Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Sleepless	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16095 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Fifteen—Laughter and Stupid Things

            “But Malfoy, mate?”

            Harry would have liked to bury his face in his cereal, or at least fill his mouth with it to the point that Ron couldn’t ask him any more questions. But Ron was staring at him right now, his face so baffled and so red that Harry knew he owed him an explanation. He hadn’t seen Ron this serious about anything since the war.

            “It was nothing,” he muttered. “I didn’t moan Malfoy in my sleep, did I? It was just a bloody dream. I told you about them. They get stronger all the time. Fucking things,” he added fervently, and poured milk into his bowl until it almost overflowed. Then he took a large bite, so that he would have an even better excuse for not answering. Hermione wasn’t here this morning, having stayed out late last night comforting a client who feared she would lose her case, or Harry knew he couldn’t have escaped the interrogation for this long.

            “No, you moaned ‘Draco,’” Ron said. “Which isn’t a better name to hear coming out of your best mate’s mouth, let me tell you. Since when did you get on intimate terms with the Source of All Evil?”

            “The Source of All Evil is dead,” Harry reminded him, brushing his fringe aside so that Ron could see the faded scar. “Remember?”

            “The laws of balance in the world demand that a new Source of All Evil rise to replace the old one,” Ron said comfortably. “And what better source than Malfoy?”

            Harry shook his head wordlessly. He was still trying to figure out two things: why he would be moaning the name “Draco” in his sleep, when he and Draco hadn’t done anything at all sexual in the dreams last night, and why Ron had walked in at exactly the right moment to hear it. That he wanted to wake Harry up so that he could get to the office on time and Hermione wouldn’t yell at Ron for not doing it was only the ostensible reason. How could the universe be so unfair?

            “Well, mate,” Ron said, and took a few neat swallows of tea, as if he assumed that Harry would be inspired to tell him everything by the way his throat moved. “I’m waiting.”

            Harry sighed. “This isn’t something I’m proud of,” he said. “But some of the dreams are about Malfoy, and the way that he might be different in a different world.” He had told Hermione and Ron that much before, that the dreams were about a different universe, and he was glad that he had, now. A lie with a strong mixture of truth was the best kind of lie to have.

            “Um,” Ron said, when some time had passed, with Harry staring into his cereal, rather than at his best mate. “Yeah, I don’t see how you get from there to moaning his name. Please tell me that you’re not dating him in that other universe.”

            “It’s not that simple,” Harry said weakly. He hated the way that Ron’s words made him feel: defensive and anxious and as if—

            Why should it be so hard to picture himself dating Draco? Was he really that pessimistic about winning the case? He’d thought he’d made some progress with Woburn last night, who had answered enough of Harry’s questions to prove that he’d known Lucius for a long time and was highly respected. And Draco had been there the whole time, watching with admiration as Harry handled the insults that Woburn still sometimes tossed at him like firecrackers, waiting to see if he would jump.

            He shouldn’t be so miserable, or so embarrassed that Ron had overheard him moaning that particular name. Of course, it would also have helped if he’d known why that particular name.

            “Oh, what, something more complicated?” Ron looked as if he was on the verge of standing up from his chair and bolting out of the room. “Don’t tell me that you’re married or something like that, mate. I don’t think my heart could stand it.” He’d picked up his teacup as though he was going to take a sip, but he put it carefully back down now, as if he was afraid that he would drop it.

            “No,” Harry said. “It’s none of those things. Really, it’s not.” He rose to his feet in agitation, shaking his head. He had to get away from Ron before he said or did something he’d regret. It wasn’t Ron’s fault that he’d overheard Harry moaning the name, and it wasn’t Harry’s fault that he’d moaned, and everything would be better if Hermione never heard about the whole awkward situation. “Look, can you keep this from Hermione? I don’t think she’ll be thrilled to know that these dreams are still continuing.”

            Ron put up a defensive hand. “I’m not standing up to that juggernaut, mate.”

            “Where did you learn a big word like ‘juggernaut?’” Harry muttered.

            “I’m going to ignore that,” said Ron with some dignity, “because I am the mature one around here.”

            “Could have fooled me.”

            Ron glared at him and turned away. “I won’t bring it up,” he said over his shoulder, as he went back into the kitchen to fetch toast. “But if she learns about it anyway, then I won’t lie to her, either.”

            “That’s fair,” Harry called after him, and then turned and left the room, shaking his head. He was starting to wonder if Malfoy had been right about the way his hands twitched in his physical body while he dreamed after all. Perhaps the physical reactions and the reactions in his dreams influenced each other, coordinated somehow, even if they weren’t directly connected. He should try to learn more about them if he could.

            Just—not to stop the dreams. The mere thought caused a bone-deep panic that made Harry want to sit down and put his head between his knees.

            Hermione and Malfoy would probably say that that isn’t normal, either.

            Harry sighed. He had to remember that all his friends could really do was encourage him to act otherwise. They couldn’t force him to. He had to leave the mindset that was a product of life with the Dursleys and at Hogwarts behind if he could.

*

            “This is getting predictable, you know,” Harry told Malfoy when he appeared in the doorway of Harry’s office later that day, grinning like a maniac. “You wouldn’t want anyone to say that you were getting predictable, would you? You should at least surprise me at lunch or something, once, instead of in the office.”

            Malfoy waved a hand as though this was so much unimportant hot air, and for all Harry knew, it was to him. He strode into the office and stood there, practically vibrating. Harry watched him with a half-smile. When Malfoy wasn’t plaguing Harry endlessly to stop the dreams or to date him, then Harry could see the amusing side of him.

            “I did it,” Malfoy said. “I announced that I was quitting the team and that I wished them luck in finding a Seeker who would do more for them than I did.”

            Harry smiled. “Wonderful! And what did they say to that?” He half-hoped that Malfoy’s team had panicked and kept him on instead. They had to realize that Malfoy had skill and someone would pick him up sooner or later.

            Malfoy gave him a brief sneer. “They were upset and embarrassed and made speeches about how it was my fault, what did you think? If you’re expecting a miraculous change of heart, Potter, then I’m afraid to say that you’ll have to stick to fairy tales. You can’t really believe people will change their minds overnight.”

            “No, but I hoped for it,” Harry admitted. Not least because it would mean that you were paranoid, and it would give you somewhere to go. “You don’t have a lead on another Quidditch team?”

            “Not right now.” Malfoy fidgeted for a moment, running his fingers through his hair yet, and then turned a beseeching glance on Harry. Harry caught his breath briefly. He could see why Witch Weekly sometimes included Malfoy in its articles on appealing Quidditch players. His eyes could be clear when you looked into them the right way, clear and icy grey like raging river water, and they could sweep a certain kind of person away.

            Not me, Harry reminded himself hastily. Besides, Draco’s eyes are probably even brighter if you look into them the right way. I just haven’t had the chance to do that yet.

            “I don’t suppose you know anyone who could give me an opportunity?” Malfoy asked. “Since your ex-girlfriend is a Quidditch player and all.”

            Harry snorted. “If you’re looking for a place on the Harpies, I think a little matter of a gender change is in order.”

            Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Git. Of course not. But she might know someone who might know someone…” He let his voice trail off hopefully.

            Harry had to shake his head. “I don’t know anyone personally,” he said. “And Ginny would be—well, the wrong person to ask, given our history.”

            Malfoy blinked at him. “I thought you had a good history with her.”

            “Yeah,” Harry said dryly. “Sometimes. I thought I loved her, but we weren’t right for each other, and we had a particularly wrong phase right before we broke off.” He sat up, his mind caught by something Ginny had said to him before their breakup. “But I do know that the Cannons might be looking for a Seeker soon. Their current one is old and has weak hands, but he’s hanging on still. They’re trying to coax him to retire, but he keeps saying that he never will until he sees someone who’s as good as he was when he was a young man.”

            “The Cannons?” Malfoy sneered, and Harry’s mind flew back half a dozen years to Hogwarts and the way Malfoy had looked at him when he strutted past in the company of his goons. But one of those goons was dead in a fire, Harry reminded himself, and he didn’t think Malfoy was that person anymore.

            Most of the time.

            “You are fucking joking,” Malfoy said, now in a haughty tone. “You do it well, I’ll grant you that. But you’re joking, and you should realize that I have a weak heart. A hereditary condition. You’d do well not to give me a shock like that again. Do you want to deal with me dead on the floor of your office?”

            “I don’t want to deal with you dead at all,” Harry retorted. “I know that you’d return and haunt me for spite’s sake.”

            Malfoy smiled at him, head tilting down and eyelashes lowering as though he intended to flirt. “I am persistent,” he murmured.

            Harry rolled his eyes. “And yes, I was serious about the Cannons. Their current Seeker’s still with them. What’s his name? Rigsby? Something like that.”

            “Hollins Rigsby,” Malfoy said, his mouth twisted in pain. “Potter, I cannot believe that you are suggesting—the day that a Malfoy plays for a losing team is the day that I sell the Manor and change my name, because no one else who comes after me deserves to be reminded of the disgrace.”

            “Do you have a better idea?” Harry snapped. “Besides, they might stop losing if they had a decent Seeker for once. And just because Ron likes them doesn’t automatically make them an inferior team.”

            Malfoy stared at him as if he thought that Harry might have hit his head. “Yes, it does,” he said.

            Harry sighed and stood up. “Look, they might listen to you if I go with you and speak for you. Otherwise, they’d probably just assume that you were there to be bloody annoying.” He started to walk towards the office door, and paused when he noticed that Malfoy simply stood in one place and stared at him. “Do you want my help or not?”

            “You’re so much more cooperative about this than you were about the training sessions,” Malfoy muttered, following him.

            “I couldn’t tell what you wanted to achieve with the training sessions,” Harry said, thinking for a moment before he remembered that the book with the Floo addresses of professional Quidditch players that Ginny had once maintained was at home. “I couldn’t help you become better than you were, since I’m worse than you. I’m a lot better when I know what to do to help someone.”

            “And if you can’t help that person?” Malfoy asked, his voice a breath behind Harry’s ear. “If they’re simply someone who stands on their own, wanting help, but not requiring it because they’re not in danger?”

            Harry turned to look back at him. Malfoy’s eyes no longer had that striking clarity Harry had seen in them a moment before, but they did study him with an intensity that made Harry think the answer to that question mattered rather a lot.

            “Then I need more direction,” Harry said, and turned away, refusing to look back again. Malfoy might have sighed, but if so, Harry never heard it under the steady sounds of their footsteps down the stairs.

*

            “I knew it.”

            Harry started. He had walked into the house without much thought, trying to remember where Ginny had put that book—no, where he had put it, because he had moved it in with everything else when he started living with Ron and Hermione. He hadn’t noticed Ron sitting in the drawing room, and he really didn’t understand why Ron had risen to his feet and was pointing one finger at Harry with a tragic expression.

            Then he turned and saw Malfoy behind him, the disdainful target of Ron’s pointing, and he understood.

            “Look, Ron,” he began.

            “No,” Ron interrupted. “I don’t have to listen when it’s perfectly obvious to any impartial observer what’s going on here. I heard you moan his name this morning, and now here you are with him. You decided to bring him back so you could have wild sex in your bed and poison my mind forever. Probably with bondage. And ice. And feathers.”

            “I’m impressed, Weasley,” Malfoy said seriously. “I never realized that your sexual repertoire was so large. I’ll have to ask you for tips when Harry and I do fuck.” He reached out and laid one hand on Harry’s shoulder, larger and warmer and more present than Harry wanted.

            Harry shook his head and shrugged off the hand, turning around with a curse on his lips. He’d thought Malfoy had given up the fantasy of them fucking. Harry had liked him better today because he’d acted more friendly and less like he was interested in getting into Harry’s pants.

            Malfoy only smiled at him and turned to Ron, though. “I wonder how many shades of red he can turn before he finally explodes?” he asked Harry in a tone of scientific interest.

            Ron turned to Harry. “You,” he said. Then he stalked out of the room. Harry listened anxiously for the slam of a door, and winced when he didn’t hear it. At least, if Ron had done that, Harry would have been sure that he was releasing some of his feelings. Instead, he’d brood, and terrible things had happened since the war when Ron brooded.

            “That was fun,” Malfoy said.

            Harry whirled on him. “What the fuck?” he demanded, though in a low voice, so that Ron wouldn’t hear them and decide that they were thinking of new and innovative ways to have sex. No way to keep Hermione from hearing about this; it would be the first thing Ron would complain about when she came home. “You were acting normal, and then you decided to attack Ron?”

            “An attack would be a hex.” Malfoy looked down his nose at Harry. “This is the person I am, the person who wants your help to get on Quidditch teams and likes to give Weasleys heart attacks. You thought I had changed since Hogwarts?”

            “Yes, I did,” Harry said, forced into unhappy honesty. “You were normal enough in my office just a while ago!”

            Malfoy’s face softened. “Shall I tell you why?” he asked. “Would you like to hear the difference between my behavior now and my behavior then?”

            “Yes,” Harry hissed. If he could get a handle on Malfoy’s volatile, constantly changing act, then he thought he could put up with him better. He at least needed to put up with him until Malfoy lost interest, Harry thought. It couldn’t be that long, since Malfoy’s mind seemed to change every few seconds.

            Malfoy bent towards him. “Things have changed for me since Hogwarts,” he said, in a serious tone but with a sharp delight in his eyes, so that Harry had no idea how far he should believe him. “I’ve grown and changed in the sense that I know more about what I want and what I need to do to fit in in society. I wouldn’t hex someone purely for fun now or tattle on someone for sneaking a dragon through the corridors. This isn’t school. This isn’t childhood.

            “But there are other ways I haven’t changed. I still think it’s fun to torment someone who was focused on tormenting me, someone from a family my family has had a feud with for generations. I still want what I want as free from any charge as possible. I still pout when I don’t get my way. I’m not above minor Dark Arts sometimes. That’s the kind of person you’re dealing with, Potter. Perhaps I should have told you before. You probably would have understood me better.”

            Harry took a deep breath. “No, I fucking wouldn’t have!” he yelled, without a concern for Ron’s tender ears this time. “What you’re saying is that you could have grown up, but you chose not to! You chose to go on playing and acting like a child, and when you want to, you ignore those instincts! But the rest of the time, you—you make Ron think we’re fucking, and you embarrass me in front of bookshop owners, and you lean on me for support and shamelessly ask for my help!”

            Malfoy considered him with bright eyes. “Well,” he said at last, “yes.”

            Harry shook his head. “I do understand you better now,” he said. “I understand that I can’t have anything to do with you once I’ve got you your precious spot on a Quidditch team, which I think is why you approached me in the first bloody place! I need someone who—who doesn’t change like that every five minutes!”

            “I prefer to call it ‘volatile.’” Malfoy said. “Or not growing up until I had to. The war made me mature against my will.”

            “You just said that you knew this wasn’t childhood anymore,” Harry hissed, and turned around. “Accioaddress book!”

            It soared out of a corner of the shelves in the drawing room where Harry would never have thought to look. Of course, he thought as he caught it. Hermione had categorized it with other books about Quidditch. It probably made as much sense to her as any other method of organization.

            “Here,” Harry said, thrusting the book at Malfoy. “This used to belong to Ginny, but she doesn’t want it anymore, and I won’t use it. Use it to contact Rigsby—I still think he’s your best bet—or anyone else you want to. And then leave. Don’t come back. I think I’ve done as much for you as can reasonably be expected.”

            Malfoy took the book, but he looked perplexed. “I thought that would do it,” he muttered. Harry wondered who he thought he was talking to. His imaginary friend whom he carried in his head, perhaps. “If I told him that I’m a person of all these contradictions. If he was interested in me, then he would pay attention to me and try to help me. He’s supposed to be the person who extends compassion to everyone.”

            “I’m right here,” Harry snarled. He had a particular hatred for people who talked past him as if he wasn’t there, partially because the Dursleys had often done the same thing and partially because people who wanted to answer the questions reporters put to him would speak up before Harry could make his own denials.

            Malfoy stepped back and stared at him as if he had honestly forgotten about Harry’s presence until now. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. “That’s the problem. I did something stupid, and I thought that you would be furious when you found out about it. Then we could fight, and it would be like our relationships during our Hogwarts days. After that, maybe, with your attention on me, then we could start something different. But you didn’t even notice when I did it, as if noticing me was beneath you.” Bitterness crept into his voice, the first real emotion Harry thought he had heard from him all afternoon. The gaiety in his face and the claim that he was half a child was a mask, Harry thought, a façade. “So I tried to get your attention in a more sophisticated and adult way, and even that didn’t work. Because I wasn’t desperate enough, I suppose.” He stared into the corner.

            “What did you do that was stupid?’ Harry was trying to maintain control over both his temper and his bewilderment. How in the world could Malfoy have thought that acting like a child would attract him? Or dancing around the subject and refusing to admit whether or not he wanted Harry?

            “It doesn’t bloody matter now, does it?” Malfoy raked his hand through his hair, a gesture Harry had never seen him use. Of course, at this point he was starting to wonder how much he knew about Malfoy anymore that was true. “It’s over and done with, and there’s no use in admitting it to you when it wouldn’t make you do anything but yell at me. I’ve had enough of the yelling, thanks.” He strode rapidly towards the door.

            Harry couldn’t let him go like that. He attempted to grab Malfoy’s arm. Malfoy shrugged him off angrily.

            “If you would have talked to me like this from the beginning,” Harry began.

            “All I ever wanted,” Malfoy said over his shoulder, “was your friendship. And to fuck you, but the friendship would have been enough. I knew I had to have the friendship before anything else even if I did want to fuck you. But it didn’t work—not acting like a child, not acting like an adult, not teasing you, not trying to help you, not being serious. And if I tell you the truth you’ll just keep dismissing me.”

            “Malfoy—oi, Malfoy, hold up—”

            But Malfoy stomped out the door, and by the time Harry could get to him, he had vanished with the sharp crack of Apparition. Harry would have followed if he could, but he had no idea where Malfoy would have gone. Home to brood, maybe, or to the pitch where he’d met Harry several times, to ride out his anger on the broom.

            A bit shaken, Harry turned back into the house. He had had no idea that Malfoy would react like that to Harry telling him to get out, or—

            Or what? Would he not have done it? No, he probably would have. He wanted to help Malfoy, but not at the price of being the constant target of Malfoy’s teasing and Malfoy’s changing moods. He could bloody well find someone else’s friendship, while he was at it.

            Not that Harry didn’t wonder what stupid thing Malfoy had done to gain his attention. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to check the papers from a few weeks ago, or ask Hermione if she had heard anything.

            But for right now, since Hermione wasn’t home and there were no pressing cases today and Ron wouldn’t come out of his room for a while…

            Right now, Harry wanted to go to sleep and find Draco.

*

            Review responses can be found at http://lomonaaerenrr.livejournal.com/11114.html
- 14
- 15
- 16
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Sleepless