suki_blue | Fic: Parity Transformations - Harry/Draco - 11/?

Title: Parity Transformations

Fandom: HP

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Rating: NC-17 overall

Summary: Eleven years since he ran from Hogwarts and seven years since the end of the war, Draco has moved on. Now in his late twenties, Draco lives a reclusive life in a tiny village in Hampshire. Never in a million years does he expect to cross paths with Harry Potter again. But he does, and there are two, rather small and rather excitable, complications.

Beta'd by

amejisuto. Thank you, darling!

A/N: Compliant with all canon up to HBP so there may be spoilers for any of the first six books. As this fic was already planned out in full before the release, it will not be compliant with book 7 and will therefore contain NO SPOILERS.

Previous Chapters: HERE

Everything was going fantastically, swimmingly, absolutely fabulously. Adverbs galore!

Kasen continued to enjoy school; Harry didn’t hate Draco’s guts for being a Mean Malfoy; and Draco had just had a new bathroom suite installed.

And then there was the kissing.

Harry Potter knew how to kiss until Draco’s toes curled up in his boots and his hair threatened a repeat use of his straightening irons.

The only problem was the lack of this curly wurley goodness, and it wasn’t for want of trying.

There was an issue. Two issues, actually: one named Kasen and the other named James. They had the sort of knack for bad timing that only children could possess.

‘I’m ready! I’ve got Archibald and my picture and my bag and James says bye but he’s not coming down because he’s drawing a pig. Bye, Uncle Harry!’

There was nothing quite like a pop-up son.

Draco unconsciously touched his lips and tried not to look at Harry.

‘Are you sure I can’t give you a lift home?’ Harry said.

‘No, really, Kasen and I enjoy the exercise.’

Kasen flapped his floppy dog at Draco. ‘Archibald hates walking. Daddy carry him please.’

Draco took the dog and bade Harry farewell. On the walk home, Draco realised he hadn’t before considered the logistics of dating his son’s best friend’s father. He wasn’t at all sure how Kasen would take it.

Would Kasen think it strange if Harry and James came to spend the night? Or would he merely be excited by the thought of all-night snap?

It was the middle of September and the weather was definitely turning to the Dark Side. Permanent grey clouds sheathed the sky and the rain came down every few days.

Why don’t you hate me, Harry Potter?

Draco liked autumn. He liked the colours and the crispness in the air.

He didn’t like the wind, though. In fact, the wind was getting on his last nerve. It had already loosened three fence panels and bent his bird table. He was also missing several flowerpots and a gnome, although he suspected the latter was something to do with Mr Hurst from The Corner Farm. Draco hated to use the word fetish …

When they arrived home, Kasen charged the stairs and emptied out his toy chest to find his tubs of Play-Doh. Draco re-packed the chest an hour later and chastised Kasen for smishing his Play-Doh caterpillar into the carpet.

Kasen went to bed in a sulk and Draco was left to himself. He read the end of a book, watched television until the satellite signal went out and then reached for his recipe books to find an ingenious way to slip turnips unnoticed into a main meal. And when he was bored of that – and in no way foiled – he decided to sort through the magazine rack. He’d largely ignored it for the last few weeks and unread papers were starting pile up.

He stacked up the copies of The Times first, stopping only to rip out the crosswords. Next came the numerous magazines: Good Housekeeping, Sainsbury’s Magazine, Garden Answers and Take a Break, and finally the wizarding papers.

Draco had been far too busy and preoccupied to read about what was going on in a place he couldn’t go. He screwed up his nose at the first rolled-up copy of the Evening Prophet and cast it into a separate ‘burn’ pile.

‘Rubbish,’ Draco said under his breath. ‘Utter claptrap. I don’t know why I ever bothered.’

He scooped them all up in one armful and dumped them over in the basket next to the fireplace.

The next thirty minutes were spent trying to light the bloody, stupid, bollocking fire using logs, matches and firelighters. He eventually gave up and cast Incendio!

Draco untied and unrolled each paper with reverence and loving care. Then he made a carefully selected face and tossed each one into the flames. ‘Burn, baby, burn,’ he sang.

It was a satisfying ritual and it was going perfectly well until he reached the penultimate paper. He pulled the ribbon and The Daily Prophet flopped open to reveal his own face scowling back at him.

‘Oh no.’

*****

‘I could heal you,’ Potter said.

Draco breathed out, slowly, unsteadily. ‘No. I’ll heal myself. Later.’ His body throbbed, screamed, swelled and purpled.

Potter pulled his jeans on, buckled his belt.

‘You’d better hope you die,’ Draco said. ‘Otherwise you might have to tell that ginger slapper what we just did.’

‘Don’t call Ginny that.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Draco turned on his side and wished he hadn’t. ‘I was taking about her mother. You’re doing her, too, I presume.’

‘You’re revolting.’

‘So you keep saying. Yet it didn’t stop you from buggering me half to death.’

Potter stared at the floor. ‘Are you okay?’

Draco gritted his teeth and glared hatefully. Potter and his stupid, pathetic, idiotic conscience. It wouldn’t do. Draco wanted anger, bitterness, hate. He wanted Potter to feel absolute rage.

‘I’m fine. Just considering my next move actually. Let me see, you fucked the Weaselette, then you fucked me, what’s left? A threesome?’ Draco screwed up his nose. ‘Oh no, I don’t think I could. I know she’s a pureblood but, really, I’d rather shag Granger.’

Then, Potter was there, on top of him, hands around his throat. ‘I hate you, Malfoy. I hate you more than anyone I’ve ever met.’

‘More than the Dark Lord? Surely not. Come on, Potter, let me have fun on my last night. I shall die tomorrow and I know how terribly upset everyone will be.’

‘What makes you think you’ll see tomorrow.’ Potter squeezed.

*****

‘Harry, I need you. Come over now.’ Draco put down the phone and began a gruelling pacing routine that didn’t end until Harry rapped lightly on the front door.

‘What is it?’ Harry whispered, James fast asleep like an unconscious rag doll in his arms. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Put James down in my bed.’

Harry shook his head. ‘He might wake up. He’ll be confused.’

‘Fine,’ Draco snapped, but he took James gently from Harry and settled him on the sofa with a chenille blanket and Draco’s favourite fluffy cushion.

‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’ Harry asked.

Draco nodded and tucked James in, standing over him to make sure he was sleeping soundly. When he finally followed Harry into the kitchen, he picked up the newspaper on the way and then dropped it onto the kitchen table with a slap. ‘Look,’ he said.

Harry turned around from the counter. His hair was a mess and his shirt buttons were done up wrong. ‘This better be … Oh fuck.’

‘What am I going to do? They’ve found me.’

Harry stared at the paper, his mouth hanging open stupidly.

Draco Malfoy Living as a Muggle

‘Oh my god,’ Harry said.

‘How did this happen? I don’t remember anyone following me? There was no flash. You know what those cameras are like. They burn off a layer of your eyeballs every time they go off. Did you know Viktor Krum is partially blind now?’

Harry slowly sat down at the table, leaving Draco to resume his pacing.

‘And there’s no way they could find this house.’ Draco said. ‘The Fidelius Charm is foolproof. Even the Delivery Owls forget where they’ve been.’

Harry started to read: ‘Draco Malfoy, son of infamous Death Eater the late Lucius Malfoy, has been found living as a Muggle in Dorset. Mr Malfoy has been missing for the past four years and was presumed to be hiding somewhere in the Baltic States. Minister for Magic, Percy Weasley—’

Draco paused to snort derisively.

‘—Percey Weasley,’ Harry repeated, ignoring him, ‘was not available for comment, but sources say he is very concerned and late for lunch. One such source said: “Draco Malfoy living with Muggles?! Mark this, it won’t be long before they start turning up dead.’ Another source shook his head sadly and walked away.’ Harry skimmed the rest, frowning ever more deeply as he read, until he finally looked back up at a now still Draco who was chewing his thumbnail.

‘I’m finished, aren’t I?’

‘No,’ Harry said. ‘No. They don’t know anything. This is bullshit.’

‘It isn’t! They know where I am!’

Harry stood and hurried over to Draco, taking hold of his shoulders and giving him a little shake. ‘They don’t know anything. They’re guessing. That’s all this is.’

‘How can it be? They know.’

‘They don’t. They clearly don’t know what they’re talking about. They said Dorset. This is Hampshire.’

‘I know that, I’m not a complete window licker.’

Harry blinked at him.

‘I’m not an idiot,’ Draco clarified. ‘But Dorset is one county over so if it was a stab in the dark it was a damn close one. Merlin, what am I going to do? I’ll have to leave. Oh no, I don’t want to.’

‘You don’t have to. Look at this picture.’ Harry picked up the newspaper and held it up. ‘Look at it and tell me what you see.’

Draco turned his head away. ‘I don’t want to. I look foul. My hair is too short.’

Harry waited.

‘Hang on,’ Draco said, snatching the paper. ‘This is an old picture. This was taken before I left. So that means …?’

‘They don’t know where you are. That whole article is a load of shite.’

Draco relaxed. He dropped the paper into the table and moved closer to Harry. ‘Thank you. My brain goes into a sort of overdrive sometimes.’

Harry smiled and brushed his fingers through Draco’s hair. ‘I know.’

Draco closed his eyes and slid his arms around Harry’s waist. It came as no surprise when Harry kissed him.

*****

They spent the night in opposite armchairs as James had sprawled like a cat and now somehow took up the entire three-seater sofa and Draco claimed he couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to be alone. So they chose to stay up all night and talk. Unfortunately, Draco was overcome with sleep the moment his bottom connected with the seat of the armchair.

When he woke, it was to the smell of toast and an awful crick in his neck. ‘Ow,’ he complained, rubbing his neck and trying to straighten his crippled back.

‘Ah, you’re up,’ Harry called from the kitchen.

‘Sort of.’

‘Jam?’

‘No, no,’ Draco said, tilting his head from side to side. ‘It’s just a bit stiff.’

There was silence from the kitchen and then Harry poked his head through the door. ‘I meant jam on your toast.’

‘Oh I see, yes that would lovely. It’s in the—’

‘Already got it.’

‘You’ve made yourself at home, then? Good.’ Draco stretched and tried to shake out the pins and needles from his left hand.

‘Kasen told me where everything is,’ Harry said to the rhythm of a knife scritch, scritch, scratching against toasted bread.

‘He’s up?’ Draco looked around him. No sign of Kasen and no James flopped across the sofa.

‘Yep,’ Harry said bending over Draco’s shoulder and passing him a plate of strawberry jam on toast. Toast cut into soldiers. ‘The kids have been up for ages. No offence, but you could sleep through a war.’

‘I sort of did.’ Draco held up one of the thin strips of jammy bread and glanced questioningly up at Harry.

‘Uh, sorry, got carried away,’ Harry explained, sitting himself down on the sofa and pulling James’s blanket out from under him. ‘I’m not used to making breakfast for adults. Anymore.’

Draco nodded, ate a soldier and slouched back into the armchair and its comfy, cosy cushions. He sighed through his nose.

‘Bad dreams?’ Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. Yes, was the answer, but it wasn’t suitable for morning conversation, especially with children flying around the house, not literally (for now). ‘Just one of those annoying memory dreams,’ he said, which was perfectly true. It was a memory of a war, of the most terrifying moments of Draco’s life.

‘Want to talk about it?’

‘No thank you, Dr Phil. I’d better get myself together, I can’t imagine what time it is.’

Harry looked at his watch. ‘You’ve got twenty-five minutes before we need to be in the car.’

Draco stuffed as much toast in mouth as possible. Eating gracefully, be damned.

*****

They stood looking across the Malfoy lands, a wretched smattering of people to take down the darkest power the world had ever known.

‘Five minutes!’ Moody called. ‘The wards will drop then we take them from all sides.’ He grinned at the manor like it was a mouse in a corner, no mouse hole, no escape, no cheese. His expression was a comical contrast to everyone else’s pale faces, some frightened, some blank, some angry and righteous. ‘Ready to claim back your heritage, son?’ he asked Draco.

‘Don’t call me son!’ Draco said. He looked to his right, at Dumbledore’s-ridiculous-Army and its foolhardy leader, Harry Potter.

As if drawn by a magical pull, Potter looked around.

‘Watch you don’t get your own people in the back, Malfoy,’ Moody whispered. ‘You’ll need us if you ever want to see all that money again.’

Draco clenched his jaw and stared at the manor’s highest tower. The wind rustled the leaves in the trees. The branches swayed and a sudden gust released some of them to the ground. Free.

Draco gripped his wand tightly with both hands, kneading the wood, soaking it with his energy. ‘Protect me,’ he whispered to it. ‘Please.’

‘I’ll try.’

Potter’s voice, but Draco stared at the tower, at his old playroom where he learned to read and once adored the House-elves.

‘I’m sorry,’ Potter said. ‘What I did to you, I …I didn’t mean to.’

Draco swallowed and remembered the bliss of fading oxygen and creeping death. He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of burning flesh and magnolia, and hoped that when death called, it called quickly. ‘You should have finished it.’

Potter shook his head. ‘You can’t manipulate me that easily.’ He covered one of Draco’s hands with his own. ‘I’m going to get you through this.’

A tear rolled down Draco’s cheek. ‘You’d better.’

TBC ...

Wow, we're past the halfway point! Whoo hooo!