Roses (A Drarry FanFiction - Roses are Red, Violets are Blue Part 1)

Chapter Eight

   Harry knew he had dozed off again in Draco's arms, so when he jerked awake to find himself alone panic was the first thing to shoot through him. In the split second it took him to realise and worry what had happened, if he was okay, he realised for the second time that night there was a reason he had come so abruptly back into consciousness.

His alarms were going off.

In one swift moment he scooped up his jeans, dragging them over his legs, thrusting his glasses back on his face and snatching up his wand, all in the space of a heartbeat or two. "Silencio," he hissed, and the bells and whistles ceased immediately.

The quiet that followed as Harry stepped bare-chested out into the hall told him two things. First, that Draco must have been in the shower as the water was running, and second: they were not alone.

There was a crash and a slew of angry words from behind the closed living room door opposite him. He might have hoped it was his fellow aurors, but even through the door Harry could tell that the two heated voices were not speaking in English.

They were speaking in French.

He flattened himself against the wall, wand raised as his mind raced. The Pontiacs, it had to be. Why had they come back? Was Draco right, had they been monitoring them? 

"Trouvez cette femme!" the female voice barked, Marie Pontiac Harry guessed, getting closer to the door. "Je veux qu'elle meurt." 

The door opened to reveal just a glimpse of her husband Ourson, but Harry's spell was already flying through the air. "Impedimenta!"

The fugitive was fast though, they both were, and Ourson's shield charm had Harry's hex bouncing off the walls while Marie assaulted him with a nasty shower of sparks in a combination of jinxes. He ducked and rolled as the couple retreated back into the lounge, but Harry wasn't letting them get away that easily. He crashed through the door to find them waiting for him, either side of the room, and he spun on his feet, wand above his head as he battled back the barrage of spells.

"My love!" Marie cried to Ourson in a thick French accent as they apparently enjoyed themselves. "It is the famous 'Arry Potter! We are most 'onoured." For wanted fugitives, the Pontiacs had scrubbed up quite nicely in dress robes that looked like they had just come from a ball. Maybe they had? Harry had no idea where they'd been hiding these past few days. He still couldn't figure why they would risk coming back to the house when the Ministry was after them?

"Oh put a sock in it," Harry growled between curses, sweat pouring down his neck from exertion and concentration. His feet were bare and he could feel them getting torn up from the debris strewn over Mrs Hathaway's carpet. The pain wasn't helping him focus as the bombardment continued, and despite Harry's expert reflexes and wide range of spells, it wasn't long before a stunning charm clipped his shoulder, and he went flying into the wall, rattling loose several china plates that came crashing down alongside him as he hit the floor.

Before he could scramble back to his feet, Ourson Pontiac was also blasted into the air, and Harry whipped his head round to see Draco charge into the room, hair wet and also only clad in his trousers. Marie turned her attention to him with a shriek as they began to duel in earnest, giving Harry the chance to haul himself up.

She fended them both off for the first few volleys, but with her husband still on the floor defenceless it was only a matter of time before Harry was able to sneak an Incarcerous spell around her, snaking ropes around his limbs.

"Vas te faire encule!" Marie roared, strands of brown hair coming free of her elegant bun as she lunged at Harry and Draco, slashing viciously with spell after spell. The cottage seemed to rock under their feet but the two men stood their ground, shoulder to shoulder as they beat the lunatic before them down. Harry gritted his teeth, he just needed a shot, just one shot...

Draco feinted to his left, drawing Marie to him, so Harry dove to the right, arching his wand and blasting the witch into unconsciousness, sprawled on the ground.

Just like that the room stilled. With the couple both out for the count and on the ground, Draco and Harry drew themselves up and back, catching their breaths, staring at the criminals they'd managed to apprehend.

Harry was the first to move, darting over to Marie to check her pulse before binding her hands, gagging her and confiscating her wand. He did the same to Ourson, and only then did he realise Draco was watching him mutely.

Harry looked down at their captives, then back up to him. This really had been a bizarre night.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

His hair was still dripping, water running in little rivets down his chest from where he'd presumably jumped straight out of the shower, his charcoal trousers were dark with moisture as well and he'd also not put any shoes on. Both their feet had little smears of blood around the edges from the glass and ceramics they had stamped on whilst duelling.

Draco didn't reply. He just blinked, his hand gripping his wand tightly, his jaw set.

Harry felt a sinking sensation slip down his insides. Was Draco freaking out? Was he regretting what had happened between them? Harry tried not to panic. He knew this would almost certainly happen, he'd promised himself he wouldn't let himself be hurt by it. But he couldn't help but feel desperate for Draco to say something, anything.

His heart jumped as Draco opened his mouth...and then the alarms went off again.

Harry snapped his head up at the soft ringing, designed to rouse them from sleep, but right now they shredded Harry's nerves. Curse their timing. "The Ministry," he said, silencing them. Then he looked at Draco's naked torso, followed by his own.

Without a word the two men left their prisoners unguarded for a moment as they raced back into the bedroom, snatching up clothes, healing their cut feet before shoving their boots back on. Harry silently summoned the discarded condom and the lube, feeling a burn of shame as he hid them back in his bag, not caring about the mess they made. He could deal with Draco not wanting to repeat their encounter, or wanting to keep it private, but did he really have to ignore him? Make him feel like he'd done something disgusting?

He was debating whether or not to say something as he whipped the sheets from the bed and dumped them in a pile on the floor, when by the sound of it the front door burst open, accompanied by a chorus of voices.

"Harry?" Ron called out, and Harry left Draco in the bedroom without a second glance as he went to greet his partner.

Ron and several of their colleagues were already in the living room, staring impressed at the crumpled masses of the Pontiacs.

"Blimey mate," Ron said enthusiastically. "You've been busy."

You have no idea, Harry thought ruefully.