.”

“Must be a poltergeist,” Draco muttered, eyeing the house suspiciously. “But I thought we cleared the place out of pests before we moved in.”

“You know how magical creatures are,” Harry said as he nuzzled his lover’s neck, trying to put him in a more congenial mood. “Just when you get rid of one, another moves in.”

“I suppose so,” he said, then sighed and arched his head back, giving Harry free access to the spot he liked just above his right collarbone. Forgetting about his prior irritation, Draco pushed Harry an arm’s length away but kept hold of his hand, and led him upstairs.

Though Draco wrote it off to over-enthusiasm on his lover’s part, they were halfway up the stairs when Harry stumbled and nearly fell backwards, Draco’s hand the only thing to keep him from tumbling down the wooden steps to the floor below.

“Calm down, Harry,” he laughed, pulling the Gryffindor upright again. “We’re almost there.”

Harry grinned, but it failed to meet his eyes as he rubbed his chest, still feeling the cold handprint where someone--or rather, something--had tried to push him down the stairs.



As always, Draco was the first to wake in their massive bed, Harry curled up by his side. He watched his lover for a moment, the gentle fluttering of the dark eyelashes, the slight blush to the tanned cheeks, the smile curling his lips, and Draco wondered how he ever got so lucky as to win this precious man’s heart.

Softly kissing Harry’s forehead, he slid out of bed, pulled on a pair of green satin pajama bottoms, and wandered downstairs to get breakfast started. Though they were more than capable of conjuring anything they needed, Draco found comfort in using his hands to prepare the morning meal. It reminded him that he was alive, and most importantly, it reminded him that he was alive and with Harry. With all that had happened, he knew better than to take for granted any aspect of their life together, including something as simple as making breakfast.

Halfway through his first cup of coffee and while keeping one eye on the sausages, Draco was suddenly encompassed by a cloud as cold as ice. The cup fell to the ground and shattered, Draco gasping for breath as he grabbed hold of the counter to steady himself.

“What the--” he began when a loud thump from upstairs nearly made him jump out of his skin.

“Harry?” His eyes rose to the ceiling, the inexplicable chill forgotten in his worry. “Harry!” he shouted and disappeared from the kitchen, reappearing in their bedroom. He immediately looked to the bed only to find it empty.

“Harry!”

“Over here.”

Draco nearly jumped over the bed to reach the other side. There he found a rumpled Gryffindor sitting on the floor with a bashful smile on his face.

“I fell out of bed.”

Draco blinked at him a couple of times, assuring himself that Harry was safe, then shook his head.

“You what?”

“I think I’m just not used to this bed. I must have fallen out.”

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Draco scoffed to disguise his relief. “Do I need to put rails on the sides?”

“If you think it’s necessary,” Harry said, green eyes sharpening with mischief, “but only so long as they’re strong enough that they won’t break when we use handcuffs.”

Draco rolled his eyes as he slid off the bed and started heading towards the door. “You and your one-track mind. If you think you can manage the stairs without killing yourself, I’m sure breakfast is burnt beyond recognition by now.”

“Nice to know some things haven’t changed,” Harry quipped, barely ducking in time to miss the pillow aimed at his head.



Harry had been feeling eyes watching him all morning. He never saw anyone and tried to shake it off as being his imagination, but even as the sun rose higher in the sky, shivers continued to run down his spine. His skin crawled with the knowledge that there was something out there, and not only was something out there, but that something that knew he knew it was out there, and it was taking an eerie pleasure from his discomfort.

It was driving him mental.

As he finished turning over the earth in the last row of Draco’s garden, Harry struck the hoe into the ground and had to snap his jaw shut to keep from screaming as pain laced through every muscle in his arms. It was like he’d plunged the hoe into a fire made of ice and the cold swept up the handle to burn his skin. He tried to release the wood, but his hands wouldn’t cooperate. Finally, he kicked the hoe out of the dirt and with one foot on the end, yanked his hands free, feeling like he’d torn all the skin from his palms.

“Bloody hell!” he muttered, turning his hands over and moving his arms, trying to sense any of the pain that had wracked his body only seconds before. Still inspecting his seemingly healthy and intact skin, he was distracted by a crash coming from the direction of the house.

“Draco?” Harry knew it was probably nothing, but with the cold still lingering in his bones, he couldn’t help feeling worried. He had to see his lover in the flesh, just to make sure. “Draco!”

He ran to the house, tearing through the back door and into the kitchen, checking each room for signs of the Slytherin. “Draco!”

“What?” a caustic voice snarled and Harry nearly laughed with relief.

“Draco, what happened?” he asked, running into the living room.

“It was nothing, just some bloody vase,” Draco answered, repairing the vase in question and sending it floating through the air to sit gently on the mantle. The entire room was filled with furniture and various odds and ends waiting literally in mid-air to be placed in their new spots. “I was moving things around and I thought I had it waiting farther away. Like I said, it’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, studying the still-frowning aristocratic features, and Draco nodded, waving a hand at him to dismiss the entire affair.

“Yes, of course. Go back to your garden. I can handle flying vases.”

It was Harry’s turn to frown. “I thought the vase wasn’t moving.”

“I didn’t think it was. I must have had too many spells going and I momentarily lost track of--Harry James Potter!” Harry flinched at the use of his full name and the silver flames in his lover’s eyes, wondering what he’d done to deserve the burst of anger. “Tell me--TELL ME--you did not track that mud throughout the entire house!”

Oh fuck.

Harry glanced down at his boots, caked with mud from the garden, but with significantly less mud than when he’d left the garden. He didn’t even dare to look behind him at the damage he’d done.

“Not the entire house,” he offered, knowing it wouldn’t help.

“Potter,” Draco snarled with narrowed eyes, “if you don’t get those boots and the feet inside of them out of my sight in the next two seconds, I’m going to make them disappear.”

He had to ask. “My boots or my feet?”

“What do you think?”

Harry turned tail and ran.



Dinner that night was a quiet event. They were both exhausted from the work they’d done that day and followed the meal by relaxing in the living room--one of only six rooms Draco had completely rearranged to his satisfaction.

Almost.

The lamp next to Harry suddenly moved half an inch and, keeping his eyes glued firmly to the page of his book, he murmured, “You’re so fussy.”

“At least one of us is, or we’d be living in a pigsty.”

“I happen to be quite neat.”

“Putting things in piles not in direct footpaths isn’t how you define ‘neat’. Besides, this is our home and I want it to be perfect.”

“It is perfect,” Harry said, standing up and pausing to drop a kiss on his lover’s head, “because you’re in it. Back in a sec.”

Draco hid his smile of pleasure from the Gryffindor behind the pages of his book, though the blush on his cheeks was a little more difficult to conceal. A few minutes later, footsteps above his head alerted him to where Harry had gone, and he looked up to the ceiling to shout, “Harry! While you’re up there, would you grab my slippers?”

There was a stomp that he took as a sign of Harry’s assent and he returned to his book. When Harry walked into the room carrying two bowls of ice cream and neither of Draco’s slippers, he pouted.

“You didn’t bring me my slippers?”

“I didn’t know you wanted them. Here, hold these, and I’ll run up and get them.”

“Harry,” Draco said cautiously, wondering what the Gryffindor was up to, “I just heard you bumping around upstairs.”

Harry shook his head. “It couldn’t have been me. I was in the kitchen.”

“It had to have been you,” Draco said waspishly. “Someone was walking around upstairs, and since we’re the only two here, and you’re the only one who left, it was you.”

Harry scowled at him. “And I’m telling you, it wasn’t me.”

“Then who was it?”

Both pairs of eyes looked up towards the ceiling.

“Draco, are you sure you weren’t imagining it?”

“Harry, I am not delusional. I heard someone walking upstairs!”

“Fine,” he sighed, setting the bowls on the coffee table. “Let me go upstairs and take a look around. I’ll be right back--with your slippers.”

“Fine,” Draco grumbled, burying his nose in his book, offended that Harry hadn’t believe him immediately and a little unnerved about what the noise could have been.

Not a word was read as he waited for Harry to return, his ears straining to hear a single sound that was out of the ordinary. He tried not to appear too relieved when Harry came bounding into the room, slippers in hand.

“I didn’t see anyone up there except the owls returning from the night’s hunt.” Harry knelt down beside him, placing a hand on Draco’s thigh, green eyes anxious. “Are you sure you’re not just worried about the house?”

Draco shook his head. “The house is fine. Maybe I’m still just getting used to it.”

“That must be it,” he smiled, slowly sliding his hand up towards the bulge between his lover’s legs. “Anything I can do to set you at ease?”

The silver eyes narrowed, heartbeat increasing as his cock began to stir. “Did you have something in mind?”

Harry’s hand cupped his groin and Draco gasped as his lover began massaging his growing erection. “I had a few ideas.”

“Mmm. . .” he moaned, licking his suddenly dry lips, “I’ll bet you do.”

Tongue mirroring Draco’s action, Harry leaned forward, reaching for Draco’s mouth.

“Draco! I found your slippers, but unless they’ve learned to walk on their own, I--”

Harry froze at the sight of himself fondling his flushed lover, while the silver eyes grew wide with horror as Draco looked between the two Harrys. Settling on the Harry nearest him, Draco watched in morbid fascination as the flesh on his beloved’s face began to melt away. With a shout of horror, he scrambled away from the thing’s grasp while Harry dropped the slippers and dove to attack it.

Shuddering, Draco pressed himself against the wall, eyes in front of him as Harry’s arms wrapped around nothing but air. The Gryffindor landed hard on the floor, knocking the breath out of himself, then groaned and rolled over.

“Draco, are you all right?”

The absurdity of the question snapped him out of his stupor and Draco’s eyes flashed. “Am I all right?! No, I’m not all right! I was just being molested by a. . . a. . . I don’t know what the fuck that was! What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, pushing himself to his feet and wrapping his arms around the trembling man, trying not to feel hurt when Draco flinched at his touch. “But you’re safe now.”

“How do I know that?” he demanded, twisting out of Harry’s arms. “I thought I was safe earlier. How do I know you’re my Harry?”

“Draco, I’m yours,” the wizard answered, green eyes boring intently into his lover’s paler-than-normal face. Draco just looked at him, eyes wary with impending hurt as if half-expecting the Gryffindor’s face to melt away again.

“How do I know?”

But Harry didn’t have an answer. “You’ll just have to trust me, trust that I love you, and I will do anything to protect you.”

Draco seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded, accepting this Harry as his.

“Anything,” he said, a hint of his old familiar contempt creeping back into his voice, “including throwing yourself at whatever that was. Stupid Gryffindor. You don’t know what it might have done.”

“It was touching you,” Harry responded, his voice fierce with the need to protect him. “That’s all that mattered.”

“And you’re all that matters, so don’t do it again!” Draco scolded, returning to his lover’s embrace, and Harry sighed with relief.

“So what are we going to do?”

“There’s nothing we can do right now,” Draco said, giving Harry a quick peck before slipping out of his arms, “but if you’re asking me personally, then I’m going to bed.”

“Bed?” Harry asked incredulously, watching his lover pick up his slippers from the floor.

“It’s been a long day, and I’m tired. We’ll work something out in the morning.”

“But Draco--”

The silver eyes focused on him, Draco’s gaze filled with all the stubbornness and pride that went along with being a Malfoy, as well as the inherited severe possessive streak demanding he protect what was his. “This is our house, Harry, yours and mine. We belong here, not that thing, and I don’t care what happens, I am not leaving it.”

“But what if it’s dangerous? What if it tries to. . . you know. . . again?”

Draco smiled at the confirmation that this truly was his Gryffindor standing before him. “If it tries to molest me again, I hope it at least has the ability to follow through, because there is nothing I hate more than going to bed pissed off AND horny.”

With a final meaningful look at Harry, Draco turned and left the room. Harry sighed, shaking his head. He should have known that very little would bother Draco for long, including unknown forces that tried to sexually harass him. The Slytherin, having decided after the war he’d seen just about everything there was to see, was practically imperturbable these days.

Not to mention, insatiable.

Heaving another sigh, Harry grabbed the ice cream, spelled the lights off, and made his way upstairs to his waiting lover. He never realized that his reflection remained in the mirror above the fireplace, watching him with glowing green eyes.