What Time Can't Erase 3/7
Title: What Time Can't Erase 3/7
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: These definitely aren't mine. Characters and the plots of the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling.
Summary: Harry Potter is an average New York City cop. A not-so-average blond man and a frustrating case have Harry questioning everything. This fic is not AU, even if the summary makes it sound like it. It falls under the Harry Potter fanfic classification of EWE (epilogue, what epilogue?)
A/N: I have no idea how long ago I started writing it. But well, now it's finished, so ... enjoy.
Part 3:
Friday took a long time coming. Wednesday and Thursday were spent with even more confrontations with Randall. At five o’clock on Friday, Harry walked out on one. He let Randall rant, until that minute hand ticked up to the top of the clock, then turned around and left. He knew he shouldn’t have left work, not with the Barnes’ case calling for his attention, but there was only so much one man could take before punching someone in the face.
And he had a date.
Harry took his time in the shower, and then even more time getting ready. Draco had said to dress nice, so Harry dug into that part of his closet. He found a pair of gray pinstriped slacks that weren’t wrinkled. He pulled on a deep burgundy ribbed sweater, and threw a black blazer over the hastily created ensemble.
By the time Harry flew down the stairs and snagged a cab, he only had twenty minutes to get to Draco’s office. He hoped the cab would hurry.
On the way there, Harry tried to squelch his nerves. He had never wanted to see someone again so badly in his life. What was it about Draco that was so captivating? Could it be that strange feeling of “knowing” who he was even though that was impossible? He’d had dreams the last few nights, dreams of blond hair, an arrogant smirk and caustic laughter. Harry knew that he’d never heard Draco laugh like that.
The cab pulled to the curb. Five minutes to spare. Harry gave the cabbie a huge tip, and just stopped from running into the building. The building was small, compared to others on each side. A small sign at the front of the building said, “Malfoy Enterprises.” Harry went through the doors.
A receptionist looked up at him through narrowed eyes. “Can I help you?” he said in a simpering voice. Sheesh, they even hired arrogant people.
“I’m here to see Draco Malfoy.”
“Mister Malfoy is in a meeting.”
“My name is Harry Potter. He’s expecting me.”
The man-child sniffed, but picked up a phone. “Sorry to bother you, Mister Malfoy, but there’s a Harry Potter who claims-… Yes, sir.” He hung up the phone and sniffed in Harry’s direction. “Take the middle elevator up to the top floor, Mister Potter.”
“Thanks.”
Harry sauntered past the desk and hit the call button for the middle elevator, and then the number 10. The ride up was probably only a few seconds, but it felt like longer.
The doors pinged open. Harry walked down a short hall. He ended up in a foyer of sorts. More an extension of the hallway. There were tables along the walls and a setting for four at the end. Floor to ceiling windows looked out into New York City.
He paused, feeling something like ice shiver down his back and he looked around the room. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, and then the sound of an argument hit his ears.
“-doesn’t remember. Can’t you understand that?” Draco’s voice said.
“So what? He needs to come back.” Another British voice.
“I’m trying, Weasley, but I’m not going to force it. He’s happy. He’s is utterly happy with his life and you want to take that away from him.”
Harry stepped around a doorway and looked into an office.
The other man with Draco was tall, a few inches over six feet. He had red shaggy hair and wore jeans and a t-shirt. There were scars all over his arms, well-muscled arms that were currently folded tightly against his chest.
“But, Malfoy-“
Draco suddenly spotted Harry. He smiled and said, “Potter, you’re on time for once.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose as Draco stood and walked over to him. Harry let that comment slide though, his attention on Draco’s captivating walk. He was already dressed for dinner: light khaki trousers, pale blue button up shirt, navy sports coat tailored just for his body.
Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and kissed his cheek. “You look fantastic. Although that hair of yours needs some help.”
The other man scoffed. Harry turned his attention to him. He looked vaguely familiar. His brown eyes were slightly narrowed, but full of hurt, pain, anguish. An old lover? Harry didn’t think so.
“Excuse my manners, Potter. I’m just very excited to see you. It’s been a long three days. This is Ronald Weasley. He’s a business associate.”
Harry doubted that, too, but he didn’t question it. He held his hand out, and Weasley shook it.
“Hey, mate,” Weasley said, and despite the emotions running across his face, he smiled. A genuine smile.
Harry couldn’t help but smile back. “Have we met before?”
Draco cleared his throat. Weasley glanced at him, anger in his eyes, and then he said, “I doubt it. I live in London. This is the first time I’ve been to the United States, so unless you’ve been to England … ”
“Guess not then,” Harry said with a shrug.
“Darling, can you wait in the parlor for me?” Draco said. “I have to get rid of this git and then finish getting ready. I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”
“Don’t believe him, Harry,” Weasley said. “It takes this ferret hours to get ready.”
Harry smiled. Then his eyes narrowed, and he looked at Draco. “Ferret?”
Draco smiled. “Why do you think I was so surprised when you called me a ferret the other night? It’s something that only those that know me call me.”
“And I’ve only known you for a week.” Harry couldn’t keep the suspicion out of his voice.
“Trust me, Harry,” Draco said, ushering him into another room. “I am unforgettable.”
“It was good to see you,” Weasley called after them and Harry just managed to say, “Yeah,” before Draco shoved him into the other room and shut the door.
The parlor was a bit larger than the receiving room he’d just been in. The couches and chairs were dark brown leather. He migrated toward another window and stared at what he could see of the city. He didn’t stay there long. His anxiousness at finally seeing Draco but being unable to touch him drove him in a circuit of the room.
God, Draco was confusing, but who was this Weasley guy? Harry was sure that he knew him, but if what he had said about never being in the US before was true, then how was that possible? The fact that he felt sure that he knew Weasley just as much as he knew Draco was odd.
Who were these people?
Stop being paranoid, he shouted in his mind. What, did they just erase your memories?
He scoffed. That wasn’t possible. No. He didn’t know either of them. He was so attracted to Draco because of the allure of dating a gorgeous English bloke. And Weasley, being an associate of his, was just causing a similar residual effect.
Harry stopped at the bookshelf. It only had three shelves and came to his waist. He read a few of the titles on the top row. Arithmancy, Ancient Runes in Egyptian Tombs, The Subtle Art of Diviniation.
What kind of nut job was this Draco?
The second shelf held a few more oddly titled books, but there were also financial books on how to run a company and keep ahead of the rest of your competitors.
It wasn’t until Harry got to the bottom shelf that he was tempted to grab a book. He stared at the title, shook his head, read it again, and then finally reached for it.
“Potter,” Draco said behind him.
Harry stood up quickly with the book in his hand. “What’s Quidditch?”
“Quidditch?”
Harry swore he heard Draco’s voice hitch with nerves.
“Yes, Quidditch. This book, Quidditch Through the Ages. What is Quidditch?”
Draco took the book from him, eyes furrowing as he looked at the title. Then he smiled. “I don’t know what you’ve been taking, Potter, but this says quilting.”
Harry snatched the book back. Quilting Through the Ages. He shook his head, looked again. “I could have sworn-”
“You must be tired. Do you want to call off dinner and just stay here?”
Harry looked up to the wide, innocent grey eyes of Draco. He finally smiled. “Like I’d get any rest if we stayed here.”
“That’s the point.”
Suddenly, Harry had an armful and mouthful of Draco. He flung the book on the nearest sofa and wrapped his arms around the lithe body. Draco’s hands went under the sport coat and started rubbing circles into Harry’s lower back. The groan from his mouth was overshadowed by the rumbling of his belly.
Draco pulled back and laughed. “Dinner first, then.”
“Sounds good.”
“Come on.” Draco took his hand. Of everything that they had done together, this felt the most awkward. It shouldn’t have, to Harry’s understanding, they were on a date. Didn’t dates hold hands? He’d certainly held hands on a first date before. It felt awkward more because it was Draco’s hand he was holding.
Harry thought that his mind might implode if he kept thinking about the inconsistencies and discomfort that Draco suddenly caused within him.
Draco led the way to the elevator. In the lobby, Draco threaded his arm through Harry’s and leaned against him. “Have a good night, Kyle,” he called to the receptionist without looking at him. Harry looked though. There was pure hatred in the kid’s eyes.
As soon as they were out of the door and out of sight from Kyle, Draco went back to merely holding hands.
“Trouble with the hired help?” Harry asked with a grin.
Draco shrugged. “The kid wants in my trousers and won’t take no for an answer.”
“I guess it makes me feel better that you don’t say yes to everyone.”
“I’m not a slut.”
“Then why me? You don’t even know me.”
“Okay, so I’m sort of a slut, but I do have standards. You exceed those standards by a long shot.”
Draco managed to snag a cab and told the driver to take them to Benoit, a posh French restaurant.
Harry whistled. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“For as long as you’ll let me.”
Draco pulled Harry closer, and Harry snuggled into him. Draco put his arm around him. The cab driver snorted. Draco tensed, so Harry put a reassuring hand on Draco’s knee. Again, the closeness of this felt a bit awkward. Not the positioning, Harry loved having his body mold right into Draco’s, almost as if it was supposed to be there. But was it Draco that was supposed to be there? Why did Harry feel like this whole thing was wrong, while at the same time, it felt so right?
Draco paid the cab driver, but tipped him less than he would have had it not been for the scoff. Draco put his arm back with Harry’s and a host opened the doors for them.
“Bonsoir, Messier Malfoy,” he said.
Draco returned the greeting in French and then continued the conversation. Harry stared wide eyed at him, but then remembered that of course Draco spoke French. His family was French.
“Did you tell me your family is French?” Harry demanded as soon as they were seated.
“I must have, if you know that.”
Another waiter came, and there was another foreign conversation. Harry figured out that Draco was ordering wine. He turned back and smiled. “I take it you don’t speak French.”
“I barely speak English,” Harry replied.
Draco chuckled. “Well, the menus are in French. What do you want?”
“Steak and potatoes and pasta and-”
“Stop, you plebian. How about I just order something close to that, but with a French twist?”
Harry licked his lips. “Sounds great,” he said, his voice dropping lower.
“You’re the one that wanted dinner first.” Draco shifted, and his legs entwined with Harry’s under the table. “So, is this going to be the let’s get to know one another game that you didn’t want to play the other night?”
“Sure.”
“You go first.”
“Why do I have to go first?” Harry demanded.
“Because you always do,” Draco replied and licked his lips.
“How do you know?”
“I intend to find out.”
Harry shook his head. “Stop making innuendos, alright? I am hungry. If you eat fast, you’ll have plenty of time for me to go first.”
Draco chuckled. “Fine, I’ll go first. Ask me a question.”
Harry pondered that. Any question. Well, he knew which one he wanted to ask, but knew that Draco wouldn’t talk about it. “What’s your favorite color?”
Draco snorted and that smirk of his slid into place. “Green or silver. Yours?”
“Red.”
An eyebrow arched. “Next.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Merlin, Harry, what are we, fifteen?”
“Who’s Merlin?”
Harry saw Draco’s quick look down. He leaned back, arms crossed, when Draco cleared his throat.
“You know, Merlin. Taught King Arthur.”
“The wizard guy. I can’t say I’ve ever heard his name used as a curse word.”
“Must be a British thing.”
You must be lying, Harry thought, but kept his mouth shut. Silence settled for a moment.
The wine came. Draco took a big swallow of his. Harry sipped at his as Draco had another foreign conversation.
More silence, and then Draco demanded, “Well, are you going to ask me anything else?”
“No more preschool questions?”
“No.”
Harry nodded and asked his question. “Why is your father in prison?”
Anger flashed through Draco’s gray-blue eyes. The hand clutching his wine glass went even paler. He couldn’t quite pull up the mask of indifference.
Sensing that he wasn’t going to get anything from Draco, Harry continued, “I told a co-worker about you, and she told me about how he got into it with some crime lord or something.”
Draco’s nostrils flared. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Well, what-”
“None of your business, Potter. I run the company without him, and as long as I’m still making money and doing it slightly legally, no one can touch me. Leave it.”
Draco tried to yank his legs away from Harry’s, but he tightened his hold. “Fine. I’ve left it. So let’s talk about you then. Brothers and sisters?”
“Only child. You?”
“Same here. Your mother-”
“Is still in London. Yours?”
“Dead. My parents died in a car crash when I was only one.” Harry pointed to the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. “I got hit with a single piece of glass. I grew up with my aunt and uncle.”
“They must have spoiled you rotten.”
Harry scoffed. “Far from it. I don’t know how I managed to not go insane. I don’t know how they managed not to kill me.”
“What do you mean?”
It was Harry’s turn to scowl. “Look, they weren’t nice to me, just drop it.”
Draco nodded. “Sounds like we both had fucked up childhoods.”
“What? You? Only child of Lucius Malfoy? Seems like you would have been spoiled rotten.” Harry couldn’t quite keep the disdain from his voice as his said that name.
“Oh, I was,” Draco said, eyeing him carefully, “but material possessions only go so far. Growing up without love, being used as a mean to an end, is always rotten.”
Harry was saved having to reply to that by the arrival of their food. Harry took a bit of something with sauce on it, and muttered, “I need to start eating more French food.”
“You need to start eating more French food, you need to start bottoming more. Merlin, Potter, you need to start living.”
Harry shook his head. The tension that had filled their pre-dinner conversation dimmed. They turned their topics to tamer things like soccer (It’s called football, Potter.) and football (Why do you call it football when only one guy touches the ball with his foot?). They went back to the movie question and graduated on to books and the news and politics and the economy.
They shared a French dessert called Crème caramel.
Draco hailed a cab outside and snuggled up to Harry when they were safely ensconced inside.
“Your place or mine?” Draco whispered.
Harry laughed. “Yours. Somehow I think I’ll be getting a healthier breakfast there.”
Draco told the cabby his address. Harry wasn’t sure why his breath suddenly sped up. It wasn’t from nerves, but … well, Tuesday night had been a fluke, a way to blow off steam. Tonight. Tonight made it real. Definitely anticipation.
Harry was a bit surprised when the cab dropped them off back in front of Malfoy Enterprises. Draco lived there? He figured he had a separate place, like a high rise condo. Harry decided to wait until he asked about that. The annoying secretary had been replaced by a night guard. Draco greeted him by name and asked after his family.
“And Davis, this is Harry Potter. Any time he wants to come in, day or night, just let him. Don’t stun him.”
Davis grinned. “Sure thing, Mister Malfoy. I’ll put his name on the list of approved visitors.”
They rode the middle elevator to the tenth floor. Draco led them through the receiving room where Harry had met that Weasley guy and into a doorway opposite from the parlor. His mind briefly thought about that strange book he thought he saw and then he stopped in his tracks.
He stood on the top of a three stair landing. The entire area was open. The stairs led to a comfortable looking seating area with a large screen TV on the wall and suede couches around it. Across this area and up three more stairs, there was a dining room with dark wooden table and chairs. An immaculate kitchen. Draco headed there. It wasn’t until he was half way across the huge expanse that Harry followed.
“Have a seat,” Draco said, and indicated one of the bar stools on one side of a kitchen counter. He practically fell into the seat and watched Draco go to a wine fridge and pull out a bottle. He stretched to reach two wine glasses from a cupboard. Harry’s mouth went dry as he watched Draco’s lithe muscles shift under his clothes. Draco poured the wine and Harry downed half of it in the first gulp.
“God, Potter, were you never taught propriety?”
“You should know the answer to that since we know each other so well.”
Draco smirked and sipped at his wine. “I’ll take that as a no then.”
“This is a nice place,” Harry said in the silence.
Draco shrugged. “It’s not home.”
“Where’s home?”
“I’m British, remember?”
“Right.”
“What about you? Where’s home?”
“New York City. Born and raised.”
“I think home should be where your family is.”
“I don’t have one of those.”
“Maybe not in the father mother brother sense of the word. Your friends can be your family.”
“You’re going all philosophical on me, Malfoy.”
Draco sort of grinned. “Yeah.”
“My friends are all here in New York, so like I said, this is home.”
Draco made a face. “England is much nicer.”
“I bet.”
“But I didn’t drag you out of that restaurant to play the getting to know you game.”
Harry laughed.
Draco downed his wine and then stalked around the counter to Harry. Harry gulped his wine and set the glass on the counter. He turned to meet Draco and his legs automatically spread so Draco could press against him.
Their lips met in a slow kiss. Harry’s earlier assessment of this being real and not a fluke came again. He marveled at the irony of finding something real with Draco, and then pushed that thought away. It didn’t make sense. Except that he’d only known Draco for a week. There’s no way he could convince himself that this feeling was for forever.
“I love kissing you,” Draco murmured against his lips. He grabbed his hand and led him down a hallway, past a few doors and then opened the one at the end of the hall. The master suite, Harry immediately presumed. The king sized bed and doorway leading to a gorgeous bathroom gave it away.
“Fuck, Malfoy. This room is bigger than my entire apartment.”
“I was born into money, and my job makes more than yours,” Draco said with a small smile.
“Does that make you better than me, then?” Harry tried to keep the accusation out of his tone, but he couldn’t help it.
“Of course not. You have a hero complex and save people. All I do is sit around and let the numbers on the computer screen grow.”
Harry sighed and shook his head. He had no reason to feel inferior to Draco. None at all. He liked his job. He was a good cop. Then why did it rankle him so much that Draco was rich?
“If you’re uncomfortable, we can go to your place.”
Those words sounded like a challenge. Harry bristled and looked away.
Draco walked up to him and touched his arm gently. “Are you all right?”
Harry jerked away. Why was he so angry with Draco? It wasn’t his fault that he was a pampered spoiled rich kid. Why did this tiny detail, that Draco was rich and he wasn’t, make him so mad and ready to spout off curses and tell Draco to go fuck himself?
“Potter?” There was an edge to that, concern.
Draco was concerned about him? He scoffed. Yeah, right.
“Sorry,” Harry whispered. He reached up and laced his fingers with the hand that had touched his shoulder. Deep breaths, deep breaths. He finally looked back at Draco. He wasn’t sure what he would see, but those gray eyes were full of worry.
“Don’t tell me I’ve gone and spoiled this already,” Draco whispered. “I don’t want you to disappear again.”
Harry didn’t want to disappear again.
Disappear from what?
He shook his head, trying to clear it. Harry brought the hand he held up to his mouth and kissed the palm, and then each finger. He pulled Draco closer, snaking his other arm around his waist. They kissed again.
Harry tried to bring back the passion from that brief moment in the kitchen. It wasn’t hard with Draco’s body firmly pressed into his.
“Sorry,” Harry whispered. “Just fighting some inner demons.” What demons, he had no idea, but somehow they had to do with Draco.
“Aren’t we all?” Draco muttered and with their still entwined hands, walked them towards the bed.
Part 4: A Plethora of Emotions
Part 2: A Reoccurence of Dreams
Part 1: A Meeting of Equals
.
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: These definitely aren't mine. Characters and the plots of the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling.
Summary: Harry Potter is an average New York City cop. A not-so-average blond man and a frustrating case have Harry questioning everything. This fic is not AU, even if the summary makes it sound like it. It falls under the Harry Potter fanfic classification of EWE (epilogue, what epilogue?)
A/N: I have no idea how long ago I started writing it. But well, now it's finished, so ... enjoy.
Part 3:
Friday took a long time coming. Wednesday and Thursday were spent with even more confrontations with Randall. At five o’clock on Friday, Harry walked out on one. He let Randall rant, until that minute hand ticked up to the top of the clock, then turned around and left. He knew he shouldn’t have left work, not with the Barnes’ case calling for his attention, but there was only so much one man could take before punching someone in the face.
And he had a date.
Harry took his time in the shower, and then even more time getting ready. Draco had said to dress nice, so Harry dug into that part of his closet. He found a pair of gray pinstriped slacks that weren’t wrinkled. He pulled on a deep burgundy ribbed sweater, and threw a black blazer over the hastily created ensemble.
By the time Harry flew down the stairs and snagged a cab, he only had twenty minutes to get to Draco’s office. He hoped the cab would hurry.
On the way there, Harry tried to squelch his nerves. He had never wanted to see someone again so badly in his life. What was it about Draco that was so captivating? Could it be that strange feeling of “knowing” who he was even though that was impossible? He’d had dreams the last few nights, dreams of blond hair, an arrogant smirk and caustic laughter. Harry knew that he’d never heard Draco laugh like that.
The cab pulled to the curb. Five minutes to spare. Harry gave the cabbie a huge tip, and just stopped from running into the building. The building was small, compared to others on each side. A small sign at the front of the building said, “Malfoy Enterprises.” Harry went through the doors.
A receptionist looked up at him through narrowed eyes. “Can I help you?” he said in a simpering voice. Sheesh, they even hired arrogant people.
“I’m here to see Draco Malfoy.”
“Mister Malfoy is in a meeting.”
“My name is Harry Potter. He’s expecting me.”
The man-child sniffed, but picked up a phone. “Sorry to bother you, Mister Malfoy, but there’s a Harry Potter who claims-… Yes, sir.” He hung up the phone and sniffed in Harry’s direction. “Take the middle elevator up to the top floor, Mister Potter.”
“Thanks.”
Harry sauntered past the desk and hit the call button for the middle elevator, and then the number 10. The ride up was probably only a few seconds, but it felt like longer.
The doors pinged open. Harry walked down a short hall. He ended up in a foyer of sorts. More an extension of the hallway. There were tables along the walls and a setting for four at the end. Floor to ceiling windows looked out into New York City.
He paused, feeling something like ice shiver down his back and he looked around the room. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, and then the sound of an argument hit his ears.
“-doesn’t remember. Can’t you understand that?” Draco’s voice said.
“So what? He needs to come back.” Another British voice.
“I’m trying, Weasley, but I’m not going to force it. He’s happy. He’s is utterly happy with his life and you want to take that away from him.”
Harry stepped around a doorway and looked into an office.
The other man with Draco was tall, a few inches over six feet. He had red shaggy hair and wore jeans and a t-shirt. There were scars all over his arms, well-muscled arms that were currently folded tightly against his chest.
“But, Malfoy-“
Draco suddenly spotted Harry. He smiled and said, “Potter, you’re on time for once.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose as Draco stood and walked over to him. Harry let that comment slide though, his attention on Draco’s captivating walk. He was already dressed for dinner: light khaki trousers, pale blue button up shirt, navy sports coat tailored just for his body.
Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and kissed his cheek. “You look fantastic. Although that hair of yours needs some help.”
The other man scoffed. Harry turned his attention to him. He looked vaguely familiar. His brown eyes were slightly narrowed, but full of hurt, pain, anguish. An old lover? Harry didn’t think so.
“Excuse my manners, Potter. I’m just very excited to see you. It’s been a long three days. This is Ronald Weasley. He’s a business associate.”
Harry doubted that, too, but he didn’t question it. He held his hand out, and Weasley shook it.
“Hey, mate,” Weasley said, and despite the emotions running across his face, he smiled. A genuine smile.
Harry couldn’t help but smile back. “Have we met before?”
Draco cleared his throat. Weasley glanced at him, anger in his eyes, and then he said, “I doubt it. I live in London. This is the first time I’ve been to the United States, so unless you’ve been to England … ”
“Guess not then,” Harry said with a shrug.
“Darling, can you wait in the parlor for me?” Draco said. “I have to get rid of this git and then finish getting ready. I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”
“Don’t believe him, Harry,” Weasley said. “It takes this ferret hours to get ready.”
Harry smiled. Then his eyes narrowed, and he looked at Draco. “Ferret?”
Draco smiled. “Why do you think I was so surprised when you called me a ferret the other night? It’s something that only those that know me call me.”
“And I’ve only known you for a week.” Harry couldn’t keep the suspicion out of his voice.
“Trust me, Harry,” Draco said, ushering him into another room. “I am unforgettable.”
“It was good to see you,” Weasley called after them and Harry just managed to say, “Yeah,” before Draco shoved him into the other room and shut the door.
The parlor was a bit larger than the receiving room he’d just been in. The couches and chairs were dark brown leather. He migrated toward another window and stared at what he could see of the city. He didn’t stay there long. His anxiousness at finally seeing Draco but being unable to touch him drove him in a circuit of the room.
God, Draco was confusing, but who was this Weasley guy? Harry was sure that he knew him, but if what he had said about never being in the US before was true, then how was that possible? The fact that he felt sure that he knew Weasley just as much as he knew Draco was odd.
Who were these people?
Stop being paranoid, he shouted in his mind. What, did they just erase your memories?
He scoffed. That wasn’t possible. No. He didn’t know either of them. He was so attracted to Draco because of the allure of dating a gorgeous English bloke. And Weasley, being an associate of his, was just causing a similar residual effect.
Harry stopped at the bookshelf. It only had three shelves and came to his waist. He read a few of the titles on the top row. Arithmancy, Ancient Runes in Egyptian Tombs, The Subtle Art of Diviniation.
What kind of nut job was this Draco?
The second shelf held a few more oddly titled books, but there were also financial books on how to run a company and keep ahead of the rest of your competitors.
It wasn’t until Harry got to the bottom shelf that he was tempted to grab a book. He stared at the title, shook his head, read it again, and then finally reached for it.
“Potter,” Draco said behind him.
Harry stood up quickly with the book in his hand. “What’s Quidditch?”
“Quidditch?”
Harry swore he heard Draco’s voice hitch with nerves.
“Yes, Quidditch. This book, Quidditch Through the Ages. What is Quidditch?”
Draco took the book from him, eyes furrowing as he looked at the title. Then he smiled. “I don’t know what you’ve been taking, Potter, but this says quilting.”
Harry snatched the book back. Quilting Through the Ages. He shook his head, looked again. “I could have sworn-”
“You must be tired. Do you want to call off dinner and just stay here?”
Harry looked up to the wide, innocent grey eyes of Draco. He finally smiled. “Like I’d get any rest if we stayed here.”
“That’s the point.”
Suddenly, Harry had an armful and mouthful of Draco. He flung the book on the nearest sofa and wrapped his arms around the lithe body. Draco’s hands went under the sport coat and started rubbing circles into Harry’s lower back. The groan from his mouth was overshadowed by the rumbling of his belly.
Draco pulled back and laughed. “Dinner first, then.”
“Sounds good.”
“Come on.” Draco took his hand. Of everything that they had done together, this felt the most awkward. It shouldn’t have, to Harry’s understanding, they were on a date. Didn’t dates hold hands? He’d certainly held hands on a first date before. It felt awkward more because it was Draco’s hand he was holding.
Harry thought that his mind might implode if he kept thinking about the inconsistencies and discomfort that Draco suddenly caused within him.
Draco led the way to the elevator. In the lobby, Draco threaded his arm through Harry’s and leaned against him. “Have a good night, Kyle,” he called to the receptionist without looking at him. Harry looked though. There was pure hatred in the kid’s eyes.
As soon as they were out of the door and out of sight from Kyle, Draco went back to merely holding hands.
“Trouble with the hired help?” Harry asked with a grin.
Draco shrugged. “The kid wants in my trousers and won’t take no for an answer.”
“I guess it makes me feel better that you don’t say yes to everyone.”
“I’m not a slut.”
“Then why me? You don’t even know me.”
“Okay, so I’m sort of a slut, but I do have standards. You exceed those standards by a long shot.”
Draco managed to snag a cab and told the driver to take them to Benoit, a posh French restaurant.
Harry whistled. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“For as long as you’ll let me.”
Draco pulled Harry closer, and Harry snuggled into him. Draco put his arm around him. The cab driver snorted. Draco tensed, so Harry put a reassuring hand on Draco’s knee. Again, the closeness of this felt a bit awkward. Not the positioning, Harry loved having his body mold right into Draco’s, almost as if it was supposed to be there. But was it Draco that was supposed to be there? Why did Harry feel like this whole thing was wrong, while at the same time, it felt so right?
Draco paid the cab driver, but tipped him less than he would have had it not been for the scoff. Draco put his arm back with Harry’s and a host opened the doors for them.
“Bonsoir, Messier Malfoy,” he said.
Draco returned the greeting in French and then continued the conversation. Harry stared wide eyed at him, but then remembered that of course Draco spoke French. His family was French.
“Did you tell me your family is French?” Harry demanded as soon as they were seated.
“I must have, if you know that.”
Another waiter came, and there was another foreign conversation. Harry figured out that Draco was ordering wine. He turned back and smiled. “I take it you don’t speak French.”
“I barely speak English,” Harry replied.
Draco chuckled. “Well, the menus are in French. What do you want?”
“Steak and potatoes and pasta and-”
“Stop, you plebian. How about I just order something close to that, but with a French twist?”
Harry licked his lips. “Sounds great,” he said, his voice dropping lower.
“You’re the one that wanted dinner first.” Draco shifted, and his legs entwined with Harry’s under the table. “So, is this going to be the let’s get to know one another game that you didn’t want to play the other night?”
“Sure.”
“You go first.”
“Why do I have to go first?” Harry demanded.
“Because you always do,” Draco replied and licked his lips.
“How do you know?”
“I intend to find out.”
Harry shook his head. “Stop making innuendos, alright? I am hungry. If you eat fast, you’ll have plenty of time for me to go first.”
Draco chuckled. “Fine, I’ll go first. Ask me a question.”
Harry pondered that. Any question. Well, he knew which one he wanted to ask, but knew that Draco wouldn’t talk about it. “What’s your favorite color?”
Draco snorted and that smirk of his slid into place. “Green or silver. Yours?”
“Red.”
An eyebrow arched. “Next.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Merlin, Harry, what are we, fifteen?”
“Who’s Merlin?”
Harry saw Draco’s quick look down. He leaned back, arms crossed, when Draco cleared his throat.
“You know, Merlin. Taught King Arthur.”
“The wizard guy. I can’t say I’ve ever heard his name used as a curse word.”
“Must be a British thing.”
You must be lying, Harry thought, but kept his mouth shut. Silence settled for a moment.
The wine came. Draco took a big swallow of his. Harry sipped at his as Draco had another foreign conversation.
More silence, and then Draco demanded, “Well, are you going to ask me anything else?”
“No more preschool questions?”
“No.”
Harry nodded and asked his question. “Why is your father in prison?”
Anger flashed through Draco’s gray-blue eyes. The hand clutching his wine glass went even paler. He couldn’t quite pull up the mask of indifference.
Sensing that he wasn’t going to get anything from Draco, Harry continued, “I told a co-worker about you, and she told me about how he got into it with some crime lord or something.”
Draco’s nostrils flared. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Well, what-”
“None of your business, Potter. I run the company without him, and as long as I’m still making money and doing it slightly legally, no one can touch me. Leave it.”
Draco tried to yank his legs away from Harry’s, but he tightened his hold. “Fine. I’ve left it. So let’s talk about you then. Brothers and sisters?”
“Only child. You?”
“Same here. Your mother-”
“Is still in London. Yours?”
“Dead. My parents died in a car crash when I was only one.” Harry pointed to the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. “I got hit with a single piece of glass. I grew up with my aunt and uncle.”
“They must have spoiled you rotten.”
Harry scoffed. “Far from it. I don’t know how I managed to not go insane. I don’t know how they managed not to kill me.”
“What do you mean?”
It was Harry’s turn to scowl. “Look, they weren’t nice to me, just drop it.”
Draco nodded. “Sounds like we both had fucked up childhoods.”
“What? You? Only child of Lucius Malfoy? Seems like you would have been spoiled rotten.” Harry couldn’t quite keep the disdain from his voice as his said that name.
“Oh, I was,” Draco said, eyeing him carefully, “but material possessions only go so far. Growing up without love, being used as a mean to an end, is always rotten.”
Harry was saved having to reply to that by the arrival of their food. Harry took a bit of something with sauce on it, and muttered, “I need to start eating more French food.”
“You need to start eating more French food, you need to start bottoming more. Merlin, Potter, you need to start living.”
Harry shook his head. The tension that had filled their pre-dinner conversation dimmed. They turned their topics to tamer things like soccer (It’s called football, Potter.) and football (Why do you call it football when only one guy touches the ball with his foot?). They went back to the movie question and graduated on to books and the news and politics and the economy.
They shared a French dessert called Crème caramel.
Draco hailed a cab outside and snuggled up to Harry when they were safely ensconced inside.
“Your place or mine?” Draco whispered.
Harry laughed. “Yours. Somehow I think I’ll be getting a healthier breakfast there.”
Draco told the cabby his address. Harry wasn’t sure why his breath suddenly sped up. It wasn’t from nerves, but … well, Tuesday night had been a fluke, a way to blow off steam. Tonight. Tonight made it real. Definitely anticipation.
Harry was a bit surprised when the cab dropped them off back in front of Malfoy Enterprises. Draco lived there? He figured he had a separate place, like a high rise condo. Harry decided to wait until he asked about that. The annoying secretary had been replaced by a night guard. Draco greeted him by name and asked after his family.
“And Davis, this is Harry Potter. Any time he wants to come in, day or night, just let him. Don’t stun him.”
Davis grinned. “Sure thing, Mister Malfoy. I’ll put his name on the list of approved visitors.”
They rode the middle elevator to the tenth floor. Draco led them through the receiving room where Harry had met that Weasley guy and into a doorway opposite from the parlor. His mind briefly thought about that strange book he thought he saw and then he stopped in his tracks.
He stood on the top of a three stair landing. The entire area was open. The stairs led to a comfortable looking seating area with a large screen TV on the wall and suede couches around it. Across this area and up three more stairs, there was a dining room with dark wooden table and chairs. An immaculate kitchen. Draco headed there. It wasn’t until he was half way across the huge expanse that Harry followed.
“Have a seat,” Draco said, and indicated one of the bar stools on one side of a kitchen counter. He practically fell into the seat and watched Draco go to a wine fridge and pull out a bottle. He stretched to reach two wine glasses from a cupboard. Harry’s mouth went dry as he watched Draco’s lithe muscles shift under his clothes. Draco poured the wine and Harry downed half of it in the first gulp.
“God, Potter, were you never taught propriety?”
“You should know the answer to that since we know each other so well.”
Draco smirked and sipped at his wine. “I’ll take that as a no then.”
“This is a nice place,” Harry said in the silence.
Draco shrugged. “It’s not home.”
“Where’s home?”
“I’m British, remember?”
“Right.”
“What about you? Where’s home?”
“New York City. Born and raised.”
“I think home should be where your family is.”
“I don’t have one of those.”
“Maybe not in the father mother brother sense of the word. Your friends can be your family.”
“You’re going all philosophical on me, Malfoy.”
Draco sort of grinned. “Yeah.”
“My friends are all here in New York, so like I said, this is home.”
Draco made a face. “England is much nicer.”
“I bet.”
“But I didn’t drag you out of that restaurant to play the getting to know you game.”
Harry laughed.
Draco downed his wine and then stalked around the counter to Harry. Harry gulped his wine and set the glass on the counter. He turned to meet Draco and his legs automatically spread so Draco could press against him.
Their lips met in a slow kiss. Harry’s earlier assessment of this being real and not a fluke came again. He marveled at the irony of finding something real with Draco, and then pushed that thought away. It didn’t make sense. Except that he’d only known Draco for a week. There’s no way he could convince himself that this feeling was for forever.
“I love kissing you,” Draco murmured against his lips. He grabbed his hand and led him down a hallway, past a few doors and then opened the one at the end of the hall. The master suite, Harry immediately presumed. The king sized bed and doorway leading to a gorgeous bathroom gave it away.
“Fuck, Malfoy. This room is bigger than my entire apartment.”
“I was born into money, and my job makes more than yours,” Draco said with a small smile.
“Does that make you better than me, then?” Harry tried to keep the accusation out of his tone, but he couldn’t help it.
“Of course not. You have a hero complex and save people. All I do is sit around and let the numbers on the computer screen grow.”
Harry sighed and shook his head. He had no reason to feel inferior to Draco. None at all. He liked his job. He was a good cop. Then why did it rankle him so much that Draco was rich?
“If you’re uncomfortable, we can go to your place.”
Those words sounded like a challenge. Harry bristled and looked away.
Draco walked up to him and touched his arm gently. “Are you all right?”
Harry jerked away. Why was he so angry with Draco? It wasn’t his fault that he was a pampered spoiled rich kid. Why did this tiny detail, that Draco was rich and he wasn’t, make him so mad and ready to spout off curses and tell Draco to go fuck himself?
“Potter?” There was an edge to that, concern.
Draco was concerned about him? He scoffed. Yeah, right.
“Sorry,” Harry whispered. He reached up and laced his fingers with the hand that had touched his shoulder. Deep breaths, deep breaths. He finally looked back at Draco. He wasn’t sure what he would see, but those gray eyes were full of worry.
“Don’t tell me I’ve gone and spoiled this already,” Draco whispered. “I don’t want you to disappear again.”
Harry didn’t want to disappear again.
Disappear from what?
He shook his head, trying to clear it. Harry brought the hand he held up to his mouth and kissed the palm, and then each finger. He pulled Draco closer, snaking his other arm around his waist. They kissed again.
Harry tried to bring back the passion from that brief moment in the kitchen. It wasn’t hard with Draco’s body firmly pressed into his.
“Sorry,” Harry whispered. “Just fighting some inner demons.” What demons, he had no idea, but somehow they had to do with Draco.
“Aren’t we all?” Draco muttered and with their still entwined hands, walked them towards the bed.
Part 4: A Plethora of Emotions
Part 2: A Reoccurence of Dreams
Part 1: A Meeting of Equals
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