Archive of Our Own ^beta

Title: An Unhealthy Obsession
Author: dacro
Rated: R
Remix of : Inevitable by taradiane
Summary: Even though he's content with his perfectly normal life and marriage, Harry still disappears into his study several times a week, devoted to finding the man he loves—a man who's been missing for six years.
Betas: saladbats *highfives*, joanwilder and moonlite_tryst
Notes: Can be read as a stand-alone, but read both to get the full picture. The original was written before HBP, so the remix is likewise not canon compliant after OotP. Special thanks to moonlite_tryst for help with the UKisms, and for finding the Cross Keys restaurant used in the fic.
I also tried as hard as I could to add a little Mpreg for Tara and Coffee, but it just didn't happen during this scene. We can use our imaginations to give them babies in the future, right? *hugs*

Harry,

I don't know how to say everything I want to in a note, but considering the circumstances, the time for secrets is over, and I think this way will be easier on both of us. I probably should have told you years ago, but the timing just never seemed right, and I was afraid I'd only lose you sooner if I confronted you about it—about him.

I know about the file you keep hidden beside your desk. I found it while I was cleaning, and I thought it had fallen, so I took a look inside. That's when I figured out what you do—who you're with—when you close yourself up in the study.

I saw you with him at school years ago, in the little room behind the tapestry, the night before he went missing. I kept hoping that one day you'd look at me with the same hunger, the same longing I saw in your eyes that night, but somehow I think I've always known that it was only for him, even after we got married.

Don't blame yourself. I've carried as many secrets as you have, but I want you to know I've always loved you. That wasn't a lie.

I've moved back with Mum for a few days. I think it would be best if you didn't visit for a while.

You're free, Harry. As much as it hurts, I want you to be happy. I want you to be whole.

Always,
Gin

Harry managed a convincing farewell wave through the study window. Hermione waved back and Ron gave him a nod, wrapping a protective arm around her and his unborn child, and then vanishing with a 'pop' into the warm summer darkness.

Once they were gone, Harry let the smile slide from his lips, and leant his forehead against the window pane. He was suddenly exhausted, heavy with guilt, embarrassment, and a drop of self loathing. He was a sorry excuse for a husband, and only played the role of friend just good enough to get by, but it was all he could manage these days, and for the most part, they all seemed to understand.

Dinner had gone the way it always did when Ron and Hermione came for a visit: Ginny had made enough chicken pie to match Hermione's growing appetite, and he and Ron had chatted about the family, work, and getting tickets from Seamus for the next Quidditch World Cup – normal. Same as always – except for what happened after pudding.

Ginny and Hermione were settled on the opposite sofa from him and Ron, and were in the middle of a discussion about names for the baby when he'd suddenly felt as if there wasn't enough air in the room. He struggled with the uneasiness for a few long minutes before following the overwhelming need to announce that there was a pile of unfinished work on his desk that he'd been putting off all weekend.

Ron and Hermione were quick to accept his excuse and utter a hurried farewell when he got to his feet, but something in Ginny's eyes dimmed for a brief moment, and her hand slid away from Hermione's swollen belly.

Harry's chest felt as if it were being stretched tight every time he saw that momentary flicker of whatever it was reflected on her face, knowing without a doubt that he'd caused it. But she never let it linger, never gave him more than an instant of insight into what she was feeling before it would all be a memory, and the smell of a fresh cake baking, or a warm hug would envelop him, and they'd go on – mostly content.

Harry turned from the window, sank into his leather chair, and reached down into the small hiding place in between his desk and the filing cabinet, just big enough to hide a single folder. He opened it with practised ease, and bit his bottom lip as a familiar, pale face with hauntingly grey eyes stared back at him from the finger-worn, over-full, tea-stained file.

The uneasiness of failing to give his wife everything she desired –deserved – left him with one glance at the fading photograph, and was replaced by something equally as unhealthy – yearning for something, someone, he'd never have again.

He traced a finger over Draco's image, even though he already knew every detail, each hue, had memorised it every Tuesday night (and most weekends) since he'd acquired the file and attempted to make sense of the mess within. It was a sick obsession – an unhealthy way to use time that could be better invested in his current cases at work, or spent with Ginny – but it was the only way he could cope with the daily drain of his perfectly normal life.

He wanted Draco, and was content to cling to whatever was left of the time they'd shared, even if the closest he ever got was a stack of outdated pictures and a file brimming with old information. Harry repeatedly, willingly, destroyed a small piece of his heart every time a possible sighting turned cold, or a rumour concerning Draco's whereabouts proved to be false. He needed to believe he was out there, somewhere, still alive, even though each new parchment added to the file meant more time away from his marriage, and more time wasted wondering about the what ifs of a life he'd never have with Draco.

He carefully turned to the last page and re-read his latest notes. If he ever allowed Hermione to read the painstakingly perfect handwriting, she might assume someone else had recorded the information, but Harry had a reason for the meticulous order (and the secrecy) – it was important – Draco would only want the best, and Harry was determined to meet his standards, regardless of Draco's continued absence.

March 4th: Gerald Mortley observes a cloaked, thin male with longish blond hair leaving the Cross Keys, a Muggle café in Salisbury. Mortley reports the possible Malfoy sighting, but the stranger is not recovered.

April 15th: Harland Fergus, Muggle groundskeeper at the Cathedral of Saint Mary, reports a young man spotted leaving the church draped in a dark cloak, to local Muggle authorities. On being asked why he made the report, he responded by saying that anyone covering themselves in a heavy cloak on such a warm spring day was sure to be 'up to something'.

June 20th: Kingsley Shacklebolt detects a figure exiting the former gardens around the ruins of Malfoy Manor on a routine weekly sweep of the area. The figure Disapparates before questioning is possible.

Three possible sightings in Wiltshire – the last, only a few short weeks ago. It could mean nothing, or it might confirm what he'd been hoping for all along – Draco was alive and moving closer – coming back.

Ginny's voice through the study door pulled him away from his thoughts momentarily, but he responded pleasantly when she mentioned something about going out to read in the gazebo. The tightness returned, and he turned away from the file, hearing the words she hadn't said: Come join me. I'll bring out tea and we'll read together.

I love you.

He rubbed a heavy hand over his eyes, but she stayed in his mind. He remembered a time when there was no one else to share his heart with, and she had taken up the position of little sister, friend and eventually girlfriend with ease. It had always been the natural progression. Right from the beginning she had known who Harry really was, and loved him anyway.

It took very little convincing after both Voldemort and Dumbledore were gone (along with the pressure to save the world) to accept that she was the logical choice for his future partner. He remembered writing down the reasons he should marry her when she had told him it was time: she had fought beside him, defended him, and held him together during the war, their marriage would officially make him part of the Weasley family, and eventually, she would give him the chance to be a father.

And he truly liked her – loved her strength, admired her determination, and cherished the way she could always make him laugh.

There was only one problem – Draco had already gained his full attention, and in a surprisingly short time, his heart as well. Harry fought it, they both did at first, but there was no denying the attraction had always been there – like a puzzle box, waiting for them to discover the combination of moves that would uncover the prize.

He closed his eyes and settled back against the chair, remembering the first time he'd confronted Draco alone near the end of their seventh year. There was the thrill of throwing his fists and feeling the satisfying give of muscle, the sound of creative swear words pouring from Draco's split lip and the surprisingly crude language coming from his own mouth, the shock and exhilaration of anger turning into overwhelming arousal, and finally the new smell of sweat and sex on the air after the exquisite burn of rutting against each other had faded to a dull buzz, and the silent understanding that neither one had done anything like that before.

He also remembered leaving Draco without a second glace, nearly running over Mrs Norris on his way back to the tower.

His hand slid into his lap as old memories moved forward at his command:

The tapestry released a cloud of dust as he pushed it aside and stomped into the room on Malfoy's heels.

"Care to explain this—" he demanded, waving a note in front of Draco's face. "—and what you're doing back here?"

Draco set his bag on the windowsill. "Just a friendly invitation, Potter, and this isn't a private room. I have the same right to be here as any student."

Harry swallowed against the unexplainable tightness closing around his throat that was becoming more uncomfortable by the second. "But anyone could have—what happened last night was…"

Malfoy's wand was out before Harry had even thought to reach for his own. He felt himself pushed firmly backwards, bracing for the inevitable impact with the wall, but not really doing anything to prevent it. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd been fantasising all day about Malfoy's body pressed against his again – the thought of what they'd done the night before turning his skin feverish within a few short seconds.

Draco's mouth descended on Harry's ear. "It was good, wasn't it?" he whispered, a trace of bite floating under the breathy tone. "A welcome bit of release after a disappointing day, in my opinion."

Harry turned his head away. "Doesn't mean I want to be propositioned for another go. You could be setting me up for…"

"Shut up, Potter."

It wasn't like kissing Cho or Ginny – it was painful, forceful. Exciting. Dangerous.

Addictive.

Harry pressed his palm down, enjoying the sensation, but not wanting to get carried away, knowing that Ginny could come back from the garden without warning. He quickly turned to a photo in the middle of the file – his favourite: the last picture taken of Draco in his Quidditch uniform. The scowl read more as mild annoyance with whoever was holding the camera, and his hair was the same length as the last time Harry had seen him – longish, curling perfectly at his jaw line.

He pulled up the last memory of their time together, and continued the leisurely massage between his legs, feeling the comfortable quickening of his pulse, and enjoying the warmth spreading over his skin.

"What choice do I have? It's not as if anyone's going to believe me!"

Harry reached for the pale hand. "I do—I mean, if we go to Dumbledore…"

Draco pulled away and stared out at the darkening sky. He dropped his voice to whisper, "I've already been marked, Harry, he's not going to…"

Harry moved close behind him, trying another touch at the base of Draco's rigid spine as he searched for something to say that wouldn't cause an explosion. "That wasn't—you were forced…"

"It doesn't work that way, and you know it," Draco said without emotion, still looking blankly out at the forest. Harry noticed the Thestrals were beginning to stir. "Once a Death Eater, always…"

Harry stopped the sentence short, spinning Draco by the shoulders. He met grey eyes, struggling with himself about how much information to give away. "No. There's…someone else. Let me…"

Draco's hands gently wrapped around Harry's forearms, thumbs smoothing out the fabric beneath. "If I don't do what the Dark Lord wants, I lose everything. I'll try to get you information, if I can, but no promises."

Trying to think of alternate options while Draco was standing so close, was harder than Harry could have imagined. "All right, not Dumbledore, but someone else. You could go to an Auror—or, or…" He almost couldn't say the name, but if Dumbledore trusted him… "Snape?"

Draco's eyes widened slightly before he shook his head in earnest. "No! He can't be trusted." He dropped his head onto Harry's shoulder and exhaled. "Let it go, Harry."

Harry pulled him closer. It was the first time nothing sexual was involved with the action. It felt right, but also not enough at the same time. "When this is over…"

Draco's hands slid forward and settled at Harry's waist. "I'll try. That's all I can offer at this point."

The tightness had made a home in his jaw, and he suddenly had to fight to form his words. "I know. I—we won't let him win."

In the next moment, Draco's face was close and warm against his cheek. He didn't know what to do with the gentleness, or with the goodbye neither of them wanted to say. When Draco finally spoke, it was something nearly as final.

"I hope you're right."

Fed up with his inability to say what he wanted to, he kissed Draco with all he had to offer, and hoped that somehow the message would get through. Draco picked up on the dance with ease, allowing Harry to take the lead, moving together in strange new ways that didn't involve pushing, teeth marks or bruises. It was still exciting, still full of urgency, but there was something else as well. Harry didn't know if Draco felt it too, but the unnamed 'something' was achingly uncomfortable, and yet at the same time, satisfying in a way he'd never felt before – and never with Ginny.

Draco's warm mouth was suddenly gone, and Harry had to blink a few times when he realised what had happened. Draco was on his knees, fingers working over Harry's belt, grinning up at him with all the subtlety of Fred and George.

"Wait, what—what are you…" Harry stuttered, but Draco's hands seemed to know what they were doing. Harry was exposed a second later, staring dumbly down at his erection bobbing only a breath away from Draco's wet lips.

"Something to remember me by."

And Harry had, several nights a week for six long years.

He pulled his hand away, even though he wanted to finish what his mind and fingers had started. Instead, he pressed his hands against his knees, closed his eyes once more, and focused on the memory, trying not to forget any detail: the heat and perfect pressure of Draco's mouth wrapped around him, the slide of his own fingers into soft blond hair, the contrast of their skin where it touched, and the pang of knowing it was the last night they'd ever have.

Even when they heard retreating footsteps, and saw the sway of the tapestry through the crack in the door, they didn't stop. They only paused for a second to look at each other, and even that had been too much for Harry. The image of Draco's flushed face, heavy eyelids and hollowed cheeks was burned forever in his mind's eye that instant, and not even the fear of being discovered was incentive enough to pull him away from that stunning sight.

He'd kept that moment—that act—only for Draco, even though he knew it hadn't escaped his wife's attention. She had gotten close a few times, but Harry was always quick to turn the tables and pleasure her instead, or take her quickly so the option would be moot.

On other nights when he would try to recreate the more physical play he'd enjoyed with Draco, he'd close his eyes tight, press her to the wall, and it would almost feel the same until she made a sound, or flinched from a grip that was a little too tight.

She didn't deserve a husband who wanted her to be someone else in the bedroom, and she was far too good for a man who wanted to have children—just not with her.

He slowly regained control of his breathing, opened his eyes, and turned again to the back of the file, pen in hand, to reread the information he had already memorised, his heart heavy once more with regret for things beyond his influence to change

"Harry."

Draco.

He froze, the tip of the pen digging into the parchment to steady himself. Quick thinking told him he was mistaken—it was Ron's voice. Ron had forgotten something and he'd come back to…

"Harry."

Not Ron.

When he finally worked up the courage to look at his own reflection in the window, it confirmed his worst fears – he looked like someone who'd finally gone round the bend. His skin was splotchy with misplaced emotion, his hair more unkempt than usual, and there were a few streaks from tears he hadn't realised had fallen earlier.

He quickly wondered if Ginny's voice would always sound like Draco's, now that he'd gone mad. He pressed his hands against the surface of his desk and pushed himself to his feet.

The voice whispered his name again, but this time he was ready to confront it. He slowly turned and stepped free of the desk, but quickly grabbed the chair for support before stumbling forward into the man standing in the middle of the room.

Draco.

He was staring at Harry with soft eyes, long hair spilling over the dark fabric of his cloak. He was older, way-worn, but still the same. Dangerous. Beautiful.

Ignoring the impossibility of the situation, not caring if he was imaging it all or not, Harry let himself fall to his knees, wrapped his arms around Draco's waist, and buried his face in the cloth separating him from the skin he longed to touch. Relief flooded through him like a summer wind when Draco didn't vanish from the tight circle of his arms.

In the next ragged breath, familiar fingers slid through his disastrous hair, sending waves of contentment to deal with his question-filled mind, and his aching heart.

"Harry."

He had pictured Draco's return in his mind a thousand times, but never allowed himself to believe it would ever happen. It hurt too much to hope, but something in his heart told him he was a fool for ever doubting. A sob escaped before he could hold it back.

He was shaking—perhaps they both were, but it didn't matter. Draco was kneeling on the floor with him, hands cupping his face, brushing away his tears, pushing his hair away from his glasses—keeping him from breaking apart.

He heard the click of the door, and knew instinctively what it meant, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from Draco, couldn't stop staring in disbelief.

"I—I should go to her. She won't underst…"

Lips closed over his, brief, but solid—perfect. "She knows, Harry." Harry could only shake his head, but Draco kept speaking. "I think she's always known."

Harry's eyes darted to the closed door as Draco's words began to make sense. He held his breath and listened to the house. There was no screaming, no explosion of shattering glass from the kitchen—no sound at all. She was probably already gone.

Images from their marriage rushed before Harry's eyes: Ginny's sad-sweet smile at their wedding, her look of longing when her hand rested on Hermione's rounded belly, and finally her face scrunched up in discomfort, pushed up against the bedroom wall, but never telling him to stop.

She'd known—and stayed anyway.

Draco's voice, and soft lips at his throat recaptured his attention.

"She said you've always been mine," he paused, for a moment, and then fixed Harry with uncertain eyes, his hands still exploring Harry's face. "Is that true?"

"Yes," he answered, quickly, but truthfully. His brain had begged him to give some thought to what the proper response should be—he was a married man, after all—but his heart had taken control, and he found himself unable to carry his secret alone any longer.

"I never told you. I mean, we were boys then, but I knew—I knew I..."

Relief softened Draco's features, and he closed the distance between them properly, capturing Harry's mouth with all the fire they had shared six years before, but with none of the fumbling. It was a kiss between reunited lovers—no longer besieged adolescents preparing for war.

And then it was more.

The kiss became fevered, their breathing escalated, and their bodies shook with need as Draco guided him down to the floor, maintaining as much contact as possible. Harry's hungry fingers pushed the cloak off Draco's shoulders and were working their way under the back of the thin shirt when Draco stopped without warning.

He was staring up at the desk—the file.

Harry felt the muscles tighten under his fingers, the warmth of Draco's body recede, and then he was alone on the floor.

Draco's eyes scanned the stack of parchment and photos, but he kept his distance.

"It's not over yet, is it? Not for me."

"They have Snape's memories, so there's record of you passing information, but the Ministry was unwilling to review your case until…"

"My body was found?"

Harry took Draco's hand. "Or until you came back."

"Harry, I have to tell you…" The words fell away as Harry stepped in front of the desk.

"It can wait until the morning," he whispered against the long hair he loved.

Draco took in a shallow breath, and tucked his hair behind his ear, allowing Harry to get closer. "Later than that, if you want." He slid his arms around Harry's waist. "I assume you're in charge of my case?"

"No, Kingsley," Harry answered, pulling back to gauge Draco's reaction, but he only glanced again at the papers. "For some reason Percy's never let me near it."

Draco waved a hand toward the file, eyes back on Harry's once more. "So, this is all your own doing, then?"

Harry nodded. Draco gave him a tired smile and kissed him slowly, as if studying Harry's mouth for changes, comparing what they had before to how it felt now. After a few leisurely moments, Draco's hands wandered back up to cup gently around Harry's jaw.

"You know, Potter, obsession is an unhealthy habit."

Harry covered the trembling hands with his own, his mind finally managing to convince him that Draco wasn't leaving. He felt the broken pieces of his life slide back into place at last. He smiled at Draco and squeezed the fingers under his own.

"Only if you never find what you're searching for."

~*~

Original comments can be found here when the fic appeared anonymously in the hd_remix exchange.