A Stranger Garden

Chapter 4.

2028

He'd long ago given up any hope of company in the form of people in the Blue Ballroom. At the start he'd felt sure that when Andromeda found she'd inherited the house, she'd move in, seeing as Teddy loved the place so much, and one of them would manage to get past the wards on the doors. No one ever did. He found it hard to believe that not one person in the last twenty years had been able to - or wanted to, his traitorous brain told him - get into the room.

Over the years he'd become lonelier and lonelier, finding himself detesting even his own company. He'd learned to play the harp and spent countless hours immersing himself in the wondrous sounds he produced from it. It was something he found that he enjoyed very much and the general feeling of accomplishment that went with the knowledge was most welcome.

He often wondered what Andromeda and Teddy were doing and what they thought the harp sounds coming from the Blue Ballroom were. Perhaps they thought it was a manor ghost and had decided not to disturb it. It didn't matter how many times he had begged the house-elves when they came to clean the Ballroom to tell someone how to get past the wards, the stupid creatures had pretended, Draco was sure, that they could not hear him and had ignored him. They refused to even acknowledge him. One day, he vowed, one day when someone got through the wards, he'd make sure those house-elves got what was coming to them.

Eventually, he'd outgrown his distaste for unanimated Potter flesh and he'd taken to spending a lot of time down in the dungeon trying to talk to Potter and watching to see if he'd wake up. Waiting to see if he was going to wake up. He'd spend hours every day just sitting on a chair he'd dragged over from the library and watching Potter.

Watching and waiting and definitely not checking him out. Although it was hard not to wonder about what he'd look like hard, what it would feel like buried deep in his arse or throat or heating up his hand as he thrust into it. After all, he was naked right in front of him and Draco was alone and lonely and, Merlin, he felt like he should at least have some sex. He didn't want to live through eternity a virgin but sex with Potter hadn't really been part of the equation, even if his subconscious had been telling him it might be, seeing as he'd had Potter drawn naked.

It had taken him a year to venture close enough to take Potter's dead penis in his hand. It was pretty awful, really, like a dead slug without the slime. He'd scrunched up his nose and persisted because this was Potter's cock! and he wanted to know what it felt like to hold someone else's in his hand. It would have been really nice had it been able to respond to the experimenting he'd done - stroking it, rubbing his thumb over the head - but he'd had to be satisfied with what was available.

The experimentation didn't stop there and he took the opportunity to get down on his knees in front of Potter, looking up at him.

"Don't think you'll ever get to see me do this when you're here," he said, sneering. "Malfoys get on their knees for no one."

The feeling of Potter on his tongue was strange and not because Draco had never had a penis in his mouth before, nor because it was lifeless and a deadweight, but because it was missing something else. Smell. There was no body odour about Potter. No smell of his soap or sweat or anything. No manly musky scent of arousal.

To say he was disappointed didn't even come close.

Each day after that, he'd been more and more reluctant to leave Potter there just in case he woke. He really wanted to see the look on Potter's face when he woke up, chained to the dungeon wall in Malfoy manor. Apart from that, Draco would also know that Potter was dead. For a number of years, Draco had stayed in the dungeon keeping Potter company, just waiting for him to die. He'd dragged pillows and his duvet in and set them up on several cushions from the couch in the library, as his mattress had been too big to move on his own and magic didn't work in portraits.

In that time he'd developed several habits with Potter. When he woke from sleep, Draco would greet him with "Morning, Potter, still hanging round I see." The joke never got old and he'd chuckled to himself every morning on the way through to the kitchen for coffee and breakfast. This lasted until one morning he scared himself by imagining he heard Potter replying that if he'd just undo the cuffs, then he'd show Draco exactly what a fucking good morning felt like. And Draco knew then that he was becoming too close and too familiar with his prisoner and he should leave the dungeon. Because for one small fraction of a broken second, Draco had wished Potter really would show him what a good morning of fucking was like.

And that went beyond the pale. He didn't want anything to do with Potter that did not involve him inflicting pain on the stupid Gryffindor. The intrinsic wrongness of what he was doing to Potter in experimenting without his consent was completely lost on him because he owned this Potter.

He would miss his daily sucking practice session though.

It would be much better when Potter was animated because Draco had discovered that he could indeed get a hard on, and not only that, but he could come as well. That boded well for his future and if Potter played his cards right, perhaps Draco might bestow upon him a few bloody brilliant blowjobs in between sessions with a whip.

These days he made himself lists of things to do. A nice orderly list, which consisted firstly of choosing a room in which to spend the day. He had such a wide variety of choices. He'd discounted the dungeon, preferring not to venture down there any more. And it wasn't as if he could spend the whole day in the bathroom, though he had spent hours in there in the bath on several occasions. Once he fell sleep in the water, though, and when he woke up, his first thought was to wonder if his colours would run or fade or all blend into one congealed brown-y colour if he decided to live in the bath. The second thought was to wonder if he could drown in a painting. Not that he was planning on testing it. So now he took baths in a more timely fashion; the thought of not being able to breathe scaring him silly.

And generally the kitchen was out, too. The hot and cold buffet he'd had painted to include food he loved was always fresh, always exactly how it had been the previous day. He could chop up fruit and veg and eat it or he could slice cake or bread and make sandwiches, but he could not change the consistency of the food. In other words he could not cook his own food. Therefore it was pretty pointless sitting in the kitchen all day looking at food.

Mostly he chose the garden. Even though every day was as sunny as the previous one, he did not tan. Which was just as well, seeing as he tended to burn and then freckle anyway and Merlin forbid that after living an eternity in these portraits he be covered from head to toe in freckles like a Weasley. He shuddered at the very thought. Nothing ever changed in the gardens, though, and as much as he'd complained about winter and snow while he was alive, he'd love some snow now, just for variety. Still, the pretty colours and the warm sunshine always made him feel relaxed and pushed the boredom and insanity back to the dark recesses of his mind for a time.

Then he'd decide the activity of the day. He had several choices from reading to painting to playing his music to sitting in the garden picking flowers. It seemed rather pointless, though, as any flowers he picked would just reappear back in the garden as soon as he'd picked them. After filling every available vase in the kitchen with flowers, he'd stopped picking them because they never died. Besides, they had no perfume, either.

Apart from company and noise, smell was probably the biggest thing Draco missed. The smell of food, flowers, himself, Harry's groin. Shit, even his farts didn't smell. It was so much harder to enjoy his favourite coffee when he couldn't inhale the aroma. More difficult to experience the utter bliss of Belgian chocolates when the sweet taste was there but there was no smell to enhance the event. Over the years he had grown used to it, but it had taken a long time to adjust.

At least when he used the bathroom to void his bowels, he didn't have the accompanying aroma there to enhance that experience.

Big benefit, that.

.o0o.

"Dad, Lily says to remind you about the pictures you promised her for the article," Al shouted through the Floo.

"No need to shout, Al, I'm right here," Harry replied, smiling at his son.

"Er, sorry about that. Lily has some music blaring in the background here and I can barely hear a thing. Besides, you are going deaf, you know."

"I am not. My hearing is perfect, thank you very much."

Al rolled his eyes. "Millions of your adoring fans might believe you dad, but when I told you I was seeing Millie Bulstrode, I definitely did not say Billy."

"Well, last I'd heard you were gay, what was I supposed to think?"

"Dad!" Al's exasperated voice rasped across the Floo network. "I am seeing her about my Potions qualifications, not sleeping with her! She's old! She must be your age, and as you so very correctly pointed out, I am gay and Millie is a woman."

Harry muttered under his breath. "Well, you'd never know it to look at her."

"That was uncalled for, Dad, she's been good to me."

"I know, mate. Sorry about that. Back to why you called. Tell Lily she'll have her pictures in about an hour. I just have to wait for your mother to approve them first."

"I will. What's the hold up?"

Harry shrugged. He barely knew his ex wife anymore. These days her mood could swing from the amiable, likeable Ginny that he'd known since he was eleven to the bitch from hell that could easily have been mistaken for Bellatrix Lestrange on a good day. They'd parted amicably enough after realising that they had nothing to talk to each other about when the children had all gone off to school but these days Harry steered clear of her as much as he could. When Ginny became angry or moody, her bitterness rose to the surface and she tended to blame all her woes on Harry as he was generally the closest target. "I don't know, Al. Perhaps she's in an 'I don't want the public in my private life' mood."

Al rolled his eyes. "I'll tell Lily she might need to just use the ones without Mum in them, then."

"Might be best. What are you doing at Lily's anyway? Thought you had that presentation to attend tonight?"

"Oh, I do, but I just stopped by to take back my bow tie. Lily borrowed it for that Halloween party she went to last week. I still wish you'd come tonight, Dad. It would be great to have you there."

"I'd love to, Al, but you know the last time I attended that seminar was when your mum and I divorced. It was all over the paper and it detracted from your presentation. I don't want that to happen again. You deserve the limelight."

"Well if you hadn't insisted on outing yourself with David, then you would've stayed out of the public eye a bit more," Al responded wryly.

"Since when is it a crime to have a male lover?" Harry retorted though he was grinning. Perhaps it was in built in him these days, but he rather liked shocking the wizarding public. His kids and friends had been nothing but supportive and he appreciated that - and he did still date women - but occasionally he dated men, too.

"Dad! Too much information, please! I may be gay but I definitely do not want to hear about your sex life."

Perhaps he liked shocking his kids, too. He debated whether or not to carry on the conversation, but refrained.

Harry laughed. "All right. Tell Lily to use the pictures without Mum for her spread, and both of you have a great evening. Let me know in the morning how things went."

"I will, Dad. Although you will probably be able to read all about it in the paper in the morning, Lily said she has to get the article in before she goes home."

"Fair enough. Behave then."

They said goodbye and Harry returned to preparing a meal for himself and David, his dinner guest for the evening. A guest who would be arriving very shortly. David was tall and dark and absolutely, hands down, the best fuck Harry had ever had. When David spread his legs and opened himself wide, just waiting and begging with his eyes and little squirmy movements of his hips, Harry thought he'd come before even ramming himself inside. Neither of them were under any illusions; their relationship was entirely about sex. Harry was grateful that David didn't appear to care that he was Harry Potter - perhaps the fact that he was twenty years younger than Harry made it a bit easier - and wasn't running to the paper with stories of his prowess or otherwise. It was fun, the sex was magical and David was fairly gorgeous.

The Floo roared to life, then and for a moment Harry thought it might have been David cancelling. But the voice that called to him wasn't male; it was Hermione. "Harry!"

The tone of her voice made him run back to the Floo and the first thing he noticed was that she still had her white Healer's coat on. A thud of dread hit Harry. What was wrong? Was something wrong with one of his children? Had James taken a plunge off his broom at practice? He knew he should have checked out the Cannon's brooms before letting James play with the hapless side.

"Hermione, what is it?" He rushed to kneel at the Floo.

"All the children are all right. I'm just letting you know that Andromeda died about an hour ago. Heart attack. I'm sorry."

"Oh, no! She was all right yesterday when I saw her."

Hermione nodded, her brown eyes sympathetic. "I know. These things can come on suddenly. I'm sorry, Harry, I know how much you cared for her. We all did."

Harry nodded too. "Thanks, Hermione. Is there anything I can do? What about Teddy?"

"We've sent an international communication, but that won't be able to notify him until the morning our time. We've sent him an international Portkey as well so he can come straight back."

"Will you let me know what he does? I'd like to be with him."

"I will, though I imagine he will probably contact you himself first thing. He dotes on you, Harry, and will look to you first."

Harry sighed, feeling awful that once more Teddy would have to go through the process of losing someone he loved. Teddy was thirty years old and a lawyer working with the activists attempting to change America's archaic werewolf laws. But losing the person who raised him was going to be a devastating blow to him.

After Harry said goodbye to Hermione, he stood and wondered what to do in the meantime.

He felt he should head to Bill and Fleur's place, because Teddy had Victoire with him and Bill and Fleur had grown to love Andromeda as much as they did Teddy. They were family.

He hated when people died. Really hated it.

God, how was Teddy going to cope?