Fic: Forest for the Trees

[aquila_star]

Title: Forest for the Trees
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Summary: Sometimes, fear and ignorance can lead us to pass by the chance of a lifetime. And sometimes, if we’re very lucky, we get one more chance to make things right.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: All these handsome boys and the world they live in belong to JKR, not me, more’s the pity.
Warning(s): AU, age disparity (Draco is 3 years younger), FWMP (fluff without much plot, lol!)
Word Count: 7300 ish
Author's Notes: A fic I wrote for the second bottom_draco fest. Apparently I never posted it here. Silly me. Fixing that now. I was planning a longer, much plottier fic...but circumstances led me to this much fluffier romance. I hope you enjoy it. :D Beta-ed by my lovelies nikki4noo and 7ofeleven. Thanks muchly ladies!



Harry wandered the common room aimlessly, avoiding several groups of fawning girls as well as persistent calls from his friends to join their raucous drinking games. Normally he wouldn't mind, but his heart was just not into it, and he couldn't figure out why.

Perhaps because it was his last night at Hogwarts. His NEWTS were done, his schooling concluded, and tomorrow morning he would board the train which would sweep him out of his childhood, toward the rest of his life. And right into a war that he was uncertain he could win. He had plenty of help, plenty of support but...well, it was still all on him.

Every one was counting on him. The whole wizarding world, and all the Muggles in Britain, though they didn't know it. He pictured the hopeful and encouraging look on Sirius' face when they discussed the search for Horcruxes and it's inevitable end. The thing was, Harry wasn't as convinced as the rest that he could do it. Sure, he'd been groomed for this, his whole life he'd known what his destiny was...he'd been trained by the best. Sirius and Remus and Dumbledore and others, but that didn't make it any easier, especially now that it was upon him.

His housemates were in far too cheery a mood. Between the end of the school year and Draco Malfoy's 15th birthday bash, everyone was determined to have the best time ever. Harry scowled across the room at Malfoy, the little prat had haunted Harry for the entire four years they'd known each other. It had started badly when a pointy, pint sized Malfoy had been sorted into Gryffindor, promptly and imperiously introducing himself to Harry and declaring that he was awfully scruffy and sloppy for a so-called hero, but since he was all they had, he'd have to do. Harry had been stunned. No one had ever spoken to him like that before. And it hadn’t stopped there.

Malfoy caught Harry staring at him from across the room and winked, grinning crookedly. Harry scowled harder and turned away, searching for a place to sit out the rest of the interminable party. During the last half of his seventh year, Malfoy's fourth, the younger boy's constant quips and insults had changed, becoming much harder to ignore. Harry had figured him out early, or so he’d thought. Malfoy always did or said something utterly snooty or rude in order to gain Harry's attention and, Harry believed, approval, just like every other star struck celebrity chaser. But his attempts never failed to back fire, leaving Malfoy surly. He would then insult Harry heartily, his lack of parents, his undeserved celebrity status, his sloppy appearance or his messy hair. The previous year he'd begun taking pot shots at Sirius, his relationship with Remus Lupin was well known, but it wasn't until Remus' status as a werewolf had come out that it had become an issue. Malfoy never failed to remind Harry of their unnatural relationship, or speculating on Harry's dubious upbringing. He had even gone so far as to question Harry's sexuality, implying that some not so savoury things must have gone on in the household, for Harry to turn out 'like that'.

Harry usually had no problem ignoring him. Honestly, Malfoy was refreshing in his attempts to garner Harry's attention, as few would dare insult him openly. Malfoy had made him feel human, though he despised the boy. And, despite his insults, Harry knew that the boy admired him and craved his attention, just like everyone else. The wizarding world's Golden Boy, that's all he was. But with Malfoy, it was somehow different.

Lately, things had changed. The flocks of girls who had always dogged his steps had never held much interest for Harry, gathering in groups to watch him at Quidditch practice or even follow him around in between classes. He'd always thought that his lack of interest was because he dismissed them as fawning groupies, only after him for his money and his fame, so he'd tried to date a few of his friends, but that hadn't worked either. Harry wanted real love, love that stemmed from friendship and trust, love that was given to him because of who he was, because he was just Harry. Not because he was The Boy Who Lived or the darling of the wizarding world.

That hadn't worked either. He'd dated Ginny, Luna and even, for a very short and awkward period, Hermione. None of them had been able to hold his interest very long, especially not sexually. They were all still friends, thankfully, but Harry was almost eighteen and no closer to finding what he sought than before.

Malfoy's timely insults had really twisted him about. Truthfully, he thought about Draco Malfoy far too much. The boy was growing up...gaining height and definition, his voice lowering to a pleasant tenor...that is, when he wasn't using it to shoot insults in Harry's direction. He had pretty lips too, they were a very pleasing pink, and looked all soft and...Harry put an end to this line of thought. So what if Malfoy had pretty lips? He was always sneering at Harry these days anyway. Even if Harry could finally admit to himself what he had suspected for months now, nothing would come of it. Besides, Draco Malfoy was a snotty, stuck up, prejudiced pureblood boy, no doubt already betrothed to some equally snotty, stuck up, prejudiced pureblood girl.

Harry didn't really want him anyway, did he? He had just focused on Malfoy because the boy was always in his face. His proximity had made him the center of Harry's illicit thoughts and fantasies, it wasn't a real desire, surely. Besides, he was far too young for Harry. Harry would be eighteen next month, and Malfoy had only just turned fifteen that day.

No, he was better off focusing on the war, on the task he must complete.Then, when it was all over, he could find someone age appropriate to date. He could get on with his life and forget the pratty, pointy, gorgeous boy he'd become preoccupied with.

Harry had settled himself into a secluded corner, in the rattiest armchair in the common room. No doubt it was there for that very reason, but Harry didn't care. It was comfortable and he was hidden in the shadows, no one would be able to find him here unless they were really looking. He took a deep breath, dropping his head back against the chair and sighing. If only this night would be over, he could get out of Hogwarts and get home, ready for the rest of his life. Perhaps Sirius would even give him a few days off before his training began again, in earnest.

Unfortunately, it was not too be, as Harry suddenly found himself with a lap full of none other than the subject of his thoughts. His butterbeer crashed to the ground as he reached up and steadied the flailing boy who had crawled right up onto his lap.

“Malfoy?” Harry exclaimed, even as his hands gripped slim hips, keeping the boy from falling over. “What the fuck?”

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Malfoy chanted, finally settling himself, straddling Harry's lap and burying his hands into Harry's unruly hair. “There you are...been looking for you.” His breath reeked of alcohol. He was clearly plastered, but Harry's body didn't seem to care. His cock was taking an eager interest in the event, especially when Malfoy settled his arse firmly against Harry's groin.

“Well you've found me, now be a doll and fuck off, would you?” Harry said, attempting to use his grip on Malfoy's hips to push him off, but the arms wrapped around him made it impossible. Malfoy ignored him, staring down at Harry with a feverish light in his eyes.

“Didn't you know, Harry?” he asked cryptically, leaning in and pressing his face into Harry's neck. Harry shivered as Malfoy's hot breath caressed the sensitive skin under his jaw. The boy inhaled deeply and moaned quietly before licking a path up toward Harry's ear. Harry’s cock was completely hard now, and he was sure Malfoy could feel it. He desperately renewed his attempts to dislodge his burden, but his heart wasn't really in it, despite his mental protests.

“Draco, I...” he began, but Malfoy pulled back and cut him off, leaning in to suck harshly on Harry's bottom lip. Harry was too stunned to respond, unable to do anything but tighten his grip on Malfoy's...oh, fuck it. Draco's hips, drawing him closer. He could feel just how aroused Draco was, and it wasn't doing anything to quell his own erection. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He moaned when Draco's tongue darted out and lashed at his bottom lip, stroking across his teeth before pressing the advantage right into Harry's mouth. Harry's determination not to respond, to get the boy off him and forget he had ever fancied this difficult creature was fading fast, all but forgotten. It no longer mattered that Draco was barely fifteen and Harry was almost eighteen, that they'd likely never see each other again after that night, that Harry would likely not survive the upcoming battle against Voldemort. All that mattered was that Harry wanted him, and clearly, Draco wanted him back.

Harry began to respond, but before he could push his tongue into Draco's whisky flavoured mouth, said mouth pulled back and smirked at him from too far a distance.

“Want you, Harry,” Draco whispered, his fingers trailing up the nape of Harry's neck and into his hair. “Wanted you so long, always wanted you.” He leaned in and kissed Harry again and this time Harry responded eagerly, protests forgotten.

His hands slipped up Draco's back as he returned the kiss, sucking Draco's tongue into his mouth and pressing forward with his own. Draco gasped and rocked his hips, his grip on Harry's hair tightening until it began to hurt, but Harry didn't care enough to stop him.

“Merlin, Draco,” Harry gasped out when he pulled back to breathe.

“I knew you wanted me,” Draco declared in triumph. “You've ignored me for far too long, Harry...I won't let you anymore.”

“You never have,” Harry replied. “I’ve always noticed you.”

“You did a good job of pretending.”

“I didn't,” Harry said. “I couldn't...” but Draco wasn't having it.

“You did,” Draco insisted. “You could.”

“No, I...no,” Harry attempted one more desperate grab at denial, but Draco cut him off by rolling his hips, pressing his erection firmly into Harry's.

“You are,” Draco replied, and Harry knew that he was right. The evidence was impossible to ignore, pressed as it was into Draco's groin.

“No, I...” Harry tried again. “You're too young.”

“I'm fifteen,” Draco countered. “I'm old enough.”

Harry looked up at him, taking in the bright grey eyes, fine bond hair all mussed, his lips red and shiny, puffy from their kisses. He thought that Draco had never looked more beautiful and Harry wanted him with a fierceness he could no longer deny. Or ignore.

So he slid a hand up to the back of Draco's neck and pulled him in for another kiss. Draco responded eagerly, sinking into Harry's embrace with a moan that made Harry's cock twitch with excitement.

Their erections brushed together in a quickening rhythm, their clothes not a sufficient barrier to the sensations overtaking them. Harry's hands slid down again, gripping Draco's arse to pull him even closer as their hips rolled against each other.

“Harry, Harry, oh...” Draco exclaimed, his grip on Harry's hair tightening painfully again.

“Yeah,” Harry said, though Draco didn't seem to need a response, lost as he was in the throes of his climax.

Draco's hips slowed as he peaked, his grip on Harry loosening as he slumped, boneless, on Harry's chest.

“Draco,” Harry prompted, attempting to dislodge the dead weight on his chest, but Draco was unmovable.

“Mmm, Harry,” he murmured, snuggling into Harry's neck, sucking gently. “It's always been you, Harry,” he whispered before passing out.

Harry was left with a raging erection and a very heavy, very beautiful boy unconscious in his lap.

~*~

Three years later...

Harry let himself into the quiet clubhouse and made his way to the coach's office. He had been surprised to get an owl that morning, telling him to arrive several hours early for practice. He didn't often get called into the coach's office, not being a trouble maker or a poor performer. But, if Jackson called you in, you went.

Harry loved playing for the Wasps, his position as seeker granted him privileges and an excellent salary, perks he was happy to accept as they were offered on his own merits and not because he'd defeated Voldie with an Expelliarmus.

The publicity was intense, but it was no worse than it had been before he'd begun playing professional Quidditch. He figured that, since he was never going to get the privacy he craved, he may as well do something he loved. He might as well have a real reason for the publicity.

He knocked on the door to let Jackson know he'd arrived and then let himself into the head coach's office.

“Harry, I'm glad you could make it on short notice,” Albert Jackson said, standing to shake Harry's hand.

“Not a problem, Albert,” Harry replied. “What's on your mind?”

“Not very good news, I'm afraid,” Jackson said solemnly. “Patrick was in an accident this weekend.”

“Oh?” Harry said, alarmed. “Is he alright?”

“He'll be fine, but he was in a group with a bunch of Muggles, climbing some mountain with only ropes for safety, or some such nonsense. He fell, unsurprisingly, and broke some ribs and his arm.”

“Well, that's not too bad, then,” Harry mused, relieved. He liked Patrick Morrison, he was a pleasant man and a talented seeker.

“Normally it wouldn't be a problem at all,” Jackson continued. “A bit of Skele-Gro and a few pain potions and Bob's your uncle. Unfortunately, the group took him to a muggle hospital and by the time he was able to contact his girlfriend and St. Mungo's, his bones had begun to heal and it was too late for magical healing.”

“Oh, that's...how long will he be out?” Harry asked.

“At least four months,” Jackson replied gravely. “Plus rehabilitation. The arm was broken severely in several places, so it'll take longer than average to heal.”

“But that's the rest of the season!” Harry exclaimed.

“Precisely. And that is why I've called you in early today. I need you to train our new reserve seeker. He's exceptionally talented, but rather inexperienced. He had only a few years of seeking at Hogwarts, so we wanted to train him up for a few years before bringing him to the team.”

“But now we're going to need him,” Harry said. Jackson nodded.

“Yes. So I need you to begin an intensive training regimen with him, bring him up to speed as fast as you can.”

“Absolutely,” Harry agreed. “When do we start?”

“Right now,” Jackson said. “Today you can see him in action for a bit, so you can assess his strengths and weaknesses. Tomorrow you can put your ideas into practice. An hour or two before practices should be sufficient, at your discretion.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, “What's his name...” he began, but he was cut off by a knock at the door. He turned in his seat, only to be stunned as an older and very fit Draco Malfoy strolled in.

“Morning, Jackson,” Draco greeted, taking Jackson's hand and giving it a firm shake. “Good to see you again, Potter,” he continued, turning toward Harry with a cool look.

“It's been a while,” Harry replied politely, his eyes raking over Draco's grown up body, framed to perfection in worn leathers and a snug, sleeveless leather tunic. Harry swallowed the lump of desire that had risen up in his throat as he recalled how it felt to be pressed up against that body, how wonderful it had felt in his arms.

“Just over three years,” Draco answered, glaring at Harry with a sneer.

Harry remembered it well, and often. More often that he liked to admit, even to himself. No bloke he had been with since had felt that good, no pleasure had come close to matching the drunken fumble they'd shared.

“I remember,” Harry said.

“Oh, you remember me, that’s good,” Draco drawled, his voice colder than Harry had ever heard it. Harry swallowed nervously, unsure what to say.

“So you know each other, then,” Jackson cut in, sensing the tension, for which Harry was grateful.

“We uh...we were both in Gryffindor,” Harry explained.

Jackson beamed. “Wonderful! Why don't you get started then?”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, glancing at Draco before shaking Jackson's hand.

“Good luck boys,” Jackson called out as they left his office.

~*~

“So, seeker then,” Harry said as they made their way toward the pitch.

“Yes,” Draco replied. “Once you'd left there was some room for someone else.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He didn't know what to say. Their last encounter had been intense, and they hadn't spoken since. He hadn't thought that Draco would remember, considering how intoxicated he'd been, but Draco's cold manner had made him question what he'd been convincing himself was true for the last three years. On the other hand, perhaps he'd just gotten over his childish infatuation with Harry.

“Well, congratulations on making the team,” Harry said.

“Right. Thanks, Potter,” Draco snapped. “Let's just get to it, shall we?”

So they did. Harry asked Draco to fly a series of drills, taking to the sky so he could better judge Draco's skills. He was not disappointed. Draco was fast, daring and talented. He flew with abandon and passion, and it showed. Harry was stunned and, more than ever, aroused.

When Draco was done he halted beside Harry, hair windswept and cheeks red from the exertion.

“Well? Do I meet your exacting standards?” he asked sharply. Harry was silent for several long moments, his heart was pounding and his crotch uncomfortably tight.

“No comment then?” Draco snapped. “Not good enough for the great Harry Potter?”

“No, Draco,” Harry said quickly, snapping out of his lust induced stupor. “You were...you're amazing. I wish I'd seen you fly at school. You'd have given me quite a run for my money.”

Draco looked astonished, but he seemed to get over it pretty quick. “Oh, thanks then,” he said, looking away. Harry spent another long moment gazing at his fine form on the broom, then cleared his throat.

“Right, well,” he began. “I'll set up some drills and exercises for our next session, but for now, lets play a game or two of one on one. See how well you do against another seeker,” Harry said, releasing the snitch.

“Alright,” Draco said, his eyes following the snitch intensely. When it zipped away from them he gave Harry a smirk.

“Prepare to lose, Potter,” he said, taking off in the direction the snitch had gone, leaving Harry staring at empty air. He shook himself and took a deep breath before following. Working this closely with Draco would be interesting. And challenging.

By the time the rest of the team arrived for practice, Draco had beat Harry to the snitch two times out of three, and Harry was more impressed than ever with his skill and determination. Draco fit in well with the team, once the shock of Patrick's injury had sunk in. He was friendly, open and charming, and very confident. And yet, not so full of himself that he was cocky or arrogant. His introduction to the team was a great success, leaving Harry feeling excited about the team's future. What he was not so optimistic about was his future relationship with Draco. For three long, busy years he'd been able to suppress and ignore the feelings that had overcome him when he'd held Draco in his arms. But those feelings had come back in a rush when he'd seen Draco fly, when his smooth, sexy laugh had reached Harry's ears. He wanted Draco Malfoy, again. More than he ever had. It was as if the past three years had never happened. For him, anyway.

It soon became clear that, from Draco's perspective, something had changed. He'd gone from putty in Harry's hands, adoring him behind a defensive facade, much unlike almost everyone else Harry had ever encountered, to treating him coldly, distantly. Speaking to him only in a bare, perfunctory manner.

The chill between them didn't fade with time and familiarity, much to Harry's dismay. They were working closely together, before every practice and sometimes on off days, working through drills, challenges and seeker's games to bring Draco up to league standards. It was intense to say the least, but despite Harry's attempts to break through the wall Draco had erected around himself, he couldn't find a crack. Draco was aloof, unapproachable. It was driving Harry insane.

He tried, repeatedly, to ask Draco out, for a drink, for dinner, on a date, just as friends...but was shut down every time. The now familiar 'I don't think so, Potter' played, over and over in his head as he watched Draco interacting with the other players, with their wives and girlfriends.

He hadn't called Harry by his first name since that night at Hogwarts, before he'd passed out on Harry's lap. He longed to hear it again, more than anything. But even there, he was shut down. 'We're not friends Potter', began to haunt him as well. Harry wanted to know, why not? Okay, so maybe they hadn't exactly been friends at Hogwart's, but why couldn't they be now? And why, when they had been so good together, couldn't they take things even further?

Draco hadn't breathed a word that made Harry doubt his belief that, after passing out in his arms, Draco didn't remember their encounter. It was frustrating in the extreme. It all came to a head on their last day of Draco's extra practice. He hadn't needed much training, if Harry was being honest with himself. In fact, they could have been done weeks ago. He just hadn't been ready to give up his time alone with Draco. The way things were going, he'd never see Draco outside of regular practices and games if not for the one on one training sessions, so he hung on, longer than he needed to.

Finally, the inevitable came, and Harry told Draco it was their last practice. Draco rolled his eyes and scoffed, turning away from Harry to pull on his practice leathers. Harry's eyes drifted across the bare skin that was displayed so enticingly, riveted to the play of muscles across Draco's back. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus on the topic, not Draco's abs.

“What?” he asked, frowning. “You think we should carry on?”

“Of course not, Potter,” Draco replied derisively. “This farce should have ended weeks ago.”

Harry blushed. “Yes well...the length of your training was at my discretion,” he said.

“Fine, whatever,” Draco said, grabbing his broom and turning to Harry with a sneer. “Let's get this over with already.”

“What exactly is your problem, Draco?” Harry demanded. He'd used Draco's name consistently, hoping that Draco would reciprocate. He didn’t.

“My problem? My problem is you, and these idiotic 'training sessions',” he sneered. “You know as well as I do that this last week or two has wasted both of our time.”

“I don't think so,” Harry insisted. “There's more to competing at this level than speed and avoiding the bludgers,” he insisted. He knew Draco was right, but admitting it would bring up questions as to why.

“Don't be ridiculous!” Draco exclaimed, glaring at him. “I don't need one on one lessons with you to understand that.”

“It can't hurt,” Harry said, glaring right back at Draco.

“Bullshite!” Draco shot back, eyes flashing and jaw clenched. “You know what I think?”

“No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me,” Harry muttered, bracing himself for the coming storm. He was doing his best to focus on Draco's words and not lose himself in those fierce grey eyes. Draco angry was as arousing as Draco in any other mood. Harry was screwed, and he knew it.

“You're damn right I am, you arsehole!” Draco advanced on him, stopping short of invading Harry's personal space, but close enough to be intimidating. Which is not an adjective he would ever have used to describe Draco before that moment.

“You've kept me coming to these idiotic practices just so you could oogle me and hit on me without the rest of the team noticing!” he accused. “Did you think I'm blind, that I hadn't noticed? I'm not a trusting, fifteen year old kid anymore. You can't just show up after all these years and think you're getting in my pants again! You had your chance with me Potter, and you blew it!”

Harry froze, his face draining of blood. “You...I...” he stammered, unable to come up with any thing to say to that.

“Oh, you think I didn't remember, that's rich,” Draco scoffed, poking Harry hard in the chest. “I bet you thought you'd got off scot-free, didn't you? Just a convenient one off with the drunk kid who was in love with you, knowing you'd never have to face him again!” he continued.

“No, I...you, what?” Harry said, his brain spinning, trying to absorb the new information. “Since when were you...” he trailed off, but Draco was having less trouble understanding Harry than vice versa.

“Since always, you giant prat! I remember everything,” Draco said, deflating a bit.

“Everything?” Harry repeated, still feeling like the world's biggest arse.

“Every last word, everywhere you touched me, everything!” He pushed Harry with both hands this time, forcing him to stumble back a few steps. “You don't forget the first time you...well, you just don't!” Draco said, looking away, his jaw tight, eyes closed.

“I don't understand,” Harry said. “You never, you always...I mean,” he shook his head, still stunned. “You hardly ever spoke to me without hurling an insult.”

“Of course I didn't. I wasn't one of your 'Boy Who Lived' groupies,” Draco replied. “I actually liked you! I hated that you were the Golden Boy, the one everyone wanted to be with. I just wanted you to notice me.” Draco deflated completely, dropping onto the bench and burying his head in his hands.

“I did,” Harry said, taking a step toward him. “You were the only one who didn't treat me like some kind of commodity. It was refreshing.”

“You had a lousy way of showing it,” Draco said, his voice quiet and muffled. “I suppose I should be grateful you did up my trousers before leaving me there.”

“I,” Harry began, but he didn't know what to say. He'd been an arse. The worst kind of oblivious, advantage-taking arse. No wonder Draco hated him now.

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, sitting beside Draco.

“Yes, well. You're three years too late for that,” Draco answered, head still in his hands.

“Really?” Harry asked. “I mean, can't we...”

Draco cut him off. “No, we can't Potter. You fucked it up, and now you have to live with it.”

“Okay,” Harry said, falling into silence. They sat there for a while, neither speaking nor moving, until finally Draco stood up.

“Let's just get this over, shall we?” he said, picking up his broom from where it had been tossed on the floor.

“Okay, I...no, don't worry about it,” Harry said. “You're right, it was just an excuse to be near you, and it appears to have back fired. You're as ready as you're going to be.”

“Well,” Draco replied. “Thank you for admitting that.”

“You're welcome,” Harry said, rising from the bench. “I'm sorry I was such an arse. I know there's no excuse, but I,” he paused, taking a deep breath before plunging on. “I was scared. I wasn't certain or happy about being gay and I wasn't in a position to start anything, with anyone.”

“Fine,” Draco said, his voice curt once more.

“No, that doesn't excuse it,” Harry said quickly, grabbing Draco's wrist to stop him from storming off. “I should have told you then, I shouldn't have just left you there and ignored you, no matter what else was on my mind.”

Draco nodded jerkily, looking down at where Harry was still grasping his arm. Harry squeezed a bit before letting go and taking a step back.

“I had no idea how you felt, I wasn't thinking,” he said. Draco's head shot up then, his eyes filled with emotions that Harry could not decipher.

“How could you not know? I told you. I worshipped the bloody ground you walked on, insults or not, and I told you how I felt, how...” He swallowed, looking away once more. “You wounded me, Harry,” he said at last. Harry was startled by the use of his name, but he couldn't count it a victory.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said once more. “I wish I could change it.”

“It's too late for that, it's done,” Draco said, meeting Harry's eyes once more. “It's too bad, cause I really thought...it wasn't just a silly schoolboy crush, you know. It was really something.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“Okay, that's...fine,” Draco sighed, smiling weakly. “I'm just going to go then. I'll see you.” He nodded tersely and turned on his heel, striding out the door without stopping to change or replace his broom.

“Yeah, see you,” Harry replied quietly, long after he'd gone.

~*~

And that was that.

Only, for Harry, it wasn't. He was more fixated on Draco than ever. He only saw Draco at practices and games. The only time they spent together socially was at the after game parties. During which Draco ignored him, persistently. Weeks went by in which Harry saw Draco only in snatches, always on the outside of his interactions, never allowed to get too close.

Yet he'd never wanted to get close to someone so much in his life. His eyes followed Draco everywhere, taking in every move, every smile, every laugh meant for someone else. Someone who wasn't Harry. He'd begun to think he'd gone mad, but he couldn't get Draco out of his head.

The situation finally came to a head after Draco's first league game. Harry had caught a persistent cough and was benched until his breathing was easier, so Draco took his place. And was a rousing success. He caught the snitch faster than even Harry ever had, setting a new league record and quickly becoming the fan's favorite.

All of which made it even harder for Harry to get close to him, as he attempted, much like he always did, at the after game party. However, at this party, unlike the ones before, Draco branched out from his friends on the team and mingled with the player’s families and friends who were privileged enough to attend. Harry lost sight of him while getting a drink and spent almost a half an hour looking for him. As inconspicuously as possible, though he knew many of his teammates knew better, until he found Draco once more, sitting with a handsome, well built young man that Harry knew was the brother of Alan Mercer, a chaser.

Harry hated the man on sight. He was sitting far too close to Draco, looking quite eager to be there. And Draco, damn him, was not discouraging him in any way. Harry tucked himself into a nook on the opposite side of the room and seethed. The bloke was much too interested and Draco too encouraging. Harry clenched his fists and wondered how it had come to this.

He'd always been the immovable one, the bloke that no one else could get to, no matter what. He'd never given much thought or energy to potential relationships, though he'd had his share of affairs and one offs. Yet, no matter the persistence of his partner, he'd never had the desire to take it any further. And now, here he was, reduced to a jealous, obsessive stalker by a prickly, difficult, blond, fresh out of Hogwarts. The one bloke who had never fallen for the whole Golden Boy nonsense, the one who had never cared for Harry's fame, money or celebrity.

The one who had loved him, just because he was Harry.

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath as he watched Draco lean up to whisper in the bloke's ear. Alright, so maybe this had been inevitable. Maybe he'd fallen for Draco years ago and just not known it, or had ignored it. Maybe he hadn't wanted to know it. But the evidence was impossible to ignore, now. Now, with Draco across the room, looking content with one of the bloke's beefy arms draped over his shoulder. Now that Harry was across the room, having lost his chance with the only person he wanted one with.

He felt frozen.

And then, they got up and left the room, one oversized arm sliding down to wrap around Draco's trim waist while Draco led them away. Toward the lifts. Which led to rooms. Private rooms, rooms where they would be out of sight and beyond Harry's reach and he just. Could. Not. Deal with that.

He put his empty glass on a nearby table and followed them, gaze intent on the arm that was cupping Draco's waist possessively. Harry wanted to rip it off.

“Draco!” he called as he reached the lobby. Draco turned and glared at him, forcefully pressing the button to call the lift.

“What do you want, Potter?” he asked brusquely. His companion laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder, forcing Harry to close his eyes and take a calming breath before answering.

“I need to talk to you,” he replied firmly, glaring at the brute who still had a hand on his Draco.

“There's nothing to talk about,” Draco insisted. Harry took a few steps toward him.

“There is,” Harry insisted.

Draco huffed, but stepped out from under the bloke's arm and moved a few feet away. “Fine, what?” he asked, crossing his arms defensively.

“I, uh...” Harry began, causing Draco to roll his eyes.

“If that's all Potter,” he said, turning to leave, but Harry reached out and stopped him, his hand on the same shoulder the brute had been touching. He squeezed it, as if to forcefully remove the memory of the other man's hand on Draco.

“No, it's...what are you doing?” he demanded, forcing Draco to turn and face him.

“What do you think I'm doing? And what does it matter to you?” Draco shot back, shrugging Harry's hand off his shoulder.

“It matters,” Harry replied, but Draco just threw back his head and barked a laugh.

“Oh now it matters, that's a laugh!” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Where was this concern three years ago?”

“That's...completely beside the point,” Harry said. “I know I fucked up, and I've apologized for it.”

“You're still fucking up, you arse!” Draco yelled, poking Harry in the chest, hard. Harry rubbed at the bruised spot, but Draco didn't stop, poking him in the collarbone instead.

“You don't understand anything do you? You didn't pay attention to what I told you three years ago, and you aren't paying attention now! So I am going upstairs with Mike here, and I'm going to do what I've been wanting to do since I got my first hard on!” Draco poked him once more for good measure and then took a step back, leaving Harry stunned.

Mike took a step toward them, a grin on his face and an arm outstretched toward Draco, but Harry stopped him with a growl.

“Back off, muscle head,” he snapped before turning back to Draco. “What do you mean, what you've been wanting to do...you've been craving a shag with a muscle bound idiot all this time? That's not what I heard the other day in the locker room!” They both ignored the offended shout from Mike.

“Could you be any more oblivious?” Draco snapped back, shaking his head in disbelief. “I just want a shag already, and you don't seem to be getting the point any time soon, so I had to take matters into my own hands. I'm not going to wait another three years, Harry!”

“Just want a,” Harry trailed off. He could not, absolutely could not believe what Draco was implying. He couldn't fathom a bloke like Draco still being a virgin at eighteen. “Draco, there's no way you're still a...”

“Don't say it!” Draco hissed, shooting a glance at an equally stunned Mike before glaring up at Harry with a vengeance. “That night, my birthday three years ago? That night actually meant something to me, you daft prat,” he said, his voice much quieter now. “That was my first kiss Harry, you were my first love...it was my first everything. And when I woke up, sticky and alone, I convinced myself that you'd been called away and I'd see you at breakfast. Or on the train. When I didn't I thought you'd owl me, or something. You never did, but I told myself that you were busy killing the bad guys and keeping us all safe and I just needed to be patient.” He took a deep, shuddering breath before moving on.

“By the time my seventeenth birthday was over, I realised that I'd just been fooling myself, that I was an idiot to believe it meant something to you. The Dark Lord was dead and you'd just signed with the Wasps, and suddenly, everyone knew you were gay and you still. Hadn't. Owled me. That's when I stopped waiting and started hating you instead.”

“Draco, I...” Harry began, but Draco cut him off once more.

“No. No, Harry, you can just shut up and listen. 'Cause despite my determination to not let you get to me, to ignore you and finally, finally, after all this time, get the fuck over you, I couldn't. You just had to want me again, didn't you?” Draco stepped forward and gave Harry a push, this time with both hands. Harry took a step back, bracing himself for the next blow. Draco kept shoving him as he continued, his eyes wild and his voice strained, but he seemed to have opened something that had long been closed, and there was no stopping it now. Harry caught a glimpse of the now forgotten Mike, along with a few other people, watching in awe and shock.

“You had to undress me with those beautiful eyes of yours, and you had to touch me at every chance with those hands and you just had to keep asking me out. You just wouldn't leave me alone!” He stopped and took a deep breath, having shoved Harry back against the wall.

“Draco,” Harry began, but he didn't know what to say anyway.

“And then you made me tell you, and I did, and you knew how I felt about you but you didn't do anything about it! You let me keep you away and you followed me around with your eyes, but you never stood up, why didn't you just fight for me, Harry!” he yelled, his voice having risen steadily throughout his diatribe.

“You didn't want anything to do with me,” Harry said softly. “Draco, I'm sorry.”

“No, don't!” Draco said, moving to hit him again, but Harry grabbed his arms to stop him. “Don't apologize again, just tell me what you want from me, Harry. If you don't want me, at least let me have someone else,” he pleaded, his eyes filled with so much emotion as he looked into Harry's, so much hurt and anger but still, so much love. Harry shuddered, knowing that he'd been an arse, again, that he'd never really thought about what Draco felt, or what he wanted.

“I want you,” Harry said softly, dropping one of Draco's arms to cup his cheek. “The thought of you with someone else is killing me. But I didn't realise what you needed from me, I never thought about it from your perspective. I’m a bit of an arse, I know.”

“A bit?” Draco scoffed, but Harry went on, pulling him closer with the hand still grasping his arm.

“I don't have an excuse for what I did then, and I’d convinced myself that you wouldn't remember and that you would get over it. Then I tried to forget it, but I never did. No one I've known since then has meant as much to me.” Harry gave Draco a reassuring smile, cupping his face with both hands.

“I'm not afraid anymore. And I'll fight as long and as hard as you need me to. I love you, Draco Malfoy,” he said quietly, tenderly running his thumbs across Draco's sharp cheekbones.

“You, really?” Draco asked in a whisper, his eyes wide with shock, hands gripping Harry's shirt tightly. “Don't play with me Harry, I can't take it again.”

“No, never,” Harry replied. “Now please, tell me you'll dump this bloke and come up with me?”

Draco just stared at him for a few minutes, just long enough that he had Harry doubting the answer to his question. At last, Draco let go of his shirt and turned slightly to face Mike. Harry let his hands drop onto Draco's shoulders, but he wasn't about to let go without putting up a fight.

“Sorry Mike, there's been a change of plans,” he said politely, turning back to Harry and wrapping his arms around Harry's shoulders. “I've found what I was looking for, after all.”

Harry couldn't resist him any longer, so he slid on hand up into Draco's baby soft hair and pulled him closer, leaning in to kiss him softly on the lips. Draco practically melted into him, and Harry was transported back to that night three years ago, when he kissed Draco for the first time and it all slotted into place. It was happening again and this time, he was not about to let go.

This time he was in it for good. No more fear. No more hiding.

Just then the lift doors opened with a ding, so Harry lifted the beautiful man in his arms and carried him, Draco's legs wrapped around his waist, into the waiting lift. He pulled back for a moment to press the button for his floor before pressing Draco back against the wall.

“Now,” he said, his lips turned up in a lecherous grin. “Let's rid you of that pesky virginity, shall we?”

Draco's only response was to pull him into another, much deeper, much more passionate kiss as the lift doors hid them from view.