New HP Fic: Fit to Print
It's time I start posting this monster!!
Title: Fit to Print
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Ginny bashing, but only by Draco. WIP
Summary: A story in which Draco falls madly in love (but with a straight, heartbroken boy), Harry is said straight, heartbroken boy (but you know, shit happens). A tale of friendship, love, Gryffindor determination and all the news that is fit to print. (And lots of drinking)
Author's Notes: I will freely admit that I took a great deal of inspiration from several wonderful gay story lines out there: Maurice, Were the World Mine and primarily Clara Sheller (a fabulous French show which you MUST watch if you haven't!) The main premise of Draco falling in love with a straight boy, comes from a college friend of mine who when one day she was looking very down simply explained, "I've fallen in love with a straight girl." They were together for 5 years!
I'll post this in small chunks of 1 or 2 "parts" at a time, getting larger as I near the end (I'm quite close to being all the way done but needed some support i.e. comments!) I'm also pretty excited as this is my first true Harry/Draco story. Hard to believe. Thank you in advance to all who read!!!
Fit to Print by Auselysium
"In you go, Potter."
Draco kicks open the front door to his flat and the wreath hanging there bangs back against it. The jingle bells nestled amongst the evergreen jangle loudly and Draco winces at the noise as he half drags, half carries Harry over the threshold.
Harry, drunk as hell and smelling a bit like sick, stagers away from Draco and into the dark sitting room, pulling at his scarf and overcoat as he does. The two pieces of clothing wind up unceremoniously dumped on the floor as he cuts a meandering path towards the couch.
"Fuck!" Harry curses, as the muffled thump of shin against upholstery fills the room. It seems the couch has been found.
"Let me turn the light on, you dolt," Draco says, as he dumps his keys on the side board and quickly resets the wards. With another flick of his wrist, the fairy lights on his Christmas tree begin to glow. Harry squeezes his eyes shut at sudden brightness, his bloodshot eyes offended even by the tree's muted glow.
He flops onto the couch, throwing his head back and an arm across his face. His sprawled body looks messy in Draco's immaculate living room.
"Ughhhh," Harry groans pathetically. "I hate her."
"I know," Draco replies as he folds Potter's scarf and coat, laying them across the back of an arm chair.
"No, I mean, I really hate her."
It is a sentiment Draco has heard over and over all evening ever since Harry apparated, unannounced, into Draco's kitchen while he been testing a new recipe for Christmas goose. Harry had landed breathless and red eyed. He'd punched a small hole in one of Draco's cabinets and then collapsed onto the floor and sobbed. For a moment, Draco had been frozen, turkey baster in one hand, wand in the other. His own panic had quickly set in before he had been able ascertain through a serious of head shakes and nods that there was nothing wrong with the Weasley/Granger duo or Teddy, before Harry had croaked out "Ginny."
"Has something happened?" Draco had asked. Another nod. "Is she hurt? Ill?"
"Worse," Harry had answered and Draco, knowing without another word, had sighed and sat down next to him on the floor. It had been over a half an hour before the tears subsided. And as soon as they did, Draco did what any good friend would do when they find out their mate's fiance has just cheated on them and took Harry out to a bar get properly pissed.
His mission had been a success.
Harry leans forward now, dropping his elbows on his knees and his head to his hands. "She was fucking him in our bed. In our flat. In the flat I bloody bought for us."
"Well, the Weaslette is a total slut. I could have told you this ages ago."
Even in his drunkenness, Harry looks up and glares at him. "That?" He wags his head. "Not helping."
Draco shrugs and goes into his kitchen, grabbing some Hang Over potion and a tall glass of water.
"Look, Potter," He says as he comes back into the room and sits on the coffee table, directly opposite him. "It's better this happen now than after the wedding. At least you don't have to go through the drama of a divorce, just the cancellation of the Wedding of the Century."
"It's your bloody paper that called it that in the first place."
Draco shrugs again and hands him both the vial and the glass, which Harry takes readily if not a little clumsily. He watches Harry drink both down. The Hang Over potion will help in the morning, but does little to sober him up at the moment.
"Fucking Finch-Fletchly. Bastard, ass, wanker." Harry growls, spitting out any insult that comes to mind. He bends over, reaching for his shoes. His fingers fumble with the laces and Draco bats his hands away, kneeling down on the floor to do it for him. "Seeing them all naked and...freckly, writhing on the bed. No amount of firewhisky will burn that image from my memory."
"Not for your lack of trying, of course." Draco slides one shoe off and tucks the laces back in as he lines it up under the table. Harry peeks down at Draco before flinging his head back against the couch again, his arms splayed out to the side.
"His prick looked like a shriveled up gherkin."
Draco can't help but laugh. "You noticed that did you?"
Harry smiles lazily, his eyes still closed. "Smallest I've ever seen."
"And you've seen so many."
"Not as many as you."
"Cheeky," Draco quips, though he is suddenly aware of how close Harry's own prick is and how compromising his position is, here between Harry's knees. He can't help but sneak a glance upwards and notice the way the dark denim of his jeans bulge at his groin. Being quite partial to that male body part, Draco is certain there is nothing shriveled or gherkin-like lurking there. Draco blushes and jumps up quickly to retrieve a blanket from the back of one the arm chairs. Harry is a beautiful man, but that was a line he promised himself he'd never cross when they'd become friends in the wake of the war.
"Well…She can have him. Him and his tiny cock. I hope she has bad sex for the rest of her life. Small consolation but I'll take it." His voice becomes thick and Draco knows what is next. Harry's eyes well-up and he bites at his lower lip. "Because I love her. I really do." He looks at Draco, with those impossibly green eyes, begging Draco to feel his pain along with him. For a moment, he almost does. "I love her so bloody much."
"I know, Har." Draco touches his shoulder, encouraging Harry to lie down.
"She was supposed to be mine," Harry says as he lays down, curling his hands under his chin like a child. Draco drapes the blanket over him and can't help but tuck it under his feet. Draco sits back on the coffee table. "She was supposed to be mine forever. My happily ever after." Harry stares at him as another tear slips from his eye. "I'm damaged goods now, Draco."
"No you're well not." Draco leans forward and clasps his arm, brushing a lock of hair away from Harry's face with the other hand. His hair is long now, like it was during fourth year. Draco ignores that fact that he can remember that so easily. "You are a good, strong man who has dealt with far worse things in his life. You'll get through this." He twists another strand of hair around his pointer finger before reluctantly smoothing it back. "Besides, if all Voldemort left you with was a few, piddily scars no ginger bint will be the one to break you."
Harry's eyes soften and fall close. "Sounds like one of your editorials." He nestles his head against his pillow and Draco stands, smiling down at the vision of Harry curled up on his couch.
"Get some sleep."
Just as he's about to retreat to his own bedroom, tired from a long night of counseling, Harry grabs his hand.
"You're a good mate, Draco. Don't know what would I do without you."
"Shut up, you sentimental prat."
"I mean it." Harry's eyes are suddenly open and stunningly clear. Draco's heart jumps at their intensity.
"You're drunk." He says, making light of what otherwise would be so profound. Harry drops his hand.
"Yeah, but you love me." He's asleep almost before the sentence is finished.
Those final words linger in his ears as Draco switches off the tree lights. In the darkness, moonlight falls across Harry's placid face. Draco's breath catches in his throat.
"Well, fuck me."
*
When he gets back to his flat the following afternoon, he's not surprised, and only a little elated, to see Harry sitting at his kitchen table. He'd left for work with a dead-to-the-world Harry still asleep on his couch but now he's looking very much alive, nursing a cup of tea with the evening edition of Draco's Daily Prophet spread on the table.
It's his Prophet because it was delivered to his home, but also his Prophet because, as of six months ago, Draco is the youngest Editor-in-Chief the Daily Prophet has ever had. He'd started as a news room pee-on, delivering mail, making tea and the like, in the wake of the war. He'd felt lucky enough for that post. But before long he was given a Junior editor position and once his immaculate skill and fine prose was identified, he was given a weekly column in the Society and Leisure pages. He'd shone there and would have been happy to remain the writer who squeezed Rita Skeeter out of a job for remainder of his career, but when Barnabus Cruff retired, he hand picked Draco to fill his shoes. How could he have turned such an amazing opportunity down?
Under Draco, the Prophet has soared to new levels of journalism, free from ministry influence, finally giving the readers a balanced voice of truth. He still has two copies sent to his house everyday and while some might see that as hubris, Draco considers it just another checkpoint in his rigid quality control.
"You didn't print it," Harry states as way of greeting. Draco refills the kettle and sets a Quick Boil charm on it before pulling out the chair across the table from Harry.
"I didn't print it."
"I thought for sure…" Harry looks back at the paper as if he must have just missed the article, looking completely mystified. "Why?"
"Professional privilege? Perk of friendship?" he says then shrugs. "I figured you could use a few days to sort things out privately before it was all over the press. I can't promise I'll keep it out forever. The readers have a.."
"Right to know, yeah, I know." Harry is familiar with those words, as Draco has used them before to explain his sticky position to Harry when friendship and career have butted heads.
"But until then," Draco taps the side of his nose. "Mum's the word. And believe me, when I do print it, she will be scorned for the ages."
"Thanks, Draco, really," Harry says, fanning the corners of the paper idly with his fingers, the flush of relief warming his features. Draco stands to fix his tea.
"I fixed the hole in your wall," Harry says.
Draco glances over his shoulder to see his kitchen returned to its normal state. "Thanks. Did you go to work?" He asks as he carefully dips the tea sachet exactly four times before tying the thread around the handle to let it steep further.
"No," Harry snorts. "I called in sick. They don't need me. Even dark wizards seem to take the week before Christmas off. Besides, I didn't get up till half twelve and only then because Ginny's owl finally found me."
Draco sees the folded piece of parchment on the table near Harry's elbow. He sits back down, cupping the mug between both hands. He blows away the steam and takes a sip. "What did she say?"
Harry sighs. "That she wants to 'talk'." Harry mimics quotation marks with his hand. "Don't know what she'd want to say. There is no excuse."
"No there isn't. But there might be a why."
Harry's eyes crinkle with a small smile. "You're such a journalist."
"And you're a bloody Auror. Don't you want to find out her motive?" He asks.
"Not really. Why would I want to know what I did to push the woman I love into the arms of another man? Why would I want to know how I failed her?"
"Because maybe you didn't do anything at all," Draco says quickly, a bit surprised that Harry has already heaped so much blame on himself when this is clearly the Wealette's wrong doing. "Maybe this is completely her fault."
"Maybe," Harry says bleakly. He rubs his face with his hands, groaning into them before dropping his hands back into his lap dramatically. "I just don't want to go back there. You fall in love with someone, move in together. You start buying things together, imagine this amazing future that you'll have, become part of a family, build a life. And now?" Harry looks up again, his eyes glittering, "Now we have to break that life apart. It's awful."
Draco clasps Harry's wrist, holding it with steady strength. Harry covers his hand and just as he had the night before begins sweeping his thumb lazily across the back of Draco's hand. Those strong, rugged fingers that cast protective spells without a minute's hesitation and abscond bad guys daily are suddenly so gentle. He wonders if Harry even realizes he's doing it. If he realizes how quietly affectionate it is? How fast it makes Draco's heart pound?
"I meant what I said last night. About not knowing what I'd do without you. This isn't really something I can go to Ron about."
"You remember last night?"
Harry laughs softly. "Not all of it. But I do remember that bit. I really don't know how to thank you. For taking me out last night, letting me kip here."
"You're welcome to stay as long as you like." The words are said before Draco really has time to sort them out. It might mean a whole lot more moonlight on Harry's face or chance glances at impressive packages or moments like this when Harry's eyes light up like a boy on Christmas morning and make him look even more handsome than usual.
Draco stands too quickly, nearly knocking over his chair.
"Are you alright?" Harry asks, genuinely worried.
"I just remembered I have to go back to work. There's a story one of the writers has been working on for a long time that is coming in today. About…asbestos…in owl pellets." He feels himself blush. "Really hard hitting stuff, you know?"
Harry's brow furrows. "Right."
Draco is already hurrying form the kitchen as he says, "I'll be back late. Might even be all night. So…don't wait up." He rolls his eyes, groaning inside.
"Ok. Thanks again!" Harry shouts, but Draco is already out the door
.
Title: Fit to Print
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Ginny bashing, but only by Draco. WIP
Summary: A story in which Draco falls madly in love (but with a straight, heartbroken boy), Harry is said straight, heartbroken boy (but you know, shit happens). A tale of friendship, love, Gryffindor determination and all the news that is fit to print. (And lots of drinking)
Author's Notes: I will freely admit that I took a great deal of inspiration from several wonderful gay story lines out there: Maurice, Were the World Mine and primarily Clara Sheller (a fabulous French show which you MUST watch if you haven't!) The main premise of Draco falling in love with a straight boy, comes from a college friend of mine who when one day she was looking very down simply explained, "I've fallen in love with a straight girl." They were together for 5 years!
I'll post this in small chunks of 1 or 2 "parts" at a time, getting larger as I near the end (I'm quite close to being all the way done but needed some support i.e. comments!) I'm also pretty excited as this is my first true Harry/Draco story. Hard to believe. Thank you in advance to all who read!!!
Fit to Print by Auselysium
"In you go, Potter."
Draco kicks open the front door to his flat and the wreath hanging there bangs back against it. The jingle bells nestled amongst the evergreen jangle loudly and Draco winces at the noise as he half drags, half carries Harry over the threshold.
Harry, drunk as hell and smelling a bit like sick, stagers away from Draco and into the dark sitting room, pulling at his scarf and overcoat as he does. The two pieces of clothing wind up unceremoniously dumped on the floor as he cuts a meandering path towards the couch.
"Fuck!" Harry curses, as the muffled thump of shin against upholstery fills the room. It seems the couch has been found.
"Let me turn the light on, you dolt," Draco says, as he dumps his keys on the side board and quickly resets the wards. With another flick of his wrist, the fairy lights on his Christmas tree begin to glow. Harry squeezes his eyes shut at sudden brightness, his bloodshot eyes offended even by the tree's muted glow.
He flops onto the couch, throwing his head back and an arm across his face. His sprawled body looks messy in Draco's immaculate living room.
"Ughhhh," Harry groans pathetically. "I hate her."
"I know," Draco replies as he folds Potter's scarf and coat, laying them across the back of an arm chair.
"No, I mean, I really hate her."
It is a sentiment Draco has heard over and over all evening ever since Harry apparated, unannounced, into Draco's kitchen while he been testing a new recipe for Christmas goose. Harry had landed breathless and red eyed. He'd punched a small hole in one of Draco's cabinets and then collapsed onto the floor and sobbed. For a moment, Draco had been frozen, turkey baster in one hand, wand in the other. His own panic had quickly set in before he had been able ascertain through a serious of head shakes and nods that there was nothing wrong with the Weasley/Granger duo or Teddy, before Harry had croaked out "Ginny."
"Has something happened?" Draco had asked. Another nod. "Is she hurt? Ill?"
"Worse," Harry had answered and Draco, knowing without another word, had sighed and sat down next to him on the floor. It had been over a half an hour before the tears subsided. And as soon as they did, Draco did what any good friend would do when they find out their mate's fiance has just cheated on them and took Harry out to a bar get properly pissed.
His mission had been a success.
Harry leans forward now, dropping his elbows on his knees and his head to his hands. "She was fucking him in our bed. In our flat. In the flat I bloody bought for us."
"Well, the Weaslette is a total slut. I could have told you this ages ago."
Even in his drunkenness, Harry looks up and glares at him. "That?" He wags his head. "Not helping."
Draco shrugs and goes into his kitchen, grabbing some Hang Over potion and a tall glass of water.
"Look, Potter," He says as he comes back into the room and sits on the coffee table, directly opposite him. "It's better this happen now than after the wedding. At least you don't have to go through the drama of a divorce, just the cancellation of the Wedding of the Century."
"It's your bloody paper that called it that in the first place."
Draco shrugs again and hands him both the vial and the glass, which Harry takes readily if not a little clumsily. He watches Harry drink both down. The Hang Over potion will help in the morning, but does little to sober him up at the moment.
"Fucking Finch-Fletchly. Bastard, ass, wanker." Harry growls, spitting out any insult that comes to mind. He bends over, reaching for his shoes. His fingers fumble with the laces and Draco bats his hands away, kneeling down on the floor to do it for him. "Seeing them all naked and...freckly, writhing on the bed. No amount of firewhisky will burn that image from my memory."
"Not for your lack of trying, of course." Draco slides one shoe off and tucks the laces back in as he lines it up under the table. Harry peeks down at Draco before flinging his head back against the couch again, his arms splayed out to the side.
"His prick looked like a shriveled up gherkin."
Draco can't help but laugh. "You noticed that did you?"
Harry smiles lazily, his eyes still closed. "Smallest I've ever seen."
"And you've seen so many."
"Not as many as you."
"Cheeky," Draco quips, though he is suddenly aware of how close Harry's own prick is and how compromising his position is, here between Harry's knees. He can't help but sneak a glance upwards and notice the way the dark denim of his jeans bulge at his groin. Being quite partial to that male body part, Draco is certain there is nothing shriveled or gherkin-like lurking there. Draco blushes and jumps up quickly to retrieve a blanket from the back of one the arm chairs. Harry is a beautiful man, but that was a line he promised himself he'd never cross when they'd become friends in the wake of the war.
"Well…She can have him. Him and his tiny cock. I hope she has bad sex for the rest of her life. Small consolation but I'll take it." His voice becomes thick and Draco knows what is next. Harry's eyes well-up and he bites at his lower lip. "Because I love her. I really do." He looks at Draco, with those impossibly green eyes, begging Draco to feel his pain along with him. For a moment, he almost does. "I love her so bloody much."
"I know, Har." Draco touches his shoulder, encouraging Harry to lie down.
"She was supposed to be mine," Harry says as he lays down, curling his hands under his chin like a child. Draco drapes the blanket over him and can't help but tuck it under his feet. Draco sits back on the coffee table. "She was supposed to be mine forever. My happily ever after." Harry stares at him as another tear slips from his eye. "I'm damaged goods now, Draco."
"No you're well not." Draco leans forward and clasps his arm, brushing a lock of hair away from Harry's face with the other hand. His hair is long now, like it was during fourth year. Draco ignores that fact that he can remember that so easily. "You are a good, strong man who has dealt with far worse things in his life. You'll get through this." He twists another strand of hair around his pointer finger before reluctantly smoothing it back. "Besides, if all Voldemort left you with was a few, piddily scars no ginger bint will be the one to break you."
Harry's eyes soften and fall close. "Sounds like one of your editorials." He nestles his head against his pillow and Draco stands, smiling down at the vision of Harry curled up on his couch.
"Get some sleep."
Just as he's about to retreat to his own bedroom, tired from a long night of counseling, Harry grabs his hand.
"You're a good mate, Draco. Don't know what would I do without you."
"Shut up, you sentimental prat."
"I mean it." Harry's eyes are suddenly open and stunningly clear. Draco's heart jumps at their intensity.
"You're drunk." He says, making light of what otherwise would be so profound. Harry drops his hand.
"Yeah, but you love me." He's asleep almost before the sentence is finished.
Those final words linger in his ears as Draco switches off the tree lights. In the darkness, moonlight falls across Harry's placid face. Draco's breath catches in his throat.
"Well, fuck me."
*
When he gets back to his flat the following afternoon, he's not surprised, and only a little elated, to see Harry sitting at his kitchen table. He'd left for work with a dead-to-the-world Harry still asleep on his couch but now he's looking very much alive, nursing a cup of tea with the evening edition of Draco's Daily Prophet spread on the table.
It's his Prophet because it was delivered to his home, but also his Prophet because, as of six months ago, Draco is the youngest Editor-in-Chief the Daily Prophet has ever had. He'd started as a news room pee-on, delivering mail, making tea and the like, in the wake of the war. He'd felt lucky enough for that post. But before long he was given a Junior editor position and once his immaculate skill and fine prose was identified, he was given a weekly column in the Society and Leisure pages. He'd shone there and would have been happy to remain the writer who squeezed Rita Skeeter out of a job for remainder of his career, but when Barnabus Cruff retired, he hand picked Draco to fill his shoes. How could he have turned such an amazing opportunity down?
Under Draco, the Prophet has soared to new levels of journalism, free from ministry influence, finally giving the readers a balanced voice of truth. He still has two copies sent to his house everyday and while some might see that as hubris, Draco considers it just another checkpoint in his rigid quality control.
"You didn't print it," Harry states as way of greeting. Draco refills the kettle and sets a Quick Boil charm on it before pulling out the chair across the table from Harry.
"I didn't print it."
"I thought for sure…" Harry looks back at the paper as if he must have just missed the article, looking completely mystified. "Why?"
"Professional privilege? Perk of friendship?" he says then shrugs. "I figured you could use a few days to sort things out privately before it was all over the press. I can't promise I'll keep it out forever. The readers have a.."
"Right to know, yeah, I know." Harry is familiar with those words, as Draco has used them before to explain his sticky position to Harry when friendship and career have butted heads.
"But until then," Draco taps the side of his nose. "Mum's the word. And believe me, when I do print it, she will be scorned for the ages."
"Thanks, Draco, really," Harry says, fanning the corners of the paper idly with his fingers, the flush of relief warming his features. Draco stands to fix his tea.
"I fixed the hole in your wall," Harry says.
Draco glances over his shoulder to see his kitchen returned to its normal state. "Thanks. Did you go to work?" He asks as he carefully dips the tea sachet exactly four times before tying the thread around the handle to let it steep further.
"No," Harry snorts. "I called in sick. They don't need me. Even dark wizards seem to take the week before Christmas off. Besides, I didn't get up till half twelve and only then because Ginny's owl finally found me."
Draco sees the folded piece of parchment on the table near Harry's elbow. He sits back down, cupping the mug between both hands. He blows away the steam and takes a sip. "What did she say?"
Harry sighs. "That she wants to 'talk'." Harry mimics quotation marks with his hand. "Don't know what she'd want to say. There is no excuse."
"No there isn't. But there might be a why."
Harry's eyes crinkle with a small smile. "You're such a journalist."
"And you're a bloody Auror. Don't you want to find out her motive?" He asks.
"Not really. Why would I want to know what I did to push the woman I love into the arms of another man? Why would I want to know how I failed her?"
"Because maybe you didn't do anything at all," Draco says quickly, a bit surprised that Harry has already heaped so much blame on himself when this is clearly the Wealette's wrong doing. "Maybe this is completely her fault."
"Maybe," Harry says bleakly. He rubs his face with his hands, groaning into them before dropping his hands back into his lap dramatically. "I just don't want to go back there. You fall in love with someone, move in together. You start buying things together, imagine this amazing future that you'll have, become part of a family, build a life. And now?" Harry looks up again, his eyes glittering, "Now we have to break that life apart. It's awful."
Draco clasps Harry's wrist, holding it with steady strength. Harry covers his hand and just as he had the night before begins sweeping his thumb lazily across the back of Draco's hand. Those strong, rugged fingers that cast protective spells without a minute's hesitation and abscond bad guys daily are suddenly so gentle. He wonders if Harry even realizes he's doing it. If he realizes how quietly affectionate it is? How fast it makes Draco's heart pound?
"I meant what I said last night. About not knowing what I'd do without you. This isn't really something I can go to Ron about."
"You remember last night?"
Harry laughs softly. "Not all of it. But I do remember that bit. I really don't know how to thank you. For taking me out last night, letting me kip here."
"You're welcome to stay as long as you like." The words are said before Draco really has time to sort them out. It might mean a whole lot more moonlight on Harry's face or chance glances at impressive packages or moments like this when Harry's eyes light up like a boy on Christmas morning and make him look even more handsome than usual.
Draco stands too quickly, nearly knocking over his chair.
"Are you alright?" Harry asks, genuinely worried.
"I just remembered I have to go back to work. There's a story one of the writers has been working on for a long time that is coming in today. About…asbestos…in owl pellets." He feels himself blush. "Really hard hitting stuff, you know?"
Harry's brow furrows. "Right."
Draco is already hurrying form the kitchen as he says, "I'll be back late. Might even be all night. So…don't wait up." He rolls his eyes, groaning inside.
"Ok. Thanks again!" Harry shouts, but Draco is already out the door
.