A/N: I don't own Harry Potter.
Oi!!!: This is for YeiYai's birthday, a fic involving Draco and a zebra thong. Thanks to Seo-san for editing this. All mistakes are hers, lol.
On the Catwalk
Harry wasn't particularly sure how he ended up here, nor the point of him being here at all.
That wasn't entirely true. He knew how he got here—that was seen to by Hermione—but the why was still a little fuzzy.
Why he agreed to come to this place was unfathomable. This place being a fashion show. Hermione had asked him a few weeks ago to attend the thing with her because Ron had flat out said no and 'Harry wouldn't treat his best friend like that, would he?'
Harry snorted and rolled his eyes at the thought, praying a stray camera got that shot. Why, why, oh, why, had Hermione asked him here? With all the lights and 'haute cotour' or whatever, and these insufferably vain and snobby people! It's not like he knew a thing about fashion; he'd still be wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs if Hermione had let him. He had absolutely no taste and doubted he'd get any pleasure from this at all. Though, it might be entertaining to watch these blokes strut around looking like complete twats.
Yes, this was an all male fashion show. And to add to that, Hermione had run off and the damned thing hadn't even started! She had better get her arse back here before it did or he'd...
Suddenly, the lights around Harry dimmed, and music began pumping through the room, causing Harry's whole body to vibrate. Looking to the stage, Harry could see the silhouette of the first model; he paused behind a white screen before strutting out onto the catwalk.
The man was wearing a pair of plaid trousers and a tight black v-neck shirt with some ratty old trainers. The model was pretty attractive—even Harry could admit that, being as straight as he was.
Which was very, by the way.
He continued watching with a sort of fascination that one only got from watching things they didn't quite understand, like aeroplanes and Richard Simmons. The models passed, the cameras flashed, people clapped, the song crooned about how sexy they were, and the outfits got wilder and wilder.
"Oh, I missed the beginning?" Hermione slid into the chair next to Harry, right at the edge of the runway. "Did he come out yet? I hope I didn't miss him. He only does one walk..."
"Who does?" Harry asked, barely taking his eyes off the black haired model that was passing them in a coat made of feathers.
"What do you mean 'who'? I mean...." She stopped mid sentence when another model appeared behind the white screen and the volume in the room rose at least two decibels. The model held his cool pose behind the screen for longer than the others before slowly stepping around to show himself.
Harry's jaw dropped, Hermione squealed next to him, the room applauded madly, cameras flashed and clicked—but Harry couldn't focus on any of that. The only thing Harry could see right now was Draco Malfoy, swaggering down the catwalk in nothing but a pair of zebra thong underwear. Harry couldn't help but think how insufficient the garment was at down-playing Malfoy's...assets.
Malfoy's gaze was focused ahead of him. Harry was certain the blond couldn't see him gaping, so he felt no shame in doing so. Malfoy stopped at the end of the runway, letting the photographers have their shot, showing off his perfect physique. Harry admired the way he stood, so erect, proud, confident, something Harry could never do, even after all he had done to be proud of. And his arse! Harry could honestly say he'd never seen a more perfect arse: so round, smooth, and milky. Not even on a woman.
His hair was styled in a way that Harry had never seen. It was longer in the front, short in the back and swept over one of his heavily kohl-lined eyes. He wore his trademark smirk, but this was quite more seductive than the condescending ones Harry had ever seen the blond give. It was kind of...nice. Suddenly, Malfoy spun back towards the way he came; he looked over his shoulder once at the many admirers, shook his tush once, and began the walk back. The room exploded with that, and as he made his way back his arm shot out over Harry, a piece of paper falling into the hero's lap.
Harry looked to his lap, then the end of the catwalk where Malfoy was heading back. He threw Harry a sideways wink and disappeared.
"Harry!" The brunet whipped his head around to face Hermione who was looking at him with a wide eyed expression.
"What?" Harry asked thickly. He didn't know why, but he was finding it quite hard to swallow.
Hermione dropped her voice so no one could hear, which Harry found entirely unnecessary, seeing as the room was so loud. "Well, first I think Draco Malfoy just hit on you and secondly, I'm 99% certain you wanted him to!"
"What do you mean, Hermione? I did not," Harry tried to deny feebly. Hermione didn't answer him verbally. She simply looked from his face and down to his lap, which housed a very noticeable erection. "Merlin!" Harry tried to cover himself as quickly as possible, wishing to God that the security would have let them bring their wands in so he could cast a concealing charm.
He hadn't even noticed he'd been aroused before, probably being so caught up in shock that Malfoy was there and that he was...bloody fucking gorgeous. But now that Hermione mentioned it, he was acutely aware of how turned on he was.
"Well, what does the note say?" Hermione prodded, poking Harry in the side.
Harry unfurled the paper, instantly recognising Malfoy's elegant penmanship.
See something you like, Potter?
Harry blushed deeply and shoved the note in his pocket hastily, deciding to incinerate the note as soon as he got to his flat. "I'm leaving," he mumbled to Hermione.
"Wait, Harry, it's nothing to be ashamed about! Anyone would...you know, after seeing Malfoy like that. Hell, why do you think I came to this thing in the first place?" Hermione asked, resting her hand on Harry's arm.
"Hermione," Harry began with a sigh. "I'm not gay, I just, you know, haven't had sex in awhile is all, and Malfoy's just so pretty and feminine, and really who wouldn't be attracted to the snotty git? It's not my fault I haven't had sex in so long and Malfoy is just offering himself to an entire room full of people he doesn't even know...I think, and anyway-"
"Harry!" Hermione interrupted, eyeing the way his blush had deepened during his tirade. "It's okay, I know you're not gay. But still, it'd be okay if you were."
"I'm not gay!" Harry shouted, yanking his arm from Hermione's tightened grip. He spun on one heel and headed for the exit, ignoring Hermione's protests behind him. He checked his wand and coat and stormed out of the building, fuming all the way to the apparition point.
Harry froze in mid step. He knew who was behind him, but he didn't dare turn to face him now. "Malfoy."
"Where are you going in such a rush?" Malfoy drawled, and Harry heard him step forward.
"Home. Not that it's any of your business," Harry snapped.
"Oh? So soon?" Harry could hear him smirking, and knew some sarcastic and more than likely humiliating comment was coming next. "Want me to come with?"
Slightly surprised, but not put off, Harry threw over his shoulder, "I'd rather rot."
Malfoy laughed at that, a silver little bell that hung in the air. "You just may. Tell me: wouldn't it be so much better to be able to touch me like you want, rather than just wanking to unfilled fantasies?"
Harry stiffened and turned quickly to face the blond and realised he was a lot closer than he had thought. He'd bent so his face was level to Harry's, his stance casual, hands shoved in pockets. "Listen here, Malfoy," Harry ground out. "I am not gay, and I will never be gay; especially for you."
"And I'm really a unicorn. Wanna see my horn? It's quite impressive," Malfoy leered back.
"Sod off, Malfoy!" Harry barked, ignoring the way those grey eyes twinkled, and turned back to the apparition point. Suddenly, he was being dragged backwards so fast he didn't have time to grab his wand. Not that he was sure he'd really pull it on Malfoy; the stupid twat was for the most part harmless.
Malfoy pulled him into an alley way next to the building they had just exited and slammed him against the wall. Harry let out 'oof' in pain, and tried to push back, only to have Malfoy's body press against his, and his arms pinned to the wall. Malfoy shoved his thigh in-between Harry's, feeling the growing hardness there and breathed into the brunet's ear, "Why, Harry, I haven't even done anything yet."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut tight and turned his face away from the blondes. "S-stop."
"I don't think you want me to," Malfoy answered, and licked the shell of Harry's ear. Harry tried pushing him off feebly, but now the thigh between his was moving up in down in a most delicious manner and he couldn't help but groan. "See," Malfoy whispered. "You want this."
"No!" Harry shouted, and then Malfoy's lips where on his, silencing any further protest. Harry kept his mouth shut tight to Malfoy's prodding tongue, refusing to give in and let Malfoy have his way. But then Malfoy bit down on his bottom lip and Harry yelped in pain. Malfoy's tongue entered quickly, exploring Harry's mouth expertly.
Harry could honestly say he'd never been kissed like this. Malfoy definitely knew what he was doing, and he tasted so good—like spice, berries and something else Harry couldn't place. His tongue tentatively rose up to meet Malfoy's in this new dance, when Harry abruptly remembered who this was and what they were doing.
"Fuck!" Malfoy pulled away after Harry bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. Malfoy licked his lips and glared at the smirking Harry. The glare hardened, and for a moment Harry was actually afraid Malfoy might attack him; instead, the blond spit in his face.
Harry hissed, turning his head away.
Malfoy suddenly pulled both of Harry's hands over his head against the wall, and held them there with one hand. "You're not being very nice, are you, Potter?" he asked, his free hand now travelling south.
"I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, if you don't let me go this instant, I will scream, and I will scream like a girl. And when someone comes running, I will kill you." Harry glared. "Slowly."
Malfoy smirked. "Oh, you'll be screaming all right. My name." And then his hand was gripping Harry's member, pulling it free from the confines of Harry's trousers.
"Fuck!" Harry hissed, throwing his head back against the wall, rather painfully. Malfoy's hand worked up and down slowly, gripping the head and twisting, then back down again with just the right amount of pressure. He'd get to the base and let a finger travel down to tickle Harry's balls before sliding back up again.
Harry felt his legs become weak, pleasure coursing through his body and coiling in his groin. He gasped when Malfoy's thumb grazed his slit, wiping the pearl that had formed on the head and using it for lube. Malfoy continued to work his hand in ways Harry would have never imagined doing, all the while smirking down at the saviour. Harry tried to forget who was doing this to him, tried to imagine some hot woman, Ginny even, when it came down to it. But somehow, Malfoy was able to make his presence known even without saying anything at all.
Abruptly, Harry felt himself tighten, knowing he was near. He tried to push Malfoy away, or at least give him some warning.
"Say it," Malfoy whispered. "Say it out loud." He tightened his hand around the base of Harry's cock, causing the brunet immense torture.
"Say what?" Harry gritted out.
"My name," Malfoy answered. "Tell me that you're coming and say my name."
"N-No." Malfoy squeezed harder, eliciting a groan from Harry. "Mal-"
"Draco," Malfoy demanded, moving down to lavish some attention on Harry's tormented balls.
Harry tried to glare at the blond, but knew it wasn't working properly and that he looked ridiculous. He couldn't help but moan when Malfoy began pulling and tugging on him rather roughly. He felt the coil tense once more and he knew he couldn't hold it much more.
"Say it," Malfoy whispered once more, his breath caressing Harry's ear.
He couldn't take it anymore. He felt as though his legs were going to give out from underneath him and that if he held it in for one more second, he'd die. "Draco, I'm coming!" Harry shouted and Malfoy pulled hard on his dick, almost as if he were milking Harry. Harry couldn't help thrusting into Malfoy's palm as he rode out his orgasm, his body weak with pleasure, but still wanting more of that touch.
Malfoy let Harry's hands go and they fell limply to his side. He took a moment to catch his breath and felt Malfoy cast a cleaning charm on him and, more than likely, his own hand, before shoving Harry back into his trousers and begin doing them up.
Harry slapped his hand away with a glare. "I can do it myself," he snapped.
Malfoy only chuckled. He smirked at the panting war hero before turning to walk away. He paused at the end of the alley, and said over his shoulder, "If you ever want real release, you know where to find me." With that, he walked away, leaving Harry dishevelled in the alleyway.
It took Harry a moment to regain himself, before he shouted after the blond, "I'm not gay!" But it was too late, and Harry knew it. Malfoy was long gone. Harry sighed and pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the apparition point.
How the hell did this happen?
That night Harry didn't get much sleep. In fact, when he finally fell asleep, his mind was clouded with Malfoy. Seemingly innocent things that would turn grossly sexual: Malfoy eating ice cream, or having a photo shoot, or he and Malfoy play a Seekers game, that turned into a new type of Mile High Club sex, and the thing that all these dreams had in common was that in each and every one of them, Malfoy was always wearing a zebra striped thong.
Finally, he gave up on sleep and began to work on a few case reports he'd been putting off. It was around four in the morning that he heard a tapping on his window. He didn't recognise the owl, and for such a late hour Harry was quite suspicious. He cast several spells to detect dark magic, love potions, or any other undesirable thing he didn't want to deal with at the moment.
Finding that none of these were the case, he sighed and opened the window, letting the owl (that he now realised was a falcon) in. It held out its leg imperiously, shaking it a bit when Harry didn't untie the note quickly enough. "Alright already," Harry murmured to it. The falcon snatched its leg back as soon as it was possible and flew out the window, not bothering to wait for a reply.
"Nasty bugger," Harry said to himself and began opening the letter. Inside he found a single 4x5 piece of paper that said one word, 'Enjoy.' Suddenly the word shifted and a photograph developed before his eyes.
Harry flung the picture across the room when he realised what it was, and watched as it fluttered harmlessly to the floor. He slammed his window shut and cast a strong ward against any foreign birds and stormed back to his desk. Violently he began scrawling across the report forms, not even caring that his normally illegible chicken scratch had turned into one large line slightly resembling English.
He let out a sigh of frustration when his quill snapped in half, before throwing it down and leaving his desk. He couldn't deal with this now. He began pacing the room, running a hand through his unruly locks trying to calm himself.
"Okay, this is no big deal," he said to himself. "It really can't be helped. I just haven't had sex in so long, that's all. I'm not gay, Malfoy's just feminine. Yea. If I have sex with a woman, then I won't find him attractive anymore. Yea, that's what I'll do." He stopped short, realisation freezing him. "Tonight, I'll go out and find some woman to sleep with, is all. Brilliant!" He smiled and looked at the clock; he still had three hours until he had to be up, might as well try to sleep.
He went back to bed, forgetting about the picture that still lay, face up, in his flat. A picture of Draco Malfoy, winking at an unseen Harry in nothing but a zebra thong.
That morning when Harry entered the office he shared with Ron he was surprisingly chipper, and a little tired.
"Hey, Ron," he said, sitting down at his desk and throwing his bag down next to him.
"Harry!" Ron said in the tone that meant he was going to tell Harry something he thought was really, really important, but normally was ridiculous. "Did you know the only reason Hermione wanted to go to that thing last night was because Malfoy was in it?"
Harry's eyes narrowed. "I don't want to talk about Malfoy."
"Why? Hermione said something happened between you two, but she wouldn't tell me what. The slimy git didn't try anything did he?" Ron's face started turning red with anger.
"No," Harry answered tersely, hoping the redhead got the hint. Unfortunately, Ron never caught onto these things quickly and he continued talking.
"Why anyone in their right mind would want to see Malfoy at all, is beyond me. And especially in a zebra stripped th-"
"Enough!" Harry barked, not even caring how surprised his best friend looked. "I said I don't want to talk about Malfoy, and that means I don't want to talk about Malfoy!"
Ron looked sheepish and muttered, "Sorry."
Feeling bad, Harry added. "The mental image is just too much, you know? Good thing you didn't have to see it too."
Ron smiled. "Yea, good thing."
They worked in relative silence for the rest of the day, this being their day to fill out paper work. They were quite jittery by days end.
"Hey, you want to go out somewhere?" Harry asked, remembering his earlier resolve to get laid that night.
"Nah, I can't. Hermione and I have plans tonight. Sorry, mate," Ron apologised, patting Harry's shoulder.
"It's all right," Harry answered, stepping into the atrium. "But, hey, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yea, tomorrow then," Ron said and they parted ways.
Harry went home and flopped into bed.
"Forget it, even if I went out I wouldn't taken anyone home anyway," he reasoned. Truthfully, the reason Harry hadn't had sex or a relationship in so long was because he found that anyone he thought attractive couldn't see past his scar. One woman went as far as to ask him to re-enact the final battle. Needless to say, he never saw her again.
Now that Harry thought about it there was only ever one person that didn't give a shit that he was Harry Potter. Sure, others had hated him, but that wasn't because of who he really was, it was because they were taught to. But only one person had truly disliked him beyond the name. And now that person wanted to get into his pants.
Harry groaned. This really was turning out to be way too complicated and revealing. Perhaps he should just go find a random woman to fuck, and then eventually marry. It'd be a hell of a lot easier.
But Harry never did take the easy way out. And now that he was thinking about it, he had to wonder. If Malfoy had always hated him so much, why did he do those things in the alleyway? Was it some sort of twisted power thing? Probably, he reasoned. There was no way Malfoy actually liked him. Perhaps that he was attractive, yes.
Harry wasn't completely oblivious; he knew he was at least semi-attractive. But other than that, what reason would Malfoy have to want him? Just to say he conquered Harry Potter? Because Malfoy was shallow enough to want him for his looks alone? Was it revenge? Those were all more likely than the notion of Malfoy having feelings for him other than malevolence.
Harry sat up; this was turning out to be a bit too depressing. Deciding to make himself something to eat, to take his mind of things, he got out of bed and headed for the kitchen. It was then Harry noticed the picture still lying on his living room floor. Figuring he'd better get rid of it now, before Ron or Hermione found it, he picked up the photograph and his breath caught in his throat. Somehow seeing the image again made last night more real. The memory of Malfoy's touch made his body burn, and long for it again. He swiftly turned back towards his bedroom, photo in hand.
Harry sat down across from Hermione at the pub where they decided to meet for lunch, after two weeks of not seeing one another. Since the fashion show fiasco to be exact.
"Harry, how have you been?" Hermione asked.
"Fine," he replied. "And you?"
"Oh, I've been good. Busy with school and everything," she answered, waving a hand about. She was currently studying to become a certified historian and proficient with ancient runes. She was hoping to become a professor at Hogwarts, and eventually Headmistress. That way she could free the house elves.
"I figured as much. Things are pretty slow at the office. Crime rate has plunged significantly."
"That's good to hear. I don't like it when they send you and Ron on overly dangerous missions. There really is no need to send you two into hostage situations where you know both the victim and suspect. Not to mention when it's in a secluded area, and you're sent in alone."
"'Mione, that was one time!"
"Well, I still don't like it!" She replied, taking a sip of tea. She seemed to want to say something more, so Harry waited, adding sugar to his tea and stirring longer than necessary. "So, have you heard from Malfoy lately?"
Harry stopped, genuinely surprised she would bring up the topic. "No, I haven't. And why should I?"
"No reason," she answered quickly, too quickly. "I just meant that he seemed like he was messing with you. I just wanted to know if he' done anything since then."
The memory of what happened after the show resurfaced and Harry's face began to burn. "No, he hasn't, alright? I don't want to talk about Malfoy. Ever. Okay?"
"But, you can't not talk about him forever, I mean-"
"Hermione! Drop it!"
"Lower your voice," she hissed, leaning in when others began to stare. "Harry, you can't deny that you aren't attracted to him! It's written all over your face, and I'm willing to bet he is too. Why do you think youv'e always been able to set each other off when no one else could?"
"Hermione, I am not gay and I am not attracted to Draco Malfoy," Harry growled.
"The sooner you stop lying to yourself, the better."
"You're mad!" Harry barked. "Raving mad!" He laughed a bit when she sat back in offense. "Hermione, like I said, I am not gay, I am not attracted to Draco Malfoy, and I don't want to talk about him," he hissed over the table, eyes burning with furious intensity. Hermione nodded slowly and Harry sat back. He let out a sigh and turned away from his friend. "Even if I was," he whispered. "He's just messing with me. He just wants to humiliate me for being so foolish." He stood abruptly, not bothering to say good-bye to Hermione and left.
Hermione could only watch with a pained heart as he left.
"You all right, mate? You have been looking a bit down lately," Ron asked one morning at work.
"What? Have I? I just haven't been getting much sleep lately, is all. Don't worry about it," Harry replied, looking down at his unfinished paperwork, trying to brush off Ron's worry.
In truth, Harry was afraid to look at Ron that moment. He was afraid of what his face might have portrayed to Ron, afraid that with one glance his best friend would figure it all out and ditch him.
It was true that Harry hadn't been getting much sleep at night, but Ron didn't need to know why that was. He never was going to, either.
Harry felt quite pathetic about the whole thing. It was ludicrous, anyway. He was afraid to go to sleep, because he knew when he did he'd just wake up in the middle of the night and have to clean himself up. It was all because of Malfoy. Ever since that night, it seemed the blond was constantly on his mind; he was continuously trying to figure out why Malfoy did what he did and why he had just let it happen. If he had really wanted Malfoy to stop, he could have a stopped him. And why did he want to do it again?
So did this make him gay? That he supposed he could live with, but being attracted to Draco Malfoy? He wasn't so sure.
Because he wasn't so sure it was just lust. When he really thought about it, which was rarely, he noticed things about Malfoy that he generally liked. He liked that Malfoy was intelligent, and that he knew what he was talking about. He liked the way Malfoy came back after the war, refusing to hide away and wither off. He liked that he was still arrogant, even after that, too. He also liked the way Malfoy was fiercely loyal to his family, but still had a sense of right and wrong, like when he couldn't kill Dumbledore. He liked that he never gave up, always striving for the best, or to jump whatever hurdle was put in front of him. He liked that he didn't let people take advantage of him, and snubbed those who tried to put him down, making them look like fools. He liked the way he didn't give a shit that Harry was Harry Potter, but still treated Harry like an equal, even if he did act like he was superior most of the time.
And to be completely honest, he liked the way Malfoy looked in a zebra thong.
How long had he felt this way? Since that night? Maybe he had just realised it that night. Maybe he had felt like this for a long time.
"Get this, Harry," Ron said, startling Harry from his thoughts. He couldn't believe he had started thinking so deeply in the middle of work, especially with Ron right across from him. "Apparently Malfoy's got another show tonight and Hermione wants you to go with her."
Harry's face hardened. "Why couldn't she ask me herself?"
"Dunno," Ron answered, while taking a sip of tea. "She said something about me seeing you anyway. Oh, and she said to tell you, 'Come on, Harry, it was a month ago, it won't be so bad.' She talking about something that happened with Malfoy?"
"Don't worry about it," Harry ground out. "And tell her I said, 'Fuck no.'" The last thing he needed was to see Malfoy right now. Not when he was so confused.
When he entered his flat that night, he noticed Malfoy's falcon flying towards the window. Sighing, he took down the wards he had placed so long ago and allowed the falcon to land on the sill. It tapped viciously at the glass and Harry rushed forward to let it in, fearing it would break the window.
He opened the window and the flacon stuck its leg out. Harry looked at it warily. The envelope was the same as last time, so it was probably another picture. He untied it and the falcon took off. He was about to open the envelope, against his better judgement, when his Floo flared up.
"Harry, thank Merlin you're here," Shacklebolt said, his bald head poking through the flames.
"What is it?" Harry asked, setting the envelope aside.
"There's a situation at Malfoy Manor. You're needed there immediately."
"What's happened?" Panic seized Harry's chest, and he tried to brush it off as simple altruism, rather than Draco alone.
"Draco's received a death threat, apparently. I was actually surprised that they called us, but it seems like this person is getting close to him and Mrs. Malfoy is concerned," Shacklebolt explained.
Harry kneeled in front of the fire place, cloak already on. "Wait, why do you need me though?"
"Mrs. Malfoy has specifically asked for you, actually."
"Right," Harry answered, standing. "I'll be there in a minute."
"Good, I await the report" Shacklebolt answered, and then retreated.
Harry headed out his door, wondering what kind of death threat this had to be for Mrs. Malfoy to be worried. He knew for a fact that Draco had received death threats before, having thrown the bastards in jail when they drunkenly and unwittingly told Harry of their 'good deeds.'
Really, it made him sick. He knew that the Malfoy's weren't the best people, but even they deserved the chance to redeem themselves. Well, maybe not Lucius so much. But Narcissa and Draco, definitely.
He steeled himself for the feeling of being sucked through a vacuum and closed his eyes. He landed, on his feet, thankfully, just outside the wards of the Manor. The gates opened, automatically, and he walked up the long path to the door.
The door opened and Harry was ushered in by a house elf who said, "Mistress Narcissa be waiting for you in the drawing room, Harry Potter, sir."
"Thank you," Harry told the elf, following it to said room. Upon entering, Harry found only Narcissa, which lead to the question of why the victim was not present.
"Mr. Potter," Narcissa greeted, waving an elegant hand for him to sit.
"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry nodded. "You're looking well."
"Charming as always," she replied. "Now, to get to more serious matters." A tray of tea appeared before them and she took a cup. "Draco seems to have some sort of neurotic admirer. They don't know whether to kiss him or kill him. Personally, I'd like them to do neither."
"Well," Harry began. "How did this person contact him? Owl, street, meeting place?"
"They sent him an owl. It was very disturbing," she explained. "Normally, I wouldn't call you for such a trivial thing. But later, when I went out into the garden, I found the heads severed from the sculptures, and in the grass had been burned, 'I'm coming for you, Draco.' Mr. Potter, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that, with the exception of yourself, no one has ever gotten across these wards without our letting them."
"I see," Harry answered. "May I see the garden? And Draco?"
"Of course," Narcissa replied, standing. She led him out to the gardens where he found it just as she said. "You won't need to examine this for long, will you? I'd like to fix it as soon as possible."
"No, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry replied moving towards the head of what seemed to be two men raping a woman. Harry decided not to ask why there was a statue of sexual harassment in their garden, but at least he knew where Draco got it from. He began checking for spells, running through a basic magical signature and coming back with nothing.
Moving further out, he scanned the entire area for traces of magic. The spell came back only with the wards surrounding the manor and basic gardening spells. Confused, Harry moved to inspect a statue more closely. There he found distinct marks, as if the statue's heads had been beaten off, instead of blasted.
This person hadn't used magic to sever these heads. He made a quick note of it and moved to the grass where the threat was made. He ran a spell over it and it too came back empty. Kneeling down, he took a whiff of the ground. Gasoline and fire.
They weren't dealing with any ordinary wizard. This person had knowledge of the Muggle world, and was smart enough to not use magic. Harry made another note and began to stand.
"You called for me, Mother?" Harry heard Draco ask. He didn't turn around right away, unsure whether he could face the blond after all that he had been feeling.
"Yes, Mr. Potter needs to speak with you about the case," Narcissa answered, and with that Harry steeled himself and turned.
Draco's hair was much different now. It was longer, the strands brushing the shoulders, but cut short around the crown of his head, the hair there fluffed up to give him more volume. His bangs swept over his forehead, drawing attention to his stormy grey eyes, which were make-up free today. Harry couldn't help but whole heartily approve of the new cut.
"What for?" Draco asked calmly.
"About the threat," Narcissa replied, stepping around Draco and heading for the house. "Once you're finished Mr. Potter, I'd like to speak to you once more."
"Yes, ma'am," Harry answered, nodding.
They watched in silence as Narcissa entered the house, before Harry threw up a muffling charm and turned to Draco. He was opening his mouth when Draco spoke.
"There is no case."
Harry faltered, swallowed once and continued. "What?"
"I said there is no case," Draco answered. "I've received death threats before, it's nothing new and nothing I can't handle."
"Malfoy, look, your mother is worried, so would you at least let me go through the necessary steps in order to appease her?" Harry asked, rubbing his temple. He could already feel a headache coming on.
"Proceed," Draco answered, sitting down at nearby table.
Harry followed and sat as well, pulling out a Quick Notes Quill. "Approximately when did you receive this letter?"
"About three or four days ago."
"And you didn't think to report it then?"
"There was nothing to report, Potter," Draco spat.
Harry sighed. "Right, no big deal. And what did this letter say?"
"I'm not quite sure that's any of your business, Potter," Draco answered, standing. "Listen. The person who sent it is obviously insane. They're in love with me to the point that they can't see anything else. It's one of those, if-I-can't-have-you-no-one-else-can situations. And this," Draco continued with a wave at the garden, "is just a breech in security that has been rectified. So, if you'll excuse me, I have a show to prepare for."
"Malfoy!" Harry called, walking after the man. "Wait just a damned minute! You can't seriously believe that this is just something to brush off! You said yourself that the person is obviously insane. How can you walk around like nothing's wrong with a target on your head!?"
Draco stopped abruptly, spinning around and bending down so he was almost nose to nose with Harry. "I've always had a target on my head, Potter. What do you care, anyway? I'm a big boy; I can take care of myself."
Harry faltered for a moment, opening and closing his mouth. Draco looked disgusted and turned to go in the house. Harry watched him for a moment, trying to regain his thoughts before rushing after him. When he caught sight of Draco, Narcissa was stepping in front of him.
"Mother," Draco said, a bit surprised.
"Draco," she replied. "I've arranged to have Mr. Potter protect you until this case is resolved. Please don't kill him in the process."
"Mother," Draco started.
"Draco," she warned calmly, then turned to Harry. "Mr. Shacklebolt has the details, if you'd like to contact him. I thank you in advance."
"No problem, Mrs. Malfoy, I'm sure I and the rest of the department will get to the bottom of this right away."
"I'm sure," Narcissa answered. She threw a look at Draco then said. "Well, have a good night Mr. Potter. Have a good show, Draco." She left them alone and Draco sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling before shooting Harry a sideways glance.
"I don't need your protection," he hissed, before turning and heading up the stairs.
Why was Draco acting like this so suddenly? Harry wondered. A month ago he was all whispered hushes, gentle touches, and seductive smirks. And now, it was as if nothing had happened at all. He hadn't spoken to Harry so bluntly or spitefully since Hogwarts. So, what had changed? He must've really been toying with Harry that night.
"I'd suggest you start following me now if you plan on doing your job at all. I won't wait for you, Potter, so you'd better keep up."
Harry forced a smirk and followed him up the stairs. "I'd like to see you try and lose me."
Draco glared ahead and replied, "Don't worry, you'll see that quite soon."
A/N: Well, I didn't want this to be this long, but all well. This will be a two-shoot with the ending posted hopefully next week. I also didn't expect this story to go this way at all. Anyway, happy birthday YeiYai, don't worry there's more to come!