salixbabylon | Fic: What Are Words For? (4/6)

Title: What Are Words For?
Author:

salixbabylon
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Prompt: "Words" – Missing Persons, part of the

ficrocksthe80s fest
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3819
Disclaimer: JKR owns everything. I just like to play naughty games with her dollies.

Summary: "Six months after the end of the war Harry decided, admittedly in a fit of pique, that he wasn't going to talk any more."

Author's Notes: Surprisingly mostly canon compliant, even with DH. Only I didn't kill Fred because that's just wrong. Also warning = plot! Not my usual PWP-fare. Tons of thanks to my beloved beta,

sarka *smooch*

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)

What Are Words For?

The next time Harry saw Draco, just a few nights later, he did a double-take. Yes, what his eyes were telling him was true; Malfoy's hair, rather than its usual white-blond, was for some reason a very pale blue. Almost icy, Harry reflected, thinking that it was a very cool color and that it went well with Draco's complexion and eyes.

After staring for a few moments and blinking, Harry swirled his wand and wrote the obvious question on the blackboard.

The look Draco gave him was an interesting combination of embarrassment and annoyance, but he seemed a bit pleased, too. He shrugged his shoulders, saying, "I wasn't sure if it was actually visible to anyone but me and my mirror."

Harry gave him a puzzled look.

"No one at home noticed," Draco said with a casual air.

Harry pondered this for a few moments, his brow furrowing. Draco had done a pretty good job of deflecting the conversation every time it turned to anything having to do with his parents. He was spending an extraordinary amount of time hanging out with Harry, aside from that one week of his mother's trial. Which, despite the fact that Draco obviously enjoyed the sound of his own voice and enjoyed being around someone who was utterly silent all the time, was still a bit odd – particularly the fact that he would choose to spend time with the one boy he'd had the most murderous relationship with at school. (Although Harry was willing to concede that this position might actually have been held by Ron, but that was beside the point.)

Giving Draco a penetrating look, Harry flicked his wand again. " What's going on with your parents?

"

Draco rolled his eyes. "If you want me to talk to you about my parents, you're going to have to get me pissed first, Potter. Didn't anyone ever teach you the rules of social interaction?"

Shrugging, Harry Summoned a bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses and sat on the sofa, looking pointedly at the other end of it until Draco sat down.

"They're busy," Draco said, taking a drink and then refilling his glass.

Harry made a face.

"They're busy with their trials! Everything in their lives has completely changed. They've been supporters of the Dark Lord since before I was born and it's finally bitten them on the arse," he replied in an exasperated tone.

Harry shrugged again.

"I know you have no sympathy, Potter," Draco said angrily. "But they're my parents and this is a difficult time for them. We don't know if my father is going to prison for life or being Kissed or what." He downed another large swallow and continued in a voice growing more and more agitated. "We could lose every Knut in the family vaults as war reparations; we could even lose the Manor itself!" He took a deep breath, looking across the room at the tapestry on the wall. "My mother and I could be totally penniless and what kind of job could I even get anyway, since I didn't take my NEWTS? Not that anyone would hire me, no matter that the bloody Wizengamot cleared me!"

Draco took a deep breath as he struggled to regain his usual composure. Harry looked away, giving him some time to recover, and refilled both glasses.

Draco took another healthy sip and continued more quietly. "They have a lot on their minds and they don't have time for me. It's understandable," he said, but the way his jaw clenched and eyes blinked hard, Harry could tell that it really wasn't all right at all.

He flicked his wand and wrote " So what do they do all day then?

"

"Talk to their solicitors," Draco said with a snort, peering into his whisky as if it held the answers. "Mope. They're traumatized, I suppose. They picked the losing side. Everything my father has worked for his entire life is gone. And I don't just mean the stupid plans for the Dark Lord either," he said, glancing up at Harry. "I mean our name. The Malfoy name used to inspire fear and respect. Now people practically spit on me in the street and shopkeepers stare right through me," he said in a forlorn voice. "Everyone looks right through me as if they wish I wasn't there and would just go away. Even at home."

Well, that made sense, Harry supposed. Draco wasn't ignored here at any rate. When he was at Grimmauld Place, he got to talk as much as he wanted and Harry listened. It made sense that Draco would seek that out.

" What are you going to do?

" Harry wrote.

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know that there is anything I can do, at least until we find out what's going to happen to Father. I know you'd like to see him dead, Harry, but he is my father."

Harry shrugged. He did rather want Lucius to suffer for his crimes, but he'd never thought about how that would affect Draco for the rest of his life. He didn't quite know what to think, now.

" I'm sorry

," he wrote on the blackboard. There was an uncomfortable pause, so Harry added, casting about for a slight change of topic, " What sort of job would you like to have?

What sort of job would you like to have?

"

Draco made a face and took another drink. "Well, I certainly don't want to work for the Ministry, even if they'd have me. And I'm far too pretty to sit behind a desk, besides," he said with an attempt at his usual teasing tone.

Harry smiled a bit and, surprising even himself with his flirtatiousness, he raised his glass to toast the truth of Draco's statement.

Clearly taken aback, Draco raised his glass back and they both drank, smiling at each other for a moment.

"What about you, Potter, what are you going to do?" he asked.

Harry gave him a blank look.

"Well, you've apparently decided not to become an Auror. And despite the fact that your friend Kingsley is the temporary Minister, you don't seem very interested in dealing with the Ministry or the Wizarding world."

Harry shrugged.

"Well then, what? You can't do this forever can you?" Draco pressed.

" I suppose not

," appeared on the board.

"Well then. You going to play Quidditch? Be the youngest Minister of Magic in history? I know you're not going to become a potions master... Speaking of which," Draco said with a shrewd look, "How are your letters going?"

Harry looked away, thinking for a moment before he wrote. " They're coming along all right. I've finished about half of them.

They're coming along all right. I've finished about half of them.

"

"So who's left?"

" Snape, Dumbledore, my parents.

" He didn't want to admit that he was also intending to write letters to a house elf and an owl, just in case Draco made fun of him.

Draco nodded. "Yeah, I suppose those are probably the hardest ones... I ought to write one to Dumbledore, too... I think you should do Snape next," he suggested.

They sat in companionable silence for a while longer, drinking and staring at the fire. Despite the rather emotionally-charged conversation, Draco seemed more relaxed than he had been in ages. Of course Harry realized it might be because of the sizeable quantity of Firewhisky they'd consumed, but he rather thought that talking about what was happening at home had been a bit of a relief for Draco.

As he left for the evening he surprised Harry in the kitchen once again. After saying "Good night," he also added, "Thanks, Harry."

What was more surprising, though, was that Draco reached out one hand and for a moment it seemed as if he was about to touch Harry's face. His thumb hovered over Harry's jaw for a moment, long enough to feel the heat from his hand. But then he dropped it and grasped Harry by the shoulder and gave a brief squeeze instead, with a mysterious sort of half-smile that made Harry shiver.

Without another word, Draco turned and stepped into the Floo, leaving Harry with the odd sensation that he'd just imagined the whole thing.

They were both a bit drunk.

Still, that didn't explain the goose-pimples all over his body or the quivering feeling inside his chest...

*****

The next morning Tiberius arrived with a note, and when he sent his reply back saying that it was fine for Draco to join him after supper again, Glaucus pecked at Harry in a pouting manner very reminiscent of Hedwig's behavior in similar situations. He realized he hadn't been sending his owl out very often anymore, so just to make the bird happy, he scribbled a quick note to Ron and Hermione, inviting them over.

As he was already writing notes, he thought maybe he would tackle his letter to Snape. After over a quarter of an hour staring at empty parchment marred only by a few drips of ink, however, he decided to write to Hedwig instead.

Dear Hedwig, I do feel rather stupid writing to you. I didn't talk to you all that much except when we were locked up together at the Dursleys', but I never wrote to you. I don't even know if you could read - I don't think so... You weren't the first person who died in this war, or the last. Not even the first one to be killed just because you were near me. Your death didn't suddenly make it all real. But it hurt me, still the same...

Harry finished up the letter in short order, sealed it, and reached for the Snape parchment again.

After another quarter of an hour passed with nothing to show for it but three more ink blots, he gave up. Throwing down his pen, he fled the letter for the relative comfort of the library and its murderous books.

The better part of that day was occupied with research that might shed some light on what the fuck was happening in the dining room and how Harry could deal with it before getting strangled, stabbed, or bludgeoned to death. He toyed with the idea of just wandering into the dining room and letting the furniture and cutlery do what they would to him, so he could just tell Snape what he thought of him in the Afterlife, but dismissed the idea as overly melodramatic. Besides, Snape would probably kill him, since he'd suffered so much and finally died trying to save Harry's life.

Well, except they'd both already be dead, and you couldn't get more dead, could you? Harry didn't think so, but with wizards you never knew.

Although he kept going back and forth between tasks, and despite the fact that this method had worked previously, he had still made very little progress by nightfall. He finished a small portion of his supper and decided that afters would consist of a glass of Draco's scotch and finishing that thrice-damned letter. He sat down at his desk, grim determination blending nicely with the flavor of the liquor in his mouth.

A warm hand on Harry's shoulder startled him some time later. His vision swam as he lifted his head from where it rested on his arm. He had no idea how long he'd sat there, lost in thoughts of Snape's memories, of his own memories of the man, overwhelmed by the way frustration, anger, and even hatred had combined with compassion and understanding. Rather than canceling the negative ones out, the more positive feelings simply coexisted beside them, and the resulting mess (aided with a good dose of liquor) had Harry well past maudlin and almost into weepy.

He'd still only managed a few lines, after a day of trying. And now he was thoroughly pissed and practically crying and Draco, of all people, was there to witness it.

Harry groaned and let his head fall back to the table.

The hand squeezed his shoulder again as Draco shuffled closer. "He wasn't a very nice man. It's hard to know what to write," he said, in a voice that sounded rather rough.

Sniffling a bit, Harry sat up, glanced at his friend, then at the mostly empty parchment. Aside from the ink blots, it was an interesting combination of abuse and demands for answers and apologies. But there at the end were just lines and lines and lines of " I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry

" written over and over again.

Draco Summoned another glass and poured himself a measure. Taking Harry's hand, he pulled the other boy upright and pushed him towards the sofa while he retrieved Harry's glass. Once he'd got them both situated, scotch in hand and the bottle nearby, he raised his glass in a toast, saying, "Drink to the dead with me, Harry."

They did. They finished the rest of the bottle without much in the way of conversation, aside from an occasional name. There was no commentary from either of them, just a salute and swallow of burning spirits.

Harry had no sense of how much time had passed when Draco decided to put him to bed. The wee bit of him that was sober was embarrassed at the way his body practically collapsed into Draco's arms. Warm, strong arms though, Harry noticed, and allowed himself to burrow into them a bit more than was strictly necessary as the two of them fumbled and tripped their way up the stairs.

After that everything got very blurry. Minty flavor from a tooth-cleaning charm, awkward hands pulling at his clothes, soft flannel sheets, and a bed that was much warmer than usual. Harry's eyes were closed long before his head hit the pillow and he was asleep in seconds.

*****

Harry woke the next morning to the unprecedented feeling of someone's arm wrapped around him. It was the warmth, really, that woke him – the bed felt like it was roasting and it took his fuzzy brain a few minutes to work out that it was likely because of the body pressed up against him.

It felt quite nice, being held like that. Comforting. Good. It wasn't long, though, before Harry noticed just how good it felt, particularly to parts south. His usual morning wood was beginning to throb insistently and he started to panic in fear of Draco waking up and catching him out.

A sudden commotion and the sound of hallway floorboards squeaking quickly deflated the problem. Before Harry could do anything more than sit up and reach for his wand, Mrs. Weasley burst into the room, shouting.

"Harry James Potter! Get out of bed this instant, young man! I have absolutely had it with you and this Silence thing. I have been Flooing you all morning with no answer at all, not even an owl. You could have fallen down in the bathroom and cracked your skull open and died!"

It was never good when she started off with your full name. Harry grabbed his glasses and put them on, trying to be subtle about reaching under the covers to make sure he was wearing pants at least, as he was apparently topless. Next to him, Draco groaned and grabbed Harry's abandoned pillow to put over his head to muffle the sound.

"Um, I was just having a bit of a lie in," Harry said weakly. His voice was small and his throat felt rough from disuse. Which wasn't surprising, as he realized that it was the first time he'd spoken in nearly two months.

"With someone, I see," she tutted.

Harry coughed, unable to get the scratchy feeling out of his throat and gave her an apologetic look. He got out of the bed and pulled the covers up around Draco without thinking about it before he started looking around for his clothes.

"I want you downstairs and in the kitchen right away, Harry," she scowled, turning to leave. "Five minutes!" she added, before closing the bedroom door rather more loudly than was needed.

There was a tired snicker from the bed. "Why didn't you set the wards?" Draco asked.

Harry frowned and grabbed his wand. With a swirling slashing motion, he Transfigured most of the mirror over his armoire into a blackboard and flicked his answer there with another nonverbal spell. " I did; they keep out everyone but Ron and Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. I didn't expect any of them to sneak up on me like that. The wards are set up so that warning bells ring in whatever room I'm in if someone gets within a few feet of the house. Except for those three.

I did; they keep out everyone but Ron and Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. I didn't expect any of them to sneak up on me like that. The wards are set up so that warning bells ring in whatever room I'm in if someone gets within a few feet of the house. Except for those three.

"

Draco gave him a pouty, hurt look. "Oh, you'll talk to her but not to me? Prat."

Harry shrugged, feeling equally bad about his lapse as he did about unintentionally slighting Draco. His attention was diverted from an apology by the sight of Draco throwing back the covers and getting out of the bed, wearing only boxer shorts. Like Harry had been. Which made him realize that Draco had undressed him.

Flushing, Harry turned away, pulling his jeans on.

"Don't know why you set them to let that redheaded shrew in, though," Draco groused, pulling on a t-shirt.

" She's the closest thing I've got to a mum

She's the closest thing I've got to a mum

," Harry wrote, shrugging. " She likes to keep track of me. It nearly killed her when she thought I was dead.

" He was feeling a little torn, both wanting to defend Ron's mum but also feeling pretty grouchy with her for disturbing what might have been a really excellent morning.

There was a slight pause while Draco bit his lip and looked uncomfortable, thinking about the final battle. "I'm sorry you were all alone there, at the end," he said.

Harry's mouth quirked up at the corners. " I wasn't entirely alone.

"

Draco looked puzzled and it was clear he was going to ask a question Harry didn't want to answer but luckily they were interrupted by a furious shout from what sounded like the stairwell: "Don't make me come back up there!"

Harry quickly pulled on the rest of his clothes, trying not to be embarrassed as Draco lounged back against the pillows again and watched, leering. Harry was completely flustered by the time he had his socks on and barely managed to get his shoes tied without knotting his fingers into the laces.

He dashed off to the loo with a mental apology to Mrs. Weasley, then thumped down the stairs to the kitchen to be berated.

He was withstanding the shouted lecture pretty well, making appropriately apologetic faces at the right moments for being unresponsive to the Floo, for breaking up with Ginny, for making Molly worry, and for having "some blonde tart in his bed."

That was when Draco decided to pop his head into the kitchen and get involved.

The situation rapidly escalated, with Draco yelling that he wasn't a tart and Mrs. Weasley yelling that no, he was a Malfoy, as if it was some sort of a disease, and what did Harry think he was doing anyway? From there it turned into ugly name calling about impoverished shrew-like redheads and inbred evil Purebloods. Everyone's ancestry was called into the fray and Harry finally thought to Summon both their wands before it got too nasty.

Frankly, Harry was a bit impressed that Molly seemed to have won the argument. He'd seen her angry lots of times but he hadn't seen her so full of fury and rage since the time she'd dueled with Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry wasn't sure if it was still that lioness sort of wrath, protecting her young (and Harry didn't know if that was Ginny or himself in this particular argument), but it certainly seemed cathartic for her to get some of it out of her system by shouting at Draco. Who definitely gave back as good as he got, with all of that nastiness Harry had mostly forgotten he was so very capable of.

Seeming to call it a draw, both of them withdrew from the kitchen battleground, Draco slamming the door into the hall and Molly Flooing back to the Burrow with one last glare at Harry as she snatched her wand back from him.

Blinking a bit in the abrupt stillness, Harry Summoned a bottle of Pepper-Up and made a pot of tea. After drinking his own dose and feeling much much better now that his head wasn't pounding, he levitated a tray along with him to the drawing room. As expected, Draco was hovering by the fireplace, clenching a fistful of Floo powder and scowling like a world-class champion.

He set the tea down and held out the potion as a peace offering. Still surly, Draco took it and downed his measure without a word.

"See how she treats me? Just like everyone else!" he fumed.

Harry nodded. He felt bad but he couldn't change how people thought of the Malfoys. Particularly the Weasleys, with whom they had always had an active feud.

Harry looked pointedly at Draco's fistful of Floo powder. " Are you coming back?

" he wrote on the blackboard.

Draco threw the powder down onto the hearth and ranted and raved for a few more minutes. Finally, after insulting every member of the Weasley family he could think of while Harry gritted his teeth and tried to be patient, he took a deep breath and collapsed into a chair. "I don't know. I guess so. It's better than being at home."

Harry furrowed his brow, giving him a puzzled but sympathetic look.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Anyway, it's not you I want to eviscerate, after all."

Harry offered him a half-smile. " Feeling a bit tense?

"

"No, I love being woken up by shrieking women calling me a whore, you arsehole."

He laughed. " Not the best morning, was it?

"

"Well..." Draco smirked. "Some parts were pretty good. At least, they had the potential to be." He gave Harry a flirtatious look, his mood seeming to improve as he embarrassed Harry. "Did you like waking up with me? The way our bodies were all wrapped around each other?" he teased.

Harry shivered, trying not to turn red. " You know I did.

"

Draco's eyes sparkled and he looked more pleased with himself than Harry could remember in recent history. His own insides felt a bit jumpy, nervous but happy too, like when he was first learning to fly.

They flirted more over breakfast, Draco making comments that were more and more lewd while Harry mostly just nodded his responses and tried not to act like the blushing virgin he was. Finally it was time for Draco to leave, saying it was well past the hour he'd said he would be home, as it was past noon. Harry desperately needed a shower and ignored Draco's tease that he'd need a wank too, most likely. He shoved the blond into the Floo and went upstairs, still chuckling.

**Part 5**

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

rosi-smaabu.livejournal.com

I love Harry's thoughts of Snape, it fits the way I see it in my head. Some people find it scary when I say that, but I hope you know what I mean. ;) Slow!flirting and omg, the fun - even if Harry and Draco are going through difficult times.

Can you tell I like this? :D

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Fic: What Are Words For? (4/6)

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