Fic: Choices - Part Eleven
Here, finally, is the next part of Choices, my rentboy!Draco story. Most of this was written before I went to America and some was even written on the plane going out there, but the end wouldn’t allow itself to get written.
Special thanks goes to luciology for her helpful insights and also for finding me a ‘Choices’ icon ... *grins*. Thanks, dear!
So ... /begins basic plot recap/ ... At the end of the war, Draco Malfoy is put on trial for being one of Voldemort’s followers. He is found guilty, his wand is snapped and he is banished from the Wizarding community to live in the Muggle world. With no money, he ends up selling himself to earn a living. Two years later, he sees a familiar face ... Harry Potter ... across a nightclub floor. Harry is equally shocked to see Draco Malfoy and he eventually tracks the ex-Slytherin down only to find one of Draco’s clients has beaten him up and broken his arm. Harry Apparates Draco back to his flat in Muggle London and in order for Draco to fix his own arm, Harry offers Draco a wand. /ends plot recap/
Part One -- Part Two -- Part Three -- Part Four --Part Five -- Part Six -- Part Seven -- Part Eight -- Part Nine -- Part Ten
Minor amendments made 24th October 2005
Choices, Part Eleven
Draco stared at the wand. He wasn’t sure what Potter’s response to his outburst would be, but it wasn’t this. He could feel the magic crackling towards him and he was reminded of the very first time he’d ever picked up a wand.
It had been his fourth birthday and his father had left his wand on the table when he’d gone to get one of Draco’s many presents. Lucius had always told him not to touch it, but the wand had crackled sparks as he’d reached out a hand towards it as though daring him to pick it up. So he had, his little fist clutching at the smooth wooden handle. At first nothing had happened, then his hand had become all tingly and he’d raised his arm, swishing the wand down just like he’d watched his parents do on so many occasions.
All hell had broken loose and magic had erupted around the room in a mini whirlwind, sending books flying from shelves, papers scattering from the desk and at least one window had smashed. He’d expected his father to be furious but instead Lucius seemed to be overjoyed at how his son had produced such a powerful display of magic at such a young age.
Now, twenty years later, he could feel that same pull from the magic again. He was sure that if he reached out his hand, energy would crackle between his fingers and the wand tip.
And Potter was going to let him use his wand. He was going to trust Draco to do just this one spell and then give it back again.
His hand twitched unconsciously and Draco wiped the sweaty palm against his thigh. With his magic back he could get the fuck away from people like Reynolds and never have to suck or be fucked by anyone ever again. He would be able to go anywhere ... do anything. The idea of being able to do something as simple as Accioing a pot of tea and cakes or magic water hot for a bath almost made him swoon. All the things Potter and his cronies took for granted. All the things he dreamed of since the day they took his wand away.
But most of all he would be able to fill the huge empty void inside him where they’d ripped his magic from him. And it was Potter ... Harry Bloody Potter ... who was going to give it back to him.
His trembling fingers closed around the handle and Draco thought he might come there and then from the anticipation. He still expected Potter to pull the wand away and to laugh in his face as he did so, but instead he just let go.
“Don’t think you can Apparate or take the wand out of here.” Potter’s voice was business-like. “The flat’s warded.”
Draco stared at him and wanted to say ‘where would I go with it?’ but instead said, “You Apparated us in.”
“Of course. It’s my flat and my wards.”
“And why shouldn’t I hex you right now?”
“Because....” Potter moved so fast that Draco almost dropped the wand. A second wand appeared in Potter’s hand, the tip pressing hard against Draco’s throat. “...I will pluck your heart out with a spoon if you so much as try anything other than fixing your arm.” Potter’s face hardened as he spoke. Gone was the boy from Hogwarts and in his place an older, more determined and darker individual. The Boy Who Lived had died somewhere amidst those many battles with Voldemort and in his place was the Man Who’d....
Who’d what?
Draco had seen and done some awful things in the five years between his seventeenth birthday and the end of the war ... things he wasn’t proud of ... things that he’d done to keep himself and others alive, but he was positive Harry Potter had seen and done things most people couldn’t even imagine. Green eyes stared at him -- eyes hard and unfeeling like cut emeralds -- and Draco was tempted to try something just to see how far he could push Potter.
But there would be time for that later. For now he needed to fix his arm.
After that? Well, he’d see.
Draco deliberately didn’t pull back from the wand at his throat, determined that it would be Potter who made that concession. “I didn’t think this was your wand.”
“Yes. I wanted a spare.” The hardness dissipated a little from Potter’s face, as something seemed to trigger a memory and his hand finally dropped. “Just in case....”
As Potter hand dropped, Draco tried hard not to smirk. He’d won this short battle, now all he needed was to win the war. “In case of what?”
“I ran into troublesome ex-Death Eaters.” Potter had taken a few steps back and it took Draco a moment to realise Potter had cast a spell, effectively encasing him in a bubble of energy. “Fix your arm and then put the wand down.” Potter gestured at the table.
Draco raised a questioning eyebrow. “I take it you really don’t trust me.”
“For once you’re right. Now cast your magic.”
“Okay.” Sitting down, Draco rested his arm along the tabletop. “Are you going to remove the cast?” He watched as a flash of indecision crossed Potter’s face. Then there was a shift in the magic as Potter stepped into the bubble and tapped his own wand against the cast.
It dissolved away and Draco winced as the lack of support sent a spike of pain through his arm. It made him pant a little and he glanced quickly at Potter. “I could use a little help here.”
“I told you ... I don’t do medical magic ... at least not very well.”
Biting back a retort, Draco licked momentarily at his dry lips. “I need you to help stabilise the bones while I make sure they’re joined properly. I don’t want them to heal all crooked. The spell’s an easy one ... even you should be able to cast it.” Quickly he recited the spell, making Potter repeat it several times until he was sure the other man was word-perfect and had the pronunciation correct. “Now, sit next to me -- you’ll need to hold my forearm where the break is.”
He could almost see the cogs moving in Potter’s brain. Potter clearly didn’t want to get this close to any Malfoy, let alone one with a wand in his hand, but eventually the cogs clicked into place and Potter sat.
Warm, slightly trembling fingers reached for Draco’s forearm. They ran feather-light over his skin and Draco found himself looking from the fingers to Potter’s face. Potter had closed his eyes, as if concentrating on what his fingers could feel beneath the skin. Finally the stroking movements ceased and Potter took a deep breath.
“One bone’s broken here and the other break’s an inch further down.” Potter looked at him. “The second break isn’t a clean one.”
Draco curled his lip. “And you said you couldn’t do medical magic ... that’s a pretty good diagnosis.”
“Diagnosis I can do ... it’s the repairs I struggle with. This isn’t a good idea, Malfoy, this needs to be fixed by an expert.” He pushed his chair back, clearly planning on leaving.
Draco quickly reached for him, his hand curling around Potter’s wrist as the length of the wand pressed against the other man’s forearm. Surprise flickered across Potter’s face as he looked quickly from the long fingers to Draco’s eyes and then back again. Then Potter did something that made Draco harden just a little ... he licked his lips and for a moment looked just like the boy Draco had always wanted to shag back at Hogwarts.
“I can’t do this, Malfoy.” Potter’s voice was a whisper.
“Yes you can,” Draco matched the tone. “I’m going to do the healing, not you. All you’re doing is holding things steady.”
“And if it goes wrong?”
“Then I’ll take the blame and you can find someone to sort it out.” He grinned, looking much more confident than he actually felt.
There was a long pause before Potter finally sat back down again. “Okay, but if you don’t let go we’ll never get this done.” Draco quickly pulled away and watched as Potter carefully rested his arm along Draco’s, skin-to-skin, fingers curling just a little over the break. “Ready?”
Draco nodded and waited for Potter to speak the incantation.
Potter frowned thoughtfully as he muttered the words of the spell. Then holding his wand over the injured arm, the bones aligned themselves with a sickening feeling that made Draco shudder. “That’s the best I can get it. Hurry, I’m not sure how long I can hold it.”
With a quick nod, Draco placed the tip of his own wand over the break. It felt strange holding a wand again and it took a moment for his grip to feel comfortable. But when it did, it felt like he’d come home ... like the wand belonged right where it was ... in his hand.
The spell worked like a charm and as the broken ends of the bone knitted together, the pain lessened to a dull ache as though the injury was a bruise rather than a break. For a moment he said nothing, content to let Potter’s fingers support his arm, but he knew sooner or later he’d have to pull away.
“Did it work?” Potter’s voice held a sense of awe as if he still found the use of magic amazing after all these years.
Carefully Draco flexed his fingers then lifted his arm. It felt wonderful. “Yes. It worked just fine.”
“Good.” The look on Potter’s face hardened again. “Now put down the wand.”
Meeting the hard green eyes, Draco raised an eyebrow. The chances of him being able to keep the wand at the moment were so remote that it didn’t seem worth putting up a fight, but maybe there was something he could do to get Potter on his side. He looked down at the wand, twisting it in his fingers. “Isn’t your wand holly and phoenix tail feather?”
Potter frowned, clearly surprised by the comment and his expression soften as he nodded.
“This one’s...” Draco hefted the wand. “Rowan wood?” He waited for Potter to nod. “And the core....” Carefully he ran his hand down the length of the wand. “Is an owl feather.”
“Yes ... one of Hedwig’s.”
“You used her feather in a wand?” Potter’s owl had always been special, more than just another messenger bird.
Potter nodded. “I wanted a spare and Gregorovitch suggested using her tail feather. She died trying to deliver a message to me.” The hardness seemed to dissipate from Potter’s face as though the memory was painful. “How do you know?”
“Ollivander. The Dark Lord decided that while I wasn’t much good at being an assassin, I could serve him as a wand maker.”
“You know how to make wands?” Potter’s mouth opened in surprise and Draco couldn’t help but smirk at the expression. It was quite comical and he wondered just what was going on inside the other man’s head.
“That’s one of the things I can do ... yes. I apprenticed with Ollivander for several years.”
“Did they know that at your trial? Did you tell them?”
“No. I decided it was something I preferred to keep to myself.”
“But why? If they’d known, it could have made all the difference. They might have let you stay.”
“As their pet wand maker?” Draco questioned.
“It wouldn’t have been like that. They’ve been trying to get a wand maker ever since Ollivander left to join Voldemort. All our wands have to come from the abroad at the moment ... if we had a British wand maker....”
“And you think I would have been allowed to set up a nice little business in Diagon Alley?” Draco placed the wand on the table, halfway between himself and Potter. “The Ministry would have me working in some little cell at Azkaban, making wands to order as and when they saw fit. I’d rather be here than working for them.”
Of course that wasn’t true. He’d planned on telling the Ministry of his new talent as a final bargaining chip after they’d sentenced him, in what he’d hoped would be a way out of his punishment. But he’d never been given the chance; they’d Apparated him out of the Wizarding community without ceremony, his secret going with him. He’d even tried to make a wand once, but without the right tools and no wand of his own, it had been impossible.
He thought he could see those cogs moving again and he waited patiently for Potter to make some sort of revelation or to ask more about wand making but it never came. Instead Potter picked up the spare wand, removed the energy bubble surrounding them and gestured at a closed door.
“I expect you’re tired ... I always am after healing magic. You can use the spare bedroom if you want.”
Draco glanced briefly at the door then back at Potter. He was tired, but bubbling under that tiredness was a growing frustration at what was happening to him. Until Potter had appeared the previous evening he’d felt in control of his life. Granted, that life wasn’t the one he would have selected by choice, but he was dealing with it and coping -- he’d even got almost enough money stashed away to finally get out of London and start up somewhere else.
But then Potter had turned up to remind Draco of just what had been taken away from him; his magic, his home and his life. Potter had even given it all back to him for those few brief moments when he’d allowed Draco to use the wand, only to take it all away once again.
Potter was even being nice to him and just to make everything even worse, Draco was feeling more than a little attracted to the man.
Draco knew he should just say ‘thank you’ and accept the offer of a bed for the night, but he was pissed off with everything, including the fact Potter had a flat with a spare room to offer him when all Draco had was his little one-room attic apartment owned by Reynolds of all people.
So, instead of accepting, he just smirked coldly and remarked, “Thinking of setting me up as your own private whore?”
Potter stared at him and Draco decided that if nothing else, that particular expression would warm the cockles of his heart in the long cold winters of his life. Potter’s face went through almost every possible emotion finally ending with that oh-so-self-righteous Gryffindor rage Draco remembered from his childhood.
“When I want to fuck someone I don’t have to pay for it, Malfoy,” Potter spat back at him. “And if I did pay for it, it wouldn’t be to screw you!” The last word was said with such loathing Draco struggled not to react. “So take it or leave it. You can sleep here or I’ll Apparate you back to that delightful little flat of yours. Take your pick.”
In the years since his seventeenth birthday Draco had learned the art of capitulation, first with Snape, then with Voldemort and Ollivander, and finally with his father. He’d learned how to fake capitulation in his two years as a whore (clients loved it when they thought they’d broken him), so it shouldn’t have been hard to just say he wanted to stay here in this warm and relatively safe place. The idea of one peaceful night with no one knocking at his door or calling his mobile was a balm to his soul.
But this was Harry Potter. They had a history going back thirteen years and it was hard to just forget all that had gone before.
Eyes defiant, Draco straightened and in a hard, cold voice he said simply, “Take me home.”
---
Special thanks goes to luciology for her helpful insights and also for finding me a ‘Choices’ icon ... *grins*. Thanks, dear!
So ... /begins basic plot recap/ ... At the end of the war, Draco Malfoy is put on trial for being one of Voldemort’s followers. He is found guilty, his wand is snapped and he is banished from the Wizarding community to live in the Muggle world. With no money, he ends up selling himself to earn a living. Two years later, he sees a familiar face ... Harry Potter ... across a nightclub floor. Harry is equally shocked to see Draco Malfoy and he eventually tracks the ex-Slytherin down only to find one of Draco’s clients has beaten him up and broken his arm. Harry Apparates Draco back to his flat in Muggle London and in order for Draco to fix his own arm, Harry offers Draco a wand. /ends plot recap/
Part One -- Part Two -- Part Three -- Part Four --Part Five -- Part Six -- Part Seven -- Part Eight -- Part Nine -- Part Ten
Minor amendments made 24th October 2005
Choices, Part Eleven
Draco stared at the wand. He wasn’t sure what Potter’s response to his outburst would be, but it wasn’t this. He could feel the magic crackling towards him and he was reminded of the very first time he’d ever picked up a wand.
It had been his fourth birthday and his father had left his wand on the table when he’d gone to get one of Draco’s many presents. Lucius had always told him not to touch it, but the wand had crackled sparks as he’d reached out a hand towards it as though daring him to pick it up. So he had, his little fist clutching at the smooth wooden handle. At first nothing had happened, then his hand had become all tingly and he’d raised his arm, swishing the wand down just like he’d watched his parents do on so many occasions.
All hell had broken loose and magic had erupted around the room in a mini whirlwind, sending books flying from shelves, papers scattering from the desk and at least one window had smashed. He’d expected his father to be furious but instead Lucius seemed to be overjoyed at how his son had produced such a powerful display of magic at such a young age.
Now, twenty years later, he could feel that same pull from the magic again. He was sure that if he reached out his hand, energy would crackle between his fingers and the wand tip.
And Potter was going to let him use his wand. He was going to trust Draco to do just this one spell and then give it back again.
His hand twitched unconsciously and Draco wiped the sweaty palm against his thigh. With his magic back he could get the fuck away from people like Reynolds and never have to suck or be fucked by anyone ever again. He would be able to go anywhere ... do anything. The idea of being able to do something as simple as Accioing a pot of tea and cakes or magic water hot for a bath almost made him swoon. All the things Potter and his cronies took for granted. All the things he dreamed of since the day they took his wand away.
But most of all he would be able to fill the huge empty void inside him where they’d ripped his magic from him. And it was Potter ... Harry Bloody Potter ... who was going to give it back to him.
His trembling fingers closed around the handle and Draco thought he might come there and then from the anticipation. He still expected Potter to pull the wand away and to laugh in his face as he did so, but instead he just let go.
“Don’t think you can Apparate or take the wand out of here.” Potter’s voice was business-like. “The flat’s warded.”
Draco stared at him and wanted to say ‘where would I go with it?’ but instead said, “You Apparated us in.”
“Of course. It’s my flat and my wards.”
“And why shouldn’t I hex you right now?”
“Because....” Potter moved so fast that Draco almost dropped the wand. A second wand appeared in Potter’s hand, the tip pressing hard against Draco’s throat. “...I will pluck your heart out with a spoon if you so much as try anything other than fixing your arm.” Potter’s face hardened as he spoke. Gone was the boy from Hogwarts and in his place an older, more determined and darker individual. The Boy Who Lived had died somewhere amidst those many battles with Voldemort and in his place was the Man Who’d....
Who’d what?
Draco had seen and done some awful things in the five years between his seventeenth birthday and the end of the war ... things he wasn’t proud of ... things that he’d done to keep himself and others alive, but he was positive Harry Potter had seen and done things most people couldn’t even imagine. Green eyes stared at him -- eyes hard and unfeeling like cut emeralds -- and Draco was tempted to try something just to see how far he could push Potter.
But there would be time for that later. For now he needed to fix his arm.
After that? Well, he’d see.
Draco deliberately didn’t pull back from the wand at his throat, determined that it would be Potter who made that concession. “I didn’t think this was your wand.”
“Yes. I wanted a spare.” The hardness dissipated a little from Potter’s face, as something seemed to trigger a memory and his hand finally dropped. “Just in case....”
As Potter hand dropped, Draco tried hard not to smirk. He’d won this short battle, now all he needed was to win the war. “In case of what?”
“I ran into troublesome ex-Death Eaters.” Potter had taken a few steps back and it took Draco a moment to realise Potter had cast a spell, effectively encasing him in a bubble of energy. “Fix your arm and then put the wand down.” Potter gestured at the table.
Draco raised a questioning eyebrow. “I take it you really don’t trust me.”
“For once you’re right. Now cast your magic.”
“Okay.” Sitting down, Draco rested his arm along the tabletop. “Are you going to remove the cast?” He watched as a flash of indecision crossed Potter’s face. Then there was a shift in the magic as Potter stepped into the bubble and tapped his own wand against the cast.
It dissolved away and Draco winced as the lack of support sent a spike of pain through his arm. It made him pant a little and he glanced quickly at Potter. “I could use a little help here.”
“I told you ... I don’t do medical magic ... at least not very well.”
Biting back a retort, Draco licked momentarily at his dry lips. “I need you to help stabilise the bones while I make sure they’re joined properly. I don’t want them to heal all crooked. The spell’s an easy one ... even you should be able to cast it.” Quickly he recited the spell, making Potter repeat it several times until he was sure the other man was word-perfect and had the pronunciation correct. “Now, sit next to me -- you’ll need to hold my forearm where the break is.”
He could almost see the cogs moving in Potter’s brain. Potter clearly didn’t want to get this close to any Malfoy, let alone one with a wand in his hand, but eventually the cogs clicked into place and Potter sat.
Warm, slightly trembling fingers reached for Draco’s forearm. They ran feather-light over his skin and Draco found himself looking from the fingers to Potter’s face. Potter had closed his eyes, as if concentrating on what his fingers could feel beneath the skin. Finally the stroking movements ceased and Potter took a deep breath.
“One bone’s broken here and the other break’s an inch further down.” Potter looked at him. “The second break isn’t a clean one.”
Draco curled his lip. “And you said you couldn’t do medical magic ... that’s a pretty good diagnosis.”
“Diagnosis I can do ... it’s the repairs I struggle with. This isn’t a good idea, Malfoy, this needs to be fixed by an expert.” He pushed his chair back, clearly planning on leaving.
Draco quickly reached for him, his hand curling around Potter’s wrist as the length of the wand pressed against the other man’s forearm. Surprise flickered across Potter’s face as he looked quickly from the long fingers to Draco’s eyes and then back again. Then Potter did something that made Draco harden just a little ... he licked his lips and for a moment looked just like the boy Draco had always wanted to shag back at Hogwarts.
“I can’t do this, Malfoy.” Potter’s voice was a whisper.
“Yes you can,” Draco matched the tone. “I’m going to do the healing, not you. All you’re doing is holding things steady.”
“And if it goes wrong?”
“Then I’ll take the blame and you can find someone to sort it out.” He grinned, looking much more confident than he actually felt.
There was a long pause before Potter finally sat back down again. “Okay, but if you don’t let go we’ll never get this done.” Draco quickly pulled away and watched as Potter carefully rested his arm along Draco’s, skin-to-skin, fingers curling just a little over the break. “Ready?”
Draco nodded and waited for Potter to speak the incantation.
Potter frowned thoughtfully as he muttered the words of the spell. Then holding his wand over the injured arm, the bones aligned themselves with a sickening feeling that made Draco shudder. “That’s the best I can get it. Hurry, I’m not sure how long I can hold it.”
With a quick nod, Draco placed the tip of his own wand over the break. It felt strange holding a wand again and it took a moment for his grip to feel comfortable. But when it did, it felt like he’d come home ... like the wand belonged right where it was ... in his hand.
The spell worked like a charm and as the broken ends of the bone knitted together, the pain lessened to a dull ache as though the injury was a bruise rather than a break. For a moment he said nothing, content to let Potter’s fingers support his arm, but he knew sooner or later he’d have to pull away.
“Did it work?” Potter’s voice held a sense of awe as if he still found the use of magic amazing after all these years.
Carefully Draco flexed his fingers then lifted his arm. It felt wonderful. “Yes. It worked just fine.”
“Good.” The look on Potter’s face hardened again. “Now put down the wand.”
Meeting the hard green eyes, Draco raised an eyebrow. The chances of him being able to keep the wand at the moment were so remote that it didn’t seem worth putting up a fight, but maybe there was something he could do to get Potter on his side. He looked down at the wand, twisting it in his fingers. “Isn’t your wand holly and phoenix tail feather?”
Potter frowned, clearly surprised by the comment and his expression soften as he nodded.
“This one’s...” Draco hefted the wand. “Rowan wood?” He waited for Potter to nod. “And the core....” Carefully he ran his hand down the length of the wand. “Is an owl feather.”
“Yes ... one of Hedwig’s.”
“You used her feather in a wand?” Potter’s owl had always been special, more than just another messenger bird.
Potter nodded. “I wanted a spare and Gregorovitch suggested using her tail feather. She died trying to deliver a message to me.” The hardness seemed to dissipate from Potter’s face as though the memory was painful. “How do you know?”
“Ollivander. The Dark Lord decided that while I wasn’t much good at being an assassin, I could serve him as a wand maker.”
“You know how to make wands?” Potter’s mouth opened in surprise and Draco couldn’t help but smirk at the expression. It was quite comical and he wondered just what was going on inside the other man’s head.
“That’s one of the things I can do ... yes. I apprenticed with Ollivander for several years.”
“Did they know that at your trial? Did you tell them?”
“No. I decided it was something I preferred to keep to myself.”
“But why? If they’d known, it could have made all the difference. They might have let you stay.”
“As their pet wand maker?” Draco questioned.
“It wouldn’t have been like that. They’ve been trying to get a wand maker ever since Ollivander left to join Voldemort. All our wands have to come from the abroad at the moment ... if we had a British wand maker....”
“And you think I would have been allowed to set up a nice little business in Diagon Alley?” Draco placed the wand on the table, halfway between himself and Potter. “The Ministry would have me working in some little cell at Azkaban, making wands to order as and when they saw fit. I’d rather be here than working for them.”
Of course that wasn’t true. He’d planned on telling the Ministry of his new talent as a final bargaining chip after they’d sentenced him, in what he’d hoped would be a way out of his punishment. But he’d never been given the chance; they’d Apparated him out of the Wizarding community without ceremony, his secret going with him. He’d even tried to make a wand once, but without the right tools and no wand of his own, it had been impossible.
He thought he could see those cogs moving again and he waited patiently for Potter to make some sort of revelation or to ask more about wand making but it never came. Instead Potter picked up the spare wand, removed the energy bubble surrounding them and gestured at a closed door.
“I expect you’re tired ... I always am after healing magic. You can use the spare bedroom if you want.”
Draco glanced briefly at the door then back at Potter. He was tired, but bubbling under that tiredness was a growing frustration at what was happening to him. Until Potter had appeared the previous evening he’d felt in control of his life. Granted, that life wasn’t the one he would have selected by choice, but he was dealing with it and coping -- he’d even got almost enough money stashed away to finally get out of London and start up somewhere else.
But then Potter had turned up to remind Draco of just what had been taken away from him; his magic, his home and his life. Potter had even given it all back to him for those few brief moments when he’d allowed Draco to use the wand, only to take it all away once again.
Potter was even being nice to him and just to make everything even worse, Draco was feeling more than a little attracted to the man.
Draco knew he should just say ‘thank you’ and accept the offer of a bed for the night, but he was pissed off with everything, including the fact Potter had a flat with a spare room to offer him when all Draco had was his little one-room attic apartment owned by Reynolds of all people.
So, instead of accepting, he just smirked coldly and remarked, “Thinking of setting me up as your own private whore?”
Potter stared at him and Draco decided that if nothing else, that particular expression would warm the cockles of his heart in the long cold winters of his life. Potter’s face went through almost every possible emotion finally ending with that oh-so-self-righteous Gryffindor rage Draco remembered from his childhood.
“When I want to fuck someone I don’t have to pay for it, Malfoy,” Potter spat back at him. “And if I did pay for it, it wouldn’t be to screw you!” The last word was said with such loathing Draco struggled not to react. “So take it or leave it. You can sleep here or I’ll Apparate you back to that delightful little flat of yours. Take your pick.”
In the years since his seventeenth birthday Draco had learned the art of capitulation, first with Snape, then with Voldemort and Ollivander, and finally with his father. He’d learned how to fake capitulation in his two years as a whore (clients loved it when they thought they’d broken him), so it shouldn’t have been hard to just say he wanted to stay here in this warm and relatively safe place. The idea of one peaceful night with no one knocking at his door or calling his mobile was a balm to his soul.
But this was Harry Potter. They had a history going back thirteen years and it was hard to just forget all that had gone before.
Eyes defiant, Draco straightened and in a hard, cold voice he said simply, “Take me home.”
---