Christmas 2016 Fic: Reset (H/D, rated R) - Part 7
Title: Reset - Part 7
Author: sesheta_66
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: R overall
Word Count: ~20K overall
Summary: Forgetting the past isn't always possible or practical. Dwelling on it isn't constructive. Moving beyond it, into what lies ahead, can be just the thing to help us heal. And friends? Well, they make it all - past, present and future - worth living.
Author's Notes: Written for dracoharry100's Christmas Challenge, prompts #4: stockings, #6: Christmas cards, and #20: Azkaban over the holidays, and slythindor100's 25 Days of Draco and Harry, prompts #11: Christmas tinner and #12: table set for Christmas dinner.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Previous: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Reset - Part 7
Harry watched Draco go into the bathroom adjoining his room, heart pounding an uneven beat and thoughts bouncing around his head.
He'd long ago accepted his attraction to his former rival, placing it far back into the recesses of his mind where it belonged. He could objectively observe that the other man was attractive and had a fine arse, thank you very much, but there was no need to act on it. Certainly not when they'd finally let go of the past as best they could and, as strange as some people thought it was, had become friends. Harry sure as hell didn't want to fuck that up by doing something stupid. Besides, Narcissa was counting on him to make sure Draco was okay at school. He doubted very much that making a pass at her son fell into her idea of taking care of him.
But today, out on the pitch, when they'd fallen to the ground together and Draco had landed on top of Harry, he'd seen something in Draco's eyes. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, but it hadn't been disgust or even discomfort. Harry sucked at reading people, but if he had to put words to it, he'd have thought Draco looked interested.
And now he stood in Draco's bedroom, a vast expanse that very nearly was the size of the house on Privet Drive. Everything was pristine and looked very, very expensive. Harry removed his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. Looking down at his filthy trousers, he decided that he couldn't sit on a single surface in this room without cleaning them first. He pulled them off so he could properly Scourgify them. He carefully sat on the bed to remove his equally filthy socks.
He waved his wand at the pile of dirty clothes. When the sound of the shower reached his ears, he tried not to imagine Draco stepping under the spray, naked and gorgeous and right in the next room.
He let out a groan and collapsed onto the bed. It was quite likely the most comfortable bed in the world.
He was out on the makeshift Quidditch pitch at the Manor once again, Draco flying by his side. They reached for the snitch and, once more, collapsed onto the ground.
This time, Draco did not move away. This time their eyes locked and time stood still.
Harry stared into the darkening grey of Draco's eyes, helpless to fight the pull that drew him in, threatened to pull him deeper and deeper until he could never escape.
Draco looked equally lost as his breathing became rough. He bit his lower lip and Harry's eyes were drawn to the motion. He wanted to kiss those lips, taste Draco, hold on and never let go.
"Harry, wake up."
He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to stay here forever, with Draco. Or at least until he got to kiss him. Draco shoved at his shoulders and smiled before closing the distance between them.
"Wake up, Harry."
Harry blinked his eyes and tried to focus, the light in the room making it difficult. When his eyes finally cleared, Draco was there. "Hey," he said, his voice all raspy.
"Hey yourself." Draco smiled, just like he had in the dream. And he was just as close. Harry must still be dreaming. All he had to do was reach out and touch him. So he did.
He ran his fingers through the hair he'd admired for so long. It felt smooth and silky, not stiff like he'd imagined it might have been back when he used to slick it back. Harry definitely preferred this look. He brought his hand to rest on the back of Draco's neck and looked deeply into his eyes - eyes that darkened at his gaze - looking for any sign that he didn't want this too. When he saw none, he pulled Draco towards him and pressed their lips together.
It was everything and nothing like he'd expected. He'd had dreams like this before, but they'd always been hazy and dull around the edges. It was more a vague awareness, the need to get off with someone. Kissing had never played much of a part, except as a prelude to something more. Sensations were there, but not as crisp or vivid. Now Harry savoured the kiss, wondering why his mind had never conjured anything this intense before. Draco's lips were soft, pliant, and he moaned deliciously into Harry's mouth. When their tongues wrapped around each other, Harry's nerve endings sang and he fell into a welcoming abyss.
Oh, this was much better than any other dream he'd had. He could taste mint and smell the clean, fresh scent of someone fresh from the shower and - oh, shit.
He reluctantly ended the kiss and pulled back, watching Draco's eyes flutter open. They stared at each other, neither saying a word.
Crack! "Mistress Narcissa is to be asking Lealia to tell Master Draco that lunch will be served in fifteen minutes."
A bucket of cold water couldn't have done the job the house-elf just accomplished. They pulled apart quickly and Draco stood up. With a shaky voice he said, "A towel and robe are in the bathroom for you. I'll see you downstairs. Lealia will come get you for lunch." And he practically flew out of the room.
***
Draco fled the room, not entirely sure what had just happened. Well, he knew what had happened - he and Harry had kissed. Kissed! And fuck him if that wasn't the most incredible, most mind-blowing kiss he'd ever experienced.
He stopped halfway down the stairs and touched a finger to his lips. He could still taste Harry. He wanted to go back for more. Screw that, he never wanted to leave Harry's side again.
But he was being ridiculous. It was just a kiss. He was overreacting because it was Harry and he'd wanted him for longer than he'd care to admit to himself, never mind anyone else. Still, that kiss had rocked him to his very core.
On shaky legs, he made his way down the rest of the stairs and into the powder room on the main floor. When he caught a look at his swollen lips and flushed cheeks, he was glad he'd taken the detour. He splashed cold water on his face then waved his wand to rid himself of the rest of the tell-tale signs of what they'd been up to. He took his time, knowing that his mother had sharp eyes and an even sharper mind. When he'd done all he could, and he'd willed his heart to slow down, he made his way into the sitting room.
"There you are," Narcissa greeted him with a smile. "Come sit with me and help me decide on the place settings for Christmas dinner."
He looked at the array of photos she'd spread over the table, depicting all manners of elaborate place settings and accoutrements. "I thought it was just going to be the two of us this year."
She blinked and looked from Draco to the photos and back again. "Well, yes, but it's still Christmas. We should do things properly or not at all."
He sighed. Sometimes he wished she weren't so proper all the time. Sometimes he wished she would just let her hair down and be. But then she wouldn't be who she was, would she? He'd thought that all the high-brow business had been his father's doing, but when it came right down to it, whether she'd learned under the tutelage of the Blacks or the Malfoys, his mother did enjoy her comforts. And who was he to deny her that?
"Of course." He flipped through the pictures and pulled out two of them. "I think I like these the best."
She nodded and smiled. "That's settled, then." She waved her wand at the remaining photographs and they disappeared. "Lealia!"
The house-elf popped into the room. "Yes, Mistress?"
"We should like some tea while we wait for Mr Potter to join us for lunch."
"Yes, Mistress." She popped back out of the room, all without making eye contact with Draco. Thank Merlin.
"I meant to tell you, we have some Christmas cards." Her voice wavered.
He stood up and walked behind her chair, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong, Mother?"
She brought her own hand to rest over his and squeezed. "It's just … well, I don't imagine they have many Christmas cards or elaborate Christmas dinners in Azkaban."
He squeezed her shoulder. "No," he admitted. "I don't imagine they do."
"I can't even bare to see the stockings by the fire."
"It's okay, Mother. We can do without them this year."
***
Harry wanted to stay in the shower forever, hot water washing over him. Maybe it would wash away his mortification too. What the hell had he been thinking? He hadn't, obviously. He'd been so sure he was still dreaming that he just dove right in. And now he'd probably made a complete mess of things.
Sure, Draco had kissed him back, but why? Had Harry caught him so off-guard that he'd just responded on instinct? Or maybe his response was to prove some point or other, though Harry had no idea what that might be. Or maybe Harry had just imagined the whole thing and Draco hadn't been into it at all.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck.
He washed his body and hair, trying not to dwell on the fact that he would now smell like Draco, and have to carry that scent everywhere with him until next he showered. And he tried not to like that idea. Not even a little bit.
He was so screwed.
Eventually he climbed out of the shower, dried off, and put on the change of clothes he'd brought. He also brought out a selection of pastries he'd hastily gathered from the Hogwarts kitchen, after remembering Hermione's advice about bringing something when invited for lunch. Though, technically, he'd been doing Draco a favour and was mainly there for Quidditch. Lunch was just a bonus.
Just as he opened the door to make his own way downstairs, the house-elf appeared and led the way.
"Here you go, Mrs Malfoy." He handed her the box of pastries as he entered the sitting room.
She smiled. "You know you don't have to bring something every time you come here," she said as she took the box. "And it's Narcissa, remember?"
"Sorry. I just wanted to say thank you for inviting me into your home again, Narcissa."
She laughed. "Technically, Draco invited you this time, so perhaps you should give him the pastries."
Harry cheeks flushed as he pictured handing Draco a bouquet of flowers, like he'd handed her on his last visit. He chanced a look. By the smirk on his face, Draco might have been thinking the same thing. Harry sneered at him and he laughed. It felt almost normal. Maybe he was just overreacting and they'd be okay.
Harry caught a glimpse of the pictures on the table. "Those are nice," he said, as much to fill the quiet as to give him something to focus on besides the residual feel of Draco's lips against his own.
"Oh, yes," Narcissa said, her face animated for the first time since he'd entered the room. "I'll choose between the two for our Christmas dinner table."
Harry didn't know what to say to that. Did people actually do that? Besides on television shows or in royal palaces, did people really set such elaborate place settings? He looked around the room - really looked - and took in all the intricate details. Not a thing out of place. Everything rich with colour and texture and undoubtedly very expensive. Then he looked at his hosts and they too were adorned with the very best - down to the cashmere sweater and woolen pants Draco wore and the silk blouse and designer robes Narcissa had on.
He looked again at the pictures and realised with a sinking heart that Draco was so far out of his league it was laughable. What was he thinking? He would never have a meal at a table like this. Hell, if it weren't for the Weasleys, he could picture himself sitting in front of the telly with a Christmas tinner in one hand and fork in the other.
Harry's mind didn’t stop racing the entire meal. The food was as delicious as the last time he'd been here, but the sour taste of realisation made everything just a little bit tough to swallow.
Part 8
Author: sesheta_66
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: R overall
Word Count: ~20K overall
Summary: Forgetting the past isn't always possible or practical. Dwelling on it isn't constructive. Moving beyond it, into what lies ahead, can be just the thing to help us heal. And friends? Well, they make it all - past, present and future - worth living.
Author's Notes: Written for dracoharry100's Christmas Challenge, prompts #4: stockings, #6: Christmas cards, and #20: Azkaban over the holidays, and slythindor100's 25 Days of Draco and Harry, prompts #11: Christmas tinner and #12: table set for Christmas dinner.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Previous: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Reset - Part 7
Harry watched Draco go into the bathroom adjoining his room, heart pounding an uneven beat and thoughts bouncing around his head.
He'd long ago accepted his attraction to his former rival, placing it far back into the recesses of his mind where it belonged. He could objectively observe that the other man was attractive and had a fine arse, thank you very much, but there was no need to act on it. Certainly not when they'd finally let go of the past as best they could and, as strange as some people thought it was, had become friends. Harry sure as hell didn't want to fuck that up by doing something stupid. Besides, Narcissa was counting on him to make sure Draco was okay at school. He doubted very much that making a pass at her son fell into her idea of taking care of him.
But today, out on the pitch, when they'd fallen to the ground together and Draco had landed on top of Harry, he'd seen something in Draco's eyes. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, but it hadn't been disgust or even discomfort. Harry sucked at reading people, but if he had to put words to it, he'd have thought Draco looked interested.
And now he stood in Draco's bedroom, a vast expanse that very nearly was the size of the house on Privet Drive. Everything was pristine and looked very, very expensive. Harry removed his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. Looking down at his filthy trousers, he decided that he couldn't sit on a single surface in this room without cleaning them first. He pulled them off so he could properly Scourgify them. He carefully sat on the bed to remove his equally filthy socks.
He waved his wand at the pile of dirty clothes. When the sound of the shower reached his ears, he tried not to imagine Draco stepping under the spray, naked and gorgeous and right in the next room.
He let out a groan and collapsed onto the bed. It was quite likely the most comfortable bed in the world.
He was out on the makeshift Quidditch pitch at the Manor once again, Draco flying by his side. They reached for the snitch and, once more, collapsed onto the ground.
This time, Draco did not move away. This time their eyes locked and time stood still.
Harry stared into the darkening grey of Draco's eyes, helpless to fight the pull that drew him in, threatened to pull him deeper and deeper until he could never escape.
Draco looked equally lost as his breathing became rough. He bit his lower lip and Harry's eyes were drawn to the motion. He wanted to kiss those lips, taste Draco, hold on and never let go.
"Harry, wake up."
He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to stay here forever, with Draco. Or at least until he got to kiss him. Draco shoved at his shoulders and smiled before closing the distance between them.
"Wake up, Harry."
Harry blinked his eyes and tried to focus, the light in the room making it difficult. When his eyes finally cleared, Draco was there. "Hey," he said, his voice all raspy.
"Hey yourself." Draco smiled, just like he had in the dream. And he was just as close. Harry must still be dreaming. All he had to do was reach out and touch him. So he did.
He ran his fingers through the hair he'd admired for so long. It felt smooth and silky, not stiff like he'd imagined it might have been back when he used to slick it back. Harry definitely preferred this look. He brought his hand to rest on the back of Draco's neck and looked deeply into his eyes - eyes that darkened at his gaze - looking for any sign that he didn't want this too. When he saw none, he pulled Draco towards him and pressed their lips together.
It was everything and nothing like he'd expected. He'd had dreams like this before, but they'd always been hazy and dull around the edges. It was more a vague awareness, the need to get off with someone. Kissing had never played much of a part, except as a prelude to something more. Sensations were there, but not as crisp or vivid. Now Harry savoured the kiss, wondering why his mind had never conjured anything this intense before. Draco's lips were soft, pliant, and he moaned deliciously into Harry's mouth. When their tongues wrapped around each other, Harry's nerve endings sang and he fell into a welcoming abyss.
Oh, this was much better than any other dream he'd had. He could taste mint and smell the clean, fresh scent of someone fresh from the shower and - oh, shit.
He reluctantly ended the kiss and pulled back, watching Draco's eyes flutter open. They stared at each other, neither saying a word.
Crack! "Mistress Narcissa is to be asking Lealia to tell Master Draco that lunch will be served in fifteen minutes."
A bucket of cold water couldn't have done the job the house-elf just accomplished. They pulled apart quickly and Draco stood up. With a shaky voice he said, "A towel and robe are in the bathroom for you. I'll see you downstairs. Lealia will come get you for lunch." And he practically flew out of the room.
***
Draco fled the room, not entirely sure what had just happened. Well, he knew what had happened - he and Harry had kissed. Kissed! And fuck him if that wasn't the most incredible, most mind-blowing kiss he'd ever experienced.
He stopped halfway down the stairs and touched a finger to his lips. He could still taste Harry. He wanted to go back for more. Screw that, he never wanted to leave Harry's side again.
But he was being ridiculous. It was just a kiss. He was overreacting because it was Harry and he'd wanted him for longer than he'd care to admit to himself, never mind anyone else. Still, that kiss had rocked him to his very core.
On shaky legs, he made his way down the rest of the stairs and into the powder room on the main floor. When he caught a look at his swollen lips and flushed cheeks, he was glad he'd taken the detour. He splashed cold water on his face then waved his wand to rid himself of the rest of the tell-tale signs of what they'd been up to. He took his time, knowing that his mother had sharp eyes and an even sharper mind. When he'd done all he could, and he'd willed his heart to slow down, he made his way into the sitting room.
"There you are," Narcissa greeted him with a smile. "Come sit with me and help me decide on the place settings for Christmas dinner."
He looked at the array of photos she'd spread over the table, depicting all manners of elaborate place settings and accoutrements. "I thought it was just going to be the two of us this year."
She blinked and looked from Draco to the photos and back again. "Well, yes, but it's still Christmas. We should do things properly or not at all."
He sighed. Sometimes he wished she weren't so proper all the time. Sometimes he wished she would just let her hair down and be. But then she wouldn't be who she was, would she? He'd thought that all the high-brow business had been his father's doing, but when it came right down to it, whether she'd learned under the tutelage of the Blacks or the Malfoys, his mother did enjoy her comforts. And who was he to deny her that?
"Of course." He flipped through the pictures and pulled out two of them. "I think I like these the best."
She nodded and smiled. "That's settled, then." She waved her wand at the remaining photographs and they disappeared. "Lealia!"
The house-elf popped into the room. "Yes, Mistress?"
"We should like some tea while we wait for Mr Potter to join us for lunch."
"Yes, Mistress." She popped back out of the room, all without making eye contact with Draco. Thank Merlin.
"I meant to tell you, we have some Christmas cards." Her voice wavered.
He stood up and walked behind her chair, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong, Mother?"
She brought her own hand to rest over his and squeezed. "It's just … well, I don't imagine they have many Christmas cards or elaborate Christmas dinners in Azkaban."
He squeezed her shoulder. "No," he admitted. "I don't imagine they do."
"I can't even bare to see the stockings by the fire."
"It's okay, Mother. We can do without them this year."
***
Harry wanted to stay in the shower forever, hot water washing over him. Maybe it would wash away his mortification too. What the hell had he been thinking? He hadn't, obviously. He'd been so sure he was still dreaming that he just dove right in. And now he'd probably made a complete mess of things.
Sure, Draco had kissed him back, but why? Had Harry caught him so off-guard that he'd just responded on instinct? Or maybe his response was to prove some point or other, though Harry had no idea what that might be. Or maybe Harry had just imagined the whole thing and Draco hadn't been into it at all.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck.
He washed his body and hair, trying not to dwell on the fact that he would now smell like Draco, and have to carry that scent everywhere with him until next he showered. And he tried not to like that idea. Not even a little bit.
He was so screwed.
Eventually he climbed out of the shower, dried off, and put on the change of clothes he'd brought. He also brought out a selection of pastries he'd hastily gathered from the Hogwarts kitchen, after remembering Hermione's advice about bringing something when invited for lunch. Though, technically, he'd been doing Draco a favour and was mainly there for Quidditch. Lunch was just a bonus.
Just as he opened the door to make his own way downstairs, the house-elf appeared and led the way.
"Here you go, Mrs Malfoy." He handed her the box of pastries as he entered the sitting room.
She smiled. "You know you don't have to bring something every time you come here," she said as she took the box. "And it's Narcissa, remember?"
"Sorry. I just wanted to say thank you for inviting me into your home again, Narcissa."
She laughed. "Technically, Draco invited you this time, so perhaps you should give him the pastries."
Harry cheeks flushed as he pictured handing Draco a bouquet of flowers, like he'd handed her on his last visit. He chanced a look. By the smirk on his face, Draco might have been thinking the same thing. Harry sneered at him and he laughed. It felt almost normal. Maybe he was just overreacting and they'd be okay.
Harry caught a glimpse of the pictures on the table. "Those are nice," he said, as much to fill the quiet as to give him something to focus on besides the residual feel of Draco's lips against his own.
"Oh, yes," Narcissa said, her face animated for the first time since he'd entered the room. "I'll choose between the two for our Christmas dinner table."
Harry didn't know what to say to that. Did people actually do that? Besides on television shows or in royal palaces, did people really set such elaborate place settings? He looked around the room - really looked - and took in all the intricate details. Not a thing out of place. Everything rich with colour and texture and undoubtedly very expensive. Then he looked at his hosts and they too were adorned with the very best - down to the cashmere sweater and woolen pants Draco wore and the silk blouse and designer robes Narcissa had on.
He looked again at the pictures and realised with a sinking heart that Draco was so far out of his league it was laughable. What was he thinking? He would never have a meal at a table like this. Hell, if it weren't for the Weasleys, he could picture himself sitting in front of the telly with a Christmas tinner in one hand and fork in the other.
Harry's mind didn’t stop racing the entire meal. The food was as delicious as the last time he'd been here, but the sour taste of realisation made everything just a little bit tough to swallow.
Part 8