A Stranger Garden

Chapter 15

2053

There were times when Draco wondered if his sanity were quite intact.

After Scorpius had informed him of Harry's heart attack, Draco had made a bee line for the dungeon, the inexplicable urge to be with Harry, in whatever form, suddenly urgent and insistent.

He'd stood in the doorway just staring at the lifeless form for hours, trying, and probably not succeeding terribly well, not to imagine that this would be how Harry looked should he be really dead. Lifeless.

But he knew that this was only a rendering of Harry, accurate as much as possible, but it wasn't his actual flesh and bones, so this form was a different form of his Harry. He wanted to be with his Harry more than anything, and this was as close as he was going to get. Especially after Harry knew the truth of why he was there.

He'd been reluctant to leave Harry all alone in the dungeon while the live Harry had been in the hospital recovering from his heart attack. He couldn't keep him company there, but he could do it here. It had felt like he was doing the right thing, even if it was only in his head.

So, he'd moved closer to the robe covered body hanging from the chains, wishing for the millionth time that he was able to move Harry. Even to lay him on the floor - he could have placed a mattress on the floor and soft warm covers and at least made him comfortable.

He'd been prepared for the warm but dead, lifeless feel to Harry's skin, but not for the softness of Harry's hair. He'd whimpered when his fingers slid through it, the silky strands pleasurable against his skin. "Oh, Harry," he said, sighing.

Since then, he'd allowed himself the wonder of experiencing that gentle delight whenever he could. It had become almost a ritual. He thought Harry's hair might learn to stay in one place just because he'd run his hands through it so often.

In attempting to avoid thinking about Harry naked under the robes, he only really succeeded in thinking about it more. But he refused to remove the robe; if he did and was face to face with the soft penis he'd played with decades ago, he'd associate this innocent hair stroking with the depraved game he'd played sucking it. He'd rather not think about what his mind was like back then; he'd come such a long way.

And now, even though the live Harry was out of the hospital and spending his days in the Ballroom with Draco, of an evening Harry joined his family for dinner and at night he slept in his own bed, so Draco found his only comfort and solace with the Harry in the dungeon.

It surely wasn't sane to be doing this, to want Harry so much he'd sit by an unanimated, lifeless image of him. There could be decades stretching in front of him where he had this to look forward to, only it wasn't the good anticipatory looking forward to sort, it was the resigned all he'd ever have sort. And that was assuming Draco never confessed the truth. If he did, then he wouldn't even have those decades.

He was lucky that Harry hadn't caught him yet. He didn't fancy trying to explain everything.

Although the time was coming when Harry would be strong enough again to hear it. It made Draco squirm in worry and anxiety, and he tried to think of every possible way out of it. There were several ways out, but in the end, it was the one tiny glint of hope he held, that maybe when he saw how contrite Draco was Harry would forgive him, that made him want to be honest. Even more, it was the respect he held for Harry now that was demanding honesty. In the times when he was petrified even thinking about life without Harry, he wondered to where all his Slytherin traits had disappeared.

Two weeks after Harry arrived home from hospital, he entered the Ballroom carrying yet another painting.

"I didn't think you were supposed to be lifting heavy things," Draco remonstrated. He took the task of making sure Harry looked after himself very seriously indeed.

"Just because you can't use magic, doesn't mean that I can't," Harry replied, grinning. "Lightening Charm."

Draco rolled his eyes. "All right. What do you have there?"

"New painting. Remember I said that I'd loved the ballroom when I went to London for the Midsummer ball?"

Draco nodded eagerly.

"Well, I liked it so much that I thought you should have a place to dance in, too. You live in a ballroom, but made no provision for yourself to dance. You have music and now you have a room."

Harry walked to a spare section of the ballroom wall, on the opposite side to the snow-covered mountain, and hung the picture up. Draco made his way around to it, stepping into an ornate ballroom, similar to the one the painting hung in. Polished floors, high windows, large chandeliers and a place for a band in the corner. But instead of the band, there was a grand piano standing majestically waiting for someone to come and play it.

"Harry, it's beautiful," Draco whispered. "I can't play the piano though."

"I know," Harry replied. "But I thought maybe you could teach yourself. If you wanted to."

"I have the time, don't I?" he said, smiling at Harry, loving seeing him so pleased that Draco enjoyed the gift.

"You do. If you want, there's a new interactive piano lessons course available. I just have to subscribe you to it and then set up the two way receiver so the instructor can hear you and pass on directions."

"Thank you." Draco was sincere. When he'd taught himself the harp it had been through necessity, but it had been very difficult as he'd never played an instrument before and there had been no one to tell him how he was progressing; he'd had to use his own ear.

"There is also something special hanging in the corner."

Draco looked to where Harry was indicating and saw two formal sets of robes hanging up. "You had robes painted in?"

"I did." Harry smiled. "I thought you might appreciate new formal robes. They're not from your normal tailor, obviously, but they're good quality all the same."

"They'd want to be," Draco replied haughtily, though a grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"Nothing but the best for you," Harry said seriously. "I wanted to give you a special place where we could dance to beautiful music. There's another painting just outside that will make any evening spent there perfect."

Draco smiled slowly. "I never knew you were such a romantic, Harry." He had really; he'd been noticing these special things in the earlier paintings before Harry started pointing them out to him. He'd always thought them sweet and romantic and they always broke his heart.

Harry grinned. "I had a scare recently and it's made me want to make sure people I care about know it. If that makes me look like a sentimental old fool then so be it."

If Harry didn't want to mention the earlier little romantic gestures, then Draco wouldn't bring them up. Not right now. He'd keep them for teasing at some later, more appropriate, time. "Harry," Draco said. "I keep telling you, you're not old."

Harry waved a hand at him. "Oh, go on, I know I am getting long in the tooth, but I don't want to let things with you just drift. I want you waiting for me."

"You know I would wait forever."

"Not like you have a choice, is it?"

"I could have asked you to get rid of me."

Harry didn't answer that, but tightened his lips and then turned and left the room, returning seconds later with a second painting, which he hung very close to the one of the ballroom.

It made Draco's breath catch. The scene was a balcony overlooking a moonlit lake. The night was shaded in hues of deep purple and darkest blue, highlighted by stars of light, the gentle illumination of the moon and the reflections on the water. It was so still and quiet and when he walked through and onto the balcony he thought his heart might be so full it would burst.

Very soon now he absolutely must tell Harry; admit the awful heinous crime he'd planned and stop all this torment and guilt, one way or the other.

"It's so beautiful, Harry. Just the sort of place I'd imagined being proposed to."

"Maybe I can do that, too," Harry replied softly, moving close to the painting. Draco turned and found himself face to face with Harry.

"You could do that," he whispered. "We'd never be able to get married though."

"No, but it would mean the world to me if you'd say yes when I asked. That would be all I need. To know that you would if you could."

Draco's hand lifted to reach for Harry, despite knowing that he couldn't touch, despite feeling his heart breaking because he knew that Harry would never ask.

"I promise that when you ask, I will say yes."

He could feel the pain burning his throat, making it ache, and his voice became lost in the agony. Harry's head leaned towards Draco's hand, making it a parody of a caress.

"A part of me wished I had died when I had the heart attack," Harry whispered, lost.

Draco pulled back sharply. "Don't you ever say that! How could you do that to your family? Harry, that is...you can't simply wish your life away! You owe them more than that."

He was angry that Harry wanted to die. Didn't he realise that dead was dead? And no matter how comfortable it was living here in the paintings, it was not life. Draco was used to it; he'd been here forty five years after all; he'd had time to get accustomed to all the differences, but it had been hard and depressing and...fuck it, Draco knew that he was also angry that he'd not had the guts to confess yet. Again he thanked Merlin that Harry hadn't died with the heart attack.

"And what about what I owe to myself and to you, Draco? I want to be with you, why should that be secondary to anything else?"

"Because...because I'm a portrait, Harry, and this is so much different than being alive. I will always be here, always. But if you died then I'd not get the chance to spend this time knowing the real, live you."

"Are you saying that you might not love the portrait version of me?" Harry frowned and looked hurt. When he frowned like that his face aged ten years, Draco thought.

"No, Harry, no." Draco sighed. "I want you to live, that's all. Live as long as you can. My life was cut short and I didn't get to experience growing older, having a family and watching them grow up and have their own family. You deserve all that."

Harry sighed, too. "All right. Look, I'm not saying I wanted to die, but afterwards, when I came round, there was a moment when I realised that if I had died, then I'd be with you and it hurt a little that my chance had been lost. I truly love you and want to be with you. It kills me that I can't touch you as I'd like."

Merlin, Harry, Draco breathed to himself. "I'm not good enough for you. If you knew..." Draco stopped, horrified.

"Knew what?" Harry asked.

"Nothing, just forget it."

"Draco, tell me!" Harry insisted.

"No, when you're stronger. When Hermione gives you the all-clear to go back to work, ask me again."

"She did that today, so come on, tell me."

Draco looked at him, pleading, frightened. At Harry's refusal to back down, he slumped and made his way back to the lounge, attempting to delay the inevitable, but also trying to plan exactly what to say.

Harry followed and sat himself down on the day bed.

Draco took a deep breath as he looked at Harry hoping to see that his expression would indicate it was all right to change the subject, but alas, Harry was as intent as he had been a few moments go.

"You remember when you asked me why there was a painting of you chained up in the dungeon?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, you told me it was just a bit of fun."

"Well, I might have left a few things out."

"Like what?"

"You have to remember that at the time I hated you with a passion. Really hated you. I blamed you for everything that had gone wrong in my life, hated that you hadn't done enough to get me out of the house arrest, hated you even more that my mother was in Azkaban even after she saved your life."

"There wasn't a lot more I could do, you know. I was grieving loved ones, too. Just like everyone else after the war."

"I know that now, but I was an arrogant shit who hated you anyway, remember? Especially seeing it seemed to be so easy for you to humiliate me. You always seemed to know just where to be and what to do at my worst possible moments to make me look even worse. So, the portrait of you in chains in the dungeon was revenge. You were there to be the recipient of whatever sort of torture I could bring myself to inflict upon you. I bribed the artist to ensure he used the right spells and paints so that you will only wake in this portrait and not in any others of you. Ever. You will be confined to the Ballroom."

Draco's throat was going dry, so he stopped and cleared it, ready to keep going, but Harry spoke instead.

"I sort of had that in my head when I first saw it. At that stage I knew exactly how you felt about me, so that's about what I expected. Apart from being confined to the Ballroom, though. You really did hate me and planned on never letting me go?"

Draco nodded.

"But I can see how you've changed your mind on that. I've seen how solicitous you are of my body in that painting. And, as of a few years ago, the only thing I want is to be with you and you're confined to the Ballroom, too, so it doesn't matter. I forgive you."

Frowning, Draco looked down at his hands. That part he'd been able to see where Harry might have been able to forgive him, but not the rest of it.

"Thank you, but that's not all." Now the time had come, Draco could hardly form his mouth around the words. "I actually had a plan to kill you." There it was out. He didn't dare look at Harry for fear he would see hatred in his eyes and taking over his face.

"What?" There was no anger there, yet, mainly disbelief. Draco looked up and had it confirmed. That wasn't going to last long and he dropped his eyes again and continued.

"A few years into my house arrest, I developed an untraceable poison. Even the best scientists would not have been able to detect it. I planned to invite you over to speak about Teddy and then poison the both of us, so I could take out my revenge on you in perpetuity. It was only that I needed to pay one more trip to Paris to show Teddy the Luxembourg gardens and also see my tailor that made me put it off until my house arrest was over."

Draco didn't bother to apologise - this was way beyond an apology. It would be pointless even trying.

Harry didn't say a word and Draco felt the tension of the silence singing loudly in his ears. Shame and remorse beat at him from the inside and made their way out through tears sliding down his face, though he could not say he was crying. He sat there, miserable for the longest time in the silence, terrified of making a noise or moving.

After an eternity, he heard Harry leave, slamming the huge doors behind him.