Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Easy as Falling	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 31246 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Seventeen—Off and Running

            Harry stared into Malfoy’s eyes for a minute, and felt the strength of Malfoy’s hands as they rested on his cheeks, and had to swallow.

            Because it really did look as though Malfoy wanted more than being political allies, or even political allies with an occasional side of sex to keep their bond strong.

            Harry swallowed again. The first thing, or rather the only thing he could think of right now, was Briseis. She would say that this was a problem. She would say that Harry had overstepped his boundaries to be even accepting the kiss, let alone all the problems with returning it or actually becoming Malfoy’s lover, the way he seemed to want. She would scold Harry again, and Harry wouldn’t have any answers, and—

            “I told you the truth already,” he said, meeting Malfoy’s eyes and forcing himself to think about the political implications, the bigger ones that didn’t involve Briseis yelling at him or Malfoy being disappointed. Yes, those were terrible things, but what mattered most of all was that he might be putting their cause in jeopardy. “And have you thought about the fact that I might not be the best partner for you? Politically, I mean. If word got out that you were sleeping with me, or if your adviser thought you were even if you weren’t, then you might have problems with her. I don’t want to do that—”

            Malfoy reached out and placed his finger on Harry’s lips.

            It was rather ridiculous that a simple gesture should have so much power to shut Harry up, but it had managed. He fell silent and blinked a lot, or what felt like a lot in the time between when Malfoy made the gesture and when he made his reply.

            “You’re right that my adviser might not like it,” Malfoy said, in a quiet, soothing singsong. “She told me to be distant with you in public. All right, I can do that. It’s worth not losing her. But in private? That’s a different matter, and one where she doesn’t have the power to disapprove.” He leaned nearer. “Tell me.”

            Harry felt as though he was in the middle of a whirlpool, carrying him deeper and deeper into the ocean. That it was a warm and caring and very tender ocean didn’t precisely matter. In fact, that would probably make it all the harder to escape, at least without hurting someone. Which was precisely what he didn’t want, when Malfoy was making such an effort to take care of him.

            He looked away, because he couldn’t not, and said, “I did tell you what they did. The cupboard and the meals and the chores and the yelling. That was it. I don’t know what else you want to hear. Isn’t that enough? Were you wanting to hear about rape or the time they broke all my bones? Because that didn’t happen, sorry. They weren’t the evil Muggles that you want them to be.”

            Malfoy said nothing. Harry could feel a trembling working its way down his hands. He thought he knew what was coming next. Malfoy would push Harry away and rage at him about “defending” the Dursleys, the way Hermione had during the clearest conversation they’d ever endured about it, and then things would turn around.

            Perhaps because he could feel Harry expecting something like that and he must always do the opposite of what Harry expected, Malfoy didn’t. Harry did hear him suck in a great and noisy breath, as though he was conquering the impulse to say something rude, and then his hands gentled on Harry’s shoulders and smoothed up and down.

            “I’m glad they didn’t rape you or break your bones,” Malfoy whispered. His voice was nowhere near Harry’s ears, but it felt like that, felt as though Harry could sense the gentle whisper of his breath on warm, exposed skin. He shuddered in spite of himself, gooseflesh breaking out on his neck. Malfoy went on with a new tone in his voice, and Harry thought he’d probably noticed Harry’s reaction. “But what they did is bad enough.”

            “Yes, all right,” Harry said, looking back at him. They had moved in a new direction. Maybe it would really be new, and Harry could keep Malfoy from returning to the old ground. “But I already told you about that. I’m not lying. It took a lot of courage for me to say that much.” That was truer than he’d wanted it to be, he realized abruptly. His legs felt as though they were hollow. For years, someone he couldn’t trust finding out about the Dursleys had been his worst nightmare. Now the whole wizarding world knew.

            But maybe that was a good thing. The damage any one person could do now was limited.

            “What more do you want?” Harry continued. “Details? Because I can tell you that, but I don’t think that will change anything.”

*

            Draco blinked as he looked at Potter. He hadn’t expected a lot of things he’d said so far: the worrying over the broader political implications, the admission of fear, the way he seemed caught between dancing away from Draco and pressing closer when Draco spoke to him.

            But this was something mostly expected, the resistance to saying anything else. Draco pulled himself together, told himself it was ridiculous to be disappointed that Potter hadn’t collapsed on his chest and poured forth all the details of his life the minute Draco asked, and smiled. “Yes. That’s what I want.”

            Potter stared some more. He looked lightning-blasted, bright, very young. “What do you—I mean, I don’t know what else I can say. I told you how they starved me, where I lived. What’s left? Numbers?”

            “What you felt about it,” Draco said, very softly, feeling as though Rosenthal had whispered the words into his ears. Or perhaps his own good sense, which had to be stronger than Rosenthal, really. “You didn’t feel free to reveal that in front of my friends, and I don’t blame you. But I want it.”

            Potter broke free from him and paced over to the other side of the room, staring out the window. The window gave a probably false vision of the grounds that included a glimpse of the Forbidden Forest. Draco waited, not folding his arms even though he wanted to. If Potter turned around and looked at him, Draco didn’t want to look as though he was being defensive.

            Silence pressed in on them, and Draco bit his lip to keep from saying something too soon. But in the end, his patience was less than Potter’s stubbornness—or so he chose to voice it to himself. “Harry?” he whispered.

*

            Harry closed his eyes. He felt as though someone had a bridle on him, and not even the way the windowsill trembled beneath his hands, rubbing against him like a cat in need of petting, could comfort him right now. He didn’t want to answer Malfoy’s question.

            He’d already confessed how ashamed and small and helpless he felt. What else was left? Why did Malfoy insist on pressing into this, when Harry had done the best he could to make sure that it wouldn’t politically inconvenience him?

            Because he cares about more than that.

            It was the obvious answer, and Harry turned around to face Malfoy on the strength of it. Malfoy had taken a step towards him, and took another when he saw Harry looking at him. His face was softer than Harry had known it could thaw.

            “Do you feel comfortable telling me?” he whispered.

            “No,” Harry said. If this was an escape, he would take it. Even understanding what Malfoy wanted couldn’t make this more comfortable. Nothing would, Harry thought viciously, and bit his lip as he clenched his hands down. He wanted to draw blood, or punch something. That might relieve the constant pressure Malfoy was putting on him.

            Malfoy stepped quickly across the distance between them and took his hands, working his fingers in between Harry’s closed ones, forcing him to let go. Harry blinked at him and shook his head a little.

            “I don’t want you to talk about it if you’re uncomfortable,” Malfoy said. “I thought that you weren’t, or at least not that much. That was the reason I was asking. But we’ll leave it until later if we have to.”

            “What if I’m never comfortable?” Harry asked. He had asked Hermione the same question once. She had blinked and looked away, but not before Harry had seen the gleam of tears on her lashes.

            “I hope to earn your trust enough that you will be, someday,” Malfoy said.

            No flinching. None of the bloody pity that Harry hated seeing in his friends’ faces, another reason that he didn’t talk about this often. He glared at Malfoy, silently challenging him to back away.

            Malfoy looked at him, smiling slightly. He hadn’t let Harry’s hands go yet. His fingers remained in place, and he didn’t seem uncomfortable himself, and he didn’t look afraid even when the stones beneath his feet mounded a little.

            “Are you going to throw me out of Hogwarts?” he asked Harry calmly, directly. “Because you could do that, and I couldn’t make you stop. I can’t control you. I can’t force you. I can only ask you.” He bent his head, and for a second Harry thought Malfoy would kiss his hands, as insane as that was. Instead, Malfoy only kept his head bowed as he spoke, his words taking on an intensity that Harry didn’t think they would have if they were both looking into each other’s eyes. “I can only ask that you let me in.”

            Harry swallowed. His throat was dry, and it rang. That was unfair.

            “What you’re doing,” he said, and stopped, because Malfoy was right. He wasn’t forcing Harry in any way. Harry could throw him off and walk away, and Malfoy’s adviser would probably prefer it that way. They could still continue their political relationship. For absolutely no reason, with no evidence worth building such a rock-hard faith on, Harry knew that was true. Malfoy wouldn’t let the personal relationship they were building interfere with what they were doing to establish him as Minister and Harry as Dark Lord.

            “It’s unfair?” Malfoy asked quietly. “Well. It’s true that it would probably be more decent to back away and let you speak to me on your own time. But I don’t think you would. And I’m less fair than your friends, I admit. I want more from you than your friends do.” His fingers closed down, not imprisoning but clutching, firmer than Harry had known hands could be.

            “I’m asking,” Malfoy said, his voice falling. “That’s what I’m doing. Asking isn’t unfair.”

            “It is when you don’t really want to know,” Harry snapped, the only retort he could come up with.

            Malfoy jerked his head up, and Harry had been wrong. Being looked at like that, from those wide grey eyes, was infinitely more intense than anything that could have come through Malfoy’s voice alone.

            “What makes you think I don’t want to know?” Malfoy asked, and then did another unfair thing and leaned in enough to put his hand on Harry’s cheek. “What makes you think—you really believe that I don’t want to know?”

            “Not like that,” Harry said, twisting free again. His hands were fluttering like birds. He tried to clasp them together behind his back, to show that they had something to do and he wasn’t lost when Malfoy wasn’t holding them, which wasn’t true. “I just—look, you’ve never been my friend, all right? We’re allies, and we make good ones. And I absolutely believe that you won’t betray what I tell you. But what use do you have for this information, if not as political coin?” He shook his head. “It just—look, it just doesn’t make sense, all right? No one but me really needs to know these things anyway, but Ron and Hermione know, and I can’t take it away from them. And what you know, I can’t take away from you. But you don’t need to know more than that. Not for any reason I can think of. You don’t need to know how I feel about it.”

*

            Oh.

            Draco could feel himself relaxing, unexpectedly. Yes, what Harry wanted from him might have made him angry at one point, but it didn’t now, not now that he knew the source of Harry’s confusion.

            “You’re absolutely right,” he said.

            Harry gaped at him.

            Draco took a step towards him, smiling, and he thought it was a measure of Harry’s confusion that he didn’t try to stop Draco. Draco put his hands gently on Harry’s hips and leaned near enough that Harry’s eyes crossed looking at his lips.

            “I don’t need to know,” Draco whispered. “No, there’s no political purpose to be gained by it.” He had thought of saying that it would serve him to tease Rosenthal with, but he was too affected by Harry’s statement that he knew Draco would never betray his secrets.

            Harry shut his mouth, but his eyes continually shifted back and forth between Draco’s lips and the rest of his face. “Then you know that—”

            “But I want to know,” Draco said. “I don’t think it will kill me not to know. Nor do I think it would damage me politically. The only thing it would satisfy in me is my desire. The only thing it would give you is the knowledge that someone wants to know.” He firmed his hold on Harry’s hips. “So that’s it. I’m giving you my personal wish to know more about this. You can refuse it on those grounds, but you deserve to know at least what the grounds are.”

            Harry closed his eyes and bowed his head. Draco didn’t know why, at least not until Harry’s hands took his, gripping hard enough to make Draco’s bones creak. Draco stood still. He thought Harry might let him in, but he was as likely to throw Draco’s hands off and tell him to get out. It all depended on his fear.

            It was odd, Draco thought. He would have been fearful once at displaying his desires like this. Training for the political arena had given him more of a notion of the importance of control, if anything. He should have held his breath and trembled a little at the weapon he had handed Harry.

            But he couldn’t shake his fervent faith that Harry wouldn’t act against him. It was probably the same as Harry’s faith that Draco wouldn’t betray him. Not sensible, but not senseless, either.

*

            Shit.

            Harry could have walked away from someone asking out of curiosity, or pity, the way that Hermione had with the tears trembling in her throat once. He could have faced someone asking him because of the way the photographs appeared in the paper and curled his lip and stared them down.

            But this simple statement of longing, and the look in Malfoy’s eyes when he said it…

            It made Harry want to tell him.

            Slowly, Harry released Malfoy’s hands. He left them in place, on his hips. Malfoy tugged him closer, not near enough to lean against him, but near enough that Harry could hear his heartbeat. He could probably have seen the pulse jumping in Malfoy’s throat, too, but right now, he wanted to keep his eyes closed.

            “I hated them,” Harry whispered. “Sometimes it would frighten me, how much I hated them. I knew other kids would say things at school about hating their parents, but I watched how they ran to hug them, and I knew it wasn’t the same thing. I lay awake at night in my cupboard and thought about them dying. Burning to death. For some reason, that was always the thought that came first.”

            Malfoy said nothing, but stroked his hips, and breathed on Harry’s lips, and stood there.

            “And then, near the time I was going to Hogwarts,” Harry said slowly, “I forgot I thought that. It was like I sensed something was going to make things different and so I didn’t need to hate the Dursleys as much because soon I wouldn’t see them as much. So I was cheerful when I went to Hogwarts, and I could be casual about it. And I hated spending holidays with them, but this time, I knew there was an escape.”

            Malfoy moved one arm up around Harry’s back, but didn’t yet pull him into an embrace.

            “And thinking about it now,” Harry whispered, never knowing if he was going to have the courage to speak the words again, “I think I should be over it. I don’t want anyone to pity me because of it. I don’t want to think or talk about them.

            “But…I remember how I hated them then, and sometimes I’m closer to that than I am to forgiving them.”

            Malfoy kissed him on the lips, put his other arm around Harry’s back, and pulled him closer. Harry stood there, and shuddered a little, dealing, slowly, with the fact that he had said it, and nothing had died, and nothing had been destroyed, and he was still here, grown-up and with someone who considered him an adult, not a damaged child.

            And Malfoy was still holding him.

*

            delia cerrano: Harry, unfortunately, is having trouble getting past the fact that Malfoy might want him as more than just an ally. But he’s getting it now.

            SP777: Draco telling Harry that he would let it go if Harry really wanted him to, but asking anyway, did win him points with Harry.

            alexkdp: But if you strangled me, how could I write more? ;)

            unneeded: Yes, eventually we will get there. But either this story, or the story it’s the first arc of, is going to be really long.
- 16
- 17
- 18
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

Easy as Falling