After Harry Potter
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
4,978
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
4,978
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Harry Potter Story or any of it's character and I do not make any money from this story
In a Box
Set roughly after Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (And before the dreaded epilogue) This is the story after Harry Potter.
After Harry Potter
In a Box
The room was dark, subject only to the steady ticking of a plastic night stand clock, its luminous green hands leering gently on the night stand. The room smelt vaguely of cigarette smoke and rose water and every three minutes light would come in at the window, sweeping across the room, searching slowly to pick out a dark head on a creased pillow.
Tires gripping and freeing the road outside, tumbled harsh and smooth against the tarmac yet the head didn’t stir. The lips belonging to the head hung slightly open, soft and red in the passing light. The thin hand clutching the pillow, claw like in its intensity, would twitch occasionally as if losing its grip, only to squeeze convulsively the next moment.
The sheets were pale in the darkness, brilliantly white in the light and slightly stained, as if the occupant had spilt many a drop of tea on the coverlet.
With a sharp crack a light hung silently in the darkness above the bed, pulsing gently, shooing the darkness away in gentle ripples. In the same instant the figure in the bed moved from a stretched version of the foetal position to a cowering ball, shivering in the wand light.
Expensive material rustled irritably as the glowing wand tip slashed sideways, leaving a jagged impression of light in its wake.
“Look at you! Not a week past and you haven’t moved!” The deeply cultured tones were thick with anger. “How long do you intend to keep this up?”
The bundle of stains shifted and a gaunt face stared warily into the glow as one hand reached for a tatty packet of cigarettes.
“No!” Silver sparks spattered angrily and inconsequentially from the wand tip, “You stink enough already!” and with a lunging movement the small dot of light shot closer to the bed.
“Don’t touch me!” A voice stretched and thin with disuse erupted with a hoarse squeal from between pouting lips, “You cannot touch me!”
There was a silence for a long moment as the fleshless hand finally found its mark, with the result that a moment later a lighter flared, adding its harsher, more tangible glow to the room.
“Squalor,” Lips twisted angrily around the word, “That’s what his potions keep you in!”
“Rather a dirty room then a dirty mind.” A plume of smoke rose from the bed, grey and cloying.
The wand tip moved away from it desperately, agitatedly.
“I will remove his hands, I will remove his hands and wait for the stocks to run out!”
“Why? What’s the use?”
“You know the use! The cravings are becoming to much to bear!”
“Huh.” The grunt was weary, tired. “You have a low thresh hold obviously.”
“And you don’t? You look worse than I do.”
The figure in the bed moved, an arm reaching out to tap a quivering lump of ash into a dusty ash tray.
“Do we have to argue this circle again? I’m coming to you Malfoy, eventually,” The rosy lips parted in a garish grin. “In a box.”
A stream of light shot into the bare bulb above their heads with such a force that it shattered the glass, but the light stayed hanging within the jagged remains.
“If you do not come to me of your own volition I will have him killed.”
Harry shrugged, emaciated shoulders providing a hanger for the sagging tee shirt. “What do I care? I’ll be dead before my stocks run dry.”
The tall elegant, slightly lanky figure of Draco Malfoy stiffened. “Is it that close?” The voice was almost a tenuous whisper, almost.
A sardonic grin answered him, “You know it is.”
“I had thought…” he cleared his throat, “What will it take?”
“What do you care?!” The cigarette stub was ground viciously into the ash tray, “I’ll never come to you Malfoy! No matter what the price, reward, prevention…whatever” A hand sagged flippantly in the air, “I don’t want to live and I don’t want to live with you! Got it?”
“No I don’t get it, I don’t get any of this! All I know is that you need me and I need to help you. Whatever happened, whatever triggered when you saved me, whatever we are, we need to face this.”
“I don’t love you! I loved him! I’m not going to simply call it a loss and move on Malfoy!”
“But you can do it with your own life?”
“If I live with you you’ll hurt me, I know it, I feel it, I see it in my dreams. I was strong ‘till the end and I’ll go out strong!” A hand smacked weakly against the mattress, pitifully, inadequately.
“The boy who lived dies alone in his reeking bed. Yeah, really strong that.”
“Shut up.”
If you don’t come with me I’ll have you sectioned.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “No.”
“Yes,” The voice was forceful, exultant. “I’ll have that potion stripped from your blood and the whole wizarding world will cry over papers tomorrow morning. And that’s not all, I’ll tell them Potter, I’ll tell them what’s happened to us. What you’ve become.”
“Why are you doing this?” The cry was thin, uneven, anguished.
“Come with me, come with me now while the potions still working, come with me whilst you’re safe and I’ll make you better.”
“You’ll hurt me.” The green eyes shone with tears.
“You won’t mind.” The whisper was coaxing, pleading.
“Yes I will, I have to.” The sobs of words came even as the covers were pushed back to
reveal surprisingly clean boxers and pale long legs were thrust at the floor.
“It doesn’t matter for now, just come with me.”
A pause filled with wet, juddering breaths filled the room until, “Kreacher!”
Another crack echoed off the walls, “Yes master?” The elf bowed low and mumbled
something softly about Malfoys, airs and graces and his former mistress as his apron brushed over his horny toes.
“I need my cigarettes, my potions and some clothes. We’re leaving.”
Malfoy eyes widened but he did not smile as Kreacher’s double cracks of apperation filled the room.
“Good to see you’ve come to you’re senses, have him bring you to the manor now or the article is sent off within fifteen minutes.” And with a flash of black and white silk he was gone.
“Master?” Kreacher looked up his small arms filled with an old carpet bag.
“Do as he says.” And with that Harry sagged to the floor and disappeared.
After Harry Potter
In a Box
The room was dark, subject only to the steady ticking of a plastic night stand clock, its luminous green hands leering gently on the night stand. The room smelt vaguely of cigarette smoke and rose water and every three minutes light would come in at the window, sweeping across the room, searching slowly to pick out a dark head on a creased pillow.
Tires gripping and freeing the road outside, tumbled harsh and smooth against the tarmac yet the head didn’t stir. The lips belonging to the head hung slightly open, soft and red in the passing light. The thin hand clutching the pillow, claw like in its intensity, would twitch occasionally as if losing its grip, only to squeeze convulsively the next moment.
The sheets were pale in the darkness, brilliantly white in the light and slightly stained, as if the occupant had spilt many a drop of tea on the coverlet.
With a sharp crack a light hung silently in the darkness above the bed, pulsing gently, shooing the darkness away in gentle ripples. In the same instant the figure in the bed moved from a stretched version of the foetal position to a cowering ball, shivering in the wand light.
Expensive material rustled irritably as the glowing wand tip slashed sideways, leaving a jagged impression of light in its wake.
“Look at you! Not a week past and you haven’t moved!” The deeply cultured tones were thick with anger. “How long do you intend to keep this up?”
The bundle of stains shifted and a gaunt face stared warily into the glow as one hand reached for a tatty packet of cigarettes.
“No!” Silver sparks spattered angrily and inconsequentially from the wand tip, “You stink enough already!” and with a lunging movement the small dot of light shot closer to the bed.
“Don’t touch me!” A voice stretched and thin with disuse erupted with a hoarse squeal from between pouting lips, “You cannot touch me!”
There was a silence for a long moment as the fleshless hand finally found its mark, with the result that a moment later a lighter flared, adding its harsher, more tangible glow to the room.
“Squalor,” Lips twisted angrily around the word, “That’s what his potions keep you in!”
“Rather a dirty room then a dirty mind.” A plume of smoke rose from the bed, grey and cloying.
The wand tip moved away from it desperately, agitatedly.
“I will remove his hands, I will remove his hands and wait for the stocks to run out!”
“Why? What’s the use?”
“You know the use! The cravings are becoming to much to bear!”
“Huh.” The grunt was weary, tired. “You have a low thresh hold obviously.”
“And you don’t? You look worse than I do.”
The figure in the bed moved, an arm reaching out to tap a quivering lump of ash into a dusty ash tray.
“Do we have to argue this circle again? I’m coming to you Malfoy, eventually,” The rosy lips parted in a garish grin. “In a box.”
A stream of light shot into the bare bulb above their heads with such a force that it shattered the glass, but the light stayed hanging within the jagged remains.
“If you do not come to me of your own volition I will have him killed.”
Harry shrugged, emaciated shoulders providing a hanger for the sagging tee shirt. “What do I care? I’ll be dead before my stocks run dry.”
The tall elegant, slightly lanky figure of Draco Malfoy stiffened. “Is it that close?” The voice was almost a tenuous whisper, almost.
A sardonic grin answered him, “You know it is.”
“I had thought…” he cleared his throat, “What will it take?”
“What do you care?!” The cigarette stub was ground viciously into the ash tray, “I’ll never come to you Malfoy! No matter what the price, reward, prevention…whatever” A hand sagged flippantly in the air, “I don’t want to live and I don’t want to live with you! Got it?”
“No I don’t get it, I don’t get any of this! All I know is that you need me and I need to help you. Whatever happened, whatever triggered when you saved me, whatever we are, we need to face this.”
“I don’t love you! I loved him! I’m not going to simply call it a loss and move on Malfoy!”
“But you can do it with your own life?”
“If I live with you you’ll hurt me, I know it, I feel it, I see it in my dreams. I was strong ‘till the end and I’ll go out strong!” A hand smacked weakly against the mattress, pitifully, inadequately.
“The boy who lived dies alone in his reeking bed. Yeah, really strong that.”
“Shut up.”
If you don’t come with me I’ll have you sectioned.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “No.”
“Yes,” The voice was forceful, exultant. “I’ll have that potion stripped from your blood and the whole wizarding world will cry over papers tomorrow morning. And that’s not all, I’ll tell them Potter, I’ll tell them what’s happened to us. What you’ve become.”
“Why are you doing this?” The cry was thin, uneven, anguished.
“Come with me, come with me now while the potions still working, come with me whilst you’re safe and I’ll make you better.”
“You’ll hurt me.” The green eyes shone with tears.
“You won’t mind.” The whisper was coaxing, pleading.
“Yes I will, I have to.” The sobs of words came even as the covers were pushed back to
reveal surprisingly clean boxers and pale long legs were thrust at the floor.
“It doesn’t matter for now, just come with me.”
A pause filled with wet, juddering breaths filled the room until, “Kreacher!”
Another crack echoed off the walls, “Yes master?” The elf bowed low and mumbled
something softly about Malfoys, airs and graces and his former mistress as his apron brushed over his horny toes.
“I need my cigarettes, my potions and some clothes. We’re leaving.”
Malfoy eyes widened but he did not smile as Kreacher’s double cracks of apperation filled the room.
“Good to see you’ve come to you’re senses, have him bring you to the manor now or the article is sent off within fifteen minutes.” And with a flash of black and white silk he was gone.
“Master?” Kreacher looked up his small arms filled with an old carpet bag.
“Do as he says.” And with that Harry sagged to the floor and disappeared.