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Title: That Way of Thinking (part 4 of the Marriage Arc)
Author: me
Pairing: H/D
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Only bad things can come of a shunned Malfoy.
Disclaimer: *looks around* Well. Still not my idea. Fancy that.
...
Part 1: Ways to Say No
Part 2: What Malfoys Do
Part 3: The Fact of the Matter
Part 4:
That Way of Thinking
Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano Malfoy was officially pissed. And not that nice English sort that had to do with seven pints of dark lager and possibly a rum chaser afterward. No, this was that unsavory sort of ‘pissed’ that the American wizards seemed to take so much pleasure in. But at the moment Draco was not fond of Americans, so he was bollixed. Ticked. Fuming. Not pissed. If he were pissed, then he wouldn’t be sitting in his appallingly hot office at that moment; he would be getting kicked out of the Queen’s Head or the Bung Hole or some other pub that the Muggles thought belonged to them, and staggering home for a nice rogering in the sack provided he didn’t pass out before he had gained his fiance’s full attention.
And it was about then that Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano Malfoy broke the rare serpent-shaped quill stand he was fiddling with.
“Frankly, I fail to see the problem at hand,” he snapped, sneering at the American potions expert in front of him. Obviously, ‘expert’ was American for ‘brainless twat.’ “Your firm has undoubtedly had copious amounts of time to complete and deliver the necessary paperwork for our perusal. If you have failed yet again, it is hardly a sign of our incompetence, now is it?”
“But we’ve already done all the appropriate studies and tests!” The man was gritting his teeth. “Your government is wasting valuable time and money second guessing our efforts!”
“Perhaps if your efforts were not shoddier than a Hogsmeade bag hag, I would see no reason to run tests of my own,” Draco said smoothly. He rose behind his desk and lit a cigarette with a wave of his fingers. The man scowled, but Draco soon had him sporting a rather fearful look instead.
He prided himself on his ability to glare properly. Most Americans had no inkling of the Malfoy penchant for that sort of thing. Old wizarding families of America indeed.
“As far as I am concerned at this point,” Draco drawled, “your ‘potion’ – and I use the term lightly – is a secondhand mixture of useless flobberworm mucous. Now, should your firm actually complete the required paperwork in triplicate as was agreed to, procure several long-distance sparrow hawks, and have it delivered to one of my marvelous and hardworking lackeys out front, I will certainly be happy to give it due consideration. We will test it until we are satisfied that it will not turn our patrons’ kidneys inside out, and only then will it be marketed in the UK. The entire process should take ten to twelve months. Come back then.”
The man’s hatred was so refreshing. “You’re going to smoke that in here?”
Draco tapped the ash off, not quite missing the man’s polished suede shoes. “Paperwork for banning smoking by executives in executive offices is available in storage room A-5. You’ll want to get started; it takes centuries to process.”
The man left in a huff, carting his American miracle elixir under one arm. As soon as he was gone, Draco stubbed out the unsmoked cigarette and threw the distasteful thing in the rubbish bin. He cleared the air with a wave of his wand. Ah, the lengths he went to to get people out of his office…
Then Draco thought about what was in store for him tonight and considered lighting the damned thing again and just sitting there soaking in the toxins. Weekly visits with his mother, good food notwithstanding, were hardly his favorite way to spend his evenings. Harry always got a little bit stiffer when he told him he was going to the manor again for the night. Thankfully it was only once a week.
The trip back to his and Harry’s home did nothing to improve his mood. Draco tried to relish each Muggle face that blanched at his poisonous sneer; he only took Muggle-Trans when he was feeling particularly snide and in need of some instant gratification. But his mind was not fully on it this time.
It was bad enough his office was being inundated with incompetent, pompous fools who thought they had improved upon the most ancient and useful of potions in wizarding history. He couldn’t even look forward to going home anymore.
Draco scowled, barely noticing that the look immediately cleared the two seats directly in front of him of their passengers. He didn’t understand it personally; why Harry should choose this month to act so strangely was beyond him. First it had been the silences at dinner. Harry’s clinking fork and knife had begun to drown out the soft sighs he had been making lately. Uncharacteristic; Draco had been worried Harry was ill. He revised that to ‘depressed’ a week of stilted conversations later.
And then there was the funny, relieved look on Harry’s face whenever Draco would come home after his weekly dinners at the manor. And that was often followed by a statement to the order of, “Oh. There you are.” Draco still managed to smile, cock his head and say, “Here I am.” It was getting more difficult.
But most of all, it was the sex that had Draco up at night. Not in that glorious deep-kissing-waking-one’s-fiance-at-half-three-to-make-aching-soul-redefining-love-to-him sort of way. No, it was that yearning, almost desperate way Harry responded to the waking at half three. And then it was the other nights’ shagging when Harry closed his eyes, the kind that made Draco feel like he was simply using Harry to get off, even though he knew that wasn’t the case because everything fell a bit flaccid as soon as the very idea of it entered Draco’s mind.
Draco chewed his lip and stared at the grimy floor of the double-decker. Was it possible that Harry was going to… No, he didn’t like thinking that way. He hadn’t liked it when it popped into his head the week before, he hadn’t liked it mid-shag in the living room last Saturday when Harry had suddenly remembered he was supposed to be showering and getting to sleep early for something or other Sunday morning. And he didn’t like it now. But thinking That Way rather seemed to like it when one was trying to ignore it.
He’d been so stupidly hopeful with Harry that he wouldn’t ever have to think That Way again. He found himself twisting his ring, much the same way he’d seen his lover twisting his own for the past three weeks.
Draco stopped off at Pierre Marcolini’s and treated himself to two raspberry cream and toffee truffles with triple sec because he thought the upcoming three hours at the manor gave him plenty of excuse to splurge, and spent the next minute or so sneering at the boy behind the counter for his continued attempts at flirting with him. Even the ring was no deterrent; Draco had discovered this the second month he had worn it. Only Harry’s presence at his side seemed to make the boy morose enough to leave off with his ridiculous shenanigans. Draco ended up getting so fed up this time around, he took his truffles, stalked out of the store into a poor excuse for an alleyway, and Apparated the rest of the way home.
You may as well leave off, he’d said shortly as he’d paid the boy. I have a fiancé.
The boy had grinned at him. Don’t be so stodgy. Those sorts of things never last.
And now Draco’s stomach was flip-flopping for no good reason because he was a Malfoy and Malfoys didn’t listen to other, lesser people’s opinions, certainly not the opinions of Muggles with no social graces, and if Harry had a problem, he would say something, wouldn’t he?
Draco strode into the house, fuming, chewing a chocolate with a vengeance, quite ready this time to demand that Harry tell him what the hell was wrong with his work schedule, or his choice of chocolatiers, or his visits to his mother, or most importantly, the sex that had done them both so well the entire time they’d lived together, the sex Draco still liked and wanted quite badly with his lover. Who didn’t seem to be enjoying it much at all anymore.
He threw his coat over a chair, slapped his bag of one truffle onto the table, and… saw the ring.
Draco could not articulate how much it hurt to see the ring anywhere but on Harry’s left ring finger. It glittered gold in the light from the kitchen, the snake staring blankly out of azure eyes. He blinked at it.
That Way of thinking was suddenly the only way of thinking. Draco could not breathe. He picked up the ring between two shaking fingers and tried to deny it, but—
It was happening all over again.
“Draco?”
He spun and saw Harry frozen in the door to the hallway, eyes wide. In his hand he held a folded piece of parchment. Draco stared at it, looked at the ring in his hand, and felt like he’d been hit by the Hogwarts Express.
“So that’s how it’s going to happen.”
Harry looked away briefly. Draco’s chest hurt.
“Were you even going to say anything?” he said bitterly.
Harry’s mouth opened and closed, and then his eyes went a little hard.
“Was there something you needed to say?” he muttered.
Draco pursed his lips. He looked at the ring in his palm. “I should have known. Just a note, then? Not even going to talk to me, were you?”
Harry’s face flushed and he looked at the parchment in his hand as if he’d suddenly remembered its existence. He looked embarrassed. “This—Draco, I meant to talk to you about it first, but—I—”
“You did, did you?” Draco’s eyes were burning. He wished he hadn’t eaten that truffle. An empty stomach would have been much better for this sort of thing. “Well, I’m so glad you decided to include me in your little plans.”
Harry scowled suddenly. “And what else was I supposed to think? You should know all about avoidance. But then again, I guess it wasn’t that high on your list of things to worry about anymore. Moving on and all that.”
Draco gritted his teeth. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who’s been acting like a disgruntled goblin for the last three weeks!”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. His lips twisted down. “Exactly when were you going to tell me about Garrett Saffold-Insbrook? And Parkinson? Rather important, in my humble opinion!”
Draco’s knees went all wobbly. It wasn’t fair for Harry to throw that at him. It wasn’t. Especially not during this sort of conversation. “Oh, I see. Don’t want to touch me now, do you? Draco Malfoy’s past isn’t as pristine as the great Harry Potter would have liked. The ring’s not quite right anymore, having been used and all.”
Harry threw up his hands, green eyes going dark. “Well, it all fits, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t even set a date! Four months and you wouldn’t even talk about it!”
Draco’s throat closed. He glared at Harry to keep his eyes occupied with something other than filling with tears. “Well, why should I? Every time I do that, this happens!”
He grabbed his coat and stalked to the front door. Harry’s footsteps sounded behind him. “Draco, wait—”
Draco spun and flicked the serpent ring he still held. It landed at Harry’s feet. “Keep it; I’m not giving it to anyone else ever again,” he choked out. It only seemed to curse the whole bloody endeavor anyway. “I’ve a dinner appointment with my mother. I’d advise you not to be here when I come back for my things.”
He threw the door open and slammed it shut behind him, then collapsed back against the wall, shaking. Trust Harry to nose around and dredge up things Draco had finally been able to hide from himself again. But he hadn’t thought Harry was that shallow, that he wouldn’t ask him to explain first. No never mind that Draco hadn’t been planning on saying anything about it, ever.
It was a well known fact that it was much easier to get angry than to get sad. And Malfoys didn’t let self-righteous former fiancés rile them up anyway. Draco certainly had never let them cause tears before. But Harry… was different. Harry was supposed to be different.
And right now, he was making Draco behave like a fool.
Draco blinked once, and then straightened slowly and faced one of the windows. He was a Malfoy. He wasn’t to be cast aside by anyone. And there was certainly no reason to make it an even two anyones. He could feel it sneaking through him, turning his ridiculous emotions into much more formidable weapons. He brushed off his robes, flicked his hair to rights – surprisingly unmussed by the recent loss of his fiance – and all of the responses he had never thought to use against Harry were there at last, ready to be tempered and directed like arrows. He turned calmly and shoved the door open again, seeing red properly at last.
That disgusting show of weakness was no way to say goodbye to his lover of three years. Oh, no. He was going to give Harry Potter something to remember him by before he swore off the bastard forever. Something to regret. Let him realize what a mistake he’d made. Let him see that he was still Draco Malfoy and that a spurned Malfoy was a poisonous creature indeed.
The last thing Draco expected when he reached the doorway of the dining room was to see Harry sitting there shivering, head collapsed into the cradle of his arms.
No. No, it didn’t matter. He was a Malfoy. He was Draco Malfoy and none of this sentimental drivel was going to make any difference. He set his jaw, preparing to lash out with the only weapon he had left, his tongue, when Harry lifted his head to stare at the serpent ring that was suddenly between his fingertips. A tear slipped down one cheek, followed by another. And another.
“Potter, you idiot.” Harry’s voice was soft. Draco paused, and in that moment, Harry’s voice came again.
“Are you happy, you ungrateful harpy?” His words were broken, on the verge of disappearing. “You’ve got your precious son back.”
Harry’s eyes filled and his head dropped like a stone back onto his arms. His shoulders began to hitch uncontrollably.
Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano Malfoy took a moment to process what he had just heard. Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano Malfoy drew a single, deep breath.
And then Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano Malfoy got incredibly angry for an entirely different reason.
...
Part 5: Suppers at Malfoy Manor
...
O.o *has been decisively mean*
Author: me
Pairing: H/D
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Only bad things can come of a shunned Malfoy.
Disclaimer: *looks around* Well. Still not my idea. Fancy that.
...
Part 1: Ways to Say No
Part 2: What Malfoys Do
Part 3: The Fact of the Matter
Part 4:
That Way of Thinking
Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano Malfoy was officially pissed. And not that nice English sort that had to do with seven pints of dark lager and possibly a rum chaser afterward. No, this was that unsavory sort of ‘pissed’ that the American wizards seemed to take so much pleasure in. But at the moment Draco was not fond of Americans, so he was bollixed. Ticked. Fuming. Not pissed. If he were pissed, then he wouldn’t be sitting in his appallingly hot office at that moment; he would be getting kicked out of the Queen’s Head or the Bung Hole or some other pub that the Muggles thought belonged to them, and staggering home for a nice rogering in the sack provided he didn’t pass out before he had gained his fiance’s full attention.
And it was about then that Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano Malfoy broke the rare serpent-shaped quill stand he was fiddling with.
“Frankly, I fail to see the problem at hand,” he snapped, sneering at the American potions expert in front of him. Obviously, ‘expert’ was American for ‘brainless twat.’ “Your firm has undoubtedly had copious amounts of time to complete and deliver the necessary paperwork for our perusal. If you have failed yet again, it is hardly a sign of our incompetence, now is it?”
“But we’ve already done all the appropriate studies and tests!” The man was gritting his teeth. “Your government is wasting valuable time and money second guessing our efforts!”
“Perhaps if your efforts were not shoddier than a Hogsmeade bag hag, I would see no reason to run tests of my own,” Draco said smoothly. He rose behind his desk and lit a cigarette with a wave of his fingers. The man scowled, but Draco soon had him sporting a rather fearful look instead.
He prided himself on his ability to glare properly. Most Americans had no inkling of the Malfoy penchant for that sort of thing. Old wizarding families of America indeed.
“As far as I am concerned at this point,” Draco drawled, “your ‘potion’ – and I use the term lightly – is a secondhand mixture of useless flobberworm mucous. Now, should your firm actually complete the required paperwork in triplicate as was agreed to, procure several long-distance sparrow hawks, and have it delivered to one of my marvelous and hardworking lackeys out front, I will certainly be happy to give it due consideration. We will test it until we are satisfied that it will not turn our patrons’ kidneys inside out, and only then will it be marketed in the UK. The entire process should take ten to twelve months. Come back then.”
The man’s hatred was so refreshing. “You’re going to smoke that in here?”
Draco tapped the ash off, not quite missing the man’s polished suede shoes. “Paperwork for banning smoking by executives in executive offices is available in storage room A-5. You’ll want to get started; it takes centuries to process.”
The man left in a huff, carting his American miracle elixir under one arm. As soon as he was gone, Draco stubbed out the unsmoked cigarette and threw the distasteful thing in the rubbish bin. He cleared the air with a wave of his wand. Ah, the lengths he went to to get people out of his office…
Then Draco thought about what was in store for him tonight and considered lighting the damned thing again and just sitting there soaking in the toxins. Weekly visits with his mother, good food notwithstanding, were hardly his favorite way to spend his evenings. Harry always got a little bit stiffer when he told him he was going to the manor again for the night. Thankfully it was only once a week.
The trip back to his and Harry’s home did nothing to improve his mood. Draco tried to relish each Muggle face that blanched at his poisonous sneer; he only took Muggle-Trans when he was feeling particularly snide and in need of some instant gratification. But his mind was not fully on it this time.
It was bad enough his office was being inundated with incompetent, pompous fools who thought they had improved upon the most ancient and useful of potions in wizarding history. He couldn’t even look forward to going home anymore.
Draco scowled, barely noticing that the look immediately cleared the two seats directly in front of him of their passengers. He didn’t understand it personally; why Harry should choose this month to act so strangely was beyond him. First it had been the silences at dinner. Harry’s clinking fork and knife had begun to drown out the soft sighs he had been making lately. Uncharacteristic; Draco had been worried Harry was ill. He revised that to ‘depressed’ a week of stilted conversations later.
And then there was the funny, relieved look on Harry’s face whenever Draco would come home after his weekly dinners at the manor. And that was often followed by a statement to the order of, “Oh. There you are.” Draco still managed to smile, cock his head and say, “Here I am.” It was getting more difficult.
But most of all, it was the sex that had Draco up at night. Not in that glorious deep-kissing-waking-one’s-fiance-at-half-three-to-make-aching-soul-redefining-love-to-him sort of way. No, it was that yearning, almost desperate way Harry responded to the waking at half three. And then it was the other nights’ shagging when Harry closed his eyes, the kind that made Draco feel like he was simply using Harry to get off, even though he knew that wasn’t the case because everything fell a bit flaccid as soon as the very idea of it entered Draco’s mind.
Draco chewed his lip and stared at the grimy floor of the double-decker. Was it possible that Harry was going to… No, he didn’t like thinking that way. He hadn’t liked it when it popped into his head the week before, he hadn’t liked it mid-shag in the living room last Saturday when Harry had suddenly remembered he was supposed to be showering and getting to sleep early for something or other Sunday morning. And he didn’t like it now. But thinking That Way rather seemed to like it when one was trying to ignore it.
He’d been so stupidly hopeful with Harry that he wouldn’t ever have to think That Way again. He found himself twisting his ring, much the same way he’d seen his lover twisting his own for the past three weeks.
Draco stopped off at Pierre Marcolini’s and treated himself to two raspberry cream and toffee truffles with triple sec because he thought the upcoming three hours at the manor gave him plenty of excuse to splurge, and spent the next minute or so sneering at the boy behind the counter for his continued attempts at flirting with him. Even the ring was no deterrent; Draco had discovered this the second month he had worn it. Only Harry’s presence at his side seemed to make the boy morose enough to leave off with his ridiculous shenanigans. Draco ended up getting so fed up this time around, he took his truffles, stalked out of the store into a poor excuse for an alleyway, and Apparated the rest of the way home.
You may as well leave off, he’d said shortly as he’d paid the boy. I have a fiancé.
The boy had grinned at him. Don’t be so stodgy. Those sorts of things never last.
And now Draco’s stomach was flip-flopping for no good reason because he was a Malfoy and Malfoys didn’t listen to other, lesser people’s opinions, certainly not the opinions of Muggles with no social graces, and if Harry had a problem, he would say something, wouldn’t he?
Draco strode into the house, fuming, chewing a chocolate with a vengeance, quite ready this time to demand that Harry tell him what the hell was wrong with his work schedule, or his choice of chocolatiers, or his visits to his mother, or most importantly, the sex that had done them both so well the entire time they’d lived together, the sex Draco still liked and wanted quite badly with his lover. Who didn’t seem to be enjoying it much at all anymore.
He threw his coat over a chair, slapped his bag of one truffle onto the table, and… saw the ring.
Draco could not articulate how much it hurt to see the ring anywhere but on Harry’s left ring finger. It glittered gold in the light from the kitchen, the snake staring blankly out of azure eyes. He blinked at it.
That Way of thinking was suddenly the only way of thinking. Draco could not breathe. He picked up the ring between two shaking fingers and tried to deny it, but—
It was happening all over again.
“Draco?”
He spun and saw Harry frozen in the door to the hallway, eyes wide. In his hand he held a folded piece of parchment. Draco stared at it, looked at the ring in his hand, and felt like he’d been hit by the Hogwarts Express.
“So that’s how it’s going to happen.”
Harry looked away briefly. Draco’s chest hurt.
“Were you even going to say anything?” he said bitterly.
Harry’s mouth opened and closed, and then his eyes went a little hard.
“Was there something you needed to say?” he muttered.
Draco pursed his lips. He looked at the ring in his palm. “I should have known. Just a note, then? Not even going to talk to me, were you?”
Harry’s face flushed and he looked at the parchment in his hand as if he’d suddenly remembered its existence. He looked embarrassed. “This—Draco, I meant to talk to you about it first, but—I—”
“You did, did you?” Draco’s eyes were burning. He wished he hadn’t eaten that truffle. An empty stomach would have been much better for this sort of thing. “Well, I’m so glad you decided to include me in your little plans.”
Harry scowled suddenly. “And what else was I supposed to think? You should know all about avoidance. But then again, I guess it wasn’t that high on your list of things to worry about anymore. Moving on and all that.”
Draco gritted his teeth. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who’s been acting like a disgruntled goblin for the last three weeks!”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. His lips twisted down. “Exactly when were you going to tell me about Garrett Saffold-Insbrook? And Parkinson? Rather important, in my humble opinion!”
Draco’s knees went all wobbly. It wasn’t fair for Harry to throw that at him. It wasn’t. Especially not during this sort of conversation. “Oh, I see. Don’t want to touch me now, do you? Draco Malfoy’s past isn’t as pristine as the great Harry Potter would have liked. The ring’s not quite right anymore, having been used and all.”
Harry threw up his hands, green eyes going dark. “Well, it all fits, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t even set a date! Four months and you wouldn’t even talk about it!”
Draco’s throat closed. He glared at Harry to keep his eyes occupied with something other than filling with tears. “Well, why should I? Every time I do that, this happens!”
He grabbed his coat and stalked to the front door. Harry’s footsteps sounded behind him. “Draco, wait—”
Draco spun and flicked the serpent ring he still held. It landed at Harry’s feet. “Keep it; I’m not giving it to anyone else ever again,” he choked out. It only seemed to curse the whole bloody endeavor anyway. “I’ve a dinner appointment with my mother. I’d advise you not to be here when I come back for my things.”
He threw the door open and slammed it shut behind him, then collapsed back against the wall, shaking. Trust Harry to nose around and dredge up things Draco had finally been able to hide from himself again. But he hadn’t thought Harry was that shallow, that he wouldn’t ask him to explain first. No never mind that Draco hadn’t been planning on saying anything about it, ever.
It was a well known fact that it was much easier to get angry than to get sad. And Malfoys didn’t let self-righteous former fiancés rile them up anyway. Draco certainly had never let them cause tears before. But Harry… was different. Harry was supposed to be different.
And right now, he was making Draco behave like a fool.
Draco blinked once, and then straightened slowly and faced one of the windows. He was a Malfoy. He wasn’t to be cast aside by anyone. And there was certainly no reason to make it an even two anyones. He could feel it sneaking through him, turning his ridiculous emotions into much more formidable weapons. He brushed off his robes, flicked his hair to rights – surprisingly unmussed by the recent loss of his fiance – and all of the responses he had never thought to use against Harry were there at last, ready to be tempered and directed like arrows. He turned calmly and shoved the door open again, seeing red properly at last.
That disgusting show of weakness was no way to say goodbye to his lover of three years. Oh, no. He was going to give Harry Potter something to remember him by before he swore off the bastard forever. Something to regret. Let him realize what a mistake he’d made. Let him see that he was still Draco Malfoy and that a spurned Malfoy was a poisonous creature indeed.
The last thing Draco expected when he reached the doorway of the dining room was to see Harry sitting there shivering, head collapsed into the cradle of his arms.
No. No, it didn’t matter. He was a Malfoy. He was Draco Malfoy and none of this sentimental drivel was going to make any difference. He set his jaw, preparing to lash out with the only weapon he had left, his tongue, when Harry lifted his head to stare at the serpent ring that was suddenly between his fingertips. A tear slipped down one cheek, followed by another. And another.
“Potter, you idiot.” Harry’s voice was soft. Draco paused, and in that moment, Harry’s voice came again.
“Are you happy, you ungrateful harpy?” His words were broken, on the verge of disappearing. “You’ve got your precious son back.”
Harry’s eyes filled and his head dropped like a stone back onto his arms. His shoulders began to hitch uncontrollably.
Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano Malfoy took a moment to process what he had just heard. Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano Malfoy drew a single, deep breath.
And then Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano Malfoy got incredibly angry for an entirely different reason.
...
Part 5: Suppers at Malfoy Manor
...
O.o *has been decisively mean*
