55Chapter 8: ADAIG 2: A Fateful Favour
As Dark as It Gets, part two: A Fateful Favour
They stared at the dark-haired stranger in utter astonishment and understandable shock, both wondering where the Hell he had come from—and how! Normal people could not just walk through walls! And this young man certainly was no ghost, because he was not transparent.
Moaning in pain, he got up from the floor and brushed some dirt off the sleeves of his black jacket. He looked at them with an apologetic smile. "Sorry to barge in like this, but I have an important favour to ask you."
Draco suddenly remembered that he was naked, and desperate to cover himself up, he hid behind Harry. "What the Hell are you doing?" he yelled at the stranger. "Get the Hell out of my bathroom!"
The dark-haired man got an expression of hesitation on his face. He shifted his feet. "Sorry, but I have to ask you to come up from there."
Draco waved his fist in the air threateningly. "Then would you mind not looking while we step out of the bloody tub?"
"Certainly," the stranger said, "I'm not into boys, anyway, so don't worry."
The obvious mockery in the stranger's voice made Draco furious. First he barged into their bathroom of all places! And then he mocked them for being gay?! The nerve of him! If he knew who they were, which certainly seemed to be the case since he had come there to ask them a favour, he should have known what to expect if he walked into their bathroom!
Flushing crimson with anger, Draco covered his wet body in a huge green towel and handed Harry one as well. Once not naked anymore, he felt more confident than ever. Facing the stranger, he said, "Now, tell me who you are and how you got here and I'll decide if you can stay and ask us that favour of yours."
The dark-haired man stuck out his chin in quite a familiar fashion, but Draco could not quite put his finger on who he reminded him of. "My name is Tom, and I'm from the future."
Draco stumbled backwards in shock. He looked at Harry. His lover was drop-jawed and displayed the same puzzlement that Draco himself felt. "E-excuse me? Where did you say you came from?"
"I'm from the future," Tom repeated impatiently. "Look, I know you guys probably have a zillion questions right now, but we'll have to deal with those later. Right now we need to find a way to shake off the Forgettes."
"Four-jets?" Harry echoed blankly.
"Yes. There is no time to explain what they are, they're right on my tail and we need to be prepared when they get here. You need to get dressed." He withdrew a wand from his jacket pocket and pointed it at them. They instinctively raised their arms in protection. "Colluthia!"
Instead of cursing them—as they had expected him to do—he clothed them. Astonished, Draco and Harry looked down at their brand new designer jeans and matching midnight blue jumpers.
They looked like twins.
Draco fingered on the fabric in his jumper. "Gee, thanks. First you interrupt our romantic bath and now you give us presents. That is so thoughtful of you."
Harry poked him in the side. "Draco …"
"What?"
"There, there, don't start quarrelling now," Tom said scornfully, crossing his arms over his chest, "staying focused and putting your differences aside is crucial for our survival. You need to concentrate on the task if we are to prevail."
Draco could not believe his ears. "Our differences?"
Once again Harry tried to calm him. "Draco, I think we'd better listen to what he has to say. If he really is being pursued by some sort of magical creatures we might be in danger." He looked up at Tom, whom was currently loitering against the wall. "What do you need us to do?"
Tom yawned and studied his fingernails for a few seconds. Then he said, "You do have wands in 2004, don't you?"
Draco prepared himself to lash out at this rude man. "What kind of stupid question is that? Wands have been around since before the birth of Christ, for crying out loud!"
Harry put his hand on his arm. "Dracums, that's really not helping …"
"I don't care! This bozo is getting on my nerves!"
Harry was still studying Tom with knitted eyebrows. "Funny thing is, he reminds me of someone …"
Draco was just about to spit out another inventive repartee when a strange and ululating sound broke the silence. He stiffened. It was like a rusty saw being ground against a metal pole—but not quite. It was like a clash of thunder close-up—but not quite. It was like the screeching of a thousand widows in eternal despair—but not quite.
The noise scared Draco more than anything had ever scared him before, and cold shivers were running down his spine. He really did not want to meet the source of those hideous, alien noises.
But the next moment, he was forced to. Three godawful creatures came through the same wall that Tom had used as a vortex, and the moment Draco saw them, he knew that he never wanted to see the future that Tom came from. They were seven feet tall with orange-purplish skin, warts on hands and cheeks, long claw-like fingers with six joints and a coat of glossy, greasy black hair. Their faces were disfigured and looked as if they had been partially melted by acid; their long, hooked noses made odd sniffing noises, as if they could smell prey from miles away.
They looked around the room with small, glowing yellow eyes that did not seem to have any pupils at all; grey and black rags covered their lean, crooked bodies. The moment they spotted the three young men on the other side of the room, their greedy mouths opened, and they were just big holes, approximately ten inches in diameter and filled with sharp little teeth, and the stench that came out of them was unbearable. They were hovering, just like the Dementors of Azkaban.
"What the Hell are those?" Draco mewled, and backed up against the wall.
Tom was standing in wait, his wand at the ready. "Forgettes, officers of the law in the future," he told them with gritted teeth. "Now stay focused, you never know what they might do. They are unpredictable little buggers."
"Do? Well, we can't do anything because we don't have our wands!"
Tom cursed. Then he shouted, "Accio wands!", and both Harry's and Draco's wands came flying to him from Draco's bedroom. He hastily threw them their wands, and Draco noticed that he knew which one belonged to whom. Knitting his brows, he looked at Tom with suspicion. How was it that he knew so much about them? And how had he known where to find them at that very moment?
He was forced back into reality by another of those awful shouts, and blinking the hazy daydream out of his eyes, he focused on the Forgettes anew. "Are there any spells to hold them off?" he asked anxiously.
"Yeah, there are a few, none of them very strong, though."
"I might know one," Harry said out of the blue, and raised his wand. With a cold determination on his face, he shouted: "Expecto Patronum!"
The stag—once argued to be the spirit of his deceased father—shot out of his wand and raced straight at the Forgettes, the most powerful Patronus that had ever been conjured. A blazing, almost blinding, white light hit the Forgettes with such power that they screeched louder than before, and Draco thought he detected a note of agony in their screams. The light held them in place for several nerve-wracking seconds, and then it made them evaporate into thin, purplish smoke. A stench of decay rose in the room.
When Tom turned to Harry, his green eyes were filled with admiration and awe. "Indeed, it is true what they say of Harry Potter. You were one of the greatest sorcerers in the world, even in your teens! I have never seen anyone conjure a Patronus like that! It was bloody brilliant!"
Harry blushed and stared down at his feet. "Ah, well, it was nothing … I've just had a lot of training, that's all …"
"But how did you know that the Patronus Charm would work?" Draco asked in bafflement.
"I didn't. I just guessed. The Patronus is supposed to work as a force field, protecting the person who conjures it, right? So I figured it would hold them off for a while. I never thought it would actually kill them. But then again … the Patronus is the most powerful protection charm in the world."
"It indeed is," Tom agreed. "I reckon it worked so well because the Forgettes are sensitive to bright light. Mostly, they soar through the skies at night, looking for delinquents."
Draco knitted his eyebrows. "Speaking of which … How come they're after you if they're officers of the law in the future? Are you wanted for murder or something?"
The smile on Tom's lips unnerved Draco and sent cold shivers down his spine. "No, but I reckon you should be, Mr. Malfoy," he said enigmatically, and turned his back on them. "I simply happened to get in the way of a really nasty sonofabitch who used to be my friend, and when things got heated up for him he impersonated me to save his own arse. Some friend, eh? Bet you never had any problem like that, having to run from the law when you're innocent and all …"
Draco's tension was partially relieved, but he still felt very suspicious of this Tom fellow. Something about him screamed wrong, but he could not quite put his finger on what exactly. Simultaneously, there was something very familiar about the air of superiority and superciliousness that surrounded him, something very familiar with the way that he spoke and the way that he carried himself. Some of the things he did, some of the things he said … it was all so familiar.
Harry pocketed his wand. Then he looked at Tom. "Shall we go down to the parlour and talk this through under less stressed circumstances?" he suggested soberly.
Tom walked right past them without as much as a look at either of them. "You totally read my mind, Potter. We have a lot of business to attend to if we're going to outsmart the Forgettes."
Tom refused to speak of the future that he had left behind, in case revealing too much about it would change Harry and Draco's opinions concerning certain things that would eventually shape their future.
Since Harry was such a famous wizard, Tom pointed out, there was a great risk of the entire world's future being changed if Harry learnt too much of what was to come in some years' time. He did not say much about those Forgettes, either, which made his unspoken intentions even fishier.
Harry did not know if they could trust him and remained on his guard at all times. Draco seemed to be thinking in the same patterns as him; during their short conversation, he was scowling and he repeatedly shook his head as if to point out that it was too unbelievable to be true.
"You still haven't told us why you went back in time—if you even went back in time," Draco reminded Tom with gritted teeth.
Tom smirked at him. "Well, I had to go somewhere they wouldn't find me, didn't I? And what would be better than to actually be protected by the mighty Harry Potter in his very prime? This is the year that Harry is at his magical peak, this is the year that he will do most good in the world—that's why I chose this time and this place. And since the future is threatened, who could be better allies than Harry Potter and his grumpy lover? After all, you two are the most powerful couple in the wizarding world right now."
"Is that so? Then tell me, why is it that all this crap sounds so shady?"
"Maybe because your father taught you to be wary of people who didn't seem to be of the same rank as you."
Draco shot up from his armchair. "How dare you compare me to my father?"
Tom laughed. "I think you just proved my point by reacting like that. But take it easy, Malfoy—I'm not holding your genetic heritage against you. On the contrary, I believe it's a major asset in the future war."
Harry knitted his eyebrows. "War? What war? Are you talking about the Death Eaters? About Voldemort?"
A shadow passed over the green surfaces of Tom's eyes, a fleeting expression of a feeling he was exceptionally good at hiding. "So, you dared to speak his name even in these times?"
Harry jerked involuntarily in his seat. "What … what's that supposed to mean?"
"I am merely saying that these are very uncertain times, Harry. Many people are afraid of the Dark Lord—most won't even speak his name, let alone in the company of strangers. But you never shared that fear, did you, Potter? You've never been afraid of speaking Voldemort's name."
Draco jerked as if he had been slapped in the face.
Harry determinedly met Tom's eyes. "I see that you're not afraid of speaking it, either."
The smirk on Tom's lips widened into a scornful grin. "Fear of the name only increases the fear of the thing itself, right? Isn't that what your friend Hermione once said? Too bad she won't live to see the day that that fear has been eliminated."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Why are you bringing up Hermione all of a sudden? Is it because she used to be my friend? Do you really think I care about what will happen to her in the future? If you do, you're really stupid. And here I was thinking you might be my intellectual equal."
Draco stared at Harry in astonishment. He obviously could not believe what he was hearing.
Tom seemed to be happy with Harry's statement, though. He laughed shortly. "I like your attitude, Potter. You never let your friends stand in the way of what you wanted. I admire that in a man. I believe now more than anything that you guys can help me with my little quest."
"As soon as you've told us what that quest is, that is," Draco sighed, pouting.
"Oh, haven't I already? I must apologize for my thoughtlessness. My quest is to stop the person who started this, before he can even plan his nefarious scheme."
"Eh? What d'you mean?"
"I told you about my friend, didn't I? He impersonated me to make the authorities think that I was the one who killed the Minister for Magic in order to save his own skin, and I came here to prevent his father from giving him the influence that eventually made him take a step too far over to the dark side, so to speak."
Draco frowned again. "His father? You mean he's a kid right now? He's here, in our time? But then you can't be from that distant a future!"
Tom laughed anew. "Twenty-one years, to be exact. And, yes, my 'friend' is in fact in this time … Today is when he will be conceived."
"So, you're the same age as my sister," Draco stated simply, scratching his chin thoughtfully. The moment he had uttered those words, a thin yellow-tinted fog began to billow out of the vase of flowers that was standing in the middle of the parlour table. Immediately, Draco started to wave his arms about dismissively while saying, "No, no, I didn't call you!"
But it was already too late. When the fog lifted, Piper was sitting opposite him at the table, a broad, taunting smile on her lips. "Hiya, brother! Heard you mentioning me, and since I was planning on paying you a visit anywho, I decided this was the proper time to put in an appearance." She shuffled through the many pockets of her travelling robe and eventually withdrew her tattered wand. She flicked her wrist elegantly. "Here, have some Butterbeer, laddies. On me."
Up until then, she had not noticed Tom sitting next to her, but now she jerked in her seat and cried out shrilly.
Tom raised his eyebrows in shocked surprise. "Hey, take it easy, lady! No need to scream like that, I'm not dangerous!"
Draco snorted. "Well, see, that's where we disagree," he said darkly.
Harry demonstratively hit him on the arm. "Draco! Some manners, please!"
"Yeah, you just wait and I'll show him some manners."
Piper squinted at Tom and bent forward. Then she looked at her brother. Looked back at Tom. Back at Draco. "Drakie-bums, do you have an older twin you haven't told me about?"
That was about the stupidest thing any of them had ever heard coming out of Piper's mouth, and none of them felt it necessary to reply.
"I'm Tom," Tom informed her, "I'm from the future."
Piper laughed somewhat embarrassedly. "Oh, that explains it all perfectly well! Of course you are, boy."
"Hey! Don't call me boy—we're the same age, you know!"
"No, technically I'm 21 years older than you, so I am entitled to call you boy—right, boy?"
Tom grunted something inaudible.
Harry was watching their conversation with confused interest. "How did you know he's 21?" he asked blankly.
Piper waved her right hand at him impatiently. "It will all be evident in due time, Harry, dear. You'll see."
Draco had obviously given up and decided to stay silent. He took a sip of his Butterbeer and made a wry face. "Ugh, mine is ice cold!"
Piper gasped. "Oh, is it, really? I'm so sorry, I've been having a cold for some time now and it's affecting my powers. Here, let me go warm it up for you." She rose from the table and made to grab his jug, but he pulled it away from her.
Pulling out his own wand, Draco said, "I can do it myself, no worry."
"No, please let me, Drakie-beans! It was my mistake and it's mine to correct. And besides, you have a microwave in the kitchen! I love those funny-looking little Muggle boxes that make that windy sort of noise—it's so much fun to press the buttons! Please, Draco! It'll only take a minute!"
Draco hesitated for a second or two, but then he sighed in defeat. "Oh, all right. But don't put any metal in the microwave, okay? It'll make it short-circuit."
"Yes!" Piper snatched the jug up from the table and strutted out of the parlour singing Christmas carols even though it was the beginning of July.
A very naughty feeling came over her when she took out the small bottle of Priberty Potion and poured it into Draco's jug of Butterbeer. With a quiet squeal of satisfaction, she watched the explosion and the chemical reaction when the two liquids blended together.
For a few seconds, the drink turned pink, then purple, then black, and then it returned to its original colour. Still singing loudly, she put the jug in the microwave and began to search for the correct buttons.
Offering her brother some Butterbeer, which she knew that he loved just like any other young wizard around, was the perfect excuse to sneak her most recent potion into the house and try it on him. He had long ago stopped agreeing to be her guinea pig voluntarily, so nowadays she had to lure her potions into him.
But it still worked.
And in just a few hours, the potion would kick in, and hopefully the results would be plain to see in only a couple of weeks' time …
Tom and Piper did not seem to get along at all, and for some reason, Draco liked him for it. All they did during Piper's short visit was fight about this and that, almost as if they had known each other for a decade or something. Because even if their constant quarrelling made it look as if they totally loathed each other, there also seemed to be some sort of undeniable respect underlying all of that.
One moment they were yelling at each other at the top of their lungs—the next, they were laughing. And what was even more confusing was that Piper gave Tom a huge hug before she left the Manor.
"There is definitely something going on between them," he said to Harry when they finally got some time alone in the evening.
"I couldn't agree with you more," Harry said.
"Think they've fallen for each other?"
"You mean like love at first sight? I don't know. It's possible, I guess, but it just seems too absurd that Piper Malfoy should ever fall for someone just like that."
"I know what you mean. My sister isn't exactly the love type."
"No, she's more into torture."
They laughed appreciatively at Harry's joke.
Harry was getting ready for bed and was currently changing into his chequered pyjamas. Draco watched him from a distance of five feet. He felt privileged to be with someone like Harry, and he just could not stop looking at him. His movements were so spirited, the way he buttoned that night shirt—
—and suddenly something wild came over him. He did not know why, but suddenly he was throwing himself at Harry from behind, ripping at his newly buttoned night shirt and violently forcing him down onto the made bed.
Stunned, he looked at Draco with raised eyebrows. "What are you doing?" he asked in shock.
Draco ripped open Harry's shirt so violently that several of the buttons went flying through the room. Putting his hands on Harry's chest, he felt drool running down his chin and was utterly disgusted with himself. It was as if he had become possessed by some sort of animal, and he could not control himself.
Man, if Harry was not in the mood he was going to rape him, for fuck's sake! That was not what he wanted! But the strange feeling that had come over him would not take no for an answer; he would get laid!
"God, I don't know, I don't know what's happening to me, I just know that I have to make love to you right now—I need you right now, Harry!" he heard himself saying in a hoarse voice that did not at all sound like him.
For a moment, Harry remained stunned, but then he grinned mischievously. "You're bloody sexy when you're this rough, Dracums. So, is it my turn to be trashed?"
"No! You have to fuck me, Harry!"
Harry was startled by his sudden outburst, but he collected himself rather quickly. "Okay …"
As soon as Harry had consented, Draco ripped off his own clothes—he was still wearing the jeans and midnight blue jumper that Tom had conjured up for him—and threw himself on his back, looking up at Harry expectantly. "Well? Aren't you going to make love to me?" he asked impatiently. "I need you now, Harry, right now, it'll be too late in a few minutes!"
"Too late?" Harry echoed. "Too late for what?"
Draco frowned. "I don't know. I have no idea where those words came from. I just … ah!" Struck by a sudden throb of intolerably strong desire, he lifted himself off the pillows and pressed his lips against Harry's, hard, while simultaneously taking a firm grip of Harry's privates, making his lover twitch and get instantly aroused.
Harry returned the kisses with growing desire and pushed Draco backwards onto the bedspread. The blonde clasped him desperately. "Hurry, I don't know how much longer I can take this, it's too much, it's tearing me apart, all this desire is burning me up, it's …" He gasped when another surge of strong desire passed through him—he had never felt anything like it.
Harry bit down on the blonde's bare nape. "Man, what on Earth did she put in your Butterbeer?" Not waiting for an answer, he pushed inside Draco and was rewarded with a squeal of delight from the blonde.
Draco forced Harry to move with a much faster rhythm than he would have liked. "What do you mean, 'put in my Butterbeer?'"
Harry almost could not talk because of all the breath-taking sensations he was experiencing. "Well, you're not … yourself … you're way too … you're unnaturally horny … and it just … came over you in a second …"
Draco dug his fingers into Harry's back. "Maybe … but in that case … this is a potion I actually like …"
"Like? You look as if you're … exploding any minute," Harry objected.
"I am!"
The blonde started to tremble violently and clasped his thighs tighter around Harry, and when he felt Harry ejaculate inside of him, he cried out in satisfaction, knowing that this was exactly what he had wanted, what he had needed. The warm semen filled him up and gave him a wonderful, happy feeling. The moment Harry had released himself, Draco turned back to normal; nothing of the strangeness remained in him. "Must've been some weird potion," he claimed. "I feel okay now."
"I'm glad to hear that," Harry said, and snuggled up to him, "because I couldn't possibly perform again. Blimey, Dracums, you totally took the wind out of me! What on Earth came over you?"
"I don't know. But thank you for helping me act it out," he teased.
Harry slapped him on the chest. "You had better make it up to me sometime, because I always do all the work around here!"
Draco raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Oh? I thought you liked it on top."
"I love it on top, but it would be nice with you on top now and then for a change."
"We'll make some changes next time," Draco promised, and kissed Harry's forehead. "It's just that I feel like the girl in this relationship sometimes …"
"Oh, you mean the way you always bitch and moan about everything?"
"Shut up! You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I do. You want me to hold you, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do."
Tom's plan sure took a lot of planning and preparation before it could be executed, and all throughout the prep days, neither Harry nor Draco had any real clue as to what exactly they were expected to do.
After a week of fuzzy briefings, Draco was getting anxious, and it resulted in a quite upset stomach. Every time Tom began to talk about their upcoming 'quest,' Draco would make a wry face and run straight for the bathroom, and Harry often heard him throwing up in there. He was getting more and more worried about his lover; if he could not even take the pressure of thinking about taking care of the Forgettes, how would he react when it was actually time for them to act?
And Draco hardly ever ate anymore; said he was not hungry or was feeling too queasy to get a single bite down. He had trouble sleeping and kept Harry up many hours during the night. When two weeks had passed without even the slightest change, Harry was really getting worried and almost developed an upset stomach of his own.
Meanwhile, Tom was getting smugger by the minute, and Harry often caught him regarding Draco with some sort of distanced self-righteousness, as if he knew something about Draco that Harry did not. Eventually, he started to think that Tom might be the source of Draco's anxiety; maybe Tom had done something to him, magically, to make him this jittery and insecure.
But as the days passed, Draco calmed down—and so did his stomach.
One day, he urged Harry to help him find some information on Sleeping Potions. "You know, to help me sleep better," he said, and placed Harry in one of the many comfortable armchairs in the den and asked him to go through some of his spell books.
"But aren't your spell books just about dark magic?" Harry asked in confusion.
"No, no, no, I have other books as well, books that I got during our Hogwarts days," Draco told him casually. "Could you just look through them a bit quickly and see if you find anything for me? I'm really getting tired of this insomnia—but still not the kind of tired that would make me sleep. I don't want to keep you up every night with my anxious thrashing and tossing and turning …"
Harry laughed. "Okay, I get your point. So, what are you up to this morning?"
"Oh, nothing exciting, I'm afraid. I promised Tom to check out a few things for him in Diagon Alley. Since the Forgettes are still after him, he doesn't feel up to going down to London himself, so …"
"I see. Well, have a good time then, baby." Harry gave the blonde a fleeting kiss and sat down to skim through the first of seven spell books that had been shoved into his arms.
Draco made a wry face. "I wouldn't think so," he protested, "but at least I'll get some fresh air. And maybe I'll run into someone I know, who knows? Might have a few happy reunions right there in one of the stores. And I might bring something special back home …"
"Do that. Don't forget that we're almost out of Floo powder."
"I know, I'll be sure to get some more. Be a good boy while I'm away, okay?"
"Yes, Mother."
Harry spent most of the morning and the early afternoon going through those books, and every time he found a spell that might be of use to Draco, he was careful to make notes of them on a roll of parchment.
Tom came into the room a couple of times to ask his advice on certain matters, but aside from that, there was little interruption. When the clock turned three o'clock, Harry yawned and got up from the armchair. He went to see if Draco had returned from Diagon Alley yet, figuring that the blonde would be either in their bedroom or in the parlour.
Both were empty.
Harry simply shrugged and decided to go down to the kitchen to have a snack and some Butterbeer; he was getting hungry. It was no secret that Draco loved to go shopping in Diagon Alley and could spend several days at an end there if no-one reminded him that it was time to go home, so Harry was not worried.
When he was just about to go into the kitchen, he almost collided with Draco in the doorway. Astonished to find that Draco was home after all, Harry took a step backwards. He noticed that Draco had some flour on his right cheek, and his light-red jumper featured some odd looking stains. Frowning, Harry said, "What are you doing?"
Draco looked down at his jumper. Then he laughed somewhat nervously. "Oh, nothing, I was just … cleaning."
That statement only made Harry more surprised. "Cleaning? How? By sifting flour all over the room?"
Draco gave him a strange look. "What?"
"You're all covered in it." He brushed some of the white powder off his lover's face.
The blonde blushed. "Oh, that … Yeah, I was just … it was supposed to be a surprise, but I guess it's too late now …"
"Surprise?"
"Yeah, it's your birthday, dimwit," Draco reminded him, and gently struck his head as if to get some sense into him. "I was baking a cake."
Harry was completely taken aback. "A cake? For me?"
"Yeah, I thought you deserved it since you've been putting up with me and my bloody stomach all these weeks … it was the least I could do."
Harry laughed somewhat nervously. "Hope you didn't sneeze on it, babe, I don't want to catch something."
Draco struck him again. "Hey! You're so insensitive! I put my life and soul into that cake, and I know it's not exactly a beautiful or even an average-looking cake, but I did bake it with my own hands so you'd better appreciate it!"
Harry kissed him gently. "I bet I will. Show me."
The blonde had been right about it not being a very pretty cake—it looked awful—but it tasted delicious. And the fact that Draco had baked it himself with his bare hands and had not used any magic at all flattered him and made him immensely proud of his lover. They skipped dinner and ate loads and loads of cake instead, until they both felt ready to puke. "So, that whole thing about going to Diagon Alley was just a decoy?" Harry asked when they lay fat and moaning on the huge sofa in the parlour.
"Oh no, I went. Had to pick up your present."
"Present?"
Draco smiled broadly at him. "You're going to love it."
In spite of his difficulty to move because of all the cake in his stomach, he managed to walk out of the room and return with a huge parcel wrapped in brown paper. Instantly curious about what the package might hold, Harry sat up on the sofa when Draco handed it to him. "I ordered it a month ago, and it just came in today. Bloody lucky for the bloke in the store, 'cos he would've got Hell if it hadn't come in the right day."
The blonde watched him intently as he ripped open the parcel. When he saw what it was, he cried out in joy and boyish wonder. "Dracums, how did you get hold of this?!" he demanded. What Harry was holding was in fact the brand new Firebolt 4000, the latest model and the fastest broom in the world, twice as fast as his old Firebolt!
Draco was smiling with his entire face. "I know you said you wouldn't have time for Quidditch what with Auror training and all, but I just thought it was sad that you should give up something that you love so much, so I decided to give you a little reminder. I figured you should take some time and think about what you really want to do with your life, and if you should decide that you want to focus on Quidditch … this will help you to perform your best."
Harry threw himself in Draco's arms. "Dracums, you're the best! I can't thank you enough for this! This is the best birthday ever!"
Draco laughed. "I thought your best birthday ever was the day we made love for the first time," he pointed out teasingly.
"Not anymore. Consider yourself beaten."
"Bastard!"
"What? Watch your mouth, young man, 'cos I'm 18 now and I'm officially of age!"
"Double bastard!"
They laughed heartily, but it ended abruptly when Draco went pale and made a gassy sort of sound. "Uh-oh, it's time again …"
Next thing, he was running to the bathroom and Harry could hear him vomiting in there. When he came back into the parlour, his face was all grey, and tiny beads of sweat crowned his forehead. "Must be all the cake," he said, but he did not convince either of them.
Harry put his arms around Draco protectively and kissed the crown of his head. He wanted to believe that the cake was to blame, but this had been going on for far too long. Something was wrong with Draco, and he hoped to God that it was not anything serious.
Tom came into the room and stopped just a few feet in front of them. "I've figured it all out now—the plan is ready. We'll go over it tomorrow morning and set to work as soon as possible. We don't have much time." He left them again before either of them could object.
And it was then, in the silence of their anxiety concerning the Draco's deteriorating condition, that the blonde remembered something of utmost significance; something that he had suppressed for the last few weeks as a result of Harry's almost-death. "Oh, my God …" he whispered.
Harry knitted his eyebrows in concern. "What?"
"I just remembered … that night when the Death Eaters almost made me kill you …"
He looked up at Harry with glowing grey eyes, astonishment and shock written all over his face.
"I killed Voldemort."