Harry Potter: Rendezvous
Title: Rendezvous
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry/?
Word Count: 751
Rating: It definitely does not suck! R
Summary: Words are spoken, though not in the way Harry would like. Answers are not given.
Author’s Notes: First I say I’m getting back to writing, then I say I have writer’s block, now I post this. I know, I know, make up your mind! Hehe, I offer almost-smut as a bribe not to yell at me.
The darkened halls of Hogwarts School aren’t unfamiliar to Harry. He navigates them with the ease of one who is use to nighttime rendezvous along with the caution of one that has been caught before and does not want a repeat of the experience. He is truly a Marauder even if he does not look on his father with as much pride as he did once when he was a child.
It is too cold a night to climb the stairs to the astronomy tower, but after everything it is the only place he can feel, really feel, what is happening. The cold against his skin ignites memories which enlist rage. After that, everything becomes so much easier to understand.
He hardly opens the door before his cloak is ripped from his skin and he is bound by desperate arms pressing him to the wall. Hot breath that is painful against the cold descends over his mouth, and by the time their lips meet he isn’t thinking about anything other than the contrast of frost and heat. The kisses are as desperate as his arms and they seem to bite and suck in the same way.
Harry pulls away and sharply twists his face in the opposite direction. His assailant begins to press kisses to his neck, and Harry drops his head in shame. His fringe covers his eyes and blocks the moonlight, eery, cold, moonlight from striking his face like those desperate kisses.
Fingers, cold fingers, pull his shirt from his pants and slip between the worn folds of fabric. He can feel them tracing up and down his clammy skin like they are trying to memorize every aspect of his body to last until their next meeting.
He can never bring himself to return the affections, because that would acknowledge their existence like the name he moans at orgasm and the dreams he has at night don’t, and he couldn’t handle this becoming real. He lets it happen like he doesn’t enjoy every minute.
When those hands slip into his jeans Harry has to bite his tongue to keep from screaming something that will make the process speed up. The only thought that saves him is that doing so would be giving in, and that’s what he wants to happen.
His knees threaten to give out under him and he scraps his hands against the stone walls for anything to keep him from being pulled down. Soft lips and needy breaths brush against his cock, and his breath is swept away in ragged bursts. He can’t think of anything. There isn’t even the stray thought telling him how utterly wrong it is to be sucked off by the same man he dreams of killing. Everything is blank, blissfully blank, for the first time in months.
In Harry’s life good moments never last. The shame and feeling return and the burning hate and passion is replaced by vengeance, curiosity.
He drags the slim body of his enemy -- his enemy -- off the floor and slams him against the wall. The position reminds him too much of his own only minutes ago, and he cannot bring himself to meet the cold, unfocused gray eyes that bore down at him.
"Why the -- Fuck," he swears and lets his hand drop to his side. He is clutching his wand in his pocket, but he won’t use it, because his breathing is still ragged and his fly is unzipped.
There is never any answer, because he’s the only one that ever says anything during these confrontations.
Harry feels like crying and screaming at the same time, but he won’t break down. He’s the strong one. He’s the leader, and leader’s are always on top of everything.
He isn’t Hermione.
"You keep coming back!" he yells, "Why the hell! Leave me alone, or tell me what you want! Just not this -- fucking hell, get out!"
The gray eyes remain impassive, but there is something in the way he stands that is so broken it almost makes Harry feel bad. Almost.
On reflex he spins and begins to walk away. He is proud that he only pauses for a second before walking out the door. He doesn’t even look back anymore. The halls are navigated in the reverse pattern of the one he used on the way in, and when he slips into bed for one night he isn’t plagued by tantalizing nightmares that blend the two things he wants most in the world -- love and vengeance.