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Saved	By : squirrelchaser Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2029 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: Saved

Author: squirrelchaser (squirrelchaser12@yahoo.com)

Summary: He�d saved
the entire wizarding world, the Muggle
world, but he couldn�t save himself.

Warning: Slash
(Draco/Harry), rated R

Disclaimer: JK
Rowling has created this world and these characters. I play with them for my
own amusement.

Saved

Draco
Malfoy was a prick, and Harry hated him for that.
It�d been a year since he�d set eyes on Draco, and now he was here on his door
step at what felt like an ungodly hour in the morning, looking like a bigger
prick than ever.

He
was fresh faced and awake in the sunlight, dressed in an impeccably pressed blue
shirt with white buttons, and jeans. Only a really big prick would pair such a
smart looking shirt with jeans that were faded. Or maybe Draco just didn�t know
how to wear Muggle clothes.

Whichever
it was, Harry wanted to punch him, mussing his sleek blond hair, and sending
him sprawling into the fading, dying bushes out front.

�Hi,�
Draco said, not quite looking Harry in the face, hands in his pockets.

Harry
could see the end of a wand through the denim covering Draco�s
thigh, but every instinct told him that Draco wasn�t here just to aim a curse
at him.

�It�s
early,� Harry said grumpily, voice husky from the previous night of vodka,
smoke filled rooms, and lack of sleep.

�It�s
three in the afternoon,� Draco informed him, wedging his foot so that Harry
couldn�t close the door.

�What
do you want?� he mumbled, but Draco had pushed past him through the door,
swaggering down the front hall as if
he owned the whole flat. The loping swagger was the same as it had been
throughout their careers in Hogwarts, and Harry hated it.

�You
look like you want some coffee, Potter.�

Draco
had grown even taller in the last year, broadened across the shoulders and
filled out, loosing his slight seeker frame. Harry decided he was too big to
tackle and bodily throw out the door, so he tried bluntness.

�Go
away.�

Naturally,
his statement was ignored and Draco strode into the kitchen, standing in the
middle and surveying the room with an air of distain.

Like
the rest of the house, the kitchen was a mess. Harry couldn�t figure out how it
got that way, especially since he had never cooked a day in his life.

�The
famous Harry Potter couldn�t even hire some one to do his dirty work for him?� Draco�s eyebrows shot up to his hair line.

�I
don�t like letting random people into my house,� Harry said hotly.

�Well,
I�m not exactly random,� Draco replied airily, and with a wave of his wand the
coffee pot hidden behind a stack of unopened mail started to bubble. �And you
didn�t let me in.�

�I�m
glad you noted that,� Harry said through clenched teeth, watching Draco open
cupboard after cupboard. �Does that mean you�ll leave?�

�I
came for something,� Draco said decidedly. �And I always get what I want.� He
pulled out two coffee cups and set them on the counter, then crossed the room
to the refrigerator. �Ugh, Potter, how old is this?� Draco shuddered as he
sniffed the creamer Harry didn�t remember buying.

Maybe
the charm won�t work and he�ll die of sour milk poisoning, Harry thought
hopefully, watching as Draco mumbled something under his breath and tapped the
carton with his wand. Or maybe, he watched the coffee pot float off the burner
to pour into the two cups on the counter, the pot will
go berserk and beat him about the head until he leaves. Maybe it�ll crack his
skull.

Instead,
the pot returned to its home and Draco extended the drink, which Harry
reluctantly took.

�You
know,� said Draco as he waved two sugars into Harry�s cup, and creamer into his
own. �You�ve really become an ass.�

�You�ve
always been an ass,� Harry replied, wondering how Draco knew he took two sugars.
�And you haven�t stopped.�

Taking
a sip of his own coffee, Draco smiled. �I know. And your spoons don�t match.�

He
was right, of course: the handle of Harry�s spoon was smooth and rounded and Draco�s ended with an eloquent rose pattern. With a lazy
wave of his wand both were transfigured into rather expensive looking sterling
silver spoons with snake heads for handles. Sodding Malfoy.

�I
liked my spoons perfectly mismatched,� Harry said stiffly, stirring with his
new spoon even though the sugar was dissolved.

�Perfect and mismatched. That�s an oxymoron. Besides, I like symmetry,�
Draco said, and he hesitated.

Harry
stared over the rim of his coffee cup. If he didn�t know any better, Draco
looked shy. But that would be impossible. Draco Malfoy
was not shy.

�You�re
symmetrical.�

Harry�s
eyes narrowed and he looked wildly around for the slightest hint of a curse, a
jinx � hell, maybe a Muggle bomb � because something
wasn�t right. That last rushed, sheepish sentence sounded like a compliment and
Draco Malfoy did not
compliment anyone, unless it was his reflection in one of his many shiny
objects.

Draco
took another casual sip, looking about the room calmly, everywhere but at the
person sitting across from him. �Did you know that in nature, when animals are
selecting mates, they look for the one that has the most symmetry to their
features? It�s a sign of fitness. More coffee?� He
poured himself another cup when Harry shook his head.

�It�s
the same with humans. Generally, the more symmetrical your face,
the more beautiful you�re considered, even if the proportions are the same.�

The
creamer rose up in steamy looking clouds inside of Draco�s
cup. Harry hated the creamer and hated him, the pale, translucent looking skin
marred only by the nasolabial fold � on the right
side of his face � when he sneered. But Draco wasn�t even sneering now, and the
longer Harry stared, the more symmetrical he seemed.

�Why
are you here?�

Draco
squinted, chin tilting downward until his eyes looked
almond. �I told you; I came for something.�

There
was a pause.

Patiently,
Draco said, �Now, this is the part where you ask me what I came for.�

Harry
huffed, refusing to answer.

Draco
set his cup back on the counter, took Harry�s hand and guided his cup to rest
next to his.

Harry
could feel the warmth from his body as Draco stepped forward, standing so close
to him he could see the fine texture of what was surely an expensive shirt.
There was the scent of skin, sleek hair, and sophisticated cologne.

Harry
was irritated; since when did Malfoy wear cologne? He
looked up; the top of his head was level with Draco�s
eyes. �Fine. What are you here for?�

Draco
didn�t answer. He leaned down, taking Harry�s jaw in long, warm hands and
kissed him. He tasted like coffee and creamer.

Harry�s
first instinct was to push against the broad chest, break the kiss, then send him staggering away with a broken jaw by punching
him in the mouth. But kissing Draco Malfoy was so odd
it felt right; it was so ridiculous, so absurd, that it made sense.

�I
hate you,� Harry said in a low voice.

�I
know,� Draco whispered, breath tickling the bangs that concealed his trademark
scar.

Draco
kissed him again, groping at his shirt, the waist band of his sleeping shorts.
Harry was grabbing back at belt buckle and buttons, moving backward out of the
kitchen with Draco�s mouth still on his.

�I
mean,� Harry whispered as they reached the top of the stairs, �I really, really
hate you.�

�I
know,� he said, shrugging off his shirt and tossing it backwards over one
shoulder. �Your room is the one straight ahead?�

�Yeah,�
Harry managed to get out before Draco dived for him again.

Any
normal, self respecting person, Harry reasoned, wouldn�t just take someone they
hated for years to their bedroom, even if it was for mindless, casual sex. But
then Harry had never been normal, nor did he respect himself anymore. And he�d
never respected Draco.

Draco
was all soft skin about the collar bones and throat, a pinch seeming so thin
and delicate between his teeth he was sure it�d tear if he nipped too hard. Harry
was surprised. Bossy, headstrong Draco melted like ice in the summertime as he
lay back on the bed, becoming as docile as a kitten as Harry stripped off his
clothes and lunged for more skin.

When
it came to matter such as this, Harry was used to taking. Thrusting and rutting
thoughtlessly, he had no concept of what made it good for the other; he never
had to. He was always met with glorious high pitched shrieks and wails, cries
of devotion. It was like masturbating, only noisier and easier � he didn�t have
to think. To them it was what they wanted � a night with Harry Potter. Never
mind he could never remember their name or face. They were all the same, it all
ended up the same, after they had come and sat in his lap, cooing in his ear as
they undid the top buttons of his shirt and begging him to take them somewhere
where they could be �alone.�

For
years Draco�s eyes were slit with malice, cold with
cruelty, his lips had been crooked with a sneer and one eyebrow would be cocked
to dispel any doubt of his distain and superiority. Instead, in the dim light
that filtered through the shades, Harry saw grey eyes, pupils blown so wide
they almost looked black under half closed lids, lips slightly parted and bee
stung�the very picture of lusty passion which he shut his eyes against.

This
was Malfoy. It was only Malfoy.

There�d
been women. Lots of breasts, lacy bits of underwear, and
countless rows of white teeth. There�d been Emmas
and Gemmas and Jessicas,
and they all had the same high pitched giggle, which meant instead of a love
life he�d had lots of fake laughter. Harry had never liked the way his fingers
sunk slightly into their sides as he held them, or the
tiny fragility of their hands as they clawed across the bed sheets. He really
couldn�t stand the impracticality of the stupid, flimsy bras they strapped
themselves into, pushing their breasts up so that they preceded the girl when
she entered the room.

He�d
never tried another man. There was no lipstick on the pillow cases, or smeared
around his face and down his chest. No more long hair in his mouth and eyes as
he woke up the following morning.

Draco�s hair was just long enough so that a lock or two of it could flip
over his closed eyes, the white blond a sharp contrast to his dark eyebrows and
lashes. Harry wondered if he had them colored. It�d be an uppity, expensive Malfoy type thing to do.

Harry
sat up slowly, surveying the body next to him on the bed.

There
were discolored marks littering the hollows of his neck. There was blood on the
bed sheets; maybe Draco had been virgin. At least, maybe he�d been virgin that
way, the possibility of which made Harry furious. �Virgin� was equated with
innocence, and there was absolutely no way Harry would believe that Draco Malfoy was innocent in any way, shape, or form.

Still,
there had been blood so there had to have been pain and Harry felt a pang of
guilt, but he quickly tried to put it out of his mind.

It
was Malfoy. This was recompense for all the horrid
things Malfoy had said and done through their seven
year school career.

He
was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. The bloody Chosen One. Voldemort
was dead, wasn�t he? And what had Harry been left with, when the parties,
women, and free drinks were gone? He�d been ravaged by the Daily Prophet, the
Evening Prophet, the bloody Wizarding Globe and the
Wireless. There was no privacy; this was their way of thanking him.

This
was pay back and revenge all in one. He was taking what was his, the gratitude
of others that he deserved all
wrapped up in one, this was his way of having power over
Draco Malfoy.

Draco
had woken up, and was back to being bossy. �You don�t have a life, Potter,� was
the first thing Draco said as he lay on his side, one pillow crunched up under
his head as he watched Harry pace the room.

�Sure,
I do,� Harry said, but it was a lie.

Hermione
was in her first year of training to be a healer, and Ron was working for the
Ministry in Muggle Relations. Ron and Hermione knew
how to live. They�d gotten married, then less than six months ago people had
been pelted with owls, announcing in gooey, flowy blue
script: �It�s a BOY!!!!� They named him Harry.

Harry
hadn�t talked to them since the wedding. He�d changed, they�d changed. He
didn�t know it, but they were worried about him.

Ginny
had gone on too, now an assistant coach for some professional Quidditch team in Scotland, and was engaged to an heir to a very
prestigious broom manufacturer.

The
last night he�d almost talked to her was shortly after Voldemort�s
fall, at Ron and Hermione�s wedding reception. She�d been trying to catch his
eye all night; Harry could tell, and he raised his glass to her from across the
room and beckoned eagerly.

�Let�s
get back together,� he could hear her saying.

As
she wove through the crowed, her white wine spritzer
held carefully in one hand, some long haired, wide-eyed, slightly drunken thing
had grabbed his arm. She whirled him so fast he spilled his martini, and had
begun jabbering at him a million miles a minute while suggestively touching her
neck, her waist, her breasts. Harry had never met the
woman before in his life. By the time he�d pushed her off him, Ginny was gone.

Dean,
Seamus, Cho�everyone had moved on. Everyone was with
someone else. Except for Draco Malfoy, who turned up
on his door step.

�Actually,
Harry,� Draco swung his long legs over the side of the bed. �You don�t. I�m
using your bath.�

Harry
heard the shower running, the sound of someone brushing their teeth. He
wondered if Draco was using his toothbrush and soap. For a moment he considered
pounding on the door to ask, but walked in instead.

Draco
was hunched over the sink with a towel around his waist, foaming at the mouth,
using Harry�s toothbrush. He caught Harry�s eye in the mirror, as if daring him
to say something.

Wordlessly
Harry stepped into the shower and snapped the curtain shut, stripping off his
boxers in the stall, and throwing them out the narrow gap onto the floor.

There
was the sound of spitting and water running from the sink.

�You
know, Potter, I�ve seen you naked. You can undress in front of me.�

�You
know, Draco,� Harry replied, turning on the water so he had to yell to be
heard. �I�ve had my cock up your ass; you can call me Harry.�

When
Harry came down stairs, Draco was seated at the table,
the Daily Prophet spread open on the table in front of him. There were
scrambled eggs in a pan on the stove, toast, and orange juice on the counter.

Harry
stopped and stared for a moment. Breakfast was something he hadn�t eaten since
his days at Hogwarts.

�You
need to get out, Potter,� Draco said, folding the paper closed with an
authoritative snap. �You�re going to rot if you stay here much longer.�

�And
where�d you think I should go?� Harry said irritably. Wherever in the UK he went he was flashed mercilessly by
shutterbugs, tailed by headlines: �The-Boy-Who-Lived: Homeless?� with a picture
of Harry simply putting the lid back on his rubbish bin at the curb. America wasn�t much better.

�Where
I take you,� Draco told him, and stood to send an owl to the Ministry.

The
Portkeys arrived the following day in thick, sealed
boxes.

�Home;
Paris, France; St. Lucia in the Caribbean; Tuscany, Italy,� Draco recited, throwing each box down on
the table. He looked at Harry, who stood in the doorway munching a piece of
toast. Draco brushed the crumbs off the front of Harry�s jumper, straightened
his glasses, and pointed to the stairs.

�Pack.�

TBC
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