The Manners of the Cold Manor
The gardens lay deserted when he arrived at lunchtime that quiet Saturday to finally speak his heart, even though it scared the shit out of him. There was no telling what his father might do when he learnt the truth about his son—a truth that still puzzled and confused even the son himself. But he knew in his heart that it was right, and to be able to live the life that he had begun to desire, he had to tell it to his father straight.
An odd expression, really.
And very ironic since he was not straight at all.
Draco gazed out over all the flowers and the lush, green grass that stretched all the way down to the lake. If this place had been inhabited by nicer people, it would have been the perfect place to spend such a wonderful late summer's day. It seemed sad that it should waste away under his father's rule.
Maybe one day I'll be able to take this back, he thought with a faint, hopeful smile. Maybe one day I'll be able to make all of this mine. Maybe one day we could live here …
"Draco? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at school?"
Draco reluctantly turned towards the sound of his father's drawling voice. He had to be strong and determined, but every muscle in his body was quivering with fear and anxiety. He forced himself to stick out his chin in a true Malfoy manner and meet his father's cold grey eyes without any trace of fear. No way was he going to show the least bit of weakness in front of this man.
"Father," he said in mock courtesy.
Malfoy senior raised an eyebrow in wonder. "Well? Aren't you going to tell me why you are here? Because I hardly think that this is a social call. You want something again, don't you?"
Draco managed a sly smile. "As a matter of fact, I do, father," he informed the older man, "but I don't think it's quite what you're expecting."
Lucius moaned with irritation and tossed his head; his long blond hair flew about in the mild breeze, eliciting thousands of tiny strings of golden light reflections. "I've already told you I'm not getting you an Invisibility Cloak," he said exhaustedly.
That comment made Draco laugh out loud.
His father studied him with suspicion. "Are you laughing at me, boy?"
Draco had to shake his head a few times to stop the laughter from keeping bubbling up from the pit of his stomach. "Yes, in fact I am, because you're just so pathetic, father. Did you really think I came here because of some meaningless materialistic desire? Really, father, haven't you noticed any difference in me whatsoever?"
His old man just kept staring at him in apparent lack of understanding. Draco could see the cold calculation behind those silver-grey surfaces, and to see his father this uncertain gave him a dark satisfaction that he savoured slowly. Taking a couple of steps closer for intimidating effect, he fixed his eyes on his old man's. Sneering self-righteously, he said, "I'm not interested in material things anymore. I've found something much more precious than that."
To his delight, Lucius backed up a few paces. Laughing nervously, he asked, "What do you mean, Draco? Material things have always been your number one priority—"
Draco snorted. "Yeah, key word being 'been,' father. I told you—I don't care for material things anymore. That's not why I came here on school time. Didn't you notice how much time I spent away from home this summer, father? Didn't you notice how secretive and happy I was for the first time in my entire life? Didn't you notice how I always sat by myself, down by the lake, reading through those letters that my owl brought me late at night? Didn't you notice anything?"
The silence between them was oppressive. Awkward. The sounds of summer faded away around them for a while, but then they came back in double force. Birds chirruping high up in the cherry trees, a woodpecker hacking away at a pine, the low humming of insects in the flower beds … The mild breeze stirred his smooth hair and gave it a windy sort of look. Patiently, he awaited his father's reply.
"Letters?" Lucius echoed. "No, I never saw you reading any letters. Draco, what are you trying to tell me? That you've got a pen friend?"
The mockery and the scorn did not daunt Draco. He simply leaned in ever closer and spoke his mind in a low, hostile voice. "No, father, not just a pen friend. I've found so much more than a simple pen friend, you see, something that you wouldn't know anything about because you've never experienced it yourself." He made a pause for dramatic effect. "I am in love."
A squirrel ran out of the bushes and hurried up the trunk of a nearby pine tree.
Lucius Malfoy finally reacted to his son's words. "In love, are we? Ah, well … I always knew you and Pansy would tickle each other's fancy."
Draco blinked. Then he laughed scornfully. "Pansy?! Who the fuck said anything about Pansy? You really think I would hook up with that ugly wench? You must be joking!"
"Then it must be that other girl I saw you with … what was her name again? Magdalena?"
"Maryannah Fletchely, I believe. But no, it's not her. I never spent any time with her, I just happened to be standing next to her outside the classroom when you decided to pay a visit to the school last year. The object of my 'fancy,' as you put it, is someone you know, though. Oh, you know this person, alright. You know him reeeaaally well."
It took a while for his words to sink in, but when they did, Lucius Malfoy's face went pale as linen. "Hi … him?"
"Yes, you heard me right, father. The person I've fallen in love with is indeed a boy. And not just any boy, either, for that matter. No, his name starts with an H, and I believe his last name to be Potter …"
He was really enjoying this game, and even though it was the most dangerous and uncertain game he had ever played, he loved it. Every second of it, every sensory input—he savoured them all. And when his father gave a start, as though hit in the face with the force of a sledgehammer, Draco strained very hard to memorise every single detail of the look in that malicious face. This was something to remember for many years ahead, to be sure.
Malfoy senior was shaking visibly, but not from fear—as Draco would have liked—but from anger and indignation. Humiliation. "Potter?!" he spat. "Are you trying to trick me into believing that you have fallen in love with Potter?! You foolish little boy! I will punish you for this disrespectful behaviour, and I sure as Hell will teach you not to play such ignorant pranks on me!"
Once again, Draco laughed out loud at his father's absurdity. "What makes you think this is a prank? A trick, you call it? It sure as Hell didn't feel like it was just some silly trick when Harry made love to me this summer. Yes, that's right," he said when his father gasped involuntarily, "we've made love—had sex, if you understand that term better. He took my virginity, stole my first kiss, the whole package, and it was bloody brilliant. Hell, I'd even say it was heaven. We love each other, father, and I came here only to tell you to leave us the fuck alone and let us live our life. We might stand before each other one day if the war ever comes, but until then I suggest that you steer clear or I can't make any promises that I'll spare you."
Lucius lashed out at his son, but Draco was prepared and fended off the attack. "I don't believe you!" he shouted. "You are lying! You are only trying to make me feel guilty about not buying you that bloody broomstick!"
"You don't believe me? You'd better believe me! I brought some pictures for you to put in the family album—thought Mum might want to have some memorabilia of her son-in-law in the future. Women like that stuff. Here you go, father. Take a good look at them and you'll see they're not fake; they're the real deal. They were all taken this summer—which I spent with Harry's family in Surrey and Ron's family at the Burrow, by the way."
He had brought five different pictures for one reason only: to provoke his father. The first one was of him and Harry fooling around in the grass in front of the Burrow. Well, not 'fooling around' as in the sense of 'having sex,' because not even Draco would be so spiteful as to actually present his father with that kind of picture. No, they were tumbling around on the ground, having a bloody good time; they were lovingly wrestling each other, tickling each other, laughing from the pits of their stomachs.
The second picture showed the two of them kissing in front of a cosy fireplace. Neither of them had been aware of Hermione taking the picture before she showed it to them three days later, when it had been developed. And it was no innocent kiss, either. That night, they had momentarily lost all sense of being around other people; they had felt as if they were alone. They were full-on, hard-core snogging. Harry's hand was inside Draco's jumper, even.
It was quite embarrassing when you thought about it, that they had actually done that with people watching … Draco could still feel Harry massaging his hard nipple, and he quivered in lustful anticipation.
When he got back to school …
In the third picture, Draco was feeding Harry some of his homemade birthday cake (if you could say that it was homemade since Draco had used magic and not his hands to bake it). They had flour all over themselves, and they were laughing.
The fourth picture was the sweetest one, in Draco's opinion. Another picture taken by Hermione without their knowledge. They were lying on a blanket in the grass, twilight creeping up on them from behind. Their arms were entangled and they were sleeping soundly, their chests rising and falling in synchrony. Draco thought they looked so peaceful in that picture, and he still had trouble believing that it was really them. He just could not believe that he was part of something so beautiful.
The last picture was the kinkiest one. But not that kinky, really. Draco was teasing Ron (who was behind the camera together with Hermione and not seen in the picture) by slowly, sensually licking along Harry's jawline with the tip of his tongue while Harry pretended to have an orgasm. It was so much fun to tease Ron, because he always screamed like a scared little girl and ran off as if someone had set his bum on fire.
When Lucius saw those pictures—and especially the last one—a fine muscle twitched beside his right eye. He was probably furious, but he did not show it; his face was not even flushed. He swallowed hard—probably to suppress his urge to strangle Draco or even worse, because that was the manner of this Manor—and finally said: "So … you and Potter? You … did all these things?"
"Yes, that and much, much more." Draco deliberately raised one hand and pulled down the collar of his knitted turtleneck jumper and scratched himself on the collarbone, revealing the hickeys on his neck and nape. He felt a jolt of dark satisfaction when he saw his father jerk. "What? Don't you like the pictures? We had them taken especially for you."
Lucius was growling deep down in his throat, like an animal. "I hope you know you've just marked yourself for death, Draco."
"Oh, yes, I'm well aware of that. In fact, I was counting on it. Would've been quite disappointed if I hadn't."
"Don't mock me!"
"Or what?"
"I'm warning you, Draco! One day I'll have your head on my wall—yours and Potter's."
Draco yawned and threw a glance at his expensive wrist watch. "Well, I had better get going or I'll be late for our daily love-making session. There are only so many times we can be alone in the dorm, so …"
He prepared to leave, but his father roughly grabbed his arm.
Draco looked down at it. "Physical contact, father? Man, you really must be desperate!"
"Don't forget that you're officially disinherited, Draco. There will be no more expensive clothes for you, no more high-end paraphernalia to brag about. Think about that!"
Draco gave him a cold, piercing look. "That doesn't matter; I have Harry, and that makes me richer than you."
Without another word, he walked off, demonstratively keeping his back to his father all the way back to the house, not once looking back. He would not grant his old man that. Once inside the house, he was careful to avoid any room in which he might bump into his mother, and as soon as he had closed the door behind himself in the third floor library, he took a handful of Floo powder and travelled back to the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room.
Harry was waiting for him in his favourite armchair, his legs resting on another armchair which he had put in front of the one he was sitting in. He looked pleasantly drowsy. "Hey, baby," he greeted him as he stepped out of the fire, slightly dirty with soot. "Everything work out?"
"Yeah, everything went smoothly," Draco told him and slid down next to his boyfriend, forcing the space to magically transform until it was big enough for both of them. "Boy, I love to aggravate that man!"
Harry laughed. "Yes, I can imagine he didn't take it all too well."
"Not really, no."
"Did you give him the photos?"
"Mmm-hm. He loved them—I could tell from his face."
They laughed heartily.
Draco looked around the room. "You alone here?"
"No, you're here, too, silly."
Draco hit him over the head. "Moron."
"Yeah, we're alone. Why? You gonna do me here?"
"Not when you sound like that; you're making me feel stupid."
"You are stupid, Dracums," Harry mocked with a sly smile playing on his lips.
Draco hit him again. "You're going to pay for that!"
He straddled Harry and pressed his lips to his. Harry immediately opened his mouth, welcoming the blonde's tongue with unadulterated eagerness. Draco responded by driving his right hand through Harry's messy hair and pressing their crotches closer together. Harry moaned longingly, running his hands up and down Draco's back, forcing his tongue deeper into the blonde's mouth. He began to pull the turtleneck jumper up, revealing pale skin that glowed eerily in the indirect sunlight that shone in through the windows. Fumbling, yearning fingertips dancing over his slender back …
Draco forced himself to withdraw from the kiss before it was too late; they were both getting too excited and aroused. "We can't, not here … what if someone steps through the portrait hole?" he rasped.
Harry swiftly nodded. His cheeks were flushed with desire, and his emerald eyes were burning. "You're right, let's go upstairs, there's no-one there, we'll draw the curtains—"
"Curtains," Draco agreed, and got up.
He took Harry's hand in his and helped him up, then he escorted him up to their dorm, to their bed.
Lying on the bed, Draco on top of Harry's stomach where he could feel Harry's heartbeats pounding wildly against his young chest. He felt happier than he had ever felt in his entire life. It was not just the fact that he was there with Harry, or that he was loved, but also the fact that he had finally come clean to his father about their relationship. Now they did not have to worry about being found out anymore, and they were free to do whatever they wanted. They could let the world know just how much they loved each other.
A smile formed on his lips.
Harry partly knitted his brows. "What? You look weird."
Draco shook his head. "Nothing. I was just thinking about how wonderful it is, being here with you. I wouldn't ever want to be anywhere else but here, living this very moment. I'd live it over and over again if I could."
Harry lovingly ruffled Draco's hair. "I would, too."