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Picture of You	By : Abremaline Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4651 -:- 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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Disclaimer; Mine, all mine! Muahahaha! What? J.K. Rowling? Who the hell is that?

Seriously, by the time this is done I doubt that she�ll be wanting any credit for this particular creation anyway. But, well, she did invent the places, the characters and their entire world, so�

Author; Abremaline

Rating; NC17 (More of a really strong R)

Pairing; Harry/Draco

Series; Picture of You; Part 2 of 3

Summary; Draco looks at a picture of Harry and remembers a night long ago

Cold Nights

Harry wondered whose hands those were that were wrapped around his waist. Did it matter? Another night, another guy, it hadn thn that way since Voldemort had died. It to helped block his memories. There was never any room for dark memories when in the throws of lust.
The men he brought home were usually of a similar age to himself, but not always. Normally they were wizards like himself, but not always. They were different every time, never the same guy twice, not really, even though they looked the same, smelt the same, dressed the same. A few of them even tasted the same.
Thousands of beautiful men had slept on those covers. Hundreds had lovingly curled themselves around Harry whilst he slept. Only one had ever mattered though. Only one had ever touched him emotionally. Only one, of all those men had ever understood what he had seen or who he was. The scars that haunted him every time he looked in mirror were a reminder of that person, their scars had matched, both those on inside and those on the outside.
The man in his bed right now had silvery white hair and pale skin, just like all the others. Like he was now, asleep with his eyes closed Harry could almost imagine that this man was Draco Malfoy. Almost, though not entirely, the scars weren�t there. The attitude wasn�t there.
That power so much like Harry�s own, it showed even in sleep. That self-confidence and self-comfort (was that the word?), the way he looked when he slept, it had all shown. Always the same, Harry knew that even though everyone else had changed, Malfoy never would. It was what kept him going, knowing that no matter what happened Draco Malfoy would always be the same arrogant snob he always had been. That thought alone comforted the Gryffindor in ways he could never explain, not even to himself.
Ron had died, and Hermione had changed into a person no one recognised, Malfoy was the only link to his childhood that had remained the same, the only one to have held onto himself. It reminded Harry who he himself was, or rather had been. Taking him home that night had been a mistake, and Harry knew he had taken advantage of the blonde that night. He hadn�t wanted to be there when Malfoy realised it. So had taken him home and left a note apologising for what he had done.
When Harry closed his eyes, he could still see Malfoy lying there, naked on top of the silken sheets in his own room. Forever vain, the colours had been chosen to not only complement him, but also to draw eyes to the pale figure in the centre.
The ploy had worked. Harry had stood there a long time, looking at this angel gone wrong. The perfect image of saddened innocence, belied by an erotic darkness.
Malfoy had lain flat on his back, hair splayed out across the pillow. Eyelids and long lashes hiding those silver eyes, the ones he had seen freeze over with anger so many times, and more recently melt in lust and want.
There was a certain set to his mouth, that could only be described as �uniquely Malfoy.� His chest had risen and fallen in slow contentment. A fine line of almost invisible hairs led down the porcelain skin, to where his cock was beginning to stiffen once more in sympathy to whatever the Slytherin was dreaming about. Harry had felt his breath become a little irregular as he had watched. His own dick had begun to stiffen too.
The guilt of what he had done and how he had done it, was still heavy in his chest though, so he had quickly written his apology, charmed the parchment to stay in Malfoy�s hand and apparated back to his own room to try and obliterate the memory of Malfoy�s hands gripping into his back as they came several times over.
Every night Harry would seek out a new bed partner, hoping that one of them could best that memory for him. It was worse than any other, because it was always there at the back of his mind. The others could all be chased away, if only temporarily. Not Malfoy though, Pushy bastard that he was, the memory of him was always there. It was the one memory that refused to go away, not even when Harry was having sex. Especially not when Harry was having sex.
None of the blondes to have graced his covers since had removed the memory though. Not one had looked up at him the same way, felt the same way or caused such a reaction in his body. None before or since had managed to get him even close to that kind of want. The want to please someone else more than yourself was an unforgettable feeling.
Harry remembered how when he had entered the Slytherin that first time, how the blonde head had fallen back and his eyelids had slit in what seemed to be bliss. That shuddering intake of air as Harry eased his way further in.
No one else had ever done that the same way. None had taken such pleasure in Harry�s administrations. None had felt so good to be inside of, nor had any of them felt as good inside of him.
Malfoy had been a wonderland. The ultimate innocence perverted by life. He was like an angel only more interesting, his darker side ever present only served to show Harry how powerful this evil angel could be, and in fact how powerful he really was.
Harry raised himself from the bed, leaving his current lover of the night alone. This man would leave in the morning and that would be the end. Probably gone before the raven-haired man even got back. Stealing some kind of a token on his way out so that he could prove to his friends that he had spent the night with Harry Potter.
In his best robes, covered over with an invisibility cloak Harry apparated out of the lust scented room, to go and stand against a wall in the dark street. There he saw the regular candlelight and the outline of a lone figure, it haunted him that image. Always alone, it just was not like the Draco Malfoy he had always known. That scowling, vain, superior creature had always been so passionate about everything. This just wasn�t like him, what had happened?
How many nights had Harry stood out here, wondering where Malfoy was and what he was doing? Who he was doing? The Gryffindor tried to stop that last thought before it finished forming.
He watched as Malfoy put things away carefully in their drawers, pedantic as always. The candles went out and Harry could no longer see what was going on. His mind supplied images though, drawn from that one night when all those years of hate had somehow been replaced with lust and longing�and something else, something that couldn�t be explained. No one would ever know Harry better than what Malfoy did, perhaps that was what had caused it.
Harry wondered how long he had been staring at the black windows, not that long according to his watch. No longer than five minutes. It just felt longer than it really had been, because nothing was happening.
The Gryffindor had no idea why he was doing this, or why this night, But, as he leant against that wall he remembered the feel of Malfoy, that silken skin and its sweet taste. As he sighed regret for what he had done, something seemed to snap in his mind. A sudden courage, the person he used to be pushing forward. Harry didn�t stop to think it through, he just did it.
Harry crossed the street more determined than ever, not allowing himself a chance to turn around this time. Not pausing for a moment before he knocked on the door.
It was the longest wait of his life, waiting for that door to open and several times he nearly apparated out. When the door finally did open, the blonde stood wearing only a towel, he rolled his eyes as he looked out into the night, �An invisibility cloak is not much use if you�re going announce yourself by knocking on the door.�
Harry hastily removed the cloak, he had forgotten about that. �Sorry, I forgot I had it on.�
The blonde looked stunned, he hid it quickly though, �Potter? What would cause you to knock on my door undercover of an invisibility cloak at almost 3 in the morning? Seems a little drastic don�t you think?�
Harry stuffed his hands as deep into his pockets as they would go, �I wanted to say I�m sorry.�
�Didn�t you already do that Potter?� Draco scowled at the man on the other side of his door. �You wrote it down, for me, I�m sure of it.� Silver eyes looked at him scathingly, they seemed to burn a hole into the Gryffindor.
What was he doing here? He hadn�t even planned anything to say. �That was what I wanted to apologise for. The note, its just�� His voice trailed off.
�I forgive you. Can I go back to bed now?�
Harry�s eyes took in the slicked back damp hair, they travelled down the lean, toned chest, stopping at the towel. �I-I was hoping we could talk actually.� He hadn�t taken such a huge chance to back out that easily. It just wasn�t who he was.
Draco stepped back from the doorway to allow Harry in, �You don�t mind if I get dressed?� He didn�t really wait for an answer. Just indicated a room for Harry to wait in, lit the magical candles and then disappeared.
Harry looked around the room while he stood waiting, trying to figure out what he was going say. He could see a liquor cabinet on one wall, beside a chest of drawers, near that was a bin that was filled with bottles, and in front of the large couch was a coffee table.
He walked over and sat almost delicately on the couch, not knowing what to do with himself while he waited. He looked towards the chest of drawers. Wondering what was in them but not having the guts to open them. As he looked he noticed on the top was a photo turnede doe down. It seemed out of place in the almost impersonal room.
He was still staring, shocked at the photo when the blonde returned.
�Potter, I�ll thank you not to go through my personal possessions.�
Harry looked over at the figure that was beginning to cross to cross the room. He was unable to say anything, so he just held the photo out for Malfoy to see. Mutely seeking an explanation.
The blonde froze mid step, his expression instantly changing to one of horror and fear.
Both men stood there for quite a long time unable to say anything to the other.
Harry looked once more at the photo in his hand, himself, stuck in a perpetual striptease.
�I can explain that.� Malfoy�s quite voice caused Harry to look across to him again. The blonde seemed to be as self-justified as always. Harry felt a flash of anger at this.
�I don�t think you need to.� Harry watched the photo version of himself erotically remove its jeans. �The real thing wasn�t good enough for you? Do you even know who took this picture?� He looked up at the blonde with hate, before glancing back at the picture.
Harry suddenly realised that he had spoken without thinking. Any number of men could�ve taken that photo, how many had there been?
His eyes cast in the direction of the floor, he finished his sentence, �Because I don�t. I have no idea who took this picture, probably never cared.
Harry�s green eyes looked with hatred at the thing in his hands. �Why do you have it anyway?�

To Be Continued�.
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Picture of You