Meet in the Middle
Title: Meet in the Middle
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Length: 5430
Summary: In the middle of chaos, Harry finds some peace with Draco. However, when Draco's emotional demands become more than Harry is willing to give, their relationship faces more enemies than just Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. The bolded headers are quotes from the song The Boys of Summer by Don Henley. The other bit of song quotes are from Baby's on Fire by Brian Eno.
Note: This was written for missaness in participation of hds_beltane. Eternal thanks goes to my beta dramedy, who also claims credit for the title and summary.
you got your hair combed back and your
sunglasses on, baby
He dropped, their sweaty bodies moulding together. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist, pressing him down harder, as if he couldn't get enough.
Draco groaned. "Love you." The words swirled in the dip where Harry's neck met his collarbone, rendering him speechless.
Harry panicked. A lump formed in his stomach. Subtly but defiantly, he shifted out from under Draco, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Ah, I mean, you know," Draco corrected, waving an arm lazily.
Harry sighed in relief. "Yeah, just post coitus feelings -- that's what you call it, right?"
He felt Draco's body stiffen beside him, and he suddenly wished the Dursleys were home. Then they wouldn't have had sex and this painfully awkward moment wouldn't be happening. No, they probably would have got in another sexually charged argument and ended up at opposite ends of the house, the Dursleys screaming from the centre for them to shut the bloody hell up and leave them alone already.
Unfortunately, that wasn't possible. It was only the beginning of July, and Harry was following through with Professor Dumbledore's request. He would stay until he was of age. In fact, if the Dursleys had been home, that probably would have been the cause of Draco's and his argument because no one but Hermione seemed to understand where he was coming from about not setting out yet.
"And what if it's not, as you say, post coitus feelings?" Draco asked tightly.
Harry reached out and touched the tense muscles on his back, tracing them, marvelling at how there seemed to actually be some when he was angry. "Doesn't matter. It was that."
The bed creaked loudly as Draco sat, the inked-stained, lint-coloured sheet pooling around his waist, the evening sun pouring in the open window and onto Draco's skin, making him appear almost white.
Silence filled the room. After five excruciating minutes that seemed to last a lifetime, Harry looked into Draco's cold, grey ones. There was sneer on Draco's face. He lifted his chin slightly. "I love you."
It was a challenge.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "Look, there's a war and it's first priority, you know," Harry started, not sure where he was going but knowing he didn't want to go where Draco was going. He had broken it off with Ginny for a reason. There was no way he was going to do the same thing with Draco. What was a fantastic July in the scheme of things? It was nothing but setting up Draco's immediate instead of when-we-get-around-to-it death. Loving Harry equalled death. Harry knew that all to well -- had seen it happen too many times.
"I mean, who knows how the whole thing will turn out. Who knows -- well -- our feelings could change. And, really, it'll only complicate things. I don't want to complicate things. Things are fine between us the way they are. Why complicate them?" He was repeating himself, but he had nothing else to say. Nothing else besides...well...he'd say it. "I don't want you to love me."
Draco nodded. Harry smiled, sighing. There now. That hadn't been so hard. No harm done.
"How could I have forgot that you have a whole life already planned out after the war?" Draco stood, his bitter words lingering in the air, in Harry's confusion. As he watched Draco dress, Harry's overlarge clothes sliding over Draco's thin form, he pondered it, growing quite indignant. He had no bleeding clue about his future! He could die. The only thing he knew was that he knew nothing.
"I don't un--"
"Shush." There was one trainer -- Harry's trainers because Draco had showed up at the Dursley's doorstep half a month ago with classy, black robe shoes -- on his foot and another in his hand that he clutched at his thigh, every other part of his body just as tense. "I understand. Don't feel like you have to blunder through some pathetic excuse." He sniffed snootily. "Besides, it was rhetorical."
Harry raised an eyebrow even though he didn't want to discuss the matter. Here was the argument he had been expecting but hoping never came.
"No. You know what? It wasn't rhetorical. I do love you, Harry. And I know it's a mistake. I hate myself for that, amongst many other things that all revolve around you. You're just the bloody blight of my existence. Do you like that? Is that what you aim for? Well, congratulations," -- he gave a humourless laugh -- "you got it."
"Draco..."
Draco shook his head, white-blond fringe falling into his eyes. "How do I find the Order?"
"Aw, come on." Harry stood and crossed the room to him, pausing before him and not quite sure if he should touch him or not. "Don't be like that."
"I'm not being like anything, Potter," he spat. "Now tell me how to find the fucking Order. I don't need any of your help. I can do it on my own. Just tell me how."
It wasn't going to work. No way would they give Draco the time of day. Just because he had... Well, maybe there had been some truth to Ron and Hermione's comments back in sixth year concerning his obsession with Draco.
"Tell. Me."
So Harry did. There was nothing else he could do short of suggesting to Draco that they could take things slow and see where it led, but don't be surprised if I die during the war. Or you die. You'll be an even bigger target if anyone finds out.
But Harry just gave Hermione's address and told him to explain to her like he had to Harry that rainy day half a month ago. Then again, he had better repair his explanations, because they had been truly dismal ones, and Hermione wouldn't trust him enough on that alone.
"But you don't have to go," Harry added, feeling open and raw and exposed standing before Draco in the nude.
Draco looked over Harry's shoulder, out the window, Harry presumed. At long last he looked into Harry's eyes, and there was a hardness in his, a chilling, light grey around the edges, bleeding into the pupil. "I hope you realize that you loved me first."
His crack of Apparation filled the bedroom, echoing off the walls and continuing until Harry walked to the loo and stood under the hot spray of the water.
i never will forget those nights
i wonder if it was a dream
All he felt was fear. Surely there had to be something else. Relief, happiness, insanity? Killing the most evil wizard of the time had to create something besides fear. Killing him should kill the fear.
Blearily, as if emerging from within, he realized that it wasn't fear of Voldemort he felt, but fear for others. So many people had been in the war. So many people he loved -- why had he loved so much?
"I'm all right, mate," a voice off to the side said, strained. Harry whirled around and found Ron clutching his leg in the thick, damp with morning dew grass. He smiled. Ron smiled back.
A bushy mop of hair ran into view and dropped next to Ron. Other people were swarming around: Lupin, Tonks, Mundungus, Neville, George, McGonagall, Mrs Weasley. Each person, even Mundungus, made relief clink into Harry's stomach.
But where was Draco?
Frantic, Harry pushed through the mob of people, eyes searching for that right shade of blond. Something on the ground made his breath catch, but it was off in the distance; he could be wrong.
"C'mon, Harry!" someone yelled.
Harry ignored them, and his walk turned brisk. He stopped fifteen yards away. Draco was kneeling in the dirt, head bowed over the unresponsive figure of his father. His head levelled and met Harry's gaze.
There was a hardness there, the same as the last time they'd spoken, seven months ago. Draco had to still love him. Why else would he have ignored Harry the entire time? And now Harry knew. He knew that after all that -- after all that had happened -- he loved Draco.
Draco stood, the blood on his robes so bright in the rising sun. He opened his mouth and suddenly snapped it shut, turning his head to his father again.
Something bounded into Harry, nearly knocking him to the ground.
"Harry! Thank Merlin, you're alive!"
Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny uncomfortably. But he felt he had to, after dragging her into everything and forcing her through a war. If she hadn't known him she wouldn't have gone through all that. Who knew how much of her family was dead. Harry didn't recall seeing her dad or Bill or Charlie.
"Finally," she groaned, pressing closer to him so that he could smell her flowery perfume over the stench of death. It was nice.
And then she pressed their lips together, shoving her tongue through his flabbergasted lips. This was not nice. He wanted to be holding Draco like this, not Ginny.
Harry shoved her away. Hard. She hit the ground, but Harry didn't look for her reaction, instead searching for Draco.
He wasn't there.
"Harry?" Ginny pulled her legs against her chest and stared up at him, brow furrowed.
Harry shook his head. "No. I -- I --" He sighed, letting his head drop. If Draco wasn't going to believe him he had better start being truthful from the start. "I love someone else. And I need to go find him."
Ginny cocked her head. "Him?"
But Harry had already Disapparated.
~ ~ ~
Draco hadn't returned to Headquarters, even for the celebratory get-together that people Harry hadn't even known were in the Order showed up for. In fact, he had from a good source that everyone from the Order who was still breathing had shown. Except Draco.
He wouldn't even allow the house-elves to answer the wrought iron door. Harry's hand was a flaming, burning red.
"You bloody prick!" he hollered, quite incensed after fifteen minutes of trying to sweet talk him into listening. He knew Draco was in there. Had seen him enter mere minutes before he knocked.
"You answer the bloody door like a bloody man!" This time his head connected with the door, the resounding thud oddly satisfying. "Draco!"
A chilly April wind rifled his hair, making him shiver, and taking all his anger with him. He collapsed to the porch, knocking his head against the door again and letting it rest there, exhausted.
"I'm sorry, all right?" His voice was hoarse, his tongue heavy in his mouth. Why did Draco have to be so difficult? But he remembered that day when Draco had left -- the last thing he had said. And maybe -- maybe it had been true. He just hadn't wanted to admit it.
He took a deep breath, baring his soul, and Draco bleeding well better open the door and apologize because Harry was starting to wonder if he was worth the past two weeks of hell, though he kept trying anyway.
"Look. You were right, okay. Is that what you wanted to hear? I loved you first, and I just didn't want it to be true. It would have been too dangerous. I mean, you were already wanted by the Death Eaters and, well, if they found out we were involved they would have bumped you to the top of their 'who to kill list.' And it was a dis--"
The door fell open. Harry jerked forward with the loss of solid. Two large, beady, black eyes stared at him. "Twippy is terribly sorry, sir," the house-elf apologized, snatching his hand and tugging him down the property. "Master Draco is saying you are a nuisance" -- Twippy flushed -- "and he's not liking to hear you speak, sir. He says to leave him alone because he's over you and moved on."
Harry blinked. Eventually, when they reached the gate, Harry came to himself and straightened, pulling his hand out of Twippy's. "Can you tell him something for me?"
Twippy's eyes widened significantly, and she bit her bottom lip.
"Just a small thing. I'll leave him alone, I promise." He waited until she nodded, ears flapping against her face. "Tell Draco that I won't forget everything and if he can then he's just as bad as I was."
"Oh, no, sir." She rang her hands clumsily. "Twippy cannot be telling Master Draco that."
"Please," Harry persisted. "I won't bother him again. Promise."
Harry waited rather impatiently through her internal argument but tried not to show it. Then she gave a curt nod. "Twippy will tell."
"Thanks."
She returned his smile hesitantly.
~ ~ ~
The knocks echoed through the house. Up the stairs and through the bedroom door, into his bored, muddled mind they travelled, multiple times. Eventually Harry sighed and shifted in his bed. He figured it wasn't some door-to-door seller and had to be something important if they continued after five minutes. The old, springy mattress protested loudly when he swung to a sitting position. He tossed his legs off the side and stood, blinking off the haze of sleep.
The knocking ceased.
Harry groaned. But his interest was aroused, and he stumbled down the stairwell, across the spotless, empty sitting room, and flung the door open.
A body tumbled forward against him.
"Whoa!" Harry gasped, grabbing the boy's shoulders and pulling him back. Defeated, tired, grey eyes looked back into his.
The crooked smile Malfoy gave him coupled with the pale stains down his cheeks let Harry know this wasn't a Death Eater attack. And why ever would it be a social call?
Harry shut the door behind him. He took a deep breath and turned in time to see Malfoy collapse on the couch. Sprawl on it really, which wasn't something Harry ever expected Draco Malfoy to do. Then again, he hadn't ever expected to find Malfoy crying his heart out to Myrtle. Or anyone.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, moving slowly and feeling as if he was circling some prey, for Malfoy was looking at him as if he might attack at any second. Following that train of thought, Harry subtly reached for his wand. It wasn't there. He glanced at the stairs. It was next to his bed, lying on top of his summer school work he wouldn't even be turning in because in about a month and a half he would be setting out with Ron and Hermione in search of Horcruxes.
Malfoy adjusted himself so he was slouching, his muddy feet propped on the coffee table. That's when Harry noticed it was raining. He looked out the window above Malfoy's head and watched the fat droplets splash into the puddles. It seemed to be raining every day this summer.
Malfoy cleared his throat, snaring Harry's attention. He raised one pale eyebrow. "I want to be protected."
Harry snorted. When Malfoy did nothing but stare, he sunk into the armchair off to the side of the couch and crossed his legs, turning to face him. Good thing the Dursleys had gone out for dinner. Aunt Petunia would just flip upon seeing Malfoy's dripping feet. And for another 'freak' being in her home.
The tension was building and they just kept staring. Awkward. "Why? Aren't you with the Death Eaters? Voldemort? Why should I help you? Why would I? And -- hey! -- how'd you get through the wards?" He narrowed his eyes. There was something up Malfoy's sleeve.
"Give a bloke time to answer, ay, Potter?" Malfoy chuckled. His voice was raspy. Harry hoped he had caught something from the rain. "I was with the Death Eaters, but things turned sour. Now I'm here. I've no need to tell you more so don't ask. It's not necessary for you to know the little details. Not everything evolves around you." His tone was slightly bitter, as if someone had spoken those words to him. He shook his head and pinned Harry with his steely, grey gaze.
Harry was not deterred, however. He realized that Malfoy hadn't answered -- "How'd you get through the wards?" He shoved a hand behind him, hoping Malfoy would be threatened and think he was holding his wand.
Malfoy just waved a hand dismissingly. "Don't blame me for things I can't control. It malfunctioned, or something. What's its exact purpose?"
Harry shrugged. He hadn't bothered to ask when told of the wards.
Malfoy tilted his head. "So." He rubbed his dressy shoes against the edge of the coffee table, letting them fall to the floor. He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He rested his head on top of them and managed to look intimidating instead of insecure. "Will you give me protection?"
An internal struggle was fostering in Harry. He couldn't help but replay the scene of Malfoy lowering his wand those few centimetres. It wasn't much, but it spoke volumes.
But things changed. People changed. Malfoy had not been heard of since that night, having been shacked up with Voldemort and his delusional followers. This could be some skewed up plot. Malfoy had said nothing to earn Harry's trust.
Not to mention Harry hadn't the faintest inking of how to protect him.
Finally, Harry decided, "I can't believe you unless you join the Order."
An insane, unimaginable idea, really. But how would Malfoy react?
Malfoy turned his head, resting his cheek against his knee. "All right, then. How do I get there?"
Harry grinned despite himself. "I live with Muggles. They won't want you here so try not to cause trouble." He gave Malfoy a cynical look. "Then again, I imagine that'd be hard for you. But you'll be rooming with me -- no where else to put you."
Malfoy interrupted. "I thought I was joining the Order."
"They won't believe you. You attempted to kill their leader."
"Their?"
Harry shrugged. "I'm kind of off on my own now. And I saw the whole thing happen on the tower, before you ask. Dumbledore immobilized me under my cloak right before you opened the door."
Malfoy snapped his mouth shut. "And you... Do you believe me?"
"Not really."
He stood and led the way up the stairs. Malfoy followed. The subject was closed, and Harry had just acquired a new roommate.
Harry frowned. No. That wouldn't do.
He trailed his free hand down his bare stomach and cupped his balls, rolling them in that beautiful way Draco did. He felt he would have choked up if he was able to do it the same way. But he couldn't so he only groaned in frustration.
But, yes, that could do. He thought hard, trying to remember all the details on that encounter late at night near the end of June, only one week after Draco had arrived at the Dursleys.
A sad smile grew slowly on his face, curling his lips, panting to catch some arousal that wouldn't come. Draco was so infuriating. And he had lost Draco. There was no use in pursuing him anymore. It was all up to Draco now.
Harry had a feeling Draco wouldn't do a thing. He always had been lazy.
He choked on a chuckle.
He craned his neck, squeezing his flaccid cock, and losing himself in the memory. Of the rain pelting on the window in time with Draco's breaths and how he had listened angrily from the floor for Draco had refused to sleep on the floor, preferring the not-much-better mattress.
Harry opened his mouth, crooning to the music tinkling through the wall from Dudley's room. "Baby's on fire
Better throw her in the water
Look at her laughing
Like a heifer to the slaughter."
A creak originated from beside him. Harry grinned and continued. "Baby's on fire
And all the laughing boys are bitching
Waiting for photos
Oh the plot is so bewitching."
"What the bloody fuck are you singing?" Malfoy croaked.
Harry looked up and caught his grey eyes glittering from the window. Harry liked his curtain open at night and though Malfoy complained each night about needing it pitch black, Harry refused to relent. Malfoy may have taken the bed. The window was his, however.
"I'm singing to Dudley's music."
"It's wretched."
Harry nodded. Malfoy probably couldn't see it though because the moon didn't reach the floor, preferring to fall on the bed, only increasing Malfoy's discomfort. Which Harry really didn't mind. Malfoy had been nothing but irritating and demanding the past week, even though Harry kept threatening to kick him out. After the first time it hadn't worked.
"Don't you hear it each night? He plays the same CD over and over again. Annoying." Like you, he finished silently. Dudley's music was a safe topic. Best to stick to that.
Malfoy groaned. He sat, grabbed the pillow, and hurled it at the wall separating their room from Dudley's. "Shut that off you fat lump!"
Uncle Vernon's snoring halted, and the music paused. Harry jumped onto the bed and covered Malfoy's mouth before he could yell something else. "Do you want to be stuck cleaning the entire house again?" he hissed, remembering the other day painfully. Malfoy hadn't done any cleaning but vacuuming because he liked to try sucking Harry's hair up the tube. Harry was forced to do everything else.
Malfoy glared up at him. He looked quite comical with his hair sticking up every which way, the gel holding it in that position. Harry grinned.
Something warm and wet wedged its way between Harry's fingers, making his heart skip a beat. He jerked his hand away from Malfoy's tongue, flushed.
"What?" Malfoy asked, no longer angry but curious.
Harry shrugged.
Malfoy shifted underneath him, and Harry noticed that he was straddling the blond.
"I was thinking we should burn all your cousin's music next time they leave the house. What'll you say? It's all terrible trash, and I can't stand another word of it. I mean, where is his taste? Besides, did you see the covers to some of those albums? I say, is he queer or something, because they sure look it."
Harry shook his head, partly in response to Malfoy and partly to shake his sudden odd fixation of Malfoy's pink lips. Malfoy kept darting his tongue out and swiping across them, explaining why they were slightly chapped. In fact, there were some light freckles sprinkled on his nose and over his cheeks. Sun freckles. Very light. His skin was so pale the veins could be seen, looking like little branches. Up close, he wasn't as flawless as Harry had thought him. It was refreshing.
"Well his music sure looks like it, I mean --"
"No. He beats up gay kids. I think the music pumps him up, and he thinks it makes him better at pounding."
Malfoy snorted and grinned, showing a chipped tooth. His breath ghosted over Harry's face, Harry was leaning in so close.
It was nice.
Harry kissed him.
When he pulled back, head disoriented, and Malfoy's taste on his lips, Malfoy reacted.
"What the bloody fuck are you doing?" But Harry noted the absence of fury.
So he kissed him again, wanting more of that taste, wanting to see what other wonderful flaws Malfoy contained, wanting to do something he didn't understand.
He always had been known for running headfirst into things.
Malfoy's dull nails scrapped up Harry's bare back, causing him to shiver and drop, pressing their hard chests together. This was so different from his tumbles with Ginny. She was all curves and soft and sweet. Malfoy was hard and mind-mumbling and angles, from the chin Harry kissed, down his neck, and to the drawstring on his -- Harry's -- pyjama bottoms.
The music started again, louder this time. It was a different song, one Harry didn't recognize. He found that fitting. A different song for such a different activity.
"I don't get it," Malfoy groaned, arching against him. Harry slid his hand down the pyjama bottoms and wrapped his hand around Malfoy's cock. It hardened instantly under his soft touch.
Harry hadn't an answer for Malfoy so he kissed him blindly, rocking against him. The loud creaks of the bed filled the thick and pollinated summer air. Harry quickened the pace, slightly frantic.
Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut and moved with him, apparently understanding his need for swiftness. Malfoy came first, biting Harry's chin and stiffening, his cock surging under Harry's hand. Harry followed directly after, pulling the blanket over their sweaty bodies and attempting to feign sleep when Aunt Petunia threw open the door.
"I'll have none of that, you hear," she hissed.
She received no reply. The door shut after a minute.
That night, and many after, Harry spent on the bed. After Malfoy fell asleep he spent the time exploring the mystery before him, finding the spots that made Malfoy gasp in his sleep and the ones that made him twist restlessly, and finding so many little flaws that only made him search more.
Harry huffed in irritation, squeezing his stiff cock painfully and cursing when he couldn't get off. He flipped over, the memory fading from his mind and leaving him bitter.
A clock was ticking away in the distance and Harry latched onto that, thinking of only that, and ignoring the way his eyes itched.
Since when had he become so pitiful? He would forget about Draco. He didn't need him. He had Ron and Hermione and Ginny, of the latter he still owed an apology.
Sighing, Harry turned on his stomach and buried his face against the pillow so it was difficult to breath. If Draco didn't do something, well, that would be that.
those days are gone forever
i should just let them go but
The pulsating music pounded through his body, each alternating one alerting him to the fact that another second had gone by. Time his life had been reduced to; passing time. And before he had thought himself pitiful. If only his past self could see him now. Maybe he wouldn't have waited six months. Maybe he would have knocked down Draco's door and demanded he be given a second chance.
Maybe it had nothing to do with Draco anymore. Perhaps it was simply the combination of finding out just how many people had died during the war, his sudden and painful severing of his friendship with Ginny, post war insanity (as George, who saw a psychiatrist once a week, called it) and losing Draco.
What if -- Harry grinned at the thought, keeping his eyes closed and tilting his head back so his hair rubbed against the dingy walls of the club -- he was only fooling himself into making it all about Draco when really he had been over the blond the moment he sent his house-elf out to tell Harry off.
Eh. Who cared? It was Hermione's fault he was even visiting Caverns instead of going out for a pint with Ron. If she hadn't mentioned that she'd seen Draco out in Diagon Alley, and then looked at Harry with a pitying frown and asked if he wanted to talk about anything, Harry wouldn't be trying to ignore the writhering bodies on the dance floor and, at the same time, trying to blend in.
He opened his eyes, squinting through the red darkness; he had left his glasses at his flat, wanting to haze over the whole evening and drown in his sorrows so he could rise in the morning and feel better about the whole affair. Some woman with deep red lipstick and dusty purple hair jerked her head for him to dance.
Figuring dancing with strangers in the sea of bodies was the best way to become part of them, Harry complied.
She didn't ask his name or give him a second glance -- just placed a hand on his waist and the other she tangled in his hair, and she moved against him, grinding, oblivious to her partner and his discomfort. Harry never had understood the mentality of a regular club-hopper. Even though he tended to be a regular.
He closed his eyes again, focussing on the music, the animalistic beat, and the bodies wriggling against him. Someone slipped a hand down the back pocket of his jeans, and he was turned around. This was the part he liked. All he had to do was close his eyes and move, slide against whatever body was closest to him. It was instinct, if he forced it to be. And if he was good enough, he ended up wriggling his way through the dance floor, not once seeing who was touching him, and stumbling out an end to find the front doors mere yards from him. Then he would grimace, walk out, and stop at a pub for a drink before Apparating home.
But it didn't happen this time. He was probably off with the beat -- just a hair because he didn't realize it. The hands down his pockets pushed him closer, against a bare chest. A bloke. Harry lifted his head and smiled his approval, his eyelids fluttering but not opening.
He could smell the same cologne Draco used. Sweet and bitter and sophisticated all in one. If he cleared his head he could pretend it was Draco. Decidedly not what he had gone to Caverns for but he did it anyway.
Lips brushed against his right ear, making him shiver. "I can't stand you," the voice said, shouting over the music but only sounding like a whisper. "Never could."
Harry's eyes snapped open, and he took in the fuzzy form of Draco Malfoy, clad in wizard clothes in a Muggle club and frowning across the short distance at him.
Surprisingly, Harry held his own. Maybe he was right: Draco was only his excuse.
But Draco removed a hand from his trousers and brushed his thumb across Harry's bottom lip. Harry's mouth fell open with an inaudible gasp. It was like a loud, bizarre dream. It couldn't be true.
Harry shifted away and strode to the wall, wondering if Draco would follow. If he should give him the chance to. If he even had an opportunity to do so or if Draco would leave at the first sign of resistance. Was Draco even there?
"Potter!"
Harry stopped at the wall and leaned against it, crossing his arms and appearing oh so much more confident than he really felt.
"What do you want?" Harry ground out. He was furious now. Draco couldn't just walk into some club, dance on up to him, brush his finger over Harry's lips, and take him without an apology!
Or an explanation. An apology might be taking it a bit too far for Draco Malfoy.
"You." Draco scrunched his face. "Still. Even after you smite me and went all holy is I, and I will get what I want, and then you kiss Weasley and decide to pursue me."
"Ginny kissed me. Not the other way--"
Draco waved a hand. "Yeah, I know. It's not about that, anyway. I don't see where you come off ignoring me--"
"You were ignoring me!"
"--and then suddenly wanting me back after you realized there was nothing else for you to do."
And then Harry grinned, calmed. "Been wanting to say that for a long time?" Draco leaned in closer to hear, his fringe brushing against Harry's cheek. Harry stuttered, "You've been wanting to say that for a long time, ay?" It didn't come out nearly as cheeky as the first time.
Draco grinned at him. "Yeah, well, you're a wreak without me so..."
"So."
Draco shrugged, and they stared at each other. Awkward. And it was like that first day in the Dursleys' home, staring at each other, the tension building. Only this time there was a sizzle of music between them instead of a coffee table, and that first time Harry hadn't wanted to kiss him.
Taking the initiative, Harry moved forward, twisting his hands in Draco's shirt and kissing him hungrily. Their tongues met and tussled together in the heated air between them before moving inside Harry's mouth. He tasted the same, even after all this time.
Draco pulled back and, ignoring Harry's questioning gaze, pressed him against the wall, and dropped his own head beside Harry's so that his breath puffed over Harry's ear.
"I love you," Harry said, long overdue.
Draco simply shook his head. They stood like that for the longest time, holding each other until their breathing found a rhythm together, out of tune with the pulsating music. But that was all right, because Harry didn't need to become one with the dancers anymore.
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Length: 5430
Summary: In the middle of chaos, Harry finds some peace with Draco. However, when Draco's emotional demands become more than Harry is willing to give, their relationship faces more enemies than just Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. The bolded headers are quotes from the song The Boys of Summer by Don Henley. The other bit of song quotes are from Baby's on Fire by Brian Eno.
Note: This was written for missaness in participation of hds_beltane. Eternal thanks goes to my beta dramedy, who also claims credit for the title and summary.
you got your hair combed back and your
sunglasses on, baby
He dropped, their sweaty bodies moulding together. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist, pressing him down harder, as if he couldn't get enough.
Draco groaned. "Love you." The words swirled in the dip where Harry's neck met his collarbone, rendering him speechless.
Harry panicked. A lump formed in his stomach. Subtly but defiantly, he shifted out from under Draco, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Ah, I mean, you know," Draco corrected, waving an arm lazily.
Harry sighed in relief. "Yeah, just post coitus feelings -- that's what you call it, right?"
He felt Draco's body stiffen beside him, and he suddenly wished the Dursleys were home. Then they wouldn't have had sex and this painfully awkward moment wouldn't be happening. No, they probably would have got in another sexually charged argument and ended up at opposite ends of the house, the Dursleys screaming from the centre for them to shut the bloody hell up and leave them alone already.
Unfortunately, that wasn't possible. It was only the beginning of July, and Harry was following through with Professor Dumbledore's request. He would stay until he was of age. In fact, if the Dursleys had been home, that probably would have been the cause of Draco's and his argument because no one but Hermione seemed to understand where he was coming from about not setting out yet.
"And what if it's not, as you say, post coitus feelings?" Draco asked tightly.
Harry reached out and touched the tense muscles on his back, tracing them, marvelling at how there seemed to actually be some when he was angry. "Doesn't matter. It was that."
The bed creaked loudly as Draco sat, the inked-stained, lint-coloured sheet pooling around his waist, the evening sun pouring in the open window and onto Draco's skin, making him appear almost white.
Silence filled the room. After five excruciating minutes that seemed to last a lifetime, Harry looked into Draco's cold, grey ones. There was sneer on Draco's face. He lifted his chin slightly. "I love you."
It was a challenge.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "Look, there's a war and it's first priority, you know," Harry started, not sure where he was going but knowing he didn't want to go where Draco was going. He had broken it off with Ginny for a reason. There was no way he was going to do the same thing with Draco. What was a fantastic July in the scheme of things? It was nothing but setting up Draco's immediate instead of when-we-get-around-to-it death. Loving Harry equalled death. Harry knew that all to well -- had seen it happen too many times.
"I mean, who knows how the whole thing will turn out. Who knows -- well -- our feelings could change. And, really, it'll only complicate things. I don't want to complicate things. Things are fine between us the way they are. Why complicate them?" He was repeating himself, but he had nothing else to say. Nothing else besides...well...he'd say it. "I don't want you to love me."
Draco nodded. Harry smiled, sighing. There now. That hadn't been so hard. No harm done.
"How could I have forgot that you have a whole life already planned out after the war?" Draco stood, his bitter words lingering in the air, in Harry's confusion. As he watched Draco dress, Harry's overlarge clothes sliding over Draco's thin form, he pondered it, growing quite indignant. He had no bleeding clue about his future! He could die. The only thing he knew was that he knew nothing.
"I don't un--"
"Shush." There was one trainer -- Harry's trainers because Draco had showed up at the Dursley's doorstep half a month ago with classy, black robe shoes -- on his foot and another in his hand that he clutched at his thigh, every other part of his body just as tense. "I understand. Don't feel like you have to blunder through some pathetic excuse." He sniffed snootily. "Besides, it was rhetorical."
Harry raised an eyebrow even though he didn't want to discuss the matter. Here was the argument he had been expecting but hoping never came.
"No. You know what? It wasn't rhetorical. I do love you, Harry. And I know it's a mistake. I hate myself for that, amongst many other things that all revolve around you. You're just the bloody blight of my existence. Do you like that? Is that what you aim for? Well, congratulations," -- he gave a humourless laugh -- "you got it."
"Draco..."
Draco shook his head, white-blond fringe falling into his eyes. "How do I find the Order?"
"Aw, come on." Harry stood and crossed the room to him, pausing before him and not quite sure if he should touch him or not. "Don't be like that."
"I'm not being like anything, Potter," he spat. "Now tell me how to find the fucking Order. I don't need any of your help. I can do it on my own. Just tell me how."
It wasn't going to work. No way would they give Draco the time of day. Just because he had... Well, maybe there had been some truth to Ron and Hermione's comments back in sixth year concerning his obsession with Draco.
"Tell. Me."
So Harry did. There was nothing else he could do short of suggesting to Draco that they could take things slow and see where it led, but don't be surprised if I die during the war. Or you die. You'll be an even bigger target if anyone finds out.
But Harry just gave Hermione's address and told him to explain to her like he had to Harry that rainy day half a month ago. Then again, he had better repair his explanations, because they had been truly dismal ones, and Hermione wouldn't trust him enough on that alone.
"But you don't have to go," Harry added, feeling open and raw and exposed standing before Draco in the nude.
Draco looked over Harry's shoulder, out the window, Harry presumed. At long last he looked into Harry's eyes, and there was a hardness in his, a chilling, light grey around the edges, bleeding into the pupil. "I hope you realize that you loved me first."
His crack of Apparation filled the bedroom, echoing off the walls and continuing until Harry walked to the loo and stood under the hot spray of the water.
i never will forget those nights
i wonder if it was a dream
All he felt was fear. Surely there had to be something else. Relief, happiness, insanity? Killing the most evil wizard of the time had to create something besides fear. Killing him should kill the fear.
Blearily, as if emerging from within, he realized that it wasn't fear of Voldemort he felt, but fear for others. So many people had been in the war. So many people he loved -- why had he loved so much?
"I'm all right, mate," a voice off to the side said, strained. Harry whirled around and found Ron clutching his leg in the thick, damp with morning dew grass. He smiled. Ron smiled back.
A bushy mop of hair ran into view and dropped next to Ron. Other people were swarming around: Lupin, Tonks, Mundungus, Neville, George, McGonagall, Mrs Weasley. Each person, even Mundungus, made relief clink into Harry's stomach.
But where was Draco?
Frantic, Harry pushed through the mob of people, eyes searching for that right shade of blond. Something on the ground made his breath catch, but it was off in the distance; he could be wrong.
"C'mon, Harry!" someone yelled.
Harry ignored them, and his walk turned brisk. He stopped fifteen yards away. Draco was kneeling in the dirt, head bowed over the unresponsive figure of his father. His head levelled and met Harry's gaze.
There was a hardness there, the same as the last time they'd spoken, seven months ago. Draco had to still love him. Why else would he have ignored Harry the entire time? And now Harry knew. He knew that after all that -- after all that had happened -- he loved Draco.
Draco stood, the blood on his robes so bright in the rising sun. He opened his mouth and suddenly snapped it shut, turning his head to his father again.
Something bounded into Harry, nearly knocking him to the ground.
"Harry! Thank Merlin, you're alive!"
Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny uncomfortably. But he felt he had to, after dragging her into everything and forcing her through a war. If she hadn't known him she wouldn't have gone through all that. Who knew how much of her family was dead. Harry didn't recall seeing her dad or Bill or Charlie.
"Finally," she groaned, pressing closer to him so that he could smell her flowery perfume over the stench of death. It was nice.
And then she pressed their lips together, shoving her tongue through his flabbergasted lips. This was not nice. He wanted to be holding Draco like this, not Ginny.
Harry shoved her away. Hard. She hit the ground, but Harry didn't look for her reaction, instead searching for Draco.
He wasn't there.
"Harry?" Ginny pulled her legs against her chest and stared up at him, brow furrowed.
Harry shook his head. "No. I -- I --" He sighed, letting his head drop. If Draco wasn't going to believe him he had better start being truthful from the start. "I love someone else. And I need to go find him."
Ginny cocked her head. "Him?"
But Harry had already Disapparated.
~ ~ ~
Draco hadn't returned to Headquarters, even for the celebratory get-together that people Harry hadn't even known were in the Order showed up for. In fact, he had from a good source that everyone from the Order who was still breathing had shown. Except Draco.
He wouldn't even allow the house-elves to answer the wrought iron door. Harry's hand was a flaming, burning red.
"You bloody prick!" he hollered, quite incensed after fifteen minutes of trying to sweet talk him into listening. He knew Draco was in there. Had seen him enter mere minutes before he knocked.
"You answer the bloody door like a bloody man!" This time his head connected with the door, the resounding thud oddly satisfying. "Draco!"
A chilly April wind rifled his hair, making him shiver, and taking all his anger with him. He collapsed to the porch, knocking his head against the door again and letting it rest there, exhausted.
"I'm sorry, all right?" His voice was hoarse, his tongue heavy in his mouth. Why did Draco have to be so difficult? But he remembered that day when Draco had left -- the last thing he had said. And maybe -- maybe it had been true. He just hadn't wanted to admit it.
He took a deep breath, baring his soul, and Draco bleeding well better open the door and apologize because Harry was starting to wonder if he was worth the past two weeks of hell, though he kept trying anyway.
"Look. You were right, okay. Is that what you wanted to hear? I loved you first, and I just didn't want it to be true. It would have been too dangerous. I mean, you were already wanted by the Death Eaters and, well, if they found out we were involved they would have bumped you to the top of their 'who to kill list.' And it was a dis--"
The door fell open. Harry jerked forward with the loss of solid. Two large, beady, black eyes stared at him. "Twippy is terribly sorry, sir," the house-elf apologized, snatching his hand and tugging him down the property. "Master Draco is saying you are a nuisance" -- Twippy flushed -- "and he's not liking to hear you speak, sir. He says to leave him alone because he's over you and moved on."
Harry blinked. Eventually, when they reached the gate, Harry came to himself and straightened, pulling his hand out of Twippy's. "Can you tell him something for me?"
Twippy's eyes widened significantly, and she bit her bottom lip.
"Just a small thing. I'll leave him alone, I promise." He waited until she nodded, ears flapping against her face. "Tell Draco that I won't forget everything and if he can then he's just as bad as I was."
"Oh, no, sir." She rang her hands clumsily. "Twippy cannot be telling Master Draco that."
"Please," Harry persisted. "I won't bother him again. Promise."
Harry waited rather impatiently through her internal argument but tried not to show it. Then she gave a curt nod. "Twippy will tell."
"Thanks."
She returned his smile hesitantly.
~ ~ ~
The knocks echoed through the house. Up the stairs and through the bedroom door, into his bored, muddled mind they travelled, multiple times. Eventually Harry sighed and shifted in his bed. He figured it wasn't some door-to-door seller and had to be something important if they continued after five minutes. The old, springy mattress protested loudly when he swung to a sitting position. He tossed his legs off the side and stood, blinking off the haze of sleep.
The knocking ceased.
Harry groaned. But his interest was aroused, and he stumbled down the stairwell, across the spotless, empty sitting room, and flung the door open.
A body tumbled forward against him.
"Whoa!" Harry gasped, grabbing the boy's shoulders and pulling him back. Defeated, tired, grey eyes looked back into his.
The crooked smile Malfoy gave him coupled with the pale stains down his cheeks let Harry know this wasn't a Death Eater attack. And why ever would it be a social call?
Harry shut the door behind him. He took a deep breath and turned in time to see Malfoy collapse on the couch. Sprawl on it really, which wasn't something Harry ever expected Draco Malfoy to do. Then again, he hadn't ever expected to find Malfoy crying his heart out to Myrtle. Or anyone.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, moving slowly and feeling as if he was circling some prey, for Malfoy was looking at him as if he might attack at any second. Following that train of thought, Harry subtly reached for his wand. It wasn't there. He glanced at the stairs. It was next to his bed, lying on top of his summer school work he wouldn't even be turning in because in about a month and a half he would be setting out with Ron and Hermione in search of Horcruxes.
Malfoy adjusted himself so he was slouching, his muddy feet propped on the coffee table. That's when Harry noticed it was raining. He looked out the window above Malfoy's head and watched the fat droplets splash into the puddles. It seemed to be raining every day this summer.
Malfoy cleared his throat, snaring Harry's attention. He raised one pale eyebrow. "I want to be protected."
Harry snorted. When Malfoy did nothing but stare, he sunk into the armchair off to the side of the couch and crossed his legs, turning to face him. Good thing the Dursleys had gone out for dinner. Aunt Petunia would just flip upon seeing Malfoy's dripping feet. And for another 'freak' being in her home.
The tension was building and they just kept staring. Awkward. "Why? Aren't you with the Death Eaters? Voldemort? Why should I help you? Why would I? And -- hey! -- how'd you get through the wards?" He narrowed his eyes. There was something up Malfoy's sleeve.
"Give a bloke time to answer, ay, Potter?" Malfoy chuckled. His voice was raspy. Harry hoped he had caught something from the rain. "I was with the Death Eaters, but things turned sour. Now I'm here. I've no need to tell you more so don't ask. It's not necessary for you to know the little details. Not everything evolves around you." His tone was slightly bitter, as if someone had spoken those words to him. He shook his head and pinned Harry with his steely, grey gaze.
Harry was not deterred, however. He realized that Malfoy hadn't answered -- "How'd you get through the wards?" He shoved a hand behind him, hoping Malfoy would be threatened and think he was holding his wand.
Malfoy just waved a hand dismissingly. "Don't blame me for things I can't control. It malfunctioned, or something. What's its exact purpose?"
Harry shrugged. He hadn't bothered to ask when told of the wards.
Malfoy tilted his head. "So." He rubbed his dressy shoes against the edge of the coffee table, letting them fall to the floor. He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He rested his head on top of them and managed to look intimidating instead of insecure. "Will you give me protection?"
An internal struggle was fostering in Harry. He couldn't help but replay the scene of Malfoy lowering his wand those few centimetres. It wasn't much, but it spoke volumes.
But things changed. People changed. Malfoy had not been heard of since that night, having been shacked up with Voldemort and his delusional followers. This could be some skewed up plot. Malfoy had said nothing to earn Harry's trust.
Not to mention Harry hadn't the faintest inking of how to protect him.
Finally, Harry decided, "I can't believe you unless you join the Order."
An insane, unimaginable idea, really. But how would Malfoy react?
Malfoy turned his head, resting his cheek against his knee. "All right, then. How do I get there?"
Harry grinned despite himself. "I live with Muggles. They won't want you here so try not to cause trouble." He gave Malfoy a cynical look. "Then again, I imagine that'd be hard for you. But you'll be rooming with me -- no where else to put you."
Malfoy interrupted. "I thought I was joining the Order."
"They won't believe you. You attempted to kill their leader."
"Their?"
Harry shrugged. "I'm kind of off on my own now. And I saw the whole thing happen on the tower, before you ask. Dumbledore immobilized me under my cloak right before you opened the door."
Malfoy snapped his mouth shut. "And you... Do you believe me?"
"Not really."
He stood and led the way up the stairs. Malfoy followed. The subject was closed, and Harry had just acquired a new roommate.
Harry frowned. No. That wouldn't do.
He trailed his free hand down his bare stomach and cupped his balls, rolling them in that beautiful way Draco did. He felt he would have choked up if he was able to do it the same way. But he couldn't so he only groaned in frustration.
But, yes, that could do. He thought hard, trying to remember all the details on that encounter late at night near the end of June, only one week after Draco had arrived at the Dursleys.
A sad smile grew slowly on his face, curling his lips, panting to catch some arousal that wouldn't come. Draco was so infuriating. And he had lost Draco. There was no use in pursuing him anymore. It was all up to Draco now.
Harry had a feeling Draco wouldn't do a thing. He always had been lazy.
He choked on a chuckle.
He craned his neck, squeezing his flaccid cock, and losing himself in the memory. Of the rain pelting on the window in time with Draco's breaths and how he had listened angrily from the floor for Draco had refused to sleep on the floor, preferring the not-much-better mattress.
Harry opened his mouth, crooning to the music tinkling through the wall from Dudley's room. "Baby's on fire
Better throw her in the water
Look at her laughing
Like a heifer to the slaughter."
A creak originated from beside him. Harry grinned and continued. "Baby's on fire
And all the laughing boys are bitching
Waiting for photos
Oh the plot is so bewitching."
"What the bloody fuck are you singing?" Malfoy croaked.
Harry looked up and caught his grey eyes glittering from the window. Harry liked his curtain open at night and though Malfoy complained each night about needing it pitch black, Harry refused to relent. Malfoy may have taken the bed. The window was his, however.
"I'm singing to Dudley's music."
"It's wretched."
Harry nodded. Malfoy probably couldn't see it though because the moon didn't reach the floor, preferring to fall on the bed, only increasing Malfoy's discomfort. Which Harry really didn't mind. Malfoy had been nothing but irritating and demanding the past week, even though Harry kept threatening to kick him out. After the first time it hadn't worked.
"Don't you hear it each night? He plays the same CD over and over again. Annoying." Like you, he finished silently. Dudley's music was a safe topic. Best to stick to that.
Malfoy groaned. He sat, grabbed the pillow, and hurled it at the wall separating their room from Dudley's. "Shut that off you fat lump!"
Uncle Vernon's snoring halted, and the music paused. Harry jumped onto the bed and covered Malfoy's mouth before he could yell something else. "Do you want to be stuck cleaning the entire house again?" he hissed, remembering the other day painfully. Malfoy hadn't done any cleaning but vacuuming because he liked to try sucking Harry's hair up the tube. Harry was forced to do everything else.
Malfoy glared up at him. He looked quite comical with his hair sticking up every which way, the gel holding it in that position. Harry grinned.
Something warm and wet wedged its way between Harry's fingers, making his heart skip a beat. He jerked his hand away from Malfoy's tongue, flushed.
"What?" Malfoy asked, no longer angry but curious.
Harry shrugged.
Malfoy shifted underneath him, and Harry noticed that he was straddling the blond.
"I was thinking we should burn all your cousin's music next time they leave the house. What'll you say? It's all terrible trash, and I can't stand another word of it. I mean, where is his taste? Besides, did you see the covers to some of those albums? I say, is he queer or something, because they sure look it."
Harry shook his head, partly in response to Malfoy and partly to shake his sudden odd fixation of Malfoy's pink lips. Malfoy kept darting his tongue out and swiping across them, explaining why they were slightly chapped. In fact, there were some light freckles sprinkled on his nose and over his cheeks. Sun freckles. Very light. His skin was so pale the veins could be seen, looking like little branches. Up close, he wasn't as flawless as Harry had thought him. It was refreshing.
"Well his music sure looks like it, I mean --"
"No. He beats up gay kids. I think the music pumps him up, and he thinks it makes him better at pounding."
Malfoy snorted and grinned, showing a chipped tooth. His breath ghosted over Harry's face, Harry was leaning in so close.
It was nice.
Harry kissed him.
When he pulled back, head disoriented, and Malfoy's taste on his lips, Malfoy reacted.
"What the bloody fuck are you doing?" But Harry noted the absence of fury.
So he kissed him again, wanting more of that taste, wanting to see what other wonderful flaws Malfoy contained, wanting to do something he didn't understand.
He always had been known for running headfirst into things.
Malfoy's dull nails scrapped up Harry's bare back, causing him to shiver and drop, pressing their hard chests together. This was so different from his tumbles with Ginny. She was all curves and soft and sweet. Malfoy was hard and mind-mumbling and angles, from the chin Harry kissed, down his neck, and to the drawstring on his -- Harry's -- pyjama bottoms.
The music started again, louder this time. It was a different song, one Harry didn't recognize. He found that fitting. A different song for such a different activity.
"I don't get it," Malfoy groaned, arching against him. Harry slid his hand down the pyjama bottoms and wrapped his hand around Malfoy's cock. It hardened instantly under his soft touch.
Harry hadn't an answer for Malfoy so he kissed him blindly, rocking against him. The loud creaks of the bed filled the thick and pollinated summer air. Harry quickened the pace, slightly frantic.
Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut and moved with him, apparently understanding his need for swiftness. Malfoy came first, biting Harry's chin and stiffening, his cock surging under Harry's hand. Harry followed directly after, pulling the blanket over their sweaty bodies and attempting to feign sleep when Aunt Petunia threw open the door.
"I'll have none of that, you hear," she hissed.
She received no reply. The door shut after a minute.
That night, and many after, Harry spent on the bed. After Malfoy fell asleep he spent the time exploring the mystery before him, finding the spots that made Malfoy gasp in his sleep and the ones that made him twist restlessly, and finding so many little flaws that only made him search more.
Harry huffed in irritation, squeezing his stiff cock painfully and cursing when he couldn't get off. He flipped over, the memory fading from his mind and leaving him bitter.
A clock was ticking away in the distance and Harry latched onto that, thinking of only that, and ignoring the way his eyes itched.
Since when had he become so pitiful? He would forget about Draco. He didn't need him. He had Ron and Hermione and Ginny, of the latter he still owed an apology.
Sighing, Harry turned on his stomach and buried his face against the pillow so it was difficult to breath. If Draco didn't do something, well, that would be that.
those days are gone forever
i should just let them go but
The pulsating music pounded through his body, each alternating one alerting him to the fact that another second had gone by. Time his life had been reduced to; passing time. And before he had thought himself pitiful. If only his past self could see him now. Maybe he wouldn't have waited six months. Maybe he would have knocked down Draco's door and demanded he be given a second chance.
Maybe it had nothing to do with Draco anymore. Perhaps it was simply the combination of finding out just how many people had died during the war, his sudden and painful severing of his friendship with Ginny, post war insanity (as George, who saw a psychiatrist once a week, called it) and losing Draco.
What if -- Harry grinned at the thought, keeping his eyes closed and tilting his head back so his hair rubbed against the dingy walls of the club -- he was only fooling himself into making it all about Draco when really he had been over the blond the moment he sent his house-elf out to tell Harry off.
Eh. Who cared? It was Hermione's fault he was even visiting Caverns instead of going out for a pint with Ron. If she hadn't mentioned that she'd seen Draco out in Diagon Alley, and then looked at Harry with a pitying frown and asked if he wanted to talk about anything, Harry wouldn't be trying to ignore the writhering bodies on the dance floor and, at the same time, trying to blend in.
He opened his eyes, squinting through the red darkness; he had left his glasses at his flat, wanting to haze over the whole evening and drown in his sorrows so he could rise in the morning and feel better about the whole affair. Some woman with deep red lipstick and dusty purple hair jerked her head for him to dance.
Figuring dancing with strangers in the sea of bodies was the best way to become part of them, Harry complied.
She didn't ask his name or give him a second glance -- just placed a hand on his waist and the other she tangled in his hair, and she moved against him, grinding, oblivious to her partner and his discomfort. Harry never had understood the mentality of a regular club-hopper. Even though he tended to be a regular.
He closed his eyes again, focussing on the music, the animalistic beat, and the bodies wriggling against him. Someone slipped a hand down the back pocket of his jeans, and he was turned around. This was the part he liked. All he had to do was close his eyes and move, slide against whatever body was closest to him. It was instinct, if he forced it to be. And if he was good enough, he ended up wriggling his way through the dance floor, not once seeing who was touching him, and stumbling out an end to find the front doors mere yards from him. Then he would grimace, walk out, and stop at a pub for a drink before Apparating home.
But it didn't happen this time. He was probably off with the beat -- just a hair because he didn't realize it. The hands down his pockets pushed him closer, against a bare chest. A bloke. Harry lifted his head and smiled his approval, his eyelids fluttering but not opening.
He could smell the same cologne Draco used. Sweet and bitter and sophisticated all in one. If he cleared his head he could pretend it was Draco. Decidedly not what he had gone to Caverns for but he did it anyway.
Lips brushed against his right ear, making him shiver. "I can't stand you," the voice said, shouting over the music but only sounding like a whisper. "Never could."
Harry's eyes snapped open, and he took in the fuzzy form of Draco Malfoy, clad in wizard clothes in a Muggle club and frowning across the short distance at him.
Surprisingly, Harry held his own. Maybe he was right: Draco was only his excuse.
But Draco removed a hand from his trousers and brushed his thumb across Harry's bottom lip. Harry's mouth fell open with an inaudible gasp. It was like a loud, bizarre dream. It couldn't be true.
Harry shifted away and strode to the wall, wondering if Draco would follow. If he should give him the chance to. If he even had an opportunity to do so or if Draco would leave at the first sign of resistance. Was Draco even there?
"Potter!"
Harry stopped at the wall and leaned against it, crossing his arms and appearing oh so much more confident than he really felt.
"What do you want?" Harry ground out. He was furious now. Draco couldn't just walk into some club, dance on up to him, brush his finger over Harry's lips, and take him without an apology!
Or an explanation. An apology might be taking it a bit too far for Draco Malfoy.
"You." Draco scrunched his face. "Still. Even after you smite me and went all holy is I, and I will get what I want, and then you kiss Weasley and decide to pursue me."
"Ginny kissed me. Not the other way--"
Draco waved a hand. "Yeah, I know. It's not about that, anyway. I don't see where you come off ignoring me--"
"You were ignoring me!"
"--and then suddenly wanting me back after you realized there was nothing else for you to do."
And then Harry grinned, calmed. "Been wanting to say that for a long time?" Draco leaned in closer to hear, his fringe brushing against Harry's cheek. Harry stuttered, "You've been wanting to say that for a long time, ay?" It didn't come out nearly as cheeky as the first time.
Draco grinned at him. "Yeah, well, you're a wreak without me so..."
"So."
Draco shrugged, and they stared at each other. Awkward. And it was like that first day in the Dursleys' home, staring at each other, the tension building. Only this time there was a sizzle of music between them instead of a coffee table, and that first time Harry hadn't wanted to kiss him.
Taking the initiative, Harry moved forward, twisting his hands in Draco's shirt and kissing him hungrily. Their tongues met and tussled together in the heated air between them before moving inside Harry's mouth. He tasted the same, even after all this time.
Draco pulled back and, ignoring Harry's questioning gaze, pressed him against the wall, and dropped his own head beside Harry's so that his breath puffed over Harry's ear.
"I love you," Harry said, long overdue.
Draco simply shook his head. They stood like that for the longest time, holding each other until their breathing found a rhythm together, out of tune with the pulsating music. But that was all right, because Harry didn't need to become one with the dancers anymore.