Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Say My Name	By : Thunderbird Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 30143 -:- Recommendations : 10 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
A/N: Ugh, a bit late again! I will try not to make it a habit. This is just a busy time of year for me. As always, my amazing reviewers kept me going. Keep 'em comin', loves!
We have officially entered Act II of this story (I'm a playwright by training, so I tend to think of my stories this way). I've got a couple of new characters and plot bunnies for you, but there will always be that Drarry you know and love. Enjoy!
Chapter 12: Forward
Harry awoke wrapped in the heat of a warm body. It was a feeling he was really starting to get used to, after the past week of spending every night with Draco. While the Slytherin was hardly the clingy type in his waking life, he always seemed to be drawn unrelentingly to Harry when he slept. When he and Draco shared a bed Harry usually found himself not merely attached to his boyfriend, but completely tangled up in him, come morning.
He smiled and kissed the top of Draco’s head. The blond groaned, indicating that he was at least partially awake, though none too happy about it. Harry chuckled softly.
“What time is it?” Draco asked, his voice slurred and somewhat muffled by Harry’s shoulder.
Harry glanced at the clock. “Nearly 7:30.”
Draco groaned again and rolled off Harry before running a hand over his face and giving a small stretch. “Mother wanted us for breakfast at nine.”
“Excellent,” said Harry, reaching for Draco and trying to pull him back. “That leaves us plenty of time to have some fun.” But Draco wouldn’t budge.
“You are bloody insatiable. Give me a moment to wake up.”
Harry snorted. “Insatiable… you’re one to talk, you know.”
He caught Draco’s brief smile. “Maybe so. But I’m not nearly as much of a morning person as you are.” He still had his eyes closed, as if trying to hold off officially waking up for as long as possible.
“Something I was shocked to discover,” Harry said, resting on one elbow while his hand traveled lightly but deliberately over Draco’s bare abdomen, hoping to slowly get him in the mood. It was their last morning at the manor together, and he wanted to make it count.
“Why is that?” the blond asked, opening one eye briefly to look at Harry.
“Because you always look so impeccable in the mornings. I assumed it would take you hours to get ready.”
Draco smirked. “Malfoys learn their grooming charms early. I’m a master.”
“Well, I know that now,” said Harry. He never ceased to be amazed at how quickly Draco could go from disheveled to perfectly polished with a wave of his wand.
“You, on the other hand, appear to have never learned any to begin with.”
“That’s because I haven’t,” said Harry. “I do it all by hand.”
“Which is to say, you roll out of bed and hope for the best.”
“You try getting this hair to lie flat. It’s untameable.”
“I bet I could.”
“I bet you couldn’t.” Harry scooted closer, so that his face was only a few inches from Draco’s. “You know what else? I think you secretly like it.”
“On the contrary. It drives me crazy. I’m ashamed to be seen with you in public, in fact.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“It is. You look like a bloody savage. An absolute brute!”
“A brute! How embarrassing for you.”
“Indeed. You’re a rapscallion and a rogue and I want nothing to do with you.”
“Too late now, I think,” said Harry with a grin.
Draco heaved a dramatic sigh. “Yes, I daresay it is.”
Harry moved closer still, leaning in to just barely brush his lips against Draco’s, and Draco pressed forward for more. Harry smiled against his lips.
“Are you awake yet?”
“Why don’t you use that wandering hand of yours and find out?”
Harry did, and discovered Draco half-hard under the covers. He stroked and teased, and was rewarded for the effort as the erection stiffened in his hand.
“What do you want, Draco?” Harry asked. “I’ll do anything you want me to. Just tell me.”
Draco’s breathing was ragged now as Harry rolled fully on top of him, pressing their bodies together.
“Do whatever you want to me, Harry,” he said breathlessly. “I’m yours.”
Harry loved hearing those words, particularly the last two. They made his insides clench with pleasure every time. This was certainly not the first time Draco had said something similar. He liked surrendering to Harry, letting him take control. Harry liked it too. It gave him a heady sense of power that had a little to do with having free reign over Draco’s body, but much more to do with the kind of trust required for Draco to give him that free reign.
It was trust that Harry knew he would never abuse. It was too precious. So, though Draco had said, “whatever you want,” Harry was aware of his responsibility to take care of Draco in that moment, and there were going to be some limitations this time around. Draco was undoubtedly sore from the night before, when Harry had taken Draco’s virginity.
He was struck powerfully again by the trust Draco had in him, and it solidified his decision.
“I’m going to make you come with my mouth, Draco,” he said in the blond’s ear. “And I’m going to take my time. So you just lie back and enjoy it, all right?”
He felt Draco smile against his shoulder, and he knew he was on the right track.
***
Harry’s assumptions were confirmed as he saw the way Draco was walking after he got out of bed to get dressed. Draco wasn’t visibly wincing but his gait was most definitely different, more careful.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, watching Draco from the bed.
Draco shook his head as he pulled on his underwear. “Just a little sore, like I knew I would be.”
“Do you need a potion, or maybe a mild healing charm?”
Draco looked over at him. “It’s fine, Harry.” Harry said nothing but continued to watch him closely. “Honestly,” Draco said, with a small smile and a pink tint to his cheeks, “I like it. It reminds me of what we did.”
“I can remind you of what we did,” said Harry. “I’ll remind you every hour all day long if you want me to. You don’t have to be uncomfortable.”
Draco walked over to him and kissed him soundly. “Sometimes a little pain is good,” he said. “Besides, it’s just a small twinge. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Well, carry a potion with you today, just in case you change your mind.” Harry was aware that he was mothering Draco a bit, which was further confirmed by the irritated look that Draco gave him. Harry knew that his protective instinct was rearing its head because of what had transpired the night before. What Draco had given him, what they had shared, and the way Draco had reacted afterwards all gave Harry a powerful need to take care of him. But he reminded himself that Draco was a grown man and didn’t want to be babied.
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” Draco asked him. He was fully clothed now, looking immaculate as usual. “We have to be downstairs in five minutes.”
“Just enjoying the view for a bit longer,” said Harry. He was feeling quite wistful about their last day at the manor. “I won’t get to see it nearly as much at Hogwarts.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way, you know,” said Draco, coming to sit on the bed within Harry’s reach. “I was thinking about what you said last night. We won’t have all day every day like we did here, but we can have this. We can have nights together, and we can have the mornings. We can have every night and every morning if we want.”
Harry grinned at him. “Draco, are you asking me to move into your room with you?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Stop being a cheeky git for one minute,” Draco said, exasperated. “I’m trying to…” He sighed.
“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry said, sobering his expression. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“I just don’t see why, at this point, we would spend our nights apart. After this week, after the things we said, and the things we did… things have changed, haven’t they?”
“Yes,” said Harry. “Very much so.”
“So, if that’s the case, then I think they should keep on changing… at Hogwarts.”
“You mean we should keep things moving forward,” Harry clarified.
“Much better than moving backward,” Draco said. “And I think that’s how I would feel if we were only together on weekends. It would feel like moving backward.”
Harry stared at him, his heart swelling almost painfully.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Draco said.
“Like what?” Harry asked. “Like I love you? I don’t know how else to look at you.”
“It makes me want you again, and we don’t have time for that,” Draco said, licking his lips unconsciously.
Harry leaned forward. “Well, at least we have something to look forward to tonight,” he said, kissing Draco softly. It was meant to be just a single brush of their lips, but the moment they made contact neither seemed to feel that one would be enough. Harry deepened the kiss immediately, and Draco grabbed Harry’s neck and pulled him closer. It was when Harry began exploring Draco’s mouth with his tongue that Draco pulled away.
“You’re bloody dangerous, you are,” he said. “I’m going downstairs. Otherwise I’ll never stop touching you.”
Harry wanted to tease him, to try and convince him to stay, but he knew Draco didn’t like keeping his mother waiting, and also how much Narcissa hated to wait.
“I’ll be down in just a few minutes,” he promised.
“Take a few extra,” Draco said with a smirk. “And try to fix that hair.”
Harry snorted, amused. “It’s a lost cause,” he said. “But I’ll do my best. For you.” He batted his eyelashes at his boyfriend.
Draco rolled his eyes, but Harry caught his smile for a brief second before he turned away.
***
It was a subdued morning. Harry had the distinct impression that Narcissa didn’t want them to leave. Or at least, Harry reconsidered ruefully, she didn’t want Draco to leave. She kept casting covert but loving glances at her son, finding excuses to touch him in small ways: brushing non-existent dust from his shoulder, fixing his already-perfect collar, or sweeping back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. Draco tolerated this, knowing exactly what she was doing and why, although it clearly drove him a bit mad. Harry, however, found the behavior quite endearing. He had caught Molly Weasley doing something similar with all of her boys, including Harry, a time or two.
When it was finally time to leave, Harry was surprised to find Narcissa embrace them both. The folding of her arms around Harry was brief but genuine, and Harry kissed her cheek, hoping this was the right move.
“Take care of yourself this term, Harry,” she said.
“I will,” Harry promised, then lowered his voice to say, “And I’ll take care of Draco, too. Don’t worry.”
Her eyes blazed at him, and Harry thought he could see approval in her gaze, as much as fierceness, at least. “See that you do,” she replied.
Harry smiled at her. Warm and fuzzy Narcissa was not, but Harry liked that about her. He understood much better now where Draco had gotten his inner strength.
He felt Draco take his hand. “Are you ready?” the blond asked, and Harry nodded.
“Let’s go.”
***
The transition back into school life was a bit painful at first. Harry had never had a better holiday, he was certain, and he had never felt less like returning to Hogwarts. Still, he knew he shouldn’t complain. He had Draco with him through most of it, and he was quite glad to see his friends again.
There were also a number of welcome changes from last term that made his life quite enjoyable. The most obvious, of course, was spending every night with Draco. They hadn’t fully moved into one room or another, maintaining their own spaces, but they stayed together every night, alternating rooms, and woke up together every morning. The actual waking up was a challenge some days, if only because with Draco right there Harry could always think of better things to do than get up for class. He was sleeping better, though, than he had since the end of the war, and that made up for it, as did the closeness and comfort he felt with Draco, which was only growing.
There were other changes, too. The social atmosphere of the 8^th year dormitory was beyond merely tolerant, now, and had transitioned into being outright friendly. Joint projects, inter-house relationships, and a fun New Years’ Eve had made most of the 8^th years let go of old rivalries and obsessions with house affiliations and welcome new connections. In fact, many of the students began lamenting that the 8^th years didn’t have their own table in the Great Hall, so that they could all eat together instead of being segregated. Hannah Abbott, Padma Patil, and, shockingly, Pansy Parkinson had jointly discussed petitioning the headmistress for such a table, and hopes for success were high.
Harry loved seeing this transformation, for its own sake, but also because it simply made his social life easier to balance. Hermione and Draco were quite friendly now, and Ron, though still wary of all of the Slytherins, could be caught on occasion talking to Theo about Quidditch or playing chess with Draco or Blaise, who he had found to be two much worthier opponents than Harry ever was.
Most shocking of the welcome shifts, however, was Ginny. She appeared to be back to her normal self, almost suspiciously so. She no longer avoided Harry at every turn, or glared at Draco, or made trouble for the Quidditch team. When she did run into Harry, she was affable and chatty without being overly attentive. She was regularly sitting next to Hermione or Ron at mealtimes now, even with Draco in the vicinity, cracking jokes and being her usual sardonic, overly-honest, and hilarious self.
Harry didn’t know what to make of it. Had their painfully awkward encounter on Christmas Eve been that much of a breakthrough for her? Or was it simply a very convincing act that would fall apart after a few weeks? Harry had no way to know, and he wasn’t about to ask her. He didn’t think it wise to say anything to Ron or Hermione either, concerned that he would break his promise to Ginny and let it slip that she had tried to seduce him. He had remarked about it to Draco, but the only response he received from the Slytherin was, “Ginny who? I don’t know who on earth you’re referring to.” Harry had rolled his eyes at that, but not pushed, letting Draco pretend Ginny didn’t exist as he was committed to doing.
Luckily, Ron seemed to pick up on the change eventually, once Quidditch practice resumed, and made a comment to Harry in the common room one night.
“Ginny seems back to normal,” he said, out of the blue, while they were in the middle of their Defense essays and Draco worked on Ancient Runes translations. “Did you say something to her?”
“Me?” Harry said, after a pause, because it took him a minute to realize that Ron was addressing him, and not Hermione. “No. I don’t think there is anything I could have said to Ginny to make her be normal.”
“Huh, well, something has happened, don’t you think? Surely I’m not the only one who noticed.”
He heard Draco snort quietly next to him, and Harry knew exactly what he was implying. Ron was usually the last to notice these things. He wanted to give Draco a nudge in the ribs as a reminder to behave, but felt doing so would be too obvious.
“How was she over the holidays, after I left?” Harry asked, hoping his tone sounded casual enough. He made the mistake of glancing at Hermione however, and the look she was giving him made him almost certain that she knew what had happened Christmas Eve.
“She was a bit sulky,” Ron said, regaining Harry’s attention. “Or… maybe not sulky. Quiet, though.”
“Introspective,” Hermione chimed in, giving Harry that significant look again. Harry shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.
“All right,” said Harry. “Well… I don’t know.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” said Ron. “I’m bloody grateful. I just wondered, is all. Maybe she’s dating someone new?”
“Again, I would probably be the last to know,” said Harry. Ron turned to Hermione.
“She hasn’t said anything to me about someone new,” Hermione said. “I don’t think there is. I think she’s just finally accepted the end of the relationship with Harry and is ready to move on.”
“Thank Merlin for that,” Draco said under his breath, probably only meant for Harry to hear. The way Ron and Hermione were looking at Draco, however, indicated that they had caught it as well. The blond finally glanced up from his parchment, looking from one to the other with an expression that asked, Am I wrong?
“Thank Merlin, indeed,” said Hermione, after a moment. She then wisely moved off the subject. “You start your apprenticeship tomorrow, don’t you, Harry?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah. It’s in the late afternoon. It’s the only time he could see me. He has clients the rest of the day.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? It means he’s successful, that he does a good business.”
Harry shrugged. “Yeah, that’s true,” he said. “I honestly have no idea what to expect.”
Hermione seemed to pick up on the nervous edge in his voice. “I felt that way too when I started my internship. But it only took a couple of weeks to get settled into it. I bet it will be the same for you.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Harry. In truth, he really just wanted to get his first day over with. The unknown was worse than anything else.
***
When he flooed into the home of the master duelist the next afternoon, he was surprised to find himself tumbling into what appeared to be a very posh waiting room. There were a number of armchairs in dark leather arranged around coffee tables of magazines and newspapers, a fountain gurgling unobtrusively in the corner, and three walls lined with shiny awards and accolades. He wondered, at first, if they all belonged to the master duelist, but saw different names on each one as he took a closer look.
“Awards that his students have earned over the years,” came a feminine voice from the corner, making Harry jump. He turned to see a woman sitting behind a desk, watching him with an amused smile on her face. She had stringy maple hair that was thrown sloppily into a bun in the back of her head and stuck through with a quill, revealing a sharp face complete with a square jaw and small but severe nose. She was probably only a few years older than Harry, he thought, but one couldn’t always tell, with magical people. They aged more slowly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Potter,” she said. It took a moment for Harry to realize that she had an American accent.
“Good afternoon,” he replied.
“Mr. Kemp is just finishing up with his last student of the day. He’ll be with you shortly.” Her words were formal, but her tone was far from it. In fact, it was quite warm and gave her an air of sincerity that Harry immediately liked.
“Great,” Harry said.
“As I was saying, about the awards,” she went on. “Mr. Kemp likes to display them out here, to show off the accomplishments of his students. These are just magical replications, of course. The students in question own the real ones. But he always makes copies.”
“It must be good for business,” Harry said.
“Why do you think he does it?” she said, and that amused smile was back, although she appeared to be fighting it. “He has plenty of awards himself, as well, of course, and I’m sure you’ll be getting a good look at those, too.” Her tone had become a bit dry, but also oddly affectionate.
Harry chuckled. “I’m sure.”
“You have an Order of Merlin, I understand. For all that business with what’s-his-name.”
“Um, yes, I do.”
“And where do you keep it?”
Harry stared at her. She was certainly to the point, this one.
“I haven’t displayed it anywhere,” he said. “I think it’s in a drawer in my bedroom, at my new house.”
“Hm,” she said. “Interesting.”
A door opened, and two figures emerged. One was a light-haired wizard, probably Harry’s age, looking rumpled but energized. The other was dark-haired, tall, slender, and imposing. He reminded Harry a bit of Snape, though his hair was cropped short and he sported a well-trimmed beard on his square jaw. One lithe hand rested idly on the younger wizard’s shoulder.
“Vesper,” the darker wizard addressed the maple-haired witch, who Harry assumed must be his assistant. “See to it that Damian here has his next session rescheduled for the 3^rd. I’ve had to rearrange some things.”
“Of course, Mr. Kemp,” she said.
The wizard nodded, then turned to Harry. “Welcome, Mr. Potter. I’m Aurelian Kemp. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
The student, Damian, looked sharply around to gape at Harry, but Harry ignored him. “Thank you, Mr. Kemp. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“Why don’t we go back to my office and get to know each other,” Kemp said.
Harry agreed, and followed the willowy man through the door, nodding to Damian and Vesper both as he passed. Damian was still staring agog and bug-eyed, but Vesper simply gave him a warm smile and a little wave.
Kemp led Harry down a hallway and through another door into a large, open space, with floor to ceiling windows that let in a great deal of natural light, even in the fading afternoon.
“My training room,” Kemp said. His voice was clear and confident, as though he was accustomed to being listened to. “Designed to my specifications by a magical engineer. It has everything you could possibly need for practicing, even on your own. The room will create virtual opponents for you, and you can adjust the settings. It also turns into a professional dueling arena. It’s where I give most of my lessons.”
He looked at Harry, who nodded his approval, although he privately thought that the Room of Requirement, where he had taught his DA classes, was even more impressive. But he wasn’t about to say as much aloud.
“Feel free to use it whenever you like. I, or Vesper, can show you how it works.”
“Great,” said Harry. He had to admit, having free access to such facilities was more than he had expected.
There were a number of doors off of the training room, one of which brought them into Kemp’s sizeable and comfortable office. A fire was crackling pleasantly in the hearth, casting flickering light on more shiny dueling awards that were arranged artfully on the walls. These awards all had Kemp’s own name on them, and Harry immediately remembered what Vesper had said, and had to suppress a smirk.
“Please, have a seat, Mr. Potter,” Kemp said, taking his place behind a large mahogany desk. Harry sat in the leather armchair across from him. Kemp laced his fingers in front of him and looked Harry over. “I was pleased to received your letter of interest,” he said. “And surprised, I must say. I have only been back on this side of the Atlantic for a short while, and am still working on reestablishing my practice here.”
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t realize that. Where were you living before, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“The States,” he replied. “I was only there for about three years, but they were quite fruitful years, I have to say.”
Harry was doing the math in his head, realizing that Kemp had left England around the same time that Voldemort had regained his power. What a coincidence, he thought wryly.
“I returned this past summer, after the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I know what you’re thinking.” He offered Harry a wry smile of his own. “And yes, I left the UK when you first announced that he was back. Couldn’t take the chance, being of Muggle parentage myself. My brother and his family were already well-established in the States, and I joined him there. It was a dangerous time for people like me, as you well know.”
Harry did know, of course, better than anyone. And he couldn’t help but think about how useful a man of Kemp’s supposed talents would have been as a soldier in the war. But he kept that to himself.
“So,” Kemp continued, leaning forward. “I find myself curious what it is you would like to get out of an apprenticeship with me. The talk of the wizarding world is that you will be entering Auror training after graduation. I have to wonder what you believe you’ll get from me that you won’t receive from the Academy. Their dueling trainers are exceptional, or so I’ve heard. I was offered a job there, upon my return, so I know they have a nose for talent.” He smirked. “But perhaps you’re looking to get a head start on training, so you’re sure to make the cut. Not that I blame you. It could be a smart move.”
“Actually,” said Harry, “I’ve decided not to enter the Auror Academy.”
That stunned Kemp into silence, but only briefly. He looked Harry over again with a glint in his dark eyes. “May I ask why not?”
Harry shrugged. “After the war, I wanted something different. I’ve spent seven years of my life fighting evil, fulfilling a destiny I never chose. I want something different for the rest of my life. I don’t want my life to be in constant danger, and I want to be able to have a life outside of my work.”
Kemp stared at Harry with narrowed eyes and a small smile on his face, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I like that,” he said finally. “That is very interesting.”
Harry furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, sir?”
“You’re just not what I expected,” he said. “In a good way. I had a picture of you in my head of a sort of noble martyr type, inhumanly selfless and virtuous, always going on about serving others and never taking anything for yourself. I have very little patience for those kinds of people.”
That brought Harry up short, because he had been accused of being that in the past, by people who didn’t know him very well. Was that his public image? He supposed it must be.
“Well, I like to think I’m a good person,” said Harry. “But you’re right, I’m not selfless all the time. I believe I deserve to have my own life.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Kemp said. “So, if that’s the case, then what is it that brought you here, if not preparation for the Academy? Do you want to become a professional duelist?”
“I’m intrigued by the setup you have here,” replied Harry. “The teaching in particular. I taught some Defense to my fellow students during the war and I liked it. I wanted to see what it would be like to do that professionally.”
Kemp nodded. “Very well. I will make sure you can assist in some sessions with students. That will give you the best picture of what I do.”
“Perfect,” said Harry.
“But first, before one can be a teacher, one must master the subject. How are you as a duelist?”
Harry made a face. “I’m decent, I suppose. But not great.”
Kemp laughed. “Well, you defeated the most powerful dark wizard of all time, so you can’t be terrible.”
“That was mostly luck.”
“Hm.” Kemp’s mouth turned down slightly at the corners. “We may have to do something about that modesty of yours.”
Harry blinked. He wasn’t sure if Kemp was joking or not. He hoped so, because Harry happened to like his modesty, and didn’t want to ever lose it.
“Let’s head back into the training room,” Kemp said, standing. “I want to get a look at your technique.”
Harry agreed, though he had to admit to himself that this was the part he was most nervous about. He had never had any formal training, unless one counted the disastrous meeting of the dueling club that Lockhart had tried to found in his second year. Harry had learned the Disarming charm from that experience, but little else, related to dueling, anyway. Everything else he knew was self-taught, with Ron and Hermione helping him, or gleaned from the very patchy Defense education he and his classmates had experienced over the years.
Kemp had Harry stand in the center of the training floor so he could get a good look at him. “I want to begin at the beginning,” he said. This turned out to be a good thing, because apparently Harry knew nothing about proper dueling technique. His stance was all wrong, as was the way he held his wand. Kemp physically adjusted the position of his feet, his center of gravity, and his wand grip, talking him through what he was doing.
“The strength of your magic comes from your body, not your wand. A wand is merely a conduit. The more grounded you are, the deeper you can reach into your magical core for power. But you need to be able to move at a moments’ notice, so be light on your feet. But keep your weight low.”
Harry did his best, yet was all too aware of the inherent contradiction in this. How was one supposed to be rooted in the floor and light on their feet at the same time?
But Kemp was eventually satisfied with the progress in Harry’s stance, because he moved on, having Harry show him the spells he knew. He conjured an opponent for Harry, who appeared as a ghost-like image, clear and defined, but a little transparent. Harry went through his arsenal, occasionally stopped by Kemp in order to receive feedback. Some spells, like the Disarming charm, were near perfect (“Are we surprised?” Kemp had said with a smile. “That’s what you used to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, is it not?”) while others were, according to Kemp, “sloppy.”
“Tighten up that flourish on your Stunner,” he said. “No need to wave your wand around. Remember, draw power from your core.”
By the time Kemp declared them finished for the day, Harry was quite worn out. While the work had been primarily mental, rather than physical, he felt it in his whole body. He was looking forward to getting home and getting into bed.
“You have a very interesting approach, Potter,” Kemp told him as they walked off the floor. “It’s clear you’ve learned most of what you know for practical reasons. Your magic is powerful and your spells are effective, but you lack finesse.”
That didn’t surprise Harry at all. “Finesse” was not a word he had ever heard in association with himself.
“When you return, I’ll show you what dueling with finesse looks like,” Kemp said. “For now, though, I have a floo call to make, so I will have to end this here.”
“All right,” said Harry, nodding. “Thank you for the lesson. It was very helpful.” He wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about Aurelian Kemp. On the one hand, the man was certainly arrogant, and a bit self-serving. But he knew what he was doing, and he wasn’t tripping all over himself trying to please or impress Harry, and Harry had always preferred that. And the session had been quite informative. Harry had a lot to work on.
“My pleasure,” Kemp replied. “You know your way out?”
Harry nodded, and they said their goodbyes.
Vesper was still in the waiting room when he entered. Harry was surprised, considering it was well past seven o’clock. Even more surprising, she was sitting at her desk, eating a pizza.
“Hello, Mr. Potter,” she said. “How was the session?”
“Good, thanks,” he said, unable to help a hungry glance at the pizza, which looked to be covered in sausage and peppers.
“Would you like a slice? I have plenty.”
“Um, thanks,” Harry said, helping himself. He took a bite. “Delicious.”
“Thanks. I made it, from scratch, the no-maj way.” She looked quite pleased with herself.
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No-maj?”
“Sorry, Muggle, to you,” she said with a grin. “I just can’t get used to it. ‘Muggle’ is just so British! It’s adorable.”
“Well, it’s really good pizza. I’m impressed.”
“I made myself learn how to make good pizza when I moved here. It’s the key to my happiness. That, and good Mexican food, but that I haven’t been able to find anywhere, or make it halfway decent myself. I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Suffer in silence, I suppose.”
“You’re American, right?”
“Born and raised,” she said.
“Why did you move here?”
“To work for Aurelian… Mr. Kemp,” she said between bites.
Harry realized Vesper must have known Kemp in the States, and followed him here. “Well, you’re obviously committed,” he said. “I hope you weren’t staying late on my account.”
Vesper smiled. “I live here,” she said. “Literally.” She held out a hand. “I suppose I never properly introduced myself. I’m Vesper Kemp.”
Kemp? “Are you Mr. Kemp’s wife?”
She snorted. “Gods, no. I’m his niece. My dad is his brother.”
“Oh.” That made a bit more sense.
“I’ve been training with my uncle since I was fifteen,” she went on. “I’m a duelist as well. And I’m his apprentice. Other apprentice, I mean, now that you’re here.”
“Oh,” Harry said, hoping she didn’t feel he was somehow moving in on her territory. “Well, I look forward to working with you.”
She grinned at him. “You’re adorable,” she said.
“Um, thanks?”
She laughed. “I mean in a very tough, manly way, of course.”
Harry laughed too, then finished his slice. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Vesper, much like with Kemp, but he liked her all the same. “Thanks for the pizza,” he said. “I was starving.”
“You’re very welcome,” she said. “Do you have your next session scheduled, or do you need to get something on the books?”
Harry scheduled his next session, making sure it overlapped with one of Kemp’s students, as he instructed, so he could observe Kemp’s teaching methods. He then said goodbye to Vesper, who was already digging into another slice of pizza, and approached the floo, glad the day was over.
***
He found his friends in the common room, working away, and it reminded him that he still had homework of his own. He flopped down on the sofa next to Draco, who looked up.
“Long day?” the blond asked.
Harry nodded “It was good, though. I learned a lot.”
“Good.”
“Apparently I have power, but no finesse. I already knew that, though.”
Draco gave Harry a lascivious smile. “I can think of instances in which you have plenty of both.”
“Gross,” Ron said under his breath, and Harry and Draco both laughed.
Harry made himself take out his Transfiguration text and get some reading done, though it was slow going. His brain was overworked and stopped absorbing the words, after a while. Finally, it was time for bed, and Harry and Draco went up to Draco’s room together.
“Kemp really wore me out,” Harry said as he undressed, then stifled a yawn.
“What’s he like, this Kemp?” Draco asked.
Harry did his best to describe his new dueling master as they climbed into bed, but it came out all contradictory. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I’m still trying to figure him out, I suppose.”
“Mm,” Draco said. “Sounds like it.”
Harry curled up to him, wanting to wrap them up together as usual. He knew that sleep would find him easily; he could already feel it coming on, though Draco hadn’t even doused the lamps yet.
“Harry.”
The tone of Draco’s voice made Harry open his eyes. “What is it?” he asked, eyeing his boyfriend, who looked at him with a serious expression. It made his heart sputter nervously to see it, though there was still warmth in Draco’s eyes as he brushed a hand through Harry’s hair.
“I know you’re tired, but there’s something I feel like I have to tell you.”
“All right.” Harry swallowed his nervousness, determined not to jump to conclusions.
“It’s about Blaise.”
Blaise? Harry furrowed his brow in confusion, not sure what to expect. Did Blaise and Draco have a history that went beyond friendship? Was that what Draco wanted to tell him? Harry couldn’t remember ever seeing any indication that Blaise was interested in men, but the Slytherin was generally reserved, so maybe that was why.
“He fancies Granger.”
Harry blinked, forcing his runaway brain back to the present and trying to process what Draco had just said. “What?”
“Blaise is interested in your Granger. He wants to pursue her.”
“Since when?”
Draco shrugged. “That’s hard to say. I think he’s always been a bit intrigued by her, her intelligence, and how she doesn’t much concern herself over trivial things. He admires those qualities. But I believe it was their partnership on the Potions project that had him seriously considering a relationship with her.”
Harry sat up. “He can consider all he likes, but it won’t make a bit of difference. Hermione and Ron are very serious about each other.”
“So I have pointed out to him, many times,” Draco said with a sigh. “But Blaise is a stubborn bastard.”
Harry shook his head, sliding back down to lie under the covers. “Well, too bad for Blaise, I suppose. But why did you feel the need to tell me?”
“Because Granger is one of your closest friends, and I thought you might want to know something that pertains to her.”
“Yes, but…”
“I’ve also never seen Blaise quite like this.”
“What do you mean?”
Draco ran a hand lightly and distractingly over Harry’s chest, and Harry had to make himself focus. “Blaise always has notions about pursuing some witch or another,” Draco said. “It’s been that way since 5^th year, at least. He becomes intrigued, pursues them, and then one of two things happens: the witch either turns him down outright, because Blaise can be a bit intense, not to mention an acquired taste, or he loses interest, realizing the witch isn’t nearly as intriguing as he first thought. With Granger though, it’s like she… infected him. I can’t think of a better word for it. She got under his skin and just kept festering there, spreading and growing until she consumed him.”
“That’s lovely imagery you’re using there, Draco,” Harry said with a smirk.
Draco gave him a look. “The point is, though he tried fighting it, knowing that she was involved with Weasley, he couldn’t make the feeling go away. He is quite taken with her. I’ve never seen him this way, and I honestly have no idea what he’ll do. So I wanted to give you fair warning.”
“All right, well, I appreciate that. But like I said, it’s a non-issue. Hermione would never leave Ron for someone else.” Draco was quiet next to him, spurring Harry to ask, “You don’t agree?”
“I didn’t say that,” said Draco.
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything, Harry.”
Harry looked at Draco for a moment. “I know you don’t really get why Ron and Hermione are together, but they work, you know, in their own way.”
“All right…”
“You just don’t like Ron.”
Draco sighed next to him. “I don’t hate him as much as I used to. But it’s true that I don’t see the appeal. I think Granger could do better.”
Harry scoffed. “Do better?”
“I mean find a better match. For her.”
“And you think Blaise is that better match.”
Draco’s silence answered for him.
“You really do, don’t you?”
“I don’t know, Harry,” Draco said after a minute. “Maybe.”
It was Harry’s turn to be silent. He was too bloody tired to think about all this at the moment, and he was annoyed at Draco for picking now to have the conversation.
“I didn’t bring this up to cause a fight,” Draco said. “I just wanted you to know the situation.”
“All right, well, I know it now,” Harry said, his tone clipped. “Can I go to sleep, then?”
“By all means,” Draco said drily.
He turned out the lamps, and they lay on their backs in silence, staring at the ceiling. Harry knew, immediately, that he wouldn’t be able to sleep, not like this.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he said, after a few minutes. Draco didn’t say anything at first, but Harry knew he wasn’t asleep and had heard him.
“And I’m sorry I brought it up tonight. It was bad timing,” he said finally.
Harry sighed. “I’ll be more rational about it when I’m not so tired, I promise.”
Draco turned toward him, laying an arm across Harry’s chest. “I love you.”
Harry felt himself relax, finally. What a difference those words could make, sometimes. “I love you too.”
djaddict: Thanks! Lol Harry held his own, though. And he’d take whatever Narcissa threw at him for Draco, of course :)
Tina: Thank you! I hope the trend continues with this chapter!
Dedicated_Reader: As always, your review brightened my day! And Draco is totally a cuddler lol. Not that he would ever, EVER, admit as much.
smn: Yay I’m so glad! I’ll keep working hard if you keep enjoying it :)
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