Fic: Defence Mechanisms
Title: Defence Mechanisms
Pairing:Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non chronological order. Smut. A ‘plot’ that only exists to drive the porn. Is that a warning?
Story notes: Eternal thanks to 7ofeleven and nikki4noo who polished this thing up for me, and it needed a good spit shine, let me tell you. ♥ ya both.
Word count: 13,000 ish
Summary: Harry and Draco are in love. But love doesn’t sail smoothly when you’re too busy putting up walls to see that it’s in your hands. A series of episodes that, hopefully, tell their story.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Author's Note: Written for the 2011 fest at hds_beltane for my wonderful friend, twistedm. This fic travelled a few roads with regard to plot, and then ended up where it is, much to my relief. I had a few snaffu’s while I was trying to finish it, but it’s finally done and polished up, and now posted on my lj woo! Accomplishment!
5. The Night Draco Knew Something Had To Change
At times like this, Harry was hot. Skin on skin, hands grasping and sliding, clutching at each other, tongues and teeth and stubble-scraped cheeks. They rutted feverishly, chasing each other down until they caught their orgasms at last, their chest heaving from the rush, breathing in the heavy scent of sex and sweat--oh yes, this, this was as hot as it gets.
Inevitably, sweat evaporated and panting subsided, and Draco could feel the cold front moving in as they lay in silence, until finally Harry pulled himself up off the bed and rummaged through the detritus left behind, searching for his clothes.
Draco didn't move, hoping that by staying still, silent, perhaps he could hang on to that heat for a just another minute, but it never worked. Soon enough Harry was dressed, dropping a kiss onto Draco's clammy forehead and murmuring something to placate him. 'Early day tomorrow', 'meeting Ron for a drink', 'got a case to research'; each excuse the same as the previous one, all of them saying one thing.
'Thanks for the fuck, Malfoy. See you around.'
Draco couldn't fault him for it, this was never supposed to be serious, just fighting that turned into fucking, which turned into a series of fucks, and Draco knew it wasn't going anywhere. Where could it go? Harry may be single at the moment, but it was only a matter of time before his One True Love returned from her studies somewhere in Europe, fuck if Draco knew where, and they got married and lived forever in ginger bliss. Not like he cared, anyway.
Besides, Draco was all but betrothed to Astoria Greengrass, lovely and blonde and perfectly pureblooded, the ideal candidate to be the next Lady Malfoy. Never mind that Draco had spoken to her outside of Hogwarts a bare six times, while at school their dialogue consisted of greetings and small talk, and always in a group. Never mind that his father had done all the arranging, without any input from Draco. Or that he'd rather spend his time getting plowed by Harry Potter than...well, than practically anything else.
Draco hauled himself out of the bed, out of sheets still damp with the results of their exertions. He stood for a moment, pondering the idea of leaving them until Harry’s scent had faded, but he called for a house elf to remake the bed instead. The last thing he needed was to sleep in sheets scented with Harry; as if he needed to be more fixated than he already was.
3. The Day Draco was Accosted at the Ministry
Draco was just minding his own business, strolling down the corridor to his office. By office, he meant cubicle. Not just any cubicle, not for Draco Malfoy, no. He had been given the smallest, dingiest cubicle in the department, all the way in the back. He didn't mind though, a few handy charms gave it some light and colour, and it was quiet and private and no one ever bothered him there. With judicious use of wizarding space, he had all the room he needed and then some. Why no one else seemed to think of that, he had no idea.
He was humming merrily to himself as he went, it was amazing what regular sex did for a mood. It had been three days since Harry had last knocked on the door of his flat but, considering the timing of their trysts so far, he would likely show up again that very evening.
They never made plans to see each other and they never went out. In fact, Draco had never even been to Harry's flat after that first time, for the simple fact that he had never needed to seek Harry out. Harry always came to him, not that Draco had any illusions about what that meant.
Harry never spoke a word beyond what was necessary to get into Draco's pants, not that it took much effort as Draco was always willing. No, Harry had barely said anything to him since the first night, the night he told Draco how sexy he was before pinning him to the door of the loo and snogging his brains out.
Oh, he hadn’t minded. He was still shagging Harry after all, and that had to count for something, right? He was better off than anyone else in Britain, as far as he knew. The fact that their relationship, if what they were doing could be labelled as such, was so transient, so uncertain, well it hadn't occurred to Draco to mind. Yet.
At this moment however, Draco's mind was filled with different thoughts, leaning toward a more visceral remembering of Harry. Naked, panting and sweaty, leaning over him, being inside him, that intense look in fathomless green eyes as he pounded Draco like a champion.
Draco let out a rather girly shriek when an arm shot out from a side corridor and pulled him in. He found himself pressed against the wall, a hard body holding him, muscled arms forming a cage around his head, hips pinning his to the wall with ease. Draco had no desire to struggle, the presence of Harry, the familiar heat, oh, how he wanted it. There was a flash of green before his mouth was forced open by the weight of a persistent tongue, the scent of Harry's cologne crashing into his senses as he kissed back, suddenly clinging.
Then there was a new hardness, hot and throbbing, or so Draco imagined, the layers of their clothing a barrier that was suddenly excruciating. He moaned without attempting restraint, grinding his hips forward, answering pressure with pressure. Harry moaned back, his mouth releasing Draco's and moving instead to his neck, soft lips and spiky stubble creating a dichotomy of sensations, all of which shot straight to his cock as Harry sucked love bites along the column of Draco's neck.
“Ngh,” was all Draco was able to convey as a deft hand dropped to their groins, rubbing hard at Draco's cock for a moment before finally unbuckling his belt, trousers soon following. Somewhere, on some level, Draco knew that this was not the best place, but with Harry's hand brushing his cock as he unfastened his own clothes, Draco could not muster the strength to reply. Or the will. Foolish or not, he wanted this. He'd take anything of Harry that he could get, wherever they were.
And then there was more heat, smooth skin encasing an erection that could fuck through a wall, Draco imagined, and it was pressed up against his own, Harry's large hand clutching their cocks together even as his hips pressed Draco back against the wall. He had nowhere to go, even if he'd wanted it.
Which he didn't. Harry was jerking them off now, strong, hard strokes as his lips made their way back up to Draco's mouth. Their kisses were messier than before, losing cohesion as they raced toward the fastest, most intense climax of Draco's life. Then again, every climax with Harry felt that way.
Then Harry gasped and growled, biting down on Draco's lower lip ferociously, the taste of blood mingling unpleasantly with the taste of Harry, but even that was not enough to keep Draco's orgasm from crashing over him. He Harry’s lip in return, drinking in a hiss as Harry came, his release joining Draco's in a sticky mess, all over his hand, their cocks and, inevitably, their clothes.
They panted in the aftermath, moments ticking by while Draco regained his senses, his brain trying to catch up with all that had occurred. Before it could, Harry pushed back off the wall with the hand still braced beside Draco's head, muttering a cleaning spell and removing any trace of their activities from their skin and clothing. Draco bit back a whimper when the tingles rushed over the sensitive skin of his cock, the feeling intensified by the cold air that had rushed in at Harry's sudden distance.
“Love your arse in those slacks, Malfoy,” Harry said with a wink, sucking one more time on Draco's bottom lip before tucking himself in perfunctorily and turning to walk away.
“Potter, what the fuck?” Draco snarled, refastening his own clothing before someone came by and saw him there, his face and neck no doubt red from Harry's exertions, his limp, sated cock dangling out of his pants. Not the most dignified pose, that.
“Couldn't resist,” Harry said, giving Draco another wink, not at all attractively. “See you around, Malfoy,” he said, striding down the corridor, leaving Draco behind, as always, confused and wanting more.
1. The Night It All Started To Go Downhill
“Mafloy, wait up a sec,” came the slurred but familiar voice, as Draco made to open the door. Sure, he'd noticed Potter entering the room behind him as he'd emptied his bladder into the urinal, but he had hoped to escape before the drunken buffoon noticed him. He was halfway pissed himself, and Potter was unpredictable, one never knew what he would do when provoked and Draco definitely had a talent for provoking him. No, it was best to flee before the shite hit the fan... err, perhaps a less visceral metaphor, considering their current location.
“Can I help you, Potter?” Draco replied, turning to face him with arms crossed defensively. He imagined he could feel the ache in his scars, despite the fact that Snape and Pomfrey had managed to eradicate any reminder of the spell that had shredded his chest like so much cabbage.
“You sure can,” Potter said with a lopsided leer. The man couldn't even leer right. What a waste of skin. A waste that was approaching Draco rather surefootedly, considering his apparent state of intoxication. When had Potter grown so tall? He had a smudge of stubble across one cheek, as if he had shaved in a hurry and had consequently done a shitty job of it. His hair was still as messy as ever, though shorter, and Draco's gaze was automatically drawn to the faded lightning bolt on his brow, now barely noticeable, especially in the dim light of the men's loo.
Were they fated to conduct confrontations in bathrooms? Draco blinked the thought away, only to discover that Potter had come even closer and was now standing directly in front of him, hot breath wafting into his face along with the evidence of what he'd been drinking. Firewhisky, unless Draco missed his guess, which was unlikely, as he'd spent the evening consuming the same.
“Malfoy, when did you become so hot?” Potter said, shocking Draco into silence. How was he expected to respond to that? Was Potter taking the piss? Was he serious? If he was serious, when did he turn gay?
“Wha?” was all the response Draco could manage, staring at Potter as if he had three heads. But he only had one head and it was currently eyeing Draco up and down, taking a noticeably longer time ogling his groin area. Draco couldn't deny there was some response there, but then again, Potter had grown hot too. He had some musky cologne on, but it didn't overpower the scent of man, sweaty and earthy and oh, so very arousing.
Potter was even closer now, pressing Draco against the door off the loo, his lips drifting nearer and nearer to Draco's. How far was Potter going to take this, anyway?
“Seriously, Malfoy... you're like sex on a stick. A very sexy stick. A stick of sex,” Potter slurred, placing one heavy hand on the door above Draco's shoulder and letting the other slide down Draco's arm. When he reached Draco's hand and their skin touched, Draco felt a tingle begin to form in his belly, quickly shooting out to all his extremities, including his now very interested cock.
“Potter, I... are you sure you know who you're talking to?” Draco forced out, still uncertain that this wasn't some big prank to humiliate him. Perhaps there were Weasleys and whoever that little blond Mudblood was, the one with the camera, waiting behind the stall doors for Draco to respond so they could jump out and laugh at him. And take incriminating pictures to be splashed across the Daily Prophet.
“Why?” Potter said, studying Draco's face intently. “You're still Draco Malfoy, right? Pointy, annoying blond bloke? The one with the snooty stick up his arse? That one?”
“Oi!” Draco exclaimed, but before he could protest any further to Potter's unflattering description, his lips found themselves otherwise occupied, and then Potter's tongue was there, in his mouth and really, there was nothing else to do but kiss back.
And oh, it was hot. So very, very hot. Potter's body pinned him to the door as his tongue and lips pulled out Draco's breath, his soul, like some kind of perverted Dementor. His mouth was on fire, like the whisky they'd both been drinking, his hands suddenly busy, one in Draco's hair, tugging just short of pain, and the other grasping his arse, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises.
And his cock. His cock as a brand against Draco's even through all their clothing, it was hot and hard and damned if Draco's wasn't doing a fine imitation.
Potter must have apparated them out of the loo because the next moment Draco found himself pressed against another surface altogether, this one was cold at his back and there was also a distinct drop in the ambient temperature around them. Draco noticed, but he didn't really care, his hands were too busy hanging on to Potter's surprisingly broad shoulders as if his life depended on it. And perhaps it did, as Potter's hands were now both busy on his arse, lifting him up until Draco's legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The air around them may have been cool, but the kisses certainly weren't.
Potter's mouth was hotter than ever as it sucked and licked a trail down Draco's neck, no doubt leaving teeth marks in its wake. Draco couldn't bring himself to care, provided Potter did not suddenly decide to stop. He seemed to have no intentions of the sort, and soon Draco was clinging to him, taking everything he could and giving back just as much as Potter rutted against him, bringing them both to the edge of climax and tossing them over the cliff without looking, panting and thrusting and clawing at Draco's still-clothed arse, the wall rough against his back. Draco barely noticed it as he gasped out Potter's name, his real name, the given one, the one that Draco had worked so hard at pretending he didn't know in favour of the harsh way 'Potter' could be expelled from his mouth.
But in that moment Potter had become Harry and Draco knew he could never, never go back from that. Finally he knew what he'd wanted from Harry all these years, why every rejection had stung so much, why every snub had left Draco sulking on his bed in the Slytherin dorms, vowing to hate Harry Potter until the wold came crashing down around him.
It did right then, though not in any way Draco might have been expecting, instead with the most powerful climax of his life as he clung desperately to the man who was clinging just as desperately to him. They stilled, all motion leaving them as they swirled down from the high of a lifetime, only to notice their surroundings. Potter backed up slightly, letting Draco's legs fall to the ground, most decidedly unstable, but he didn't let go, his hands grasping Draco's elbows in a steadying grip.
Draco blinked several times and met his eyes, pupils blown so wide they were almost black, the green of his irises an afterthought, lost in a sea of smouldering passion.
“I, um. What was that, exactly? And where are we?” Draco managed, mostly coherently.
“That was the result of eight years of unresolved sexual tension, I think. And we're just outside my flat,” Harry replied, grinning lasciviously at Draco, a word he had never fathomed would apply to any look he would ever receive from Harry Potter. But there was no time to consider the novelty of it all, as the man in question was once again speaking.
“I don't think it's all resolved yet, do you?” he was saying, but Draco was unable to do anything but stare at him blankly. “I'm about ready for round two, and I think we'd better take this inside where I can fuck you comfortably in my bed, rather than against my door.” He pressed his hardening prick against Draco's once more, which brought to his attention the cooling, congealing mess in his pants.
Yes, Harry was right. Getting inside, and out of his pants, was a most excellent idea. The thought of then getting into Harry's bed was even more enticing. He nodded dumbly, unable to form more than the most basic of words, but it was enough. Harry grinned widely and let go, waving one hand over his door and, with a whispered spell, unlocking and opening it. He pulled Draco with the other, manhandling him inside, the heat of the flat washing over him in a wave.
Oh yes. More sex, proper sex, with Harry was a fabulous idea. Draco gave up trying to figure it all out and just went with it, letting Harry take him on the ride of his life, for once giving in to what he wanted, with no thought to the future or the repercussions of shagging the Boy He'd Wanted For Practically Ever.
That had been his first mistake. The second had been when, upon waking up in Harry's bed, warm and sore and utterly at peace with the situation, he had allowed himself to believe even for moment that this is what he could have, truly, for the rest of his life.
It had all gone downhill from there.
7. The Day Draco Has A ‘Talk’
The week was going by slowly. Agonizingly, even. Work was drudgery, with no sign of Harry Potter in the Ministry, and no late-night, unannounced knock on the door of his flat. There were owls however, mainly from his father, demanding that he attend the upcoming Beltane Ball with the Greengrass girl, to which he finally acquiesced. After all, why not make his family happy if he couldn't have what, who, he wanted.
And he wanted, oh so much. He wanted Harry. Harry who had grown up so well, having had proper nutrition throughout the majority of his teen years. He wasn't quite as tall as Draco, but almost, a testament to how tall he would have been had he not been starved as a child. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow. Long arms and legs sported strong, lean muscles, the same that covered his whole body. In turn, they were covered by soft, pale skin and thick, wiry hair. They shifted and bunched under his now much better fitting clothes, drawing Draco's eye whenever they were in the same room. He had grown into his somewhat awkward features, leaving him with a strong, square jaw and a high forehead, now rarely covered with a messy fringe. Harry kept his hair shorter these days, and it suited him. He possessed a casual masculinity that never failed to get Draco's cock to rise. Even his hands were strikingly masculine, long, strong fingers, palms rough with calluses, wide knuckles and bit-off fingernails.
Draco groaned and threw himself back on his bed. No trace of Harry remained, not a hair, not a hint of his cologne. The realisation that there may never be any again was sobering. And depressing. The thought that he'd be forced to sleep in sheets perfumed with whatever Greengrass wore was beyond depressing.
He hadn't agreed to the betrothal yet. He could still refuse, could still find someone to be with. Someone else. Someone not Harry. His stomach clenched at the thought. No, then. If it wasn't going to be Harry, he might as well marry the chit. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, not yet.
Draco sat up suddenly, his head spinning. There was a banging at the door, persistent and heavy, but no, it wasn't Harry's knock. Too fast, too... annoying. Draco laid back down, swearing in frustration. All he wanted to do was hide, ignoring the world until everything he desired appeared in front of him, like magic. Everything being Harry. But even magic couldn't make Harry love him, not really. And Harry had too many suspicious friends for Draco to pull off a love potion or something similar, so it was pointless. Not that he would ever do such a thing. Really.
The banging didn't stop so he dragged himself out of the bed, finally, wondering who the fuck could be pounding so persistently at his door at two in the afternoon on a Thursday. Pulling it open, he had the shock of his life when he saw a mightily pissed off Hermione Granger on the other side. She looked the way she had in third year, right before she'd clocked him in the nose. He took a step back, just to be safe.
“Malfoy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, one foot tapping impatiently.
“Granger,” Draco replied stupidly, still not over the shock of seeing her there.
“Are you going to let me in, or shall we have this discussion here in the corridor?”
“I don't think we have anything to say to each other, Granger,” Draco said with a sneer. All his time spent with Harry had not erased all the old habits, it seemed. He made to close the door, but she pushed it back, inserting herself into the room insistently.
“What have you done to Harry?” she snapped, bringing Draco up short.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Granger?” he snapped back, closing the door after all. It wouldn't do for any of the neighbours to hear, one never knew who might sell news, even false news, to the Daily Prophet and the last thing Draco needed was his name connected to Harry's in print. His father would go spare and Harry would likely blame him and never speak to him again. Not that he would anyway, after Draco had kicked him out the way he had. Still. No need to burn his bridges, however shakily they were built.
“He's been a right moody bitch this last week and I want to know why. I only had to push him for a bit for him to tell me you'd thrown him out and it was probably just sexual frustration, but I can't fathom why he'd care all that much that you won't let him fuck you anymore, so there has to be something else. So, what did you do to him?”
She appeared to have said all that without stopping to breathe. Draco couldn't help but wonder if it was a spell, or if she always talked that way. He forced himself to focus on her words, before she decided to go all third year on him. They'd grown up since then, and she'd hit him pretty hard that time. She would probably break his nose this time, and he wasn't in the mood for any more pain.
“So Potty's got himself in a piss of a mood because I refuse to let him take advantage of me anymore? I don't see how that's my problem, Granger,” Draco said, sneering again. He seemed to do that a lot in the company of self-righteous Gryffindors. It wasn't his best look, so maybe this was for the best. If he and Harry ever did have a relationship, in some alternate universe where he hadn't fucked things up from the first day of their acquaintance, he'd have to actually make an effort to restrain himself. He wasn't sure if he possessed that much will power.
“Harry, taking advantage of you?” Granger scoffed. “As if he'd have looked your way, if you hadn't thrown yourself at him. You're overestimating your importance in the grand scheme of things, you miserable prick.”
“Now, now, Granger, no need to get all mushy on me,” Draco drawled. “But let's get to the point, shall we? He's the one who threw himself at me, and I'm the one who's put up with his inexperienced pawing, clearly out of some form of misplaced gratitude for his testimony on behalf of myself and my parents, so if I choose to end this little fling, then it's none of your damn business.”
He stepped forward and opened the door, gesturing for her to leave. “You can tell him to grow a pair and treat me with a little more deference, as is my due, or find some other poor schmuck to fuck and run. As it is, I'm done with his bullshit, and I called him on it. I have better things to do than wait around for him to realise I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him, and he's been lucky to have me these months. Now get out before I throw you out, you puffed up Muggle.”
She turned as red as Weasley's hair at that last insult, and Draco felt rather proud of himself as she stormed out of the door and down the hall without another word. He slammed the door behind her, for good measure, before stomping back to his room and throwing himself on the bed once more. Life was so unfair, and fate continued to kick him in the balls. Harry would never want him again, not after what he'd called the frizzy wonder. He was so very loyal to his friends, like an overgrown puppy, and Draco would never be one of them.
Their first night came back to him, all the memories and emotions flooded the crevices of his mind as if it was yesterday. He could practically smell the tang of piss and see the alcohol fumes that had surrounded Potter like a haze. Then, he’d almost let himself believe it meant something.
But no, he was just another bone, to be chewed up and buried, left forgotten to rot in a hole somewhere, while Harry found someone more tasty to fuck.
Okay, so he’d lost the analogy there at the end. Bugger it.
“Argh!” Draco screamed into his pillow. He couldn't even keep his analogies straight. This Harry thing was fucking him right up. He should have just walked away that night, he should have ignored the half drunk Potter that had accosted him in that god-forsaken loo, and pretended that he had never wanted the bastard.
Draco let out another scream of frustration, getting up off the bed again. He began rummaging through his clothes, pulling them on quickly. He had to get out of this flat, away from the bed that, while it may not smell like Harry any longer, held too many memories for Draco's peace of mind.
Somehow he'd gotten emotionally invested in this thing they'd begun. Oh, who was he kidding, he'd been emotionally invested from the start. He'd quickly learned that not all Gryffindors wanted love and romance and a partner to share their lives with, or rather, this particular Gryffindor didn't want that. From Draco at least. He was perfectly happy just fucking Draco on the side, using him for sex until the real thing came back into his life.
Once dressed, he flooed directly to Pansy's flat, knowing she would be home at this time on a Thursday. He needed some retail therapy, and someone to knock some sense into his clearly addled brain. Pansy had always been good at that.
4. The Day Draco Stared Longingly Down The Corridor
When they ran into each other at the Ministry, Harry was cold. So cold, one would think there was a history of enmity behind them. There was, but that was beside the point. The point being the fact that they'd been fucking for months, passion and heat burning away everything else there was between them. But the heat never lasted, an icy distance always seeped in.
Harry Potter had defied expectations and, instead of becoming an Auror or a high profile Seeker, had opened an investigation firm. It wasn't much of a firm, considering he was the only investigator. But then again, he hadn't been open for very long and he did work with the Ministry on an occasional basis, so it wouldn't be long before he had an office swarming with self-righteous Gryffindor go-getters brimming over with investigative prowess.
Draco would never be one of them, he was far too pragmatic for that. It was just another reason why it would never work out between him and Harry, their outlooks were just so different. That and the lack of any kind of public acknowledgement. As if Draco was a non-entity outside of the bedroom of his stylish flat on Parall Alley.
“Malfoy,” Harry said, nodding his head as he passed Draco in the corridor near the Department of Magical Oddities. Draco had worked his arse off to get his position as Junior Tinkerer, although he was well aware that Harry's testimony had been the deciding factor. His cold, objective testimony.
What would Harry's fans and sycophants think if they knew he spent so many nights in Draco's bed, shagging him into the mattress, against the wall, in the bath, wherever they happened to end up before the heat rose and passion took them again?
But did it really matter? What did it count for? When Harry could not even spare him a glance in public, much less a word. When his father pressed ever harder for him to acquiesce to nuptials with the Greengrass girl. And he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that Harry would no longer touch him if he did agree. That it would be over then just as certainly as it would be when the Weasley girl came back to claim her place at Harry's side.
Draco was struck by sudden despair at the knowledge, the fact of their ending. He turned, watching Harry stride down the hall, no doubt to visit Arthur Weasley in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department. The man had been offered a better position but had refused it, preferring to stay where he was, a position he enjoyed all the more with an increase in salary. Once Harry had passed from sight, Draco scoffed.
In a way Draco envied Arthur Weasley, something that Draco’s father would be enraged and disgusted to hear. To hold a position he loved, revelling every day in the job he did, with no need to turn his thoughts to rising to a more vaulted place. Draco could not afford such a luxury, though his job satisfied him well enough. To rise to head of the Department was all he desired; a bit more challenge, added responsibility, that was all he wished. That and Harry, in public and in private.
Yet such was not enough for Lucius Malfoy. He would have Draco in a position of power, deep in the games and deceits of politics. That Draco had no mind for it mattered to him not at all.
“Malfoy?”
He started, drawn back to the present by a harsh voice.
“Is there a reason you are standing in the corridor like an imbecile? I was told you were of some intelligence, please tell me it was not a mistake to hire you.”
“I'm sorry, I was just distracted,” Draco replied. Harmen Bastien was an unforgiving employer, but fair. He looked down on Draco, but wasn't above admitting that he had a talent for the job. All in all, things could be worse.
Then again, things could be better.
“Well, your work won't do itself, so you'd better get back to it,” Bastien said, turning and gesturing toward the door. Draco took one more look in the direction Harry had gone before sighing and trudging back to his cubicle where an array of mis-charmed and malfunctioning knick-knacks demanded his attention. For the most part.
8. The Time In Between
The weeks passed, slower than any other Draco had suffered through in his life. Even when Voldemort had taken over the Manor, even during that year of hell, he'd clung to the hope that Harry would come through for him. For everyone. And now, it was only Draco on the line, Draco's heart that hung in the balance, but the hope, the belief that, one day, Harry would come through for him, had long since curled up into a ball and died, shrivelled up until it was practically non existent. Still, something had survived the revelations that had come the night he'd kicked Harry out of his flat. It had seemed impossible to hang on to such a small hope, but apparently, Draco was a fool beyond all reason.
Pansy had kept him occupied, of course, and there were also the weekly meetings with his father. He had agreed to take Astoria to the blasted Beltane Ball, but he hadn't agreed to the betrothal. He felt fairly certain that he would but...not yet. Not until that dried up ball of hope went up in a burst of flames, which it would no doubt do the night of the Ball. Harry was sure to be there too, Merlin knows what poor sod would be his date for the evening. If it turned out to be the Weasley girl, Draco's head might explode. Or his heart.
On the other hand, that would definitely kill the smidgen of hope he had left, and perhaps that was just what the Healer ordered, just what he needed to get his life back on track again. Marrying Astoria wouldn't be too bad, she was a pleasant enough girl, really. It wasn't even that she was a girl, per se, Draco was sure he could get it up for her if his duties required him to. It was just that she wasn't Harry.
The problem was, that seemed to be all that mattered.
2. The Morning The Regrets, And Confusion, Set In
When Harry had woken to the sight of Draco watching him, he jumped clear out of the bed, staring down at Draco as if there were a blast Ended Skrewt in his bed, instead of Draco's sleek and naked body.
“Malfoy,” he said nervously, cupping his genitals with one hand while running the other through his already messy hair. “Uh, what are you doing here? Still.”
Draco frowned at the implication that he should had left already, after all, it had been Harry who had accosted him and apparated them there without asking for permission. Git.
“I was asleep. Considering my state of intoxication and then the way you shagged me into exhaustion, I hadn't got around to leaving yet,” Draco drawled. “Problem?”
“Yeah, I...well, I don't know what to say,” Harry said, looking anywhere but the bare skin displayed in his bed, and Draco's chest ached with hurt. Hadn't Harry called him sexy, just last night? Among a torrent of other compliments?
“It's been fun?” Harry tried, grinning nervously. “Thanks for the shag? See you around? It’s not like this could last, might as well make a clean break, yeah?”
“Seriously?” Draco asked, shaking his head, but Harry didn't have an answer for him, he just shifted from foot to foot and looked anywhere but at Draco.
“Fine,” Draco said, throwing himself out of the bed and following the trail of clothes they'd left into the sitting room. He pulled them on as he picked them up, anger taking the place of hurt, for now anyway. After everything Harry had said last night, after the passion and intensity he'd shown while shagging Draco into a sated stupor, the cold shoulder stung like a lemon squeezed into a paper cut.
“Have a nice life, Scarhead,” Draco shouted over his shoulder, slamming the door of the flat on the way out. He fully intended to storm off and find a place to apparate, but instead found himself leaning back against the door, breathing through the desire to open it again and send his nastiest hex in Harry's direction. How dare the prat get Draco all lathered up and then just kick him out? He at least deserved breakfast. Or another shag. Or several.
The anger was fading into hurt again, so Draco forced himself away from the door and walked away, with much less force than he'd envisioned only moments earlier. Leave it to Harry Potter to fuck with his head and leave him wanting more. So what else was new?
Part 2
Pairing:Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non chronological order. Smut. A ‘plot’ that only exists to drive the porn. Is that a warning?
Story notes: Eternal thanks to 7ofeleven and nikki4noo who polished this thing up for me, and it needed a good spit shine, let me tell you. ♥ ya both.
Word count: 13,000 ish
Summary: Harry and Draco are in love. But love doesn’t sail smoothly when you’re too busy putting up walls to see that it’s in your hands. A series of episodes that, hopefully, tell their story.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Author's Note: Written for the 2011 fest at hds_beltane for my wonderful friend, twistedm. This fic travelled a few roads with regard to plot, and then ended up where it is, much to my relief. I had a few snaffu’s while I was trying to finish it, but it’s finally done and polished up, and now posted on my lj woo! Accomplishment!
5. The Night Draco Knew Something Had To Change
At times like this, Harry was hot. Skin on skin, hands grasping and sliding, clutching at each other, tongues and teeth and stubble-scraped cheeks. They rutted feverishly, chasing each other down until they caught their orgasms at last, their chest heaving from the rush, breathing in the heavy scent of sex and sweat--oh yes, this, this was as hot as it gets.
Inevitably, sweat evaporated and panting subsided, and Draco could feel the cold front moving in as they lay in silence, until finally Harry pulled himself up off the bed and rummaged through the detritus left behind, searching for his clothes.
Draco didn't move, hoping that by staying still, silent, perhaps he could hang on to that heat for a just another minute, but it never worked. Soon enough Harry was dressed, dropping a kiss onto Draco's clammy forehead and murmuring something to placate him. 'Early day tomorrow', 'meeting Ron for a drink', 'got a case to research'; each excuse the same as the previous one, all of them saying one thing.
'Thanks for the fuck, Malfoy. See you around.'
Draco couldn't fault him for it, this was never supposed to be serious, just fighting that turned into fucking, which turned into a series of fucks, and Draco knew it wasn't going anywhere. Where could it go? Harry may be single at the moment, but it was only a matter of time before his One True Love returned from her studies somewhere in Europe, fuck if Draco knew where, and they got married and lived forever in ginger bliss. Not like he cared, anyway.
Besides, Draco was all but betrothed to Astoria Greengrass, lovely and blonde and perfectly pureblooded, the ideal candidate to be the next Lady Malfoy. Never mind that Draco had spoken to her outside of Hogwarts a bare six times, while at school their dialogue consisted of greetings and small talk, and always in a group. Never mind that his father had done all the arranging, without any input from Draco. Or that he'd rather spend his time getting plowed by Harry Potter than...well, than practically anything else.
Draco hauled himself out of the bed, out of sheets still damp with the results of their exertions. He stood for a moment, pondering the idea of leaving them until Harry’s scent had faded, but he called for a house elf to remake the bed instead. The last thing he needed was to sleep in sheets scented with Harry; as if he needed to be more fixated than he already was.
3. The Day Draco was Accosted at the Ministry
Draco was just minding his own business, strolling down the corridor to his office. By office, he meant cubicle. Not just any cubicle, not for Draco Malfoy, no. He had been given the smallest, dingiest cubicle in the department, all the way in the back. He didn't mind though, a few handy charms gave it some light and colour, and it was quiet and private and no one ever bothered him there. With judicious use of wizarding space, he had all the room he needed and then some. Why no one else seemed to think of that, he had no idea.
He was humming merrily to himself as he went, it was amazing what regular sex did for a mood. It had been three days since Harry had last knocked on the door of his flat but, considering the timing of their trysts so far, he would likely show up again that very evening.
They never made plans to see each other and they never went out. In fact, Draco had never even been to Harry's flat after that first time, for the simple fact that he had never needed to seek Harry out. Harry always came to him, not that Draco had any illusions about what that meant.
Harry never spoke a word beyond what was necessary to get into Draco's pants, not that it took much effort as Draco was always willing. No, Harry had barely said anything to him since the first night, the night he told Draco how sexy he was before pinning him to the door of the loo and snogging his brains out.
Oh, he hadn’t minded. He was still shagging Harry after all, and that had to count for something, right? He was better off than anyone else in Britain, as far as he knew. The fact that their relationship, if what they were doing could be labelled as such, was so transient, so uncertain, well it hadn't occurred to Draco to mind. Yet.
At this moment however, Draco's mind was filled with different thoughts, leaning toward a more visceral remembering of Harry. Naked, panting and sweaty, leaning over him, being inside him, that intense look in fathomless green eyes as he pounded Draco like a champion.
Draco let out a rather girly shriek when an arm shot out from a side corridor and pulled him in. He found himself pressed against the wall, a hard body holding him, muscled arms forming a cage around his head, hips pinning his to the wall with ease. Draco had no desire to struggle, the presence of Harry, the familiar heat, oh, how he wanted it. There was a flash of green before his mouth was forced open by the weight of a persistent tongue, the scent of Harry's cologne crashing into his senses as he kissed back, suddenly clinging.
Then there was a new hardness, hot and throbbing, or so Draco imagined, the layers of their clothing a barrier that was suddenly excruciating. He moaned without attempting restraint, grinding his hips forward, answering pressure with pressure. Harry moaned back, his mouth releasing Draco's and moving instead to his neck, soft lips and spiky stubble creating a dichotomy of sensations, all of which shot straight to his cock as Harry sucked love bites along the column of Draco's neck.
“Ngh,” was all Draco was able to convey as a deft hand dropped to their groins, rubbing hard at Draco's cock for a moment before finally unbuckling his belt, trousers soon following. Somewhere, on some level, Draco knew that this was not the best place, but with Harry's hand brushing his cock as he unfastened his own clothes, Draco could not muster the strength to reply. Or the will. Foolish or not, he wanted this. He'd take anything of Harry that he could get, wherever they were.
And then there was more heat, smooth skin encasing an erection that could fuck through a wall, Draco imagined, and it was pressed up against his own, Harry's large hand clutching their cocks together even as his hips pressed Draco back against the wall. He had nowhere to go, even if he'd wanted it.
Which he didn't. Harry was jerking them off now, strong, hard strokes as his lips made their way back up to Draco's mouth. Their kisses were messier than before, losing cohesion as they raced toward the fastest, most intense climax of Draco's life. Then again, every climax with Harry felt that way.
Then Harry gasped and growled, biting down on Draco's lower lip ferociously, the taste of blood mingling unpleasantly with the taste of Harry, but even that was not enough to keep Draco's orgasm from crashing over him. He Harry’s lip in return, drinking in a hiss as Harry came, his release joining Draco's in a sticky mess, all over his hand, their cocks and, inevitably, their clothes.
They panted in the aftermath, moments ticking by while Draco regained his senses, his brain trying to catch up with all that had occurred. Before it could, Harry pushed back off the wall with the hand still braced beside Draco's head, muttering a cleaning spell and removing any trace of their activities from their skin and clothing. Draco bit back a whimper when the tingles rushed over the sensitive skin of his cock, the feeling intensified by the cold air that had rushed in at Harry's sudden distance.
“Love your arse in those slacks, Malfoy,” Harry said with a wink, sucking one more time on Draco's bottom lip before tucking himself in perfunctorily and turning to walk away.
“Potter, what the fuck?” Draco snarled, refastening his own clothing before someone came by and saw him there, his face and neck no doubt red from Harry's exertions, his limp, sated cock dangling out of his pants. Not the most dignified pose, that.
“Couldn't resist,” Harry said, giving Draco another wink, not at all attractively. “See you around, Malfoy,” he said, striding down the corridor, leaving Draco behind, as always, confused and wanting more.
1. The Night It All Started To Go Downhill
“Mafloy, wait up a sec,” came the slurred but familiar voice, as Draco made to open the door. Sure, he'd noticed Potter entering the room behind him as he'd emptied his bladder into the urinal, but he had hoped to escape before the drunken buffoon noticed him. He was halfway pissed himself, and Potter was unpredictable, one never knew what he would do when provoked and Draco definitely had a talent for provoking him. No, it was best to flee before the shite hit the fan... err, perhaps a less visceral metaphor, considering their current location.
“Can I help you, Potter?” Draco replied, turning to face him with arms crossed defensively. He imagined he could feel the ache in his scars, despite the fact that Snape and Pomfrey had managed to eradicate any reminder of the spell that had shredded his chest like so much cabbage.
“You sure can,” Potter said with a lopsided leer. The man couldn't even leer right. What a waste of skin. A waste that was approaching Draco rather surefootedly, considering his apparent state of intoxication. When had Potter grown so tall? He had a smudge of stubble across one cheek, as if he had shaved in a hurry and had consequently done a shitty job of it. His hair was still as messy as ever, though shorter, and Draco's gaze was automatically drawn to the faded lightning bolt on his brow, now barely noticeable, especially in the dim light of the men's loo.
Were they fated to conduct confrontations in bathrooms? Draco blinked the thought away, only to discover that Potter had come even closer and was now standing directly in front of him, hot breath wafting into his face along with the evidence of what he'd been drinking. Firewhisky, unless Draco missed his guess, which was unlikely, as he'd spent the evening consuming the same.
“Malfoy, when did you become so hot?” Potter said, shocking Draco into silence. How was he expected to respond to that? Was Potter taking the piss? Was he serious? If he was serious, when did he turn gay?
“Wha?” was all the response Draco could manage, staring at Potter as if he had three heads. But he only had one head and it was currently eyeing Draco up and down, taking a noticeably longer time ogling his groin area. Draco couldn't deny there was some response there, but then again, Potter had grown hot too. He had some musky cologne on, but it didn't overpower the scent of man, sweaty and earthy and oh, so very arousing.
Potter was even closer now, pressing Draco against the door off the loo, his lips drifting nearer and nearer to Draco's. How far was Potter going to take this, anyway?
“Seriously, Malfoy... you're like sex on a stick. A very sexy stick. A stick of sex,” Potter slurred, placing one heavy hand on the door above Draco's shoulder and letting the other slide down Draco's arm. When he reached Draco's hand and their skin touched, Draco felt a tingle begin to form in his belly, quickly shooting out to all his extremities, including his now very interested cock.
“Potter, I... are you sure you know who you're talking to?” Draco forced out, still uncertain that this wasn't some big prank to humiliate him. Perhaps there were Weasleys and whoever that little blond Mudblood was, the one with the camera, waiting behind the stall doors for Draco to respond so they could jump out and laugh at him. And take incriminating pictures to be splashed across the Daily Prophet.
“Why?” Potter said, studying Draco's face intently. “You're still Draco Malfoy, right? Pointy, annoying blond bloke? The one with the snooty stick up his arse? That one?”
“Oi!” Draco exclaimed, but before he could protest any further to Potter's unflattering description, his lips found themselves otherwise occupied, and then Potter's tongue was there, in his mouth and really, there was nothing else to do but kiss back.
And oh, it was hot. So very, very hot. Potter's body pinned him to the door as his tongue and lips pulled out Draco's breath, his soul, like some kind of perverted Dementor. His mouth was on fire, like the whisky they'd both been drinking, his hands suddenly busy, one in Draco's hair, tugging just short of pain, and the other grasping his arse, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises.
And his cock. His cock as a brand against Draco's even through all their clothing, it was hot and hard and damned if Draco's wasn't doing a fine imitation.
Potter must have apparated them out of the loo because the next moment Draco found himself pressed against another surface altogether, this one was cold at his back and there was also a distinct drop in the ambient temperature around them. Draco noticed, but he didn't really care, his hands were too busy hanging on to Potter's surprisingly broad shoulders as if his life depended on it. And perhaps it did, as Potter's hands were now both busy on his arse, lifting him up until Draco's legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The air around them may have been cool, but the kisses certainly weren't.
Potter's mouth was hotter than ever as it sucked and licked a trail down Draco's neck, no doubt leaving teeth marks in its wake. Draco couldn't bring himself to care, provided Potter did not suddenly decide to stop. He seemed to have no intentions of the sort, and soon Draco was clinging to him, taking everything he could and giving back just as much as Potter rutted against him, bringing them both to the edge of climax and tossing them over the cliff without looking, panting and thrusting and clawing at Draco's still-clothed arse, the wall rough against his back. Draco barely noticed it as he gasped out Potter's name, his real name, the given one, the one that Draco had worked so hard at pretending he didn't know in favour of the harsh way 'Potter' could be expelled from his mouth.
But in that moment Potter had become Harry and Draco knew he could never, never go back from that. Finally he knew what he'd wanted from Harry all these years, why every rejection had stung so much, why every snub had left Draco sulking on his bed in the Slytherin dorms, vowing to hate Harry Potter until the wold came crashing down around him.
It did right then, though not in any way Draco might have been expecting, instead with the most powerful climax of his life as he clung desperately to the man who was clinging just as desperately to him. They stilled, all motion leaving them as they swirled down from the high of a lifetime, only to notice their surroundings. Potter backed up slightly, letting Draco's legs fall to the ground, most decidedly unstable, but he didn't let go, his hands grasping Draco's elbows in a steadying grip.
Draco blinked several times and met his eyes, pupils blown so wide they were almost black, the green of his irises an afterthought, lost in a sea of smouldering passion.
“I, um. What was that, exactly? And where are we?” Draco managed, mostly coherently.
“That was the result of eight years of unresolved sexual tension, I think. And we're just outside my flat,” Harry replied, grinning lasciviously at Draco, a word he had never fathomed would apply to any look he would ever receive from Harry Potter. But there was no time to consider the novelty of it all, as the man in question was once again speaking.
“I don't think it's all resolved yet, do you?” he was saying, but Draco was unable to do anything but stare at him blankly. “I'm about ready for round two, and I think we'd better take this inside where I can fuck you comfortably in my bed, rather than against my door.” He pressed his hardening prick against Draco's once more, which brought to his attention the cooling, congealing mess in his pants.
Yes, Harry was right. Getting inside, and out of his pants, was a most excellent idea. The thought of then getting into Harry's bed was even more enticing. He nodded dumbly, unable to form more than the most basic of words, but it was enough. Harry grinned widely and let go, waving one hand over his door and, with a whispered spell, unlocking and opening it. He pulled Draco with the other, manhandling him inside, the heat of the flat washing over him in a wave.
Oh yes. More sex, proper sex, with Harry was a fabulous idea. Draco gave up trying to figure it all out and just went with it, letting Harry take him on the ride of his life, for once giving in to what he wanted, with no thought to the future or the repercussions of shagging the Boy He'd Wanted For Practically Ever.
That had been his first mistake. The second had been when, upon waking up in Harry's bed, warm and sore and utterly at peace with the situation, he had allowed himself to believe even for moment that this is what he could have, truly, for the rest of his life.
It had all gone downhill from there.
7. The Day Draco Has A ‘Talk’
The week was going by slowly. Agonizingly, even. Work was drudgery, with no sign of Harry Potter in the Ministry, and no late-night, unannounced knock on the door of his flat. There were owls however, mainly from his father, demanding that he attend the upcoming Beltane Ball with the Greengrass girl, to which he finally acquiesced. After all, why not make his family happy if he couldn't have what, who, he wanted.
And he wanted, oh so much. He wanted Harry. Harry who had grown up so well, having had proper nutrition throughout the majority of his teen years. He wasn't quite as tall as Draco, but almost, a testament to how tall he would have been had he not been starved as a child. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow. Long arms and legs sported strong, lean muscles, the same that covered his whole body. In turn, they were covered by soft, pale skin and thick, wiry hair. They shifted and bunched under his now much better fitting clothes, drawing Draco's eye whenever they were in the same room. He had grown into his somewhat awkward features, leaving him with a strong, square jaw and a high forehead, now rarely covered with a messy fringe. Harry kept his hair shorter these days, and it suited him. He possessed a casual masculinity that never failed to get Draco's cock to rise. Even his hands were strikingly masculine, long, strong fingers, palms rough with calluses, wide knuckles and bit-off fingernails.
Draco groaned and threw himself back on his bed. No trace of Harry remained, not a hair, not a hint of his cologne. The realisation that there may never be any again was sobering. And depressing. The thought that he'd be forced to sleep in sheets perfumed with whatever Greengrass wore was beyond depressing.
He hadn't agreed to the betrothal yet. He could still refuse, could still find someone to be with. Someone else. Someone not Harry. His stomach clenched at the thought. No, then. If it wasn't going to be Harry, he might as well marry the chit. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, not yet.
Draco sat up suddenly, his head spinning. There was a banging at the door, persistent and heavy, but no, it wasn't Harry's knock. Too fast, too... annoying. Draco laid back down, swearing in frustration. All he wanted to do was hide, ignoring the world until everything he desired appeared in front of him, like magic. Everything being Harry. But even magic couldn't make Harry love him, not really. And Harry had too many suspicious friends for Draco to pull off a love potion or something similar, so it was pointless. Not that he would ever do such a thing. Really.
The banging didn't stop so he dragged himself out of the bed, finally, wondering who the fuck could be pounding so persistently at his door at two in the afternoon on a Thursday. Pulling it open, he had the shock of his life when he saw a mightily pissed off Hermione Granger on the other side. She looked the way she had in third year, right before she'd clocked him in the nose. He took a step back, just to be safe.
“Malfoy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, one foot tapping impatiently.
“Granger,” Draco replied stupidly, still not over the shock of seeing her there.
“Are you going to let me in, or shall we have this discussion here in the corridor?”
“I don't think we have anything to say to each other, Granger,” Draco said with a sneer. All his time spent with Harry had not erased all the old habits, it seemed. He made to close the door, but she pushed it back, inserting herself into the room insistently.
“What have you done to Harry?” she snapped, bringing Draco up short.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Granger?” he snapped back, closing the door after all. It wouldn't do for any of the neighbours to hear, one never knew who might sell news, even false news, to the Daily Prophet and the last thing Draco needed was his name connected to Harry's in print. His father would go spare and Harry would likely blame him and never speak to him again. Not that he would anyway, after Draco had kicked him out the way he had. Still. No need to burn his bridges, however shakily they were built.
“He's been a right moody bitch this last week and I want to know why. I only had to push him for a bit for him to tell me you'd thrown him out and it was probably just sexual frustration, but I can't fathom why he'd care all that much that you won't let him fuck you anymore, so there has to be something else. So, what did you do to him?”
She appeared to have said all that without stopping to breathe. Draco couldn't help but wonder if it was a spell, or if she always talked that way. He forced himself to focus on her words, before she decided to go all third year on him. They'd grown up since then, and she'd hit him pretty hard that time. She would probably break his nose this time, and he wasn't in the mood for any more pain.
“So Potty's got himself in a piss of a mood because I refuse to let him take advantage of me anymore? I don't see how that's my problem, Granger,” Draco said, sneering again. He seemed to do that a lot in the company of self-righteous Gryffindors. It wasn't his best look, so maybe this was for the best. If he and Harry ever did have a relationship, in some alternate universe where he hadn't fucked things up from the first day of their acquaintance, he'd have to actually make an effort to restrain himself. He wasn't sure if he possessed that much will power.
“Harry, taking advantage of you?” Granger scoffed. “As if he'd have looked your way, if you hadn't thrown yourself at him. You're overestimating your importance in the grand scheme of things, you miserable prick.”
“Now, now, Granger, no need to get all mushy on me,” Draco drawled. “But let's get to the point, shall we? He's the one who threw himself at me, and I'm the one who's put up with his inexperienced pawing, clearly out of some form of misplaced gratitude for his testimony on behalf of myself and my parents, so if I choose to end this little fling, then it's none of your damn business.”
He stepped forward and opened the door, gesturing for her to leave. “You can tell him to grow a pair and treat me with a little more deference, as is my due, or find some other poor schmuck to fuck and run. As it is, I'm done with his bullshit, and I called him on it. I have better things to do than wait around for him to realise I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him, and he's been lucky to have me these months. Now get out before I throw you out, you puffed up Muggle.”
She turned as red as Weasley's hair at that last insult, and Draco felt rather proud of himself as she stormed out of the door and down the hall without another word. He slammed the door behind her, for good measure, before stomping back to his room and throwing himself on the bed once more. Life was so unfair, and fate continued to kick him in the balls. Harry would never want him again, not after what he'd called the frizzy wonder. He was so very loyal to his friends, like an overgrown puppy, and Draco would never be one of them.
Their first night came back to him, all the memories and emotions flooded the crevices of his mind as if it was yesterday. He could practically smell the tang of piss and see the alcohol fumes that had surrounded Potter like a haze. Then, he’d almost let himself believe it meant something.
But no, he was just another bone, to be chewed up and buried, left forgotten to rot in a hole somewhere, while Harry found someone more tasty to fuck.
Okay, so he’d lost the analogy there at the end. Bugger it.
“Argh!” Draco screamed into his pillow. He couldn't even keep his analogies straight. This Harry thing was fucking him right up. He should have just walked away that night, he should have ignored the half drunk Potter that had accosted him in that god-forsaken loo, and pretended that he had never wanted the bastard.
Draco let out another scream of frustration, getting up off the bed again. He began rummaging through his clothes, pulling them on quickly. He had to get out of this flat, away from the bed that, while it may not smell like Harry any longer, held too many memories for Draco's peace of mind.
Somehow he'd gotten emotionally invested in this thing they'd begun. Oh, who was he kidding, he'd been emotionally invested from the start. He'd quickly learned that not all Gryffindors wanted love and romance and a partner to share their lives with, or rather, this particular Gryffindor didn't want that. From Draco at least. He was perfectly happy just fucking Draco on the side, using him for sex until the real thing came back into his life.
Once dressed, he flooed directly to Pansy's flat, knowing she would be home at this time on a Thursday. He needed some retail therapy, and someone to knock some sense into his clearly addled brain. Pansy had always been good at that.
4. The Day Draco Stared Longingly Down The Corridor
When they ran into each other at the Ministry, Harry was cold. So cold, one would think there was a history of enmity behind them. There was, but that was beside the point. The point being the fact that they'd been fucking for months, passion and heat burning away everything else there was between them. But the heat never lasted, an icy distance always seeped in.
Harry Potter had defied expectations and, instead of becoming an Auror or a high profile Seeker, had opened an investigation firm. It wasn't much of a firm, considering he was the only investigator. But then again, he hadn't been open for very long and he did work with the Ministry on an occasional basis, so it wouldn't be long before he had an office swarming with self-righteous Gryffindor go-getters brimming over with investigative prowess.
Draco would never be one of them, he was far too pragmatic for that. It was just another reason why it would never work out between him and Harry, their outlooks were just so different. That and the lack of any kind of public acknowledgement. As if Draco was a non-entity outside of the bedroom of his stylish flat on Parall Alley.
“Malfoy,” Harry said, nodding his head as he passed Draco in the corridor near the Department of Magical Oddities. Draco had worked his arse off to get his position as Junior Tinkerer, although he was well aware that Harry's testimony had been the deciding factor. His cold, objective testimony.
What would Harry's fans and sycophants think if they knew he spent so many nights in Draco's bed, shagging him into the mattress, against the wall, in the bath, wherever they happened to end up before the heat rose and passion took them again?
But did it really matter? What did it count for? When Harry could not even spare him a glance in public, much less a word. When his father pressed ever harder for him to acquiesce to nuptials with the Greengrass girl. And he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that Harry would no longer touch him if he did agree. That it would be over then just as certainly as it would be when the Weasley girl came back to claim her place at Harry's side.
Draco was struck by sudden despair at the knowledge, the fact of their ending. He turned, watching Harry stride down the hall, no doubt to visit Arthur Weasley in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department. The man had been offered a better position but had refused it, preferring to stay where he was, a position he enjoyed all the more with an increase in salary. Once Harry had passed from sight, Draco scoffed.
In a way Draco envied Arthur Weasley, something that Draco’s father would be enraged and disgusted to hear. To hold a position he loved, revelling every day in the job he did, with no need to turn his thoughts to rising to a more vaulted place. Draco could not afford such a luxury, though his job satisfied him well enough. To rise to head of the Department was all he desired; a bit more challenge, added responsibility, that was all he wished. That and Harry, in public and in private.
Yet such was not enough for Lucius Malfoy. He would have Draco in a position of power, deep in the games and deceits of politics. That Draco had no mind for it mattered to him not at all.
“Malfoy?”
He started, drawn back to the present by a harsh voice.
“Is there a reason you are standing in the corridor like an imbecile? I was told you were of some intelligence, please tell me it was not a mistake to hire you.”
“I'm sorry, I was just distracted,” Draco replied. Harmen Bastien was an unforgiving employer, but fair. He looked down on Draco, but wasn't above admitting that he had a talent for the job. All in all, things could be worse.
Then again, things could be better.
“Well, your work won't do itself, so you'd better get back to it,” Bastien said, turning and gesturing toward the door. Draco took one more look in the direction Harry had gone before sighing and trudging back to his cubicle where an array of mis-charmed and malfunctioning knick-knacks demanded his attention. For the most part.
8. The Time In Between
The weeks passed, slower than any other Draco had suffered through in his life. Even when Voldemort had taken over the Manor, even during that year of hell, he'd clung to the hope that Harry would come through for him. For everyone. And now, it was only Draco on the line, Draco's heart that hung in the balance, but the hope, the belief that, one day, Harry would come through for him, had long since curled up into a ball and died, shrivelled up until it was practically non existent. Still, something had survived the revelations that had come the night he'd kicked Harry out of his flat. It had seemed impossible to hang on to such a small hope, but apparently, Draco was a fool beyond all reason.
Pansy had kept him occupied, of course, and there were also the weekly meetings with his father. He had agreed to take Astoria to the blasted Beltane Ball, but he hadn't agreed to the betrothal. He felt fairly certain that he would but...not yet. Not until that dried up ball of hope went up in a burst of flames, which it would no doubt do the night of the Ball. Harry was sure to be there too, Merlin knows what poor sod would be his date for the evening. If it turned out to be the Weasley girl, Draco's head might explode. Or his heart.
On the other hand, that would definitely kill the smidgen of hope he had left, and perhaps that was just what the Healer ordered, just what he needed to get his life back on track again. Marrying Astoria wouldn't be too bad, she was a pleasant enough girl, really. It wasn't even that she was a girl, per se, Draco was sure he could get it up for her if his duties required him to. It was just that she wasn't Harry.
The problem was, that seemed to be all that mattered.
2. The Morning The Regrets, And Confusion, Set In
When Harry had woken to the sight of Draco watching him, he jumped clear out of the bed, staring down at Draco as if there were a blast Ended Skrewt in his bed, instead of Draco's sleek and naked body.
“Malfoy,” he said nervously, cupping his genitals with one hand while running the other through his already messy hair. “Uh, what are you doing here? Still.”
Draco frowned at the implication that he should had left already, after all, it had been Harry who had accosted him and apparated them there without asking for permission. Git.
“I was asleep. Considering my state of intoxication and then the way you shagged me into exhaustion, I hadn't got around to leaving yet,” Draco drawled. “Problem?”
“Yeah, I...well, I don't know what to say,” Harry said, looking anywhere but the bare skin displayed in his bed, and Draco's chest ached with hurt. Hadn't Harry called him sexy, just last night? Among a torrent of other compliments?
“It's been fun?” Harry tried, grinning nervously. “Thanks for the shag? See you around? It’s not like this could last, might as well make a clean break, yeah?”
“Seriously?” Draco asked, shaking his head, but Harry didn't have an answer for him, he just shifted from foot to foot and looked anywhere but at Draco.
“Fine,” Draco said, throwing himself out of the bed and following the trail of clothes they'd left into the sitting room. He pulled them on as he picked them up, anger taking the place of hurt, for now anyway. After everything Harry had said last night, after the passion and intensity he'd shown while shagging Draco into a sated stupor, the cold shoulder stung like a lemon squeezed into a paper cut.
“Have a nice life, Scarhead,” Draco shouted over his shoulder, slamming the door of the flat on the way out. He fully intended to storm off and find a place to apparate, but instead found himself leaning back against the door, breathing through the desire to open it again and send his nastiest hex in Harry's direction. How dare the prat get Draco all lathered up and then just kick him out? He at least deserved breakfast. Or another shag. Or several.
The anger was fading into hurt again, so Draco forced himself away from the door and walked away, with much less force than he'd envisioned only moments earlier. Leave it to Harry Potter to fuck with his head and leave him wanting more. So what else was new?
Part 2