55Chapter 37: R 3: Here He Stands the Accused
Rape, part three: Here He Stands the Accused
Suddenly, things were moving real fast again. Harry felt as if his life was speeding by at a crazy, breakneck pace. One day, Draco told him he was pregnant—the next day, baby Blaise celebrated his first birthday. Two years passed in such a daze that Harry felt as if he had lost track of time altogether.
The only one who did not seem bothered by this was Timothy. When he next came to visit them, over two years after his attack on Harry, he showed no sign of shock at the changes that had occurred in his absence. Little Timothy, now five years old, merely greeted his older, future self with a quick nod and went on with his business.
Despite everything that had happened, and everything that they had discussed, Harry was still working at Hogwarts. But at least now he knew his priorities. And that particular Tuesday afternoon, he returned to his quarters feeling as if all his strength had been wrung out of him.
Since James had come to Hogwarts, Harry had been given a hard time. He tried his best not to make it too obvious that James was his son, but many of the teachers remembered the raven-haired boy that had once accompanied Harry to work and watched him as he taught excited fifth-years to defend themselves from various jinxes and curses, and James hated it when they stopped to share memories of those days with him. He was now thirteen years old and already showing qualities that had been Tom's trademarks.
Harry was worried about him, so he tried to keep an eye on him at all times, but without being seen himself. Rumours had it that James was unhealthily interested in and fascinated with the Dark Arts, the activities of the Death Eaters, and the late Lord Voldemort. As soon as he had a few hours to himself and all his homework was done, he sat in the Slytherin common room pouring over ancient books on curses that he had somehow checked out from the closed section in the school library. But no teacher appeared to have signed any slip for him.
That Tuesday afternoon, Harry had confronted James about it, and the boy had not been happy. If anything, Harry had only succeeded to make himself more of a stranger to his son.
With a deep sigh, he shut the door behind himself. But instead of walking up to his favourite chair and sitting down to calm himself down, he remained standing with his hands on the door.
This is not how I pictured my life to be when we started our family, he thought grimly to himself.
He sensed rather than saw the movement behind him, and he did not have time to react before a set of strong arms were closed around him and someone's slightly pointy chin was rested against his left shoulder blade. He knew those arms and that chin better than he knew the palms of his own hands, but started nonetheless at the sudden touch.
A smile came to his lips. All the worries of the day faded away as effectively as an Invisibility Cloak concealed a man from others' prying stares. "Hey, baby," he murmured affectionately, "this is a pleasant surprise."
Draco kissed him on the shoulder. Harry could feel his warm, soft lips even through the thick layers of his formal teacher's robes and the cloak he was wearing over them, and it sent pleasant shivers down his spine.
"I've missed you, and I've been craving for you," the blonde unearthed, and his voice was thick with desire. "Ultimately, I couldn't stand another minute without you, so I left the children with Jonathan and snuck in."
Harry leant back into the embrace and closed his eyes. "You managed to sneak in without being noticed?" he wondered, impressed.
"'Course I did. I had your Cloak."
Of course. He had left his father's Invisibility Cloak at the Manor. How silly of him. In these uncertain times, he might need it unexpectedly. But it was a good thing that he had forgotten to bring it to Hogwarts if it meant Draco could smuggle himself into the castle at any time without getting caught. (Dumbledore had clearly expressed his dislike at having a teacher's family running around the school.)
The blonde fumbled with his robes for a minute, found the parting, and began to pull them off him. The cloak fell to his feet. Still, Harry was facing the door, and when his husband's hot, groping fingers touched his bared skin he gasped and shuddered in anticipation. It seemed only a second passed before he was completely naked, save for his socks.
Draco turned him around and eyed him with great appreciation. His silver eyes lingered on his nether regions. When he looked up at Harry, he uttered a demand that astonished and sort of unsettled Harry. "Dance for me."
Harry blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Dance for me," the blonde repeated, grinning teasingly, but obviously obscenely intent on having his way.
Harry stood in uncomfortable indecision.
Draco laughed at the expression on his face and put his arms around his neck. "I'm only fucking with you!" he said emphatically. Then he placed a sweet, mint-scented kiss on Harry's uncurled lips. His eyes were like cold, grey fires when they bore into him. Such intensity. They captured him; intrigued him. A new shiver passed through him as the blonde drew closer, cheek to cheek, and whispered in his ear: "Now I want to fuck you."
Harry's dick instantly rose to the occasion and began to throb almost painfully. It was so sexy to be seduced so bluntly, and nobody could do it better than Draco. The blonde knew exactly what he wanted, and he would get it.
"You need to take off your clothes for that," Harry reminded him, indirectly urging him to hurry, hurry by nibbling at the blonde's earlobe and whining pleadingly in his ear.
Draco placed his strong, masculine hands on Harry's hips. Muttered, "Repello clothes."
His robes, cloak, and underwear were effectively discarded of with the simple Repelling Spell, and he stood fair and au naturel before Harry, his pale skin glowing beautifully in the dim candlelight. With a short look on Harry, he took his hand in his and led him through the small office and into the adjoining bedroom. Apparently, he had been preparing for this special moment; there were candles burning everywhere in the small room, and blood-red rose petals had been strewn all over the bed. It was so beautiful he could not take his eyes off it.
"You've done all this for me?" he asked disbelievingly, thinking that he did not deserve this prize.
"Yes, I wanted to make you see just how much you mean to me," Draco murmured against his nape. "And besides … today is the anniversary of the day we first kissed. We have now officially been together for sixteen years. That calls for celebration, if you ask me."
He bit down carefully, and Harry cried out in a sudden rush of desire. He forcefully threw himself down on his back on the bed and pulled Draco down on top of him. Their lips smashed together almost painfully. When the blonde broke the kiss, he moved down a bit and began to lick and suck and bite at Harry's neck, then his chest. His tongue drew lazy circles around Harry's left nipple.
Harry's muscles tensed, ready for action, and his breathing became quicker and more strained for each second that ticked by. He meowled as Draco deliberately bit him in the nipple.
The blonde grinned. "Want me to continue?" he wondered in a teasing tone.
"Huh? Yeah … please … go on." The words were hard to get out.
And with an even wider grin, the blonde said, "Lubricous," and looked as if he was about to laugh any second now.
Harry frowned. "What the Hell was that?"
Draco began to chuckle. "I devised a lube charm," he confessed, and then pointed to his penis. "Look! I'm all lubed up and ready to go now!" He burst into laughter and shook his head at his own wittiness.
Harry joined him in his laughter, and for a moment it seemed as if the mood had been ruined by the gag. But then Draco became serious and met Harry's eyes with such intensity that the look alone made him hots for him. And, lubed up as he was, Draco easily slid inside Harry, never for a second breaking eye contact. That must have been some miracle lube, because the blonde moved with such an ease that it seemed as if he needed no effort at all to do as he pleased. Which meant that he had more energy to focus on the subject beneath him.
As if reading Harry's mind, the blonde grinned slyly, and thrust deep inside him, picking up speed.
"Ah, Draco!"
The clash of flesh on flesh, skin against skin, rang through the dim room, perfectly marking the blonde's rapid rhythm, and the friction created an odd magic that never could have originated from the tip of a wand. The candlelight licked Draco's body, giving it a golden quality to the pallor, and the shadows that fell upon him flattered his aristocratic beauty.
Harry let his fingers slide down the blonde's back, tracing the lines of his features, dreaming himself away. The dim light made him feel dazed. Everything became fuzzy as the blonde bore down on him with lips and tongue, covering him in hot kisses and tauntingly playing with his rigid nipples.
Harry arched his back. He was losing control of himself. All he knew was that he was floating in an ocean of rose petals, and that Draco was floating there with him. "Haahh … God …"
Draco stole a kiss from him, their lips smashing together with immense force. It felt as if they were eating each other up. But it was a lovely feeling. It left him wanting more—craving more. Pressing himself up against the blonde's incessantly rocking body, he moved his arm further up the blonde's back and ran his fingers through his silky silver hair while shoving his tongue deeper into Draco's mouth.
Sweat trickled down his face; never had he experienced such a lovely heat. Their entire bodies were perspiring, coating them in a thin film of moist. Sticky, they clung to each other.
Suddenly, Draco broke free of the kiss and expelled a series of half-suppressed cries of pleasure that sounded more like the whimpers of a dying dog. Harry knew what he was doing. He was trying to be quiet lest someone hear them. If anyone found out he was there, he would probably be banned from Hogwarts for as long as he lived; Dumbledore wanted no distractions for his staff.
Feeling mischievous, Harry took a firm grip of Draco's buttocks and squeezed them, forcing the blonde deeper inside him. Gasping, he threw his head back when the blonde slid against his prostrate. He did it again. And again. Squeezed harder. He could feel Draco stiffen within him.
"Harry … oh God, Harry, yes!"
As Draco was starting to tremble with impending orgasm, close but yet some distance away, he reached down and grabbed Harry's erection. Forcefully and insanely fast, he stroked him, and Harry shouted out loud, no longer caring if anyone overheard them; he wanted Draco to know how much he loved it when he did that. The little control he still had over himself was lost and seemed impossible to re-establish.
He bucked and thrashed beneath the blonde, amazed at how he could both stroke him so fiercely and still thrust into him with such feverish determination. Each thrust pushed into his body with immense power, and each time another cry of euphoria escaped him.
Draco was still trying hard not to make a single sound, but eventually his walls broke down and he could no longer keep the shouts locked in. When they reached climax together, he relented his neurotic self-control and gave a long, exhausting shout that seemed to shatter the world around them.
Harry desperately squeezed Draco's buttocks extra hard for support and pushed himself up, seeking out the blonde's mouth amongst all the sparkling nerve ends and the trembling flesh. Not even the kiss shut Draco up; he kept meowling into Harry's mouth for what seemed like hours and hours on end.
He fell on top of Harry, panting into his open mouth, his forehead knocking into Harry's with a THOCK! Neither of them had any energy to move. Harry felt as if his very life essence had been fucked out of him. No matter how much he focused his brain and told his arms to move up and touch Draco's flushed, sweaty face, he could not muster the strength to do so.
Slowly, they calmed down.
Draco chuckled deep down in his throat and sounded awfully obscene in Harry's ears, which made him curious to know what was so funny.
"You're still holding my arse," he informed Harry in a kinky, but mocking voice.
Harry pretended to be offended. "Who are you to talk? You're still holding my dick in your left hand. You let my dick go, I let your arse go."
"I'm sorry, I can't. I'm too pooped."
They laughed at the irony in that.
Then Harry managed to find enough strength to lift his head somewhat and kiss the tip of Draco's nose. "I like it when you hold my dick," he murmured.
"Oh, ho, don't even try, mister! I just said I was pooped, and you try to get another round out of it? You are some demanding lover, Harry Malfoy."
Harry winced. "I still don't like the ring of that name."
Draco slapped him with his right palm. "Bastard."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you have enough energy to hit me, do you?"
"I always have enough energy to hit you."
They remained nude on the rosy bed for another half-hour. Then Harry forced himself to get up and start to dress. Draco raised himself up on one arm to watch him. It was extremely difficult to button his shirt when his eyes kept flicking over to the naked blonde, still basking in the lovely amber light, so obviously trying to make himself look like a delicious dish, what with the way he presented his package to him.
Harry was really reluctant to leave him there, and he reeeaaally longed to slip back down and have some more of that rose-specked, floating world, but he needed to go about his duties as normal if he wanted to keep Draco's presence there unknown to his colleagues.
"Going down to dinner?" the blonde asked lazily.
"Yeah. Sorry you can't come with me, but …"
"I know. Fetch me something from the kitchen afterwards, will you? All this sex has made me hungry."
"Will do," Harry promised, and sat down on the edge of the bed to kiss Draco goodbye.
The blonde instantly rose to receive the kiss. Boy, he really must be hungry, because he was sucking Harry's soul out with those velvety lips and that naughty tongue! Oh, Harry wanted to stay and get into bed and make love again and—
He swiftly broke free of him. "No," he said, "you're only making me horny again. I'd better go before I get too excited or I may get stuck here for another year or two." He rose from the bed anew.
Draco looked up at him with a pleased expression. He licked his lips in a very sensuous manner.
Harry's blood began to boil, and his groin ached with lust.
"No," he said again, backing away.
But Draco was enjoying the game too much to give up that easily. He, too, rose from the bed and followed Harry until they were face to face. Very, very slowly, he pressed his lips to Harry's again. Then he turned his face somewhat and buried his nose in Harry's messy hair. Inhaled deeply. "You smell like sex, Harry," he informed the raven-haired man seriously. "Perhaps you want to take a bath before strutting down to dinner—someone might notice and put two and two together."
"I don't care. Let them smell me, then. It's not like they're going to walk up to me and say, 'Harry, you smell like sex—may I have a look at your quarters, please?' Honestly, those old farts won't know a thing. They can't recognise something they've never experienced themselves, right?" He gave Draco one last, quick kiss. "Be good while I'm away, will you? Stay right here and I'll be back in thirty minutes with some food and a boner."
"Then I'll be ready to binge and bang, then."
With that promise, Harry left his quarters almost at a run, anxious to get dinner over with and come back for the 'binging and banging.' Mostly for the banging part, actually. For some reason, Snape wished to engage him in a conversation for the first time ever, and Harry felt extremely annoyed with him. Why did he have to talk to him now when he had not wished to talk to him at all during all those years when Harry was his student, and later when Harry moved in with his nephew?
It did not make any sense, for crying out loud!
When he could finally slip away—half an hour later than he had promised Draco—he rushed down to the kitchen and asked Dobby to put together a small feast for him and Draco, and then ran all the way up to his quarters with the food securely in his arms.
"Finally!" Draco called from the bedroom when he smashed the door open and stumbled inside, panting and wheezing. "I'm starving!"
He came out of the bedroom naked, and it took Harry all the self-control he possessed not to jump him right there and then; the blonde needed to eat first. There was time for lovemaking later.
When the blonde had eaten and appreciatively complimented the food and the puddings, he licked his fingers contentedly and smiled up at Harry, whom was standing by the window, looking out at the lake. "I had forgotten how lovely Hogwarts food can be," he said delightedly. "You're lucky having it every day."
"Maybe. But I would rather eat porridge every day with you than eating Hogwarts food without you."
Draco rose to his feet. "Oh, you're so sweet …" He walked over to Harry and lovingly put his arms around his waist. He rested his chin on Harry's left shoulder blade. "What's the teachers' bath like?"
"The teachers' bath?" Harry repeated. "It's like the Prefects' bath, only bigger and bubblier. Why?"
Draco put his lips to Harry's nape. "I was thinking … maybe we could go up there and … make love in the bubbles?" he suggested, and the desire was plain in his husky voice.
Harry's groin immediately began to tingle. "All right."
He wrapped Draco in the Invisibility Cloak and led the way through the castle. Since all the teachers were at dinner still, there really should not be any risk in taking a bath together, Harry decided. They would have the huge bath all to themselves.
Draco began turning on taps of perfumed bubbles every colour as soon as they got in. "Funny … it's just like the Prefects' bath," he observed approvingly. Then he looked up at Harry. "How come you know that, by the way? You weren't a Prefect."
"No, but I used the bath once in my fourth year. Cedric told me how to. To figure out the clue in my golden egg. You know, for the Triwizard Tournament."
"Yeah, I remember those. Worse than Howlers, eh?"
He undressed and slipped into the water. Then he beckoned Harry to follow.
In the water, Harry embraced Draco. "How come you never took me to the Prefects' bath while we were dating?" he asked curiously.
Draco shrugged. "Dunno. Guess I never thought about it."
Their night would have been perfect, had they only been left alone, but somebody obviously had other plans. It had seemed ideal to spend an hour or so in the bath, enjoying the bubbles and some soft lovemaking before going to bed for a good night's sleep.
And it all started out fine. Draco was resting against the wall of the huge pool while Harry gently pushed inside him from behind. Supporting himself with his arms just above the edge of the pool, Draco made small panting noises as Harry thrust into him. This time, they moved more slowly, savouring each sensation like it was their last moment in life, and the hot water and the scented bubbles made it even more wonderful. Draco was just about to reach his peak, squealing slightly, when the door was flung open and someone came bursting in.
They stopped moving and opened their eyes, but they did not draw apart.
"Harry! Oh, Harry, there you are! I've been searching all over for you, and—"
Professor Flitwick fell silent as he realised that Harry was not alone. Squirming uncomfortably, he turned his back to them and cleared his throat uneasily. "Um, Harry … I'm awfully sorry to disturb, I didn't know you had company … but something horrific has happened, and I think it is best if you come with me immediately!"
Something in the little professor's voice made Harry's heart skip a beat in worry. Had this something to do with Lord Pywercaseley? Was he trying to invade Hogwarts again?
"What is it?" he asked, and noticed that he sounded harsher than he had intended to.
The little teacher squirmed even more. "Well, I'd rather not tell you here, like this … it is better if you come with me and see for yourself."
Draco hit him in his thigh. "Get out!" he whispered irritably. He seemed awfully embarrassed, but Harry could not quite grasp why.
"What?" he whispered back in bewilderment.
"You're still inside me!"
Oh. Right.
Harry had had no mind to withdraw from Draco the moment the professor burst into the bath, but now he discreetly pulled back and settled beside the blonde. Of course he had been embarrassed about being so intimately joined in front of a teacher, what had Harry been thinking?
"Er …" Harry began, "maybe you could step outside while we dress …?"
"Oh! Of course. Certainly!" Flitwick said, and hurried out of the room.
They swiftly pulled their robes on and left the bath. No need for Draco to hide beneath the Invisibility Cloak now, so they emerged holding hands, both eager to hear what was so urgent that Flitwick interrupted his colleague in the bath.
"It's James," he said regretfully when they were all headed towards the staircases.
Harry and Draco started simultaneously. "What?" Harry said.
"What's happened to James?" Draco demanded anxiously.
Flitwick seemed to squirm even worse now than he had at seeing them naked together just a few minutes ago. "Well … it's not so much what has happened to James as what he has done …" he said uncomfortably.
"Done?" Harry echoed. "What do you mean? Is he in some kind of trouble?"
"You could say that, yes."
Flitwick led them to the Slytherin common room, outside which Professor McGonagall was standing guard against curious students who tried to enter it. Harry's intestines turned to ice at the sight of her. Whatever James had done, it was bad. Really bad. Otherwise they would not have sealed off the entire Slytherin dormitory area.
"I told you we should've demanded they let him change houses!" Draco hissed in Harry's ear as they approached the stern-looking teacher.
"We did, remember? But they wouldn't let him."
"I don't care! Slytherin is not a good place for him, and now look what came out of it!"
"Shh. We don't even know what he's done yet."
They stopped in front of McGonagall. A strangely sad and pitying glint glimmered in her beady eyes for a fraction of a second as she looked at them. "Harry, I am so sorry, there was nothing I could do for him," she said, and the words echoed through Harry's head as if it had been a vast cave.
Nothing she could do for him? Oh God, he was not dead, was he?!
Draco seemed to come to that conclusion himself, for he pushed past McGonagall and rushed inside his old common room in a panic. He stopped dead just by the couch area.
Harry could not believe his eyes. Their son was lying on the floor, arms and legs splayed, apparently Stunned. So he was not dead. That was good. But the entire staff was standing around him, so he guessed it was not so good after all.
Half dazed, he noticed that Madam Pomfrey was standing by one of the armchairs, and at a closer look he saw that a petite girl was sitting in it. An enormous blanket had been wrapped around her, and she was hugging herself, hysterically rocking back and forth in the chair.
Harry frowned. "What's happened here?" he asked.
Ironically, it was Snape who answered. Harry had expected him to make some dry remark on the cloud of perfume that Draco and he travelled in, but nothing of the sort escaped him. "Miss Abbott here was found raped only ten minutes ago and in a horrible state. Catatonic. Blood all over the place, clothes ripped into shreds … and your son was found sitting next to her, covered in her blood."
The last four words came out as a harsh and merciless accusation that startled Harry. It was as if Snape blamed him for what had happened.
Then the words sank in. "No …" he whispered in denial.
Draco gasped beside him. "You … you don't mean to say that … that you think James …"
Snape fixed his gaze to the blonde's. "I don't recall Dumbledore sending you an invitation to this party, Mr Malfoy," he scorned.
They ignored him. "Speaking of which," Harry said, "where is Dumbledore?"
"I am right here, Harry," came the brittle voice from behind them.
The old Headmaster had just come into the room together with Cornelius Fudge, and they had a whole bunch of beefy blokes in tow.
Harry immediately grasped their intention. "Wait a minute!" he said harshly. "Are you just going to take him away without even hearing what he has to say?!"
Dumbledore lowered his head in resignation and shook it so that the white hair and beard danced in an invisible up-draught. He sighed heavily before replying to his young employee. "Harry, my dear boy …"
"Reality check, Dumbledore—I'm thirty-one!"
Snape could not help but jump right into the conversation, apparently. "Really? You don't look a day older than nineteen, and your manners are still those of a snotty brat, obviously," he drawled, his black eyes narrowed and fixed on Harry.
Harry shot him a murderous look. "And you look like you're in your fifties! Now shut up and stay out of this! You should refrain from sticking your nose into other people's business!" he yelled.
Draco put a hand on his lower left arm to restrain him. "Harry, baby, calm down, he's just trying to provoke you."
"Yeah, he's doing quite a good job of it, too! How come you're so calm and collected all of a sudden?! Did you hear what they just accused our son of?!"
"Yes, I did, but I know he's innocent so I won't let them get to me," Draco announced with a confident glare at the Ministry people. "James would never hurt another person, much less force himself onto some poor girl."
"That's why he needs to get a chance to tell his side of the story!" Harry bellowed furiously. He turned to Dumbledore again. "Could we please have a moment alone with our son, sir?"
The Headmaster flinched at the acidity and the repulsion in Harry's voice as he pronounced the honorific. But then he nodded and gestured to the Minister and his company to step outside for a moment. Reluctantly, the other teachers followed, but Madam Pomfrey remained by the side of the shocked girl.
Harry knelt down at his son's side and raised his wand. "Enervate."
The boy slowly came out of his stunned state and blinked up at him in confusion. "Father?" he croaked, then spotted Draco standing behind him. "Dad? What are you doing here?" He sat up with some effort. "What happened to me?"
"You were Stunned," Harry told him sternly. "James, they're saying you raped a girl tonight. Tell me the truth. Did you do it?"
The boy flinched as if hit. The shock in his eyes was genuine. "Wha—? No! How can you even ask me that question?!" he exclaimed incredulously, and pushed away from him.
Harry gave him some space. "I'm sorry, James, but I had to ask you that. Of course I know you're innocent—"
"We both know you're innocent," Draco put in with a faint smile for support.
"—and we're on your side, but we're not the ones to decide on your fate, son. They are; the Ministry. Now, could you tell us what you saw? Was the perp still here when you got here?"
James relaxed when he understood that both his fathers had already come to the right conclusion, which was that he had happened to stumble into the wrong place at the bloody wrong time and been accused of a crime he had not committed.
He lifted his right hand and ran it through his matted, black hair. Sorrow was in his deep green eyes. "I don't know what happened to Helen," he said in a low, regretful voice. "I wish I could've helped her, but I was too late. She was already …"
He fell silent and sought Harry's eyes, perhaps searching for some sort of sign that it was not his fault, that there was no blame in his arriving too late at the scene.
"I thought she was dead, father. She was just lying there … I tried to wake her up, but she wouldn't stir. So I bent down to check whether she was breathing … I checked the wounds on her neck and face to make sure she wasn't still bleeding too much, but I wouldn't touch her legs or any of that. That would be incriminating and disgracing her, wouldn't it? Yeah, it would. I checked her stomach, though. She appeared to have been slashed with some sort of dagger … I don't know. Anyway, while I was preparing to rip my shirt into rags and use them as bandages, the door to the common room was opened—and that's all I remember."
It was difficult listening to his tale, because he was obviously hurting badly. Seeing that girl lying on the floor like that, possibly even dead … that was a trauma Harry did not wish to fall upon his children. Nobody should have to experience something like that.
Draco embraced James and stroked him lightly over his messy hair, so much like Harry's it was scary. "It's all right, kiddo. You did what you could, and that's what matters. You did good, and you are not to blame for this. You hear me?"
The boy nodded feebly.
That was all the conversation they had time for, because Dumbledore and the Ministry people returned, all very alarmed at seeing James animated again.
Fudge stepped forward and cleared his throat with an awkward glance at Harry. "Well, I am sorry to interrupt, but we need to take your son in for questioning," he informed them uneasily. His employees stepped forward to take James.
Harry wished he could have stopped them, but that would have only landed him in an interrogation of his own. Reluctantly, Draco and he let go of James and watched as they began to take him away.
When they were almost out of the door, Fudge turned back as if just remembering to mention something. "We'll be taking him to Azkaban first thing in the morning, Dumbledore, don't you worry."
Harry thought he was about to burst with wrath at those words. "Azkaban?!" he yelled. "You're taking him to Azkaban?! But you just said you only wanted him for questioning!"
Fudge squirmed uncomfortably. "Yes, well, that is what needs to be done with rapists and—"
"But my son is not a rapist! He is innocent! You can't just put an innocent boy in Azkaban—that place'll kill him!" he shouted hysterically, and he could feel Draco squeezing his hand painfully hard.
"Harry, I am awfully sorry, but such is the law—"
"I don't give a bloody damn about the law! He is thirteen years old! Thirteen! Azkaban is no place for a child!"
"As I said, I am awfully sorry, but I have to think about the general view of the public, and—"
"The general view of the public?! So this is a matter of politics, is it? Is that what it was when you imprisoned Sirius, too? Was that, too, only a matter of politics? Is that what you do to keep your status as Minister for Magic—imprison innocent men for the sake of the bloody general view of the public?! I don't believe this! You can't do this to me, not again! You can't do this, for fuck's sake!"
Soon Harry would need to be Stunned himself, lest he kill the Minister right there and then just to be able to run away with James and see to it that he was put in a safe place where they would not find him. But Draco held him fast. Thank Merlin he had Draco, otherwise he probably would have landed himself in Azkaban, too, and for much, much longer than James.
There was nothing else they could do but to watch as their oldest son was being led away by the law and suck up their pride. Despite Harry's efforts to stay around and plead with Dumbledore to help James out of this trouble somehow, Draco pulled at his collar and forced him to go back up to his office.
None of the teachers had commented on Draco's being there, which Harry was remotely grateful for. Had they demanded that Draco leave he probably would have killed a few of them and landed himself in Azkaban, anyway. Being away from the blonde now would be a bad idea, indeed. He was in no control of himself.
"Fuck them!" he expelled when they were back in his bedroom, and kicked the wall in frustration.
Draco immediately went to him and lovingly, but firmly, placed his hands on his hips. "There now, take it easy. I wanna kick and scream, too, but there's nothing we can do about it. Not yet, anyway. Let's just sit down and try to think of a way to help him instead. Who raped that girl, for instance? If we could find the person who really did it, they would have to let James go, right?"
His optimism offended Harry, but he said nothing. Instead he sat down on the foot of the bed and crossed his arms over his chest in defiance, pouting stubbornly.
A knock interrupted them, and they both turned in the direction of the bedroom door, certain to see another teacher disturbing their peace. But it was Timothy.
"I know what happened," he said hollowly.
"Oh yeah?" Harry said. "Then why didn't you do something about it?"
For some reason, Draco put a hand on Harry's shoulder. A scowl disfigured his beautiful, pale face. "Harry, that's not Timmy," he objected, and his voice sounded worried—alarmed.
Harry furrowed his brows. "No? Then who is he? Can't be Bond, can he?"
"No," Draco agreed. "It's Timothy, alright, but he's not in there. He's empty."
Harry understood what the blonde meant. The boy was not displaying any emotions whatsoever, but seemed to be completely empty and robotic. There was an odd glint in his feline, green eyes that was somewhat familiar … and utterly disturbing.
Before they knew it, the boy had sprung at Harry and pressed his slender, boyish hands around his neck. Rage burnt in his eyes now, and they seemed to house a hatred so strong and pure there should be no saving him.
It made no sense. Why did he hate him? Why did he hate his own father? Had Harry done something in the future that pissed Timothy off? Was that it?
But then he remembered the blond boy's words the last time he had tried to strangle him to death: What is she doing to me?
Joz. She was doing this. It was not Timothy trying to kill him—it was Joz, trying to kill him through Timothy. She was forcing him to channel her hatred. And this time, it was greater than last time. The boy's hands tightened their grip around his throat, cutting off the air from his lungs. He tried to breathe, but could only muster a weird wheezing sound that scared the shit out of him. There was no use; he was suffocating. Again.
Draco lashed out at the blond boy the minute he jumped on Harry, but this time his efforts were even more futile than last time. The boy was surprisingly strong, and Harry guessed it was Joz's superhuman strength channelled through him, just like the hatred and the despise.
He lifted his hands in a vain attempt to bend the boy's fingers from his throat, but he was already getting dizzy and disoriented from the lack of oxygen. Since Timothy shielded Harry's view, he could not see Draco, but he knew that the blonde was furiously and desperately trying to prise Timothy off him.
"Let go!" he whimpered, and judging by the desperation and the defeat in his voice it must be much worse than Harry thought.
Was he turning blue?
The world was spinning, spinning … Black spots danced at the edges of his vision, but he fought them persistently, intent on staying conscious at all cost. He could not faint, because if he did, he would be as good as dead. And he did not want to die. Not now. Not in another seventy years, at least. He wanted more time with Draco. Sixteen years was nothing.
Ironically, that was when he realised that Draco's demand was not so hard to accept, after all. What was his job, anyway? Being so close to death, an oily blackness creeping up on him, he knew that he wanted to be with his family—nothing else. He did not care about his job. Nor did he care much for Dumbledore anymore. Which was funny in a way, considering that he had always regarded Dumbledore as some sort of role model and saviour. Now he was nothing.
He sensed that he did not have much time left. The pain in his chest was unbearable; excruciating. He needed air, needed oxygen—but not a single oxygen molecule would find its way into his lungs. Everything was dying away; the room was just a blur now, and hardly even that.
He wanted to tell Draco that he loved him, but all that escaped him was that eerie wheezing again, and Draco meowled anxiously at the sound of it.
"No!" he expelled, as if he knew exactly what Harry was trying to bring forth. He came at the boy more persistently and more desperately than before. "No, Harry, no! Don't you leave me now! Don't you fucking dare leave me, you hear? I need you, stay with me! Stay with me!"
A small part of Harry died in that moment, hearing the vulnerability in his husband's voice so plainly. If only he could have answered, then it might have been all right. But he could not. For the second time that night, he felt as though he was floating, but this time it was not because of any lovely, warm sensation of intimacy, but because he was about to leave his body.
That was what it felt like; he was slowly leaving his body behind, floating away on a cold current of unseen air that granted him no oxygen whatsoever. I'm sorry, Draco, he thought
His eyelids were so heavy …
"No!"
He slipped away.
"No! No, no, no! You can't leave me!"
Draco could not stop screaming, it was just so excruciatingly painful to watch his lover—his husband!—being strangled to death, he just wanted to stab the bloody lad for killing Harry! But he could not do that, because that lad was their son, and he did not mean to kill Harry, it was all Joz's doing. But when Harry stopped making that wheezing sound and his eyes rolled back in their sockets before coming shut, Draco could not take it anymore—it was soon too late!
When he could not prise Timothy off Harry, he let go and pulled out his wand. Without thinking, he raised it in front of himself. "Gerotos Eccicentrus Domo!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, uttering a spell that he had long forgotten, but which had once been part of Charms class and extremely difficult to learn. It was a combination of the Stunning Spell and Expelliarmus, but much more powerful.
The boy instantly lost his grip on Harry and fell to the floor, paralysed and unconscious.
When Timothy no longer held him up, Harry crumpled to the floor, his body limp and unmoving.
Draco had hoped that he would wake up when the pressure was lifted from his throat, that he would draw a deep breath and sit up, panting, but nothing happened. He remained lying, face down on the floor.
"No." Draco knelt beside him and pulled him into his arms. "No!" He began to shake him. "Harry, no, don't leave me, Harry, please don't be dead!" Tears blurred his vision and made his eyes sting with warmth and moist; his throat became dry and compressed.
Pulse. Check for the pulse.
He hesitantly put two trembling fingers to the carotid artery in Harry's neck. Thu-thump. Yes, there was a pulse, but very weak and irregular. That's not a good sign, he thought anxiously and leant closer to check if Harry was breathing yet. No breath, hot nor cold, brushed against Draco's cheek.
"He's not breathing!" he cried to the silent room, hysteria rising from within him. "He's not breathing! Help me! Someone, please, help me … anyone … please …"
Suddenly, he lost all strength, and his entire body sagged as if someone had magically dissolved his bones, his head lolling strangely against his chest.
It was too late. Four death curses had not been enough to kill him, but the hands of his next-to-youngest son and the fury of their daughter had done the job exceptionally. It seemed almost silly, come to think of it. So much for nothing.
He was not even sure if Timothy was still alive, he might even have killed him with that spell earlier. The thought of losing both his husband and his son at the same time became too much, and he determinedly straightened up. No, he would not give up. "Jonas!" He did not know if The Other could hear him through time and space just as well as Timothy usually could, but he was willing to give it a shot. "Jonas, please!"
One second later, the American boy appeared a couple yards from them. Draco looked up at him with pleading red eyes. "He's not breathing," he whimpered, shaking, with Harry's body in his arms.
Jonas frowned, apparently trying to grasp the situation. Then he spotted Timothy unconscious—or dead—on the floor, and dashed up to him, temporarily blinded by his love and fear of losing his soul mate. He knelt beside him to check his pulse, but Draco impatiently shouted at him in fury. "Not him, you idiot! Harry! Harry's not breathing, now help him for fuck's sake! My Harry's not breathing …"
Jonas turned and came immediately to their side; put his hands on Harry's chest. Meeting Draco's eyes with concern, he asked, "How long has he been like this?"
Draco's lower lip trembled when he replied. "I don't know. A minute. Two. Is it … is it too late?"
He could hardly even get those words out, it was too painful to even consider the possibility that Harry was lost for ever, let alone accept the truth.
The expression on Jonas's face was like the worst of bad omens. Draco did not like it at all. "Then I guess the easiest thing would be to turn back his time a couple minutes," he concluded after a few seconds' inner deliberation.
"No," Draco swiftly protested, and nodded towards Timothy. "Two minutes ago, he was strangling him."
Jonas jerked in shock. "What? Timothy was strangling Harry? Why on earth would he do that?"
"Because Joz told him to or something. It's not important! Just make my Harry good again, just make him good again … please …"
The boy nodded. "Five minutes, then." And without further ado, he used his time magic or whatever it was called to draw Harry's biological clock back five minutes in hopes of saving him. A bright, white-golden light sprang from his hands for a fraction of a second and was gone again before Draco had time to fully register it. The moment after, Harry shot up from the floor, finally taking that breath that Draco had waited for for the past two minutes or so.
"Harry!" he exclaimed, and threw himself around his husband's neck.
The raven-haired man sat panting for a while before he could speak. "What … what happened?" But then he noticed that Timothy was lying in a heap on the floor. "He tried to kill me again, didn't he?"
"Again?" Jonas echoed. He was now sitting by Timothy's side, busy trying to wake him up and undo whatever damage Draco's spell had done. "You mean he's done this before?"
There was no time for Harry and Draco to explain, for Timothy woke up and claimed their attention. He sat up with a determined and very angry expression on his face. Draco was almost afraid that he was still under Joz's spell.
He fixed his eyes on his fathers'. "I can't let her go on like this, for sooner or later I will kill you and everyone else she deems unworthy of life," he said in a low and stern voice. "I am sorry, but I have to kill her. There is no other way. I will do it painlessly and quickly—she won't feel a thing. No matter what you say or do, I won't change my mind. You can't stop me." He rose to his feet and brushed some dust off his robes.
"We understand that," Draco assured him darkly. "And it doesn't matter anymore. She was never human … I made her into something else when I took that potion. I know it wasn't my fault, but … Anyway, it doesn't matter, because Harry and I are expecting another child." He turned to meet Harry's eyes. "A daughter. I had them check this time. I hope you don't mind."
Harry could not find anything to say; his mouth just opened and closed like that of a fish. He had known nothing of the pregnancy, and Draco had obviously been waiting for the right opportunity to tell him.
But instead of hearing his opinion on the matter, Timothy spoke. "That is impossible. You were supposed to be in an accident and come out of it infertile …"