FIC: Warning Sign (1/4) (Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter)
Title: Warning Sign (1/4)
Author/Artist: kedavranox
Characters: Harry, Draco, Narcissa, Andromeda, OMC. Brief Ginny and Astoria. Mention of Ron and Hermione
Prompt number:124
Word Count:~15K
Rating:NC-17
Warnings: Slash/ Established Relationship/Rough (sort of) sex
Summary: Teddy gets sick. Narcissa plots. Harry resists. Draco wants.
Disclaimer: I didn’t create these characters, but you should know that already.
Author’s Notes: This story spiralled into a massive piece, and by the end of it I didn’t want to let my boys go! Thanks to my beta for being so forthcoming in her critique and thanks to the mods for setting this whole fest up! Go fandom! (I am a geek.)
Warning Sign - Part One
I started looking, and the bubble burst.
I started looking for excuses.
The whooshing sound of his Floo startles Harry awake with a jolt. He flings his arms out; knocking over the half empty glass of water Brian persistently forgets on the side table.
‘Shit!’
He hates being jolted awake in the mornings. It reminds him too much of the war-that, and the fact that he’s usually starkers.
He fumbles his glasses onto his face, looking about his bedroom for something decent to wear. It’s utter chaos. His Quidditch robes are balled up in a smelly heap in the corner. His Streamline 6.0 is stuck upside-down in a rubbish bin, leaning precariously against the wall. Clothes are scattered all over the floor. Brian’s leather belt is still tied to the bedpost.
Harry smiles slowly at that. He’d woken up with hard-on, only to find Brian already dressed and fumbling his belt through the loops of his trousers. He'd pulled the belt from his fingers, and yanked his boyfriend onto bed, firmly tying it around his wrists and bed post. Brian only had a moment to murmur, ‘I’ll be late for work, you tosser,’ before Harry fucked him slowly into the mattress.
He starts again as the Floo clangs loudly for a second time, echoing throughout the empty house. Someone’s calling his name from the living room.
‘I’m coming!’ he yells.
He pulls his dressing gown from the heap of clothes pilled high at the foot of the bed and ties it loosely around his waist. In the hallway he steps on a toy truck, a plastic Quidditch player in scarlet robes and a shuddering miniature replica of a golden snitch before making it onto the landing.
Thank you, Teddy. Who knew someone so small could accumulate so much shit. He thunders down the stairs and peers into the living room. Narcissa Malfoy’s head is in his Floo. It’s a rare enough sight --at least lately, and it makes him stop short.
‘Oh, Harry. Thank goodness,’ she says. ‘I was about to send Wespy through to see if you’d died.’
‘I’m alive, thanks. What warrants a Floo call at-’ he checks his watch, ‘eight thirty this morning?’
‘Aren’t Quidditch sensations required to wake up at dawn?’
‘It’s off-season, Narcissa’ he says, pulling his dressing gown tighter about himself and stepping closer to the fireplace. ‘What do you want?’
He hears Andromeda’s voice calling out faintly, ‘Stop needling the boy, Cissy. Besides, I'm perfectly all right.’
Narcissa frowns and her head disappears from the flames for a brief moment. ‘Be quiet, Dromeda. The last thing we need is you spreading this thing to everyone else.’
She looks back at Harry. ‘Harry, dear, Andromeda’s come down with the flu.’ She says the last two words with the studied cautiousness of someone unfamiliar with the language.
‘She looks dreadful. I keep telling her it’s all that time she spends in London with those Muggles. She’s bound to pick up something nasty.’
Harry bites his tongue on the numerous comments that spring to mind in response to that. He’d learned that, with Narcissa, as with each of the Malfoy’s, survival depended on carefully choosing your battles.
‘They’re her friends, Narcissa,’ he says, glancing at the calendar on his watch. ‘Do you need me to take Teddy? I’m free this week anyway; I’m not back on season for a fortnight.’
‘Yes, that’s the thing,’ Narcissa says, brushing her hair away from her face. ‘We were hoping you’d come over here. Help the old ladies out for a bit? Poor Teddy looks like he might be falling ill as well, and you know what he’s like after Flooing at the best of times.’
Harry sighs, scratching the back of his neck absently with his fingers. For the most part, he tends to avoid time alone with Narcissa. They almost always end up talking about things he likes to avoid.
‘Let me get dressed,’ he says after a moment. ‘I’ll Floo over in a bit.’
‘Excellent,’ she pauses, glancing at him coyly. ‘Maybe you could stop by the alley first? Fetch us a couple things -?’ she says off-handedly waving a piece of paper.
Harry rolls his eyes. ‘Just give me the list, Narcissa.’
She beams.
**
By the time he Floos to Andromeda’s little cottage, it’s ten in the morning and his temper’s been rattled by one too many Daily Prophet photographers trying to get a shot of Harry Potter’s sodding groceries.
He finds Narcissa and Teddy in the small dining room off the kitchen. A half-eaten bowl of stew lies between the two; Teddy’s normally violently purple hair has changed to a dreary plum-coloured hue. Narcissa, looking utterly fed up and out of place, waves Harry over absent-mindedly as she tries to keep Teddy from pilfering her wand.
‘Do magic, Cissy,’ Teddy whines.
Narcissa looks up as Harry begins dropping bags onto the table.
‘He’s feeling poorly,’ she says. ‘He refuses to eat anything Wespy makes, and his hair’s never been this dull.’
Harry drops the last of the bags onto the table and dusts his palms on his jeans. He reaches over to his godson who lifts his arms immediately. Teddy feels warm against Harry’s chest and when Harry murmurs, ‘Teds’, he only receives a pitiful ‘Harry’ in reply.
Christ. At this rate they’ll all be sick come morning.
‘I think I’ll take him upstairs for a nap and maybe a quick bath first,’ Harry says. Teddy rests his head on his shoulder and sighs, but Harry swears his godson’s hair brightens just a bit.
The look of sheer gratitude on Narcissa face makes him smile.
‘How’s Andromeda?’ he asks.
Narcissa waves her hand, and Teddy makes an abortive grasp for her wand again.
‘She’s asleep,’ she says. ‘I slipped her some sleeping draught in her tea. She refused to rest. Ridiculous woman.’
Harry balances Teddy on his hip, and heads for the bath.
‘Come for some tea when he goes down,’ Narcissa calls after him. ‘I’ll have Wespy make you those pasties you like so.’
**
When Teddy finally falls asleep, Harry’s shirt is still damp with bathwater and his hair is even messier than usual. He tries in vain to flatten it as he walks down the narrow hall from Teddy’s bedroom to the dining room. He’s about to walk in when he hears Narcissa speaking in low tones to someone else. Another voice murmurs a reply and Harry stills. Fuck. It’s him.
Fuck.
His heart thuds skittishly in his chest and for a wild fleeting moment he considers simply Disapparating away. Before he can though, Wespy finds him dithering in the hallway.
‘Mr. Potter is having tea?’ she asks, nodding.
Caught, Harry nods stupidly and follows the elf into the dining room. Draco is sitting at the table nonchalantly chewing on a hob-nob, his favourite ever since Harry had bought home a pack one evening on a whim. His broad shoulders flex underneath his shirt as he grabs the teapot from the table. Narcissa looks up at Harry with a cool expression. Why the woman can’t stay the hell out of his personal life he’ll never know. He’s managed to avoid Draco for almost a year and a half; trust Narcissa Malfoy to use his godson to get them in the same room again.
Draco turns around in is seat and his lips part in an 'O' of surprise.
Christ, the prat looks exactly the same. The same pointed chin, pale face. The same long blonde lashes, the same fucking grey eyes. His hair is shorter than usual, but it’s still long enough to curl between his fingers; a habit Draco hasn’t yet given up, given the way it still sticks up about his ears. His white shirt is crisp and undone at the top the way Harry likes. His silver cufflinks--Harry’s breath catches.
They’re same ones he’d had bought for Draco’s birthday; tiny silver serpents. When Harry had handed him the small leather box, Draco had lifted his brow. ‘Jewelry, Potter? Are you serious?' he'd said contemptuously, but Harry knew he’d been pleased. Later that night when Draco was inside him, he’d kissed Harry slowly, gasping his name just once before he came. It was the first time he'd called him anything but Potter or scarhead or any of the pseudo-witty names he'd came up with for Harry over the years.
‘Harry,’ Draco says quietly. His eyes flicker briefly to his mother’s face.
Try as he might, Harry cannot stop staring at his lips. They’re pink and wet, probably from sipping tea. He remembers the way they feel pressed against his own. The way Draco would suck Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth and swipe his tongue across his teeth. The first time they’d kissed, Draco had pressed up against him and said ‘Just fucking do it already.’ He threaded his fingers through Draco's hair, kissing him roughly, their teeth clanking together, both fighting for control. He had bruises on his back for days after they'd fucked for the first time.
All the things he was supposed to have forgotten about his ex come back to him with sudden clarity. He remembers the way Draco hates snuggling but loves foreplay. He remembers that Draco likes his tea milky and sickeningly sweet, or that he loves sex in the kitchen, but never on the floor. He remembers his very first Cannons match, how Draco had pulled him aside in the locker room and told him he’d better not have any ideas of fucking any of his team mates. Or one else for that matter. Ever.
His Occlumency is failing him. Images flood his brain like memories returned from a Pensieve. Hermione had always said it was a bad idea to use his mental shields against his own memories but at the time Harry would have done anything to forget the three years he spent falling for Draco fucking Malfoy.
‘Draco,’ Harry says, pleased to hear his voice sounding calm and even. ‘Narcissa didn’t tell me you’d be joining us.’
‘I didn’t know I was,’ Draco says, glaring at his mother. He shifts in his chair and his white shirt stretches across his chest, stretching the V at his neck.
Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the small sliver of pale, soft skin.
Narcissa stands. ‘I think I’ll go check on Andromeda,’ she says. ‘Harry, why don’t you sit down? Wespy’s made all your favourites.’
Draco’s eyes track her movements as she leaves the room. His nostrils flare slightly, the way they do when he’s agitated. Harry doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at this.
‘I’ll leave if you want,’ Draco says, standing slowly.
Harry pulls out a chair and sits, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.
‘It’s fine,’ he says.
He waves his wand to pour himself a cup of tea, not trusting his hands. Draco sits back down hesitantly and after a moment, he grabs another biscuit from the tea service.
Harry slowly sips his tea trying to lose himself in the bitter burn. He watches from the side of his eye as Draco breaks a hob-nob into small pieces, smearing chocolate over his fingertips. The silence is only broken by the sound of Draco sucking chocolate from his fingers and Harry’s tea cup sliding back into its saucer. After a few minutes and a few awkward glances, Draco abandons his plate, pressing his palms flat on the dark mahogany table.
‘I’m trying to think of something to say-’ he says slowly.
Harry eyes him over the rim of his cup. ‘You’ve never had a problem with that before,’ he says, setting his cup down and reaching for a pasty.
Draco looks away.
The last time he saw Draco he’d shoved him out of their flat and warded it shut. He stood with his back pressed against the door, his eyes screwed shut, trying to ignoring the ceaseless pounding at his back. When Draco had given up trying to break in, Harry had rifled through their things and banished all of Draco’s possessions to the pavement outside. The indignant shouts from the street below their window only made his fury multiply. In a burst of inventive cruelty he yanked the window open, stuck his head out into the bitter cold at shouted, ‘I guess you were right, Malfoy. You’re nothing but a fucking Death Eater after all!’
Muggles were skittering about nervously. A few stared up at Harry, their expressions somewhere between alarm and reproachfulness, but Draco had grown quiet despite the cold, looking at his ex with a stunned, pale face. They stayed that way for a long moment before Harry shut the window closed and slid down the wall onto the floor, crying hacking sobs that refused to stop for hours. It was there Hermione had found him a day later.
‘How are you?’ Draco asks.
Harry bites into his pasty, chewing slowly and swallowing before giving Draco what he hoped was a cool, uncaring glance.
‘Brilliant,’ he says.
A brief pause. ‘I hear your Cannons are top of the league.’
Harry makes a non committal sound and takes another sip of his tea. His throat is so dry it’s become almost impossible to swallow. He licks his dry lips, noticing that Draco is staring at him, his grey eyes fixed on Harry's mouth.
Harry looks away, forcing his gaze across the room at the window that looks out onto the garden and the small pond beyond. He remembers Hagrid’s bike crashing down into the same pond when he was seventeen. He’d lost a tooth that day; he’d forgotten that until just now. He runs his tongue smoothly over the tooth Ted had re-grown for him.
‘How’s Greengrass?’ Harry asks quickly. ‘I heard you two bought the old flat.’
When he found out Draco had moved into their flat with - he can’t even think her name- he’d spent an evening drunkenly hurling empty beer bottles at the brick wall behind his apartment. Ron had tried to put a stop to it, but one look at Harry’s anguished face was enough to ward him off.
Draco frowns slightly, ‘She’s fine,’ he says. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking at Harry with an odd expression. ‘It’s not wha-’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Draco presses his lips together; holding back what Harry was sure would be a completely plausible explanation for why he was fucking Greengrass behind his back.
A soft breeze rustles the braches outside and they creak against each other mournfully. Andromeda would soon have to close up the house and put the heating charms in place. Harry had helped with that last year. He wondered if they’d ask him again this year or if Draco would do it himself.
‘I didn’t know you’d be here,’ Draco says, leaning back into his chair. He pushes his plate aside and looks at Harry for a long moment. ‘Your hair is too long,’ he says softly.
This startles a laugh from deep inside Harry's belly.
‘I know,' he says, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. 'Molly’s been at me to cut it for weeks.’
‘I like it,’ Draco says. They share an intense look.
Harry had been surprised to realise that Draco's grey eyes has a few streaks of amber stretching out from his irises. Now he wonders if he knew they were there all along.
Heat pools in below his waist and he pulls his gaze away with difficulty.
‘How is she?’ Draco murmurs.
For a moment, Harry is confused. He has no idea where this conversation is going or even where it’s come from.
‘Molly?’ he asks. ‘She’s well enough, I suppose. You could stop by to see her you know.'
He pauses.'She asks after you sometimes.’
Draco taps his fingers softly on the table. ‘I didn’t think it would be ...appropriate.’
Draco picks up a piece of biscuit from the table and crumbles it between his fingers. ‘You’re seeing someone,’ he says.
Harry looks away. ‘That’s none of your fucking business.’
Draco tosses a chunk of biscuit aside. ‘You’re right,’ he says tersely. ‘It isn’t.’
‘What the fuck do you care anyway?’ Harry asks, ‘Aren’t you too busy with Greengrass?’
Draco looks down at the table. ‘I’d forgotten what a little shit you could be sometimes,’ he says softly.
‘And you’ve always been a spoiled, selfish bastard, Draco.’ Harry says, getting up from the table. ‘Enjoy your tea with Mummy.’
He starts heading to the Floo in the sitting room and Draco follows a few paces behind.
‘Harry, wait-’ he reaches out for Harry’s wrist, but Harry jerks his arm away.
‘Don’t touch me,’ he says.
Draco drops his arm. ‘Fuck you,’ he says. ‘Did you read my letters?’
Harry walks over to the fireplace. The Floo powder is nowhere in sight. He turns to Draco. ‘What the fuck for?’
‘Because, you bloody ponce, I’ve been trying to tell you something.’
‘What can you tell me that I don’t already know?’ Harry says heatedly, ‘That you finally decided it was just too hard being Harry-fucking-Potter’s plus one? Or that while you still love my cock, you decided you prefer pussy? I didn’t need to read any of your pathetic sodding letters to know that, Draco.’
‘That's a load of bullshit and you know it, Harry.’
Harry takes a deep breath and crosses his arms over his chest.
‘You disappeared, Draco. I thought you were dead.’ His voice cracks. ‘And then some fucking reporter asks me on the street how I feel about my boyfriend shacking up with, Astoria Greengrass? How the fuck-’ He stops himself to take a shuddering breath, trying desperately to collect himself, glancing anxiously about the room for Floo powder.
Silence falls for a moment. Draco folds his arms, gripping himself tightly at the elbows. ‘Harry, I’m sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Harry says, finally spotting the small alabaster stone jar sitting haphazardly atop a pile of yellowed Witch Weekly magazines. He jerks the lid off and grabs a pinch of Floo powder, then drops the jar onto the mantel.
‘It doesn’t matter anymore,’ he says, stepping into the flames and calling out for home.
**
‘You promised me you’d never do anything like that,’ Draco says.
Narcissa studies her nails imperiously. ‘I’m certain I said nothing of the sort.’
They’re holed up in Andromeda’s stuffy bedroom, sitting on either side of her bed. Andromeda is propped up on pillows, eyeing her sister and her nephew her mouth twisted in amusement.
‘I’m certain you did,’ she murmurs.
‘Be quiet, Dromeda,’ Narcissa says waspishly. She turns to Draco. ‘It’s perfectly ridiculous the way the two of you are acting.’
‘Mother-’
‘It’s true, Draco. I’m tired of watching you mope around all the time,’ she continues. ‘You’re my son, and I want to see you happy again.’
Draco clenches his jaw. He had been happy with Harry. Most days. Until the Howlers started coming, and then the articles in the Prophet and Witch Weekly- even the sodding Quibbler.Until the death threats.
Andromeda sits up further and curls her bed sheets about her. She looks pale and drawn. Her fever has gone down, but Draco is still worried. Muggle ailments are always the hardest to predict.
Andromeda waves a finger at her sister. ‘You should let them handle this on their own, Cissy.’
‘They’ve managed to completely avoid each other for far too long,’ Narcissa says. ‘They were never going to handle this on their own.’
Draco stands. ‘It doesn’t fucking matter-’
‘Language, Draco.’
‘He probably thinks I planned all this,’ he continues, ignoring his mother. ‘He hates being backed into a corner.’
He turns away from them both.
‘Draco. He’s angry.’
‘And he has every right to be,’ he says. ‘But I’m not going to spend the rest of my sodding life apologising.’
Draco folds his arms across his chest and walks over to the window. Andromeda’s room leads out the rear garden where the Tentacular vines grow wild and untamed. She doesn’t keep any gardening elves; she'd said she likes to work the earth herself. He’d once coaxed Harry into helping him clean the out the flower beds until one of the vines had taken a keen interest in Harry's arse. It had made three valiant attempts at caressing his crack lovingly, until finally Harry promised to hex it with a freezing charm. It left him alone after that. Draco had fodder for arse jokes all week.
Seeing Harry today was such a mindfuck. That he thought Draco was fucking Astoria was-- upsetting. He never cheated on Harry. That's what he tells himself on those nights when the guilt feels live a live thing, clawing out from his chest. But he did leave Harry. He hurt him. Perhaps more deeply than anyone really knows. Especially his mother.
Things went downhill for them when Harry came up with his stupid plan to go public. ‘The war is over, Draco,’ he’d said. ‘Nobody cares who I’m fucking.’ He'd argued with Draco about it again when he couldn’t find a job. ‘If they knew we were together, they wouldn’t treat you like shit, Draco.’ After months of fighting over it, they came out. Harry released a statement to the press saying he was a poof who loved Draco Malfoy’s cock - as he paraphrased gaily, surrounded by friends at the Leaky Cauldron that evening- and the Wizarding world was blasted off its rocker. ‘Anyone who doesn’t like it can fuck off’ he’d said with a grin, kissing Draco hard on the mouth. The following day they’d received fifty Howlers before they had to close off the wards. Draco didn’t know if the wizarding world hated him more because he was a poof, or because he had the gall to shag Harry Potter. Then Rita Skeeter, the cunt, had written a scathing ‘exposé’ claiming Draco Malfoy was behind it all. He’d Confounded the Boy Who Lived and made him his concubine.
Harry had tried to laugh it off, but Draco knew better. Death threats came the following week. Weasley of all people had to shove him out of the way of a curse in broad daylight. Harry had been absolutely livid. The Minister had promised his attackers would be punished with the full weight of wizarding law. They’d gotten off with a slap on the wrists. They’d only tried to kill a Death Eater. He’d become resentful, picking fights with Harry over nothing. Harry started spending more and more nights sleeping over on Wesley’s sofa. They’d spent their time either hurling barbed insults at each other or rutting against each other viciously.
He'd thought about leaving a few times before he actually did it? He didn’t leave a note. He couldn’t bring himself to write one. He got onto the Knight Bus one morning at dawn, and left, hoping to lose himself somewhere in London. He didn’t think about the fact that he didn’t know where he was going or that he knew almost nothing about the Muggle world. Then somehow, Pansy found him and told him to grow some bollocks and go home. He told her he couldn’t go back, that he was tired of living up to Harry Potter. The wizarding world had won. The monster had fled.
‘Draco,’ Narcissa says softly. She wraps her arms around him from behind and presses her cheek against his back. ‘You need to talk to him.’
He has to swallow a few times before he can answer. ‘He won’t see me.’
‘You can use the Floo, love,’ Andromeda says, smiling softly. ‘I know you’ve thought about it.’
She’s right. Draco had tried to send Harry a few owls over the months following their split. At first he’d received a few terse replies to the effect of ‘Leave me the fuck alone’, and then his owl hadn’t been able to find Harry at all. He’d made himself Unplottable. Only his friends and, of course, his godson were connected to his Floo. Draco spent a few evenings standing at the fire place in Andromeda's, Floo powder pinched between his fingers, considering Flooing over. He could never make himself do it. It's one of the he avoids his aunt's cottage. The temptation was too great. In the end he’d always been a coward. Just a fucking Slytherin after all.
Harry could be a real bastard when he tried.
Narcissa gently turns him around and caresses his cheek. ‘Go, Draco.’
So he does.
**
Harry’s flat doesn’t look at all like he thought it would. It’s a chaos of mismatched furniture and Muggle appliances. Harry’s black dressing gown is thrown over the telly. A heavily dented wooden coffee table is shoved off to the side in-between the sofa and the wall. With a jolt Draco recognises the love seat they’d bought together. If he closes his eyes he can still see them both in the shop, sweating in the summer heat, arguing over Slytherin green or Gryffindor scarlet. They’d eventually decided on an appalling lavender.
When he finally broke through the wards on their old flat, Draco and his landlord had entered it to find most of the furniture utterly destroyed. He assumed the love seat was a goner too. A wave of unexpected fondness rises up in his chest and he passes his fingers gently over the armrest. The fabric rises and falls, as though taking a deep breath and the seat releases a shuddering purr of contentment.
‘Missed me, did you?’ Draco murmurs softly.
Draco turns slowly about the room. There’s a black and white poster of the Chudley Cannons on the wall from Harry’s first season as Seeker. In the corner there’s a small hutch with a decanter of scotch and two glasses. A framed Order of Merlin, First Class is shoved under a pile of Quidditch Weekly magazines. His heart clenches when he spots the photographs on the mantle. A few are magical, but most of them retain the dead quiet of a Muggle photograph.
There’s a photo of Teddy on a toy broomstick, zooming delightedly about Andromeda’s garden. After that, a shot of Harry, Granger and the Weasel arm-in-arm, laughing at the photographer, a Cannons t-shirt bunched up in Weasley’s fist. The others-- the Muggle stills that disturb Draco the most, include a photograph of Harry and an older man smiling at each other. A banner that reads ‘Happy New Year!’ is strung behind their heads. There’s a bit of bushy hair peeking from the corner that he thinks might be Granger’s.
There’s another, Harry and the same man sitting on the beach, drinks in hand. Harry’s arm is draped across the other man’s chest and he’s smiling brilliantly at the camera. The caption reads, ‘Jamaica mon!’
Draco picks up the frame and studies the photograph, trying to figure out what Harry could be thinking. Is he happy? He looks it. The other man is broad shouldered and attractive. His smile is open and utterly unlike Draco’s. His eyes are hazel. His sandy brown hair is greying slightly at the temples. Draco wonders vaguely where Harry met him.
‘He’s a Muggle, you know.’
Draco starts and turns around, almost dropping the frame onto the floor.
Harry is leaning on the staircase clutching the railing so hard his knuckles are white.
‘Harry,’ he says.
Harry walks down the last few stairs walks over to him and gently pulls the frame from his fingertips. He moves closer to the mantle and rests the photograph back into the empty space.
‘We met at a match,’ he says with his back still turned. ‘His sister is a witch. His name is Brian.’
‘I know his name,’ Draco says.
Harry turns to face him, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on the mantle.
‘What are you doing here, Malfoy?’
‘Don’t call me that,’ Draco says. ‘I came to apologise.’
Harry raises his eyebrow. ‘All right,’ he says slowly.
‘Mother thought we should talk. She set the whole thing up.’
‘I’d worked that out myself, thanks,’ Harry says. ‘But I’ve nothing to say to you.’
‘Maybe not,’ Draco says.
He looks about the room. ‘How long- I mean, you and Brian-’
‘Eight months.’
‘Long then.' Draco says. 'Does he live here too?’
‘No.’
Draco feels such a rush of relief spread across his chest that he knows it's written all over his face. Harry looks away, scratching his jaw harshly.
‘What about you and Greengrass?’
‘Harry,’ he says. ‘It’s not like that. Astoria and I-’
‘Were you fucking her?’
‘What-?’
‘When we were together,’ Harry says, looking at Draco intently. ‘Were you fucking her?’
‘No. Merlin, Harry. I never cheated on you.’
‘Are you fucking her now?’
Draco looks away. ‘It’s not like you think.’
Harry sighs, looking at a spot just over Draco's shoulder.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says, picking at the wool on his jumper. ‘We can both fuck whoever we want.’
‘It was a mistake, Harry. It hasn’t happened since.’
Harry meets his gaze. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says softly.
‘You keep saying that,’ Draco says, moving closer to Harry. ‘But I think it does.’
‘This,’ Harry says, gesturing between them. ‘It’s over, Draco.’
Draco steps closer.
‘It isn’t.’
He presses Harry up against the mantle and presses his palm flat against his chest.
‘It’s not over, Harry,’ he murmurs.
Harry lets out a muffled groan as Draco leans in and presses their mouths together. It feels too much like coming home, and there's a sudden sting at the back of his eyes. Harry’s mouth opens beneath his and Draco deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across Harry’s. The roughness of Harry's taste buds against his tongue sends a spark of desire to his groin and he moans. He arches into Harry’s lean body, grabbing his arse through his jeans. Harry pushes off the mantle and presses his body flush against Draco, threading his fingers though Draco’s hair.
‘Goddammit.’ Harry murmurs against his lips.
Draco strokes the small of Harry’s back, travelling slowly up his spine. His shoulders are narrower than Draco’s, but they’re muscular and hard beneath his fingertips. Harry shivers at his touch.
‘I’ve wanted this for so long.’ Draco says, pushing his hands under Harry’s shirt. Harry grunts, digging his fingers into Draco’s hips.
‘Since you left me, you mean,’ he growls, leaning in to suck at Draco’s pulse point.
Draco gasps, holding Harry’s head and arching up beneath him.
‘I couldn’t-’
Harry nips his earlobe. Draco moans. ‘Harry. Fuck.’
He threads his fingertips through the thick hair at Harry’s nape and thrusts his hips forward, eliciting a needy groan from Harry as their cocks rub against each other.
Harry abruptly pulls his hips away, resting his forehead on Draco’s. The sound of their heavy breathing echoes against the high ceiling. Draco closes his eyes.
'Why?’
The plea in Harry’s voice is enough to undo him.
‘I was- afraid I couldn’t live up to you,’ he says.
He presses his lips against Harry’s again, sucking on Harry’s bottom lip the way he likes. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he murmurs.
Harry presses his hands on Draco’s chest, gently pushing him away. ‘Wait,’ he says.
Draco strokes the muscles in Harry's forearm. ‘What is it?’
‘Draco,’ Harry says in a whisper.
His green eyes flicker to the photos on the mantel piece.
‘I can't fuck around with you,' he says. 'I’m with Brian now,’
Draco studies Harry’s face, trying to ignore the urge to grab him again and say, ‘Sod your fucking boyfriend!’
Harry’s green eyes are bright behind his glasses. Something about the look on his face strikes Draco hard in the chest.
‘You’re in love with him,’ Draco says.
Harry looks away, his shoulders slumping.
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I think I might be.’
Draco stills. His heart thuds painfully in his chest. He'd be surprised if Harry couldn't hear it too.
‘Please,’ Harry says quietly. ‘Please, Draco. Just go.’
Blood rushes in his ears. He’d never even considered-
When it came to Harry, he’d always been stupid. He almost always miscalculates. It was ridiculous to believe that Harry wouldn’t fall for anyone else. It was entirely idiotic.
Draco should have known. He should have known he would always be the go between, the bridge Harry would cross until he’d found something better. Perhaps he did know, at least a little. It’s what made leaving a little bit easier.
Draco takes two steps back, hitting the back of his heel against the sofa.
‘All right,’ he says softly.
He Disapparates.
Part Two
Author/Artist: kedavranox
Characters: Harry, Draco, Narcissa, Andromeda, OMC. Brief Ginny and Astoria. Mention of Ron and Hermione
Prompt number:124
Word Count:~15K
Rating:NC-17
Warnings: Slash/ Established Relationship/Rough (sort of) sex
Summary: Teddy gets sick. Narcissa plots. Harry resists. Draco wants.
Disclaimer: I didn’t create these characters, but you should know that already.
Author’s Notes: This story spiralled into a massive piece, and by the end of it I didn’t want to let my boys go! Thanks to my beta for being so forthcoming in her critique and thanks to the mods for setting this whole fest up! Go fandom! (I am a geek.)
Warning Sign - Part One
I started looking, and the bubble burst.
I started looking for excuses.
The whooshing sound of his Floo startles Harry awake with a jolt. He flings his arms out; knocking over the half empty glass of water Brian persistently forgets on the side table.
‘Shit!’
He hates being jolted awake in the mornings. It reminds him too much of the war-that, and the fact that he’s usually starkers.
He fumbles his glasses onto his face, looking about his bedroom for something decent to wear. It’s utter chaos. His Quidditch robes are balled up in a smelly heap in the corner. His Streamline 6.0 is stuck upside-down in a rubbish bin, leaning precariously against the wall. Clothes are scattered all over the floor. Brian’s leather belt is still tied to the bedpost.
Harry smiles slowly at that. He’d woken up with hard-on, only to find Brian already dressed and fumbling his belt through the loops of his trousers. He'd pulled the belt from his fingers, and yanked his boyfriend onto bed, firmly tying it around his wrists and bed post. Brian only had a moment to murmur, ‘I’ll be late for work, you tosser,’ before Harry fucked him slowly into the mattress.
He starts again as the Floo clangs loudly for a second time, echoing throughout the empty house. Someone’s calling his name from the living room.
‘I’m coming!’ he yells.
He pulls his dressing gown from the heap of clothes pilled high at the foot of the bed and ties it loosely around his waist. In the hallway he steps on a toy truck, a plastic Quidditch player in scarlet robes and a shuddering miniature replica of a golden snitch before making it onto the landing.
Thank you, Teddy. Who knew someone so small could accumulate so much shit. He thunders down the stairs and peers into the living room. Narcissa Malfoy’s head is in his Floo. It’s a rare enough sight --at least lately, and it makes him stop short.
‘Oh, Harry. Thank goodness,’ she says. ‘I was about to send Wespy through to see if you’d died.’
‘I’m alive, thanks. What warrants a Floo call at-’ he checks his watch, ‘eight thirty this morning?’
‘Aren’t Quidditch sensations required to wake up at dawn?’
‘It’s off-season, Narcissa’ he says, pulling his dressing gown tighter about himself and stepping closer to the fireplace. ‘What do you want?’
He hears Andromeda’s voice calling out faintly, ‘Stop needling the boy, Cissy. Besides, I'm perfectly all right.’
Narcissa frowns and her head disappears from the flames for a brief moment. ‘Be quiet, Dromeda. The last thing we need is you spreading this thing to everyone else.’
She looks back at Harry. ‘Harry, dear, Andromeda’s come down with the flu.’ She says the last two words with the studied cautiousness of someone unfamiliar with the language.
‘She looks dreadful. I keep telling her it’s all that time she spends in London with those Muggles. She’s bound to pick up something nasty.’
Harry bites his tongue on the numerous comments that spring to mind in response to that. He’d learned that, with Narcissa, as with each of the Malfoy’s, survival depended on carefully choosing your battles.
‘They’re her friends, Narcissa,’ he says, glancing at the calendar on his watch. ‘Do you need me to take Teddy? I’m free this week anyway; I’m not back on season for a fortnight.’
‘Yes, that’s the thing,’ Narcissa says, brushing her hair away from her face. ‘We were hoping you’d come over here. Help the old ladies out for a bit? Poor Teddy looks like he might be falling ill as well, and you know what he’s like after Flooing at the best of times.’
Harry sighs, scratching the back of his neck absently with his fingers. For the most part, he tends to avoid time alone with Narcissa. They almost always end up talking about things he likes to avoid.
‘Let me get dressed,’ he says after a moment. ‘I’ll Floo over in a bit.’
‘Excellent,’ she pauses, glancing at him coyly. ‘Maybe you could stop by the alley first? Fetch us a couple things -?’ she says off-handedly waving a piece of paper.
Harry rolls his eyes. ‘Just give me the list, Narcissa.’
She beams.
**
By the time he Floos to Andromeda’s little cottage, it’s ten in the morning and his temper’s been rattled by one too many Daily Prophet photographers trying to get a shot of Harry Potter’s sodding groceries.
He finds Narcissa and Teddy in the small dining room off the kitchen. A half-eaten bowl of stew lies between the two; Teddy’s normally violently purple hair has changed to a dreary plum-coloured hue. Narcissa, looking utterly fed up and out of place, waves Harry over absent-mindedly as she tries to keep Teddy from pilfering her wand.
‘Do magic, Cissy,’ Teddy whines.
Narcissa looks up as Harry begins dropping bags onto the table.
‘He’s feeling poorly,’ she says. ‘He refuses to eat anything Wespy makes, and his hair’s never been this dull.’
Harry drops the last of the bags onto the table and dusts his palms on his jeans. He reaches over to his godson who lifts his arms immediately. Teddy feels warm against Harry’s chest and when Harry murmurs, ‘Teds’, he only receives a pitiful ‘Harry’ in reply.
Christ. At this rate they’ll all be sick come morning.
‘I think I’ll take him upstairs for a nap and maybe a quick bath first,’ Harry says. Teddy rests his head on his shoulder and sighs, but Harry swears his godson’s hair brightens just a bit.
The look of sheer gratitude on Narcissa face makes him smile.
‘How’s Andromeda?’ he asks.
Narcissa waves her hand, and Teddy makes an abortive grasp for her wand again.
‘She’s asleep,’ she says. ‘I slipped her some sleeping draught in her tea. She refused to rest. Ridiculous woman.’
Harry balances Teddy on his hip, and heads for the bath.
‘Come for some tea when he goes down,’ Narcissa calls after him. ‘I’ll have Wespy make you those pasties you like so.’
**
When Teddy finally falls asleep, Harry’s shirt is still damp with bathwater and his hair is even messier than usual. He tries in vain to flatten it as he walks down the narrow hall from Teddy’s bedroom to the dining room. He’s about to walk in when he hears Narcissa speaking in low tones to someone else. Another voice murmurs a reply and Harry stills. Fuck. It’s him.
Fuck.
His heart thuds skittishly in his chest and for a wild fleeting moment he considers simply Disapparating away. Before he can though, Wespy finds him dithering in the hallway.
‘Mr. Potter is having tea?’ she asks, nodding.
Caught, Harry nods stupidly and follows the elf into the dining room. Draco is sitting at the table nonchalantly chewing on a hob-nob, his favourite ever since Harry had bought home a pack one evening on a whim. His broad shoulders flex underneath his shirt as he grabs the teapot from the table. Narcissa looks up at Harry with a cool expression. Why the woman can’t stay the hell out of his personal life he’ll never know. He’s managed to avoid Draco for almost a year and a half; trust Narcissa Malfoy to use his godson to get them in the same room again.
Draco turns around in is seat and his lips part in an 'O' of surprise.
Christ, the prat looks exactly the same. The same pointed chin, pale face. The same long blonde lashes, the same fucking grey eyes. His hair is shorter than usual, but it’s still long enough to curl between his fingers; a habit Draco hasn’t yet given up, given the way it still sticks up about his ears. His white shirt is crisp and undone at the top the way Harry likes. His silver cufflinks--Harry’s breath catches.
They’re same ones he’d had bought for Draco’s birthday; tiny silver serpents. When Harry had handed him the small leather box, Draco had lifted his brow. ‘Jewelry, Potter? Are you serious?' he'd said contemptuously, but Harry knew he’d been pleased. Later that night when Draco was inside him, he’d kissed Harry slowly, gasping his name just once before he came. It was the first time he'd called him anything but Potter or scarhead or any of the pseudo-witty names he'd came up with for Harry over the years.
‘Harry,’ Draco says quietly. His eyes flicker briefly to his mother’s face.
Try as he might, Harry cannot stop staring at his lips. They’re pink and wet, probably from sipping tea. He remembers the way they feel pressed against his own. The way Draco would suck Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth and swipe his tongue across his teeth. The first time they’d kissed, Draco had pressed up against him and said ‘Just fucking do it already.’ He threaded his fingers through Draco's hair, kissing him roughly, their teeth clanking together, both fighting for control. He had bruises on his back for days after they'd fucked for the first time.
All the things he was supposed to have forgotten about his ex come back to him with sudden clarity. He remembers the way Draco hates snuggling but loves foreplay. He remembers that Draco likes his tea milky and sickeningly sweet, or that he loves sex in the kitchen, but never on the floor. He remembers his very first Cannons match, how Draco had pulled him aside in the locker room and told him he’d better not have any ideas of fucking any of his team mates. Or one else for that matter. Ever.
His Occlumency is failing him. Images flood his brain like memories returned from a Pensieve. Hermione had always said it was a bad idea to use his mental shields against his own memories but at the time Harry would have done anything to forget the three years he spent falling for Draco fucking Malfoy.
‘Draco,’ Harry says, pleased to hear his voice sounding calm and even. ‘Narcissa didn’t tell me you’d be joining us.’
‘I didn’t know I was,’ Draco says, glaring at his mother. He shifts in his chair and his white shirt stretches across his chest, stretching the V at his neck.
Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the small sliver of pale, soft skin.
Narcissa stands. ‘I think I’ll go check on Andromeda,’ she says. ‘Harry, why don’t you sit down? Wespy’s made all your favourites.’
Draco’s eyes track her movements as she leaves the room. His nostrils flare slightly, the way they do when he’s agitated. Harry doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at this.
‘I’ll leave if you want,’ Draco says, standing slowly.
Harry pulls out a chair and sits, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.
‘It’s fine,’ he says.
He waves his wand to pour himself a cup of tea, not trusting his hands. Draco sits back down hesitantly and after a moment, he grabs another biscuit from the tea service.
Harry slowly sips his tea trying to lose himself in the bitter burn. He watches from the side of his eye as Draco breaks a hob-nob into small pieces, smearing chocolate over his fingertips. The silence is only broken by the sound of Draco sucking chocolate from his fingers and Harry’s tea cup sliding back into its saucer. After a few minutes and a few awkward glances, Draco abandons his plate, pressing his palms flat on the dark mahogany table.
‘I’m trying to think of something to say-’ he says slowly.
Harry eyes him over the rim of his cup. ‘You’ve never had a problem with that before,’ he says, setting his cup down and reaching for a pasty.
Draco looks away.
The last time he saw Draco he’d shoved him out of their flat and warded it shut. He stood with his back pressed against the door, his eyes screwed shut, trying to ignoring the ceaseless pounding at his back. When Draco had given up trying to break in, Harry had rifled through their things and banished all of Draco’s possessions to the pavement outside. The indignant shouts from the street below their window only made his fury multiply. In a burst of inventive cruelty he yanked the window open, stuck his head out into the bitter cold at shouted, ‘I guess you were right, Malfoy. You’re nothing but a fucking Death Eater after all!’
Muggles were skittering about nervously. A few stared up at Harry, their expressions somewhere between alarm and reproachfulness, but Draco had grown quiet despite the cold, looking at his ex with a stunned, pale face. They stayed that way for a long moment before Harry shut the window closed and slid down the wall onto the floor, crying hacking sobs that refused to stop for hours. It was there Hermione had found him a day later.
‘How are you?’ Draco asks.
Harry bites into his pasty, chewing slowly and swallowing before giving Draco what he hoped was a cool, uncaring glance.
‘Brilliant,’ he says.
A brief pause. ‘I hear your Cannons are top of the league.’
Harry makes a non committal sound and takes another sip of his tea. His throat is so dry it’s become almost impossible to swallow. He licks his dry lips, noticing that Draco is staring at him, his grey eyes fixed on Harry's mouth.
Harry looks away, forcing his gaze across the room at the window that looks out onto the garden and the small pond beyond. He remembers Hagrid’s bike crashing down into the same pond when he was seventeen. He’d lost a tooth that day; he’d forgotten that until just now. He runs his tongue smoothly over the tooth Ted had re-grown for him.
‘How’s Greengrass?’ Harry asks quickly. ‘I heard you two bought the old flat.’
When he found out Draco had moved into their flat with - he can’t even think her name- he’d spent an evening drunkenly hurling empty beer bottles at the brick wall behind his apartment. Ron had tried to put a stop to it, but one look at Harry’s anguished face was enough to ward him off.
Draco frowns slightly, ‘She’s fine,’ he says. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking at Harry with an odd expression. ‘It’s not wha-’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Draco presses his lips together; holding back what Harry was sure would be a completely plausible explanation for why he was fucking Greengrass behind his back.
A soft breeze rustles the braches outside and they creak against each other mournfully. Andromeda would soon have to close up the house and put the heating charms in place. Harry had helped with that last year. He wondered if they’d ask him again this year or if Draco would do it himself.
‘I didn’t know you’d be here,’ Draco says, leaning back into his chair. He pushes his plate aside and looks at Harry for a long moment. ‘Your hair is too long,’ he says softly.
This startles a laugh from deep inside Harry's belly.
‘I know,' he says, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. 'Molly’s been at me to cut it for weeks.’
‘I like it,’ Draco says. They share an intense look.
Harry had been surprised to realise that Draco's grey eyes has a few streaks of amber stretching out from his irises. Now he wonders if he knew they were there all along.
Heat pools in below his waist and he pulls his gaze away with difficulty.
‘How is she?’ Draco murmurs.
For a moment, Harry is confused. He has no idea where this conversation is going or even where it’s come from.
‘Molly?’ he asks. ‘She’s well enough, I suppose. You could stop by to see her you know.'
He pauses.'She asks after you sometimes.’
Draco taps his fingers softly on the table. ‘I didn’t think it would be ...appropriate.’
Draco picks up a piece of biscuit from the table and crumbles it between his fingers. ‘You’re seeing someone,’ he says.
Harry looks away. ‘That’s none of your fucking business.’
Draco tosses a chunk of biscuit aside. ‘You’re right,’ he says tersely. ‘It isn’t.’
‘What the fuck do you care anyway?’ Harry asks, ‘Aren’t you too busy with Greengrass?’
Draco looks down at the table. ‘I’d forgotten what a little shit you could be sometimes,’ he says softly.
‘And you’ve always been a spoiled, selfish bastard, Draco.’ Harry says, getting up from the table. ‘Enjoy your tea with Mummy.’
He starts heading to the Floo in the sitting room and Draco follows a few paces behind.
‘Harry, wait-’ he reaches out for Harry’s wrist, but Harry jerks his arm away.
‘Don’t touch me,’ he says.
Draco drops his arm. ‘Fuck you,’ he says. ‘Did you read my letters?’
Harry walks over to the fireplace. The Floo powder is nowhere in sight. He turns to Draco. ‘What the fuck for?’
‘Because, you bloody ponce, I’ve been trying to tell you something.’
‘What can you tell me that I don’t already know?’ Harry says heatedly, ‘That you finally decided it was just too hard being Harry-fucking-Potter’s plus one? Or that while you still love my cock, you decided you prefer pussy? I didn’t need to read any of your pathetic sodding letters to know that, Draco.’
‘That's a load of bullshit and you know it, Harry.’
Harry takes a deep breath and crosses his arms over his chest.
‘You disappeared, Draco. I thought you were dead.’ His voice cracks. ‘And then some fucking reporter asks me on the street how I feel about my boyfriend shacking up with, Astoria Greengrass? How the fuck-’ He stops himself to take a shuddering breath, trying desperately to collect himself, glancing anxiously about the room for Floo powder.
Silence falls for a moment. Draco folds his arms, gripping himself tightly at the elbows. ‘Harry, I’m sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Harry says, finally spotting the small alabaster stone jar sitting haphazardly atop a pile of yellowed Witch Weekly magazines. He jerks the lid off and grabs a pinch of Floo powder, then drops the jar onto the mantel.
‘It doesn’t matter anymore,’ he says, stepping into the flames and calling out for home.
**
‘You promised me you’d never do anything like that,’ Draco says.
Narcissa studies her nails imperiously. ‘I’m certain I said nothing of the sort.’
They’re holed up in Andromeda’s stuffy bedroom, sitting on either side of her bed. Andromeda is propped up on pillows, eyeing her sister and her nephew her mouth twisted in amusement.
‘I’m certain you did,’ she murmurs.
‘Be quiet, Dromeda,’ Narcissa says waspishly. She turns to Draco. ‘It’s perfectly ridiculous the way the two of you are acting.’
‘Mother-’
‘It’s true, Draco. I’m tired of watching you mope around all the time,’ she continues. ‘You’re my son, and I want to see you happy again.’
Draco clenches his jaw. He had been happy with Harry. Most days. Until the Howlers started coming, and then the articles in the Prophet and Witch Weekly- even the sodding Quibbler.Until the death threats.
Andromeda sits up further and curls her bed sheets about her. She looks pale and drawn. Her fever has gone down, but Draco is still worried. Muggle ailments are always the hardest to predict.
Andromeda waves a finger at her sister. ‘You should let them handle this on their own, Cissy.’
‘They’ve managed to completely avoid each other for far too long,’ Narcissa says. ‘They were never going to handle this on their own.’
Draco stands. ‘It doesn’t fucking matter-’
‘Language, Draco.’
‘He probably thinks I planned all this,’ he continues, ignoring his mother. ‘He hates being backed into a corner.’
He turns away from them both.
‘Draco. He’s angry.’
‘And he has every right to be,’ he says. ‘But I’m not going to spend the rest of my sodding life apologising.’
Draco folds his arms across his chest and walks over to the window. Andromeda’s room leads out the rear garden where the Tentacular vines grow wild and untamed. She doesn’t keep any gardening elves; she'd said she likes to work the earth herself. He’d once coaxed Harry into helping him clean the out the flower beds until one of the vines had taken a keen interest in Harry's arse. It had made three valiant attempts at caressing his crack lovingly, until finally Harry promised to hex it with a freezing charm. It left him alone after that. Draco had fodder for arse jokes all week.
Seeing Harry today was such a mindfuck. That he thought Draco was fucking Astoria was-- upsetting. He never cheated on Harry. That's what he tells himself on those nights when the guilt feels live a live thing, clawing out from his chest. But he did leave Harry. He hurt him. Perhaps more deeply than anyone really knows. Especially his mother.
Things went downhill for them when Harry came up with his stupid plan to go public. ‘The war is over, Draco,’ he’d said. ‘Nobody cares who I’m fucking.’ He'd argued with Draco about it again when he couldn’t find a job. ‘If they knew we were together, they wouldn’t treat you like shit, Draco.’ After months of fighting over it, they came out. Harry released a statement to the press saying he was a poof who loved Draco Malfoy’s cock - as he paraphrased gaily, surrounded by friends at the Leaky Cauldron that evening- and the Wizarding world was blasted off its rocker. ‘Anyone who doesn’t like it can fuck off’ he’d said with a grin, kissing Draco hard on the mouth. The following day they’d received fifty Howlers before they had to close off the wards. Draco didn’t know if the wizarding world hated him more because he was a poof, or because he had the gall to shag Harry Potter. Then Rita Skeeter, the cunt, had written a scathing ‘exposé’ claiming Draco Malfoy was behind it all. He’d Confounded the Boy Who Lived and made him his concubine.
Harry had tried to laugh it off, but Draco knew better. Death threats came the following week. Weasley of all people had to shove him out of the way of a curse in broad daylight. Harry had been absolutely livid. The Minister had promised his attackers would be punished with the full weight of wizarding law. They’d gotten off with a slap on the wrists. They’d only tried to kill a Death Eater. He’d become resentful, picking fights with Harry over nothing. Harry started spending more and more nights sleeping over on Wesley’s sofa. They’d spent their time either hurling barbed insults at each other or rutting against each other viciously.
He'd thought about leaving a few times before he actually did it? He didn’t leave a note. He couldn’t bring himself to write one. He got onto the Knight Bus one morning at dawn, and left, hoping to lose himself somewhere in London. He didn’t think about the fact that he didn’t know where he was going or that he knew almost nothing about the Muggle world. Then somehow, Pansy found him and told him to grow some bollocks and go home. He told her he couldn’t go back, that he was tired of living up to Harry Potter. The wizarding world had won. The monster had fled.
‘Draco,’ Narcissa says softly. She wraps her arms around him from behind and presses her cheek against his back. ‘You need to talk to him.’
He has to swallow a few times before he can answer. ‘He won’t see me.’
‘You can use the Floo, love,’ Andromeda says, smiling softly. ‘I know you’ve thought about it.’
She’s right. Draco had tried to send Harry a few owls over the months following their split. At first he’d received a few terse replies to the effect of ‘Leave me the fuck alone’, and then his owl hadn’t been able to find Harry at all. He’d made himself Unplottable. Only his friends and, of course, his godson were connected to his Floo. Draco spent a few evenings standing at the fire place in Andromeda's, Floo powder pinched between his fingers, considering Flooing over. He could never make himself do it. It's one of the he avoids his aunt's cottage. The temptation was too great. In the end he’d always been a coward. Just a fucking Slytherin after all.
Harry could be a real bastard when he tried.
Narcissa gently turns him around and caresses his cheek. ‘Go, Draco.’
So he does.
**
Harry’s flat doesn’t look at all like he thought it would. It’s a chaos of mismatched furniture and Muggle appliances. Harry’s black dressing gown is thrown over the telly. A heavily dented wooden coffee table is shoved off to the side in-between the sofa and the wall. With a jolt Draco recognises the love seat they’d bought together. If he closes his eyes he can still see them both in the shop, sweating in the summer heat, arguing over Slytherin green or Gryffindor scarlet. They’d eventually decided on an appalling lavender.
When he finally broke through the wards on their old flat, Draco and his landlord had entered it to find most of the furniture utterly destroyed. He assumed the love seat was a goner too. A wave of unexpected fondness rises up in his chest and he passes his fingers gently over the armrest. The fabric rises and falls, as though taking a deep breath and the seat releases a shuddering purr of contentment.
‘Missed me, did you?’ Draco murmurs softly.
Draco turns slowly about the room. There’s a black and white poster of the Chudley Cannons on the wall from Harry’s first season as Seeker. In the corner there’s a small hutch with a decanter of scotch and two glasses. A framed Order of Merlin, First Class is shoved under a pile of Quidditch Weekly magazines. His heart clenches when he spots the photographs on the mantle. A few are magical, but most of them retain the dead quiet of a Muggle photograph.
There’s a photo of Teddy on a toy broomstick, zooming delightedly about Andromeda’s garden. After that, a shot of Harry, Granger and the Weasel arm-in-arm, laughing at the photographer, a Cannons t-shirt bunched up in Weasley’s fist. The others-- the Muggle stills that disturb Draco the most, include a photograph of Harry and an older man smiling at each other. A banner that reads ‘Happy New Year!’ is strung behind their heads. There’s a bit of bushy hair peeking from the corner that he thinks might be Granger’s.
There’s another, Harry and the same man sitting on the beach, drinks in hand. Harry’s arm is draped across the other man’s chest and he’s smiling brilliantly at the camera. The caption reads, ‘Jamaica mon!’
Draco picks up the frame and studies the photograph, trying to figure out what Harry could be thinking. Is he happy? He looks it. The other man is broad shouldered and attractive. His smile is open and utterly unlike Draco’s. His eyes are hazel. His sandy brown hair is greying slightly at the temples. Draco wonders vaguely where Harry met him.
‘He’s a Muggle, you know.’
Draco starts and turns around, almost dropping the frame onto the floor.
Harry is leaning on the staircase clutching the railing so hard his knuckles are white.
‘Harry,’ he says.
Harry walks down the last few stairs walks over to him and gently pulls the frame from his fingertips. He moves closer to the mantle and rests the photograph back into the empty space.
‘We met at a match,’ he says with his back still turned. ‘His sister is a witch. His name is Brian.’
‘I know his name,’ Draco says.
Harry turns to face him, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on the mantle.
‘What are you doing here, Malfoy?’
‘Don’t call me that,’ Draco says. ‘I came to apologise.’
Harry raises his eyebrow. ‘All right,’ he says slowly.
‘Mother thought we should talk. She set the whole thing up.’
‘I’d worked that out myself, thanks,’ Harry says. ‘But I’ve nothing to say to you.’
‘Maybe not,’ Draco says.
He looks about the room. ‘How long- I mean, you and Brian-’
‘Eight months.’
‘Long then.' Draco says. 'Does he live here too?’
‘No.’
Draco feels such a rush of relief spread across his chest that he knows it's written all over his face. Harry looks away, scratching his jaw harshly.
‘What about you and Greengrass?’
‘Harry,’ he says. ‘It’s not like that. Astoria and I-’
‘Were you fucking her?’
‘What-?’
‘When we were together,’ Harry says, looking at Draco intently. ‘Were you fucking her?’
‘No. Merlin, Harry. I never cheated on you.’
‘Are you fucking her now?’
Draco looks away. ‘It’s not like you think.’
Harry sighs, looking at a spot just over Draco's shoulder.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says, picking at the wool on his jumper. ‘We can both fuck whoever we want.’
‘It was a mistake, Harry. It hasn’t happened since.’
Harry meets his gaze. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says softly.
‘You keep saying that,’ Draco says, moving closer to Harry. ‘But I think it does.’
‘This,’ Harry says, gesturing between them. ‘It’s over, Draco.’
Draco steps closer.
‘It isn’t.’
He presses Harry up against the mantle and presses his palm flat against his chest.
‘It’s not over, Harry,’ he murmurs.
Harry lets out a muffled groan as Draco leans in and presses their mouths together. It feels too much like coming home, and there's a sudden sting at the back of his eyes. Harry’s mouth opens beneath his and Draco deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across Harry’s. The roughness of Harry's taste buds against his tongue sends a spark of desire to his groin and he moans. He arches into Harry’s lean body, grabbing his arse through his jeans. Harry pushes off the mantle and presses his body flush against Draco, threading his fingers though Draco’s hair.
‘Goddammit.’ Harry murmurs against his lips.
Draco strokes the small of Harry’s back, travelling slowly up his spine. His shoulders are narrower than Draco’s, but they’re muscular and hard beneath his fingertips. Harry shivers at his touch.
‘I’ve wanted this for so long.’ Draco says, pushing his hands under Harry’s shirt. Harry grunts, digging his fingers into Draco’s hips.
‘Since you left me, you mean,’ he growls, leaning in to suck at Draco’s pulse point.
Draco gasps, holding Harry’s head and arching up beneath him.
‘I couldn’t-’
Harry nips his earlobe. Draco moans. ‘Harry. Fuck.’
He threads his fingertips through the thick hair at Harry’s nape and thrusts his hips forward, eliciting a needy groan from Harry as their cocks rub against each other.
Harry abruptly pulls his hips away, resting his forehead on Draco’s. The sound of their heavy breathing echoes against the high ceiling. Draco closes his eyes.
'Why?’
The plea in Harry’s voice is enough to undo him.
‘I was- afraid I couldn’t live up to you,’ he says.
He presses his lips against Harry’s again, sucking on Harry’s bottom lip the way he likes. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he murmurs.
Harry presses his hands on Draco’s chest, gently pushing him away. ‘Wait,’ he says.
Draco strokes the muscles in Harry's forearm. ‘What is it?’
‘Draco,’ Harry says in a whisper.
His green eyes flicker to the photos on the mantel piece.
‘I can't fuck around with you,' he says. 'I’m with Brian now,’
Draco studies Harry’s face, trying to ignore the urge to grab him again and say, ‘Sod your fucking boyfriend!’
Harry’s green eyes are bright behind his glasses. Something about the look on his face strikes Draco hard in the chest.
‘You’re in love with him,’ Draco says.
Harry looks away, his shoulders slumping.
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I think I might be.’
Draco stills. His heart thuds painfully in his chest. He'd be surprised if Harry couldn't hear it too.
‘Please,’ Harry says quietly. ‘Please, Draco. Just go.’
Blood rushes in his ears. He’d never even considered-
When it came to Harry, he’d always been stupid. He almost always miscalculates. It was ridiculous to believe that Harry wouldn’t fall for anyone else. It was entirely idiotic.
Draco should have known. He should have known he would always be the go between, the bridge Harry would cross until he’d found something better. Perhaps he did know, at least a little. It’s what made leaving a little bit easier.
Draco takes two steps back, hitting the back of his heel against the sofa.
‘All right,’ he says softly.
He Disapparates.
Part Two