Memory Loss (Harry Potter Drarry slash)

37: [Rape 3] Here He Stands the Accused

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains the aftermath of the rape. The actual event is not described in any way and the aftermath is not explicit, but I still want to give a warning so that people who run a risk of getting triggered can proceed with caution. (It starts almost halfway into the chapter.)

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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 six 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 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, he remained standing with his hands on the door.

This is not how I pictured my life 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."