Funerals and Weddings
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Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
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Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
63
Views:
25,316
Reviews:
272
Recommended:
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.
Ch. 27: Blowing and Rowing
For disclaimer, summary, story codes and other information, please see the prologue.
Chapter the Twenty-seventh: Blowing and Rowing
The next day
Draco’s journal
14 November
As far as I’m concerned, the only good thing about Harry Potter dating that Huffleduff Justin Finch-Fletchley is that it makes it easier for me to keep my Malfoy Mask in place whilst playing my role of the self-assured Slytherin. Behind my mask, though…I’m miserable. Miserable with jealousy. Jealousy! Who would have ever thought that I, Draco Malfoy, would be jealous of a Hufflepuff! Certainly not me! But if I can’t admit it here, where can I? Yesterday in Hogsmeade, watching Harry snog that useless git… Urg! It makes my stomach hurt just thinking about it. So I won’t.
To make matters worse, now that Harry is completely unattainable, The Dream has returned in full force. I didn’t have The Dream once whilst I was having those hideously vague nightmares prior to the Death Eater attacks. Damn, but I missed them! Virtual sex is better than no sex at all! But now they are back, more lifelike and detailed than ever.
I’ve decided that Fate definitely has a twisted sense of humour. Why else would The Dream be even more real when making The Dream a reality has become even less possible? I hate Fate. I hate Fate and its twisted sense of humour that leaves me sticky and twisted up in my bedclothes every morning. Sticky from releasing in my sleep when Harry sucks me off in The Dream. The Dream, the amazing, wonderful, frustrating, terrible, beautiful Dream…
The disembodied hand snatching me into the darkness. The mouth I cannot see pressing urgently against my own. The body I can only feel pinning me to the rough stone wall. And the hands…those brilliant hands…
Stroking my face while his lips devour mine. Mapping my chest while his tongue tangles with mine. Opening my robes and my shirt so deftly that I don’t even notice; all of my attention is focused on memorising that hot, sweet mouth.
Harry’s lips are softer than I would have imagined. His tongue is warm. It teases the tip of mine before diving back in to caress and explore. I can feel the vein on the underside of his tongue and the slight chip in his back molar. The kiss grows deeper, more passionate and I’m moaning into Harry’s mouth. His thumbs are rubbing slowly, hypnotically, across my nipples and he’s rolling his hips, pressing his erection firmly against my own. My body is alive with sensation and it’s delicious.
I moan again when he sucks my tongue into his mouth and gently bites it before his lips leave mine. His mouth is a brand, working its way along my jaw, down my neck, across my collarbone. Harry lets out his own moan when I thrust involuntarily against him as he sucks on my neck. He whispers something I can’t understand against my skin, but the feel of his warm breath against the wetness of my skin sends a thrill up my spine.
Harry’s mouth continues down my chest and I arch my back and groan as just the tip of his tongue flicks against my pebbled nipple. The feeling is electric. His hands roam my body as his mouth latches on to one little nub and sucks and licks and nibbles in torturous pleasure. My hands reach blindly and find his head, pressing it against my chest. A last teasing nip before he moves to my other nipple for more of the same torment—a swipe from his slightly rough tongue, a brush of his teeth, the soft press of his lips.
Then he’s moving down my body again and before I can take a single deep breath, his fast fingers have released me and *GODS* that amazing mouth has taken me deep, surrounding me with warmth and wetness.
One hand wraps around the base of my cock while his tongue swirls around the head. He’s sucking and licking and lapping at my slit, tasting the pre-cum that’s oozing out continuously. His fingers fondle my testicles, rolling and caressing them. Harry’s tongue sweeps firmly up the vein running along the underside of my rock-hard penis and I jerk and groan. I’m so close. He seems to know it because he’s working his mouth faster, up and down my shaft, his tongue circling the head. Then he takes almost all of me deep into his mouth, sucking hard as he slowly, slowly moves up to the head. One last twist of his tongue and I’m arching my back, arching my neck, crying out and shooting hard into his waiting mouth. That waiting mouth that keeps working me, milking everything from me, until at last my body relaxes, trembling in the aftermath.
I look down at him and see his green eyes. Then he’s kissing his way back up my body to my lips. And he’s kissing me, letting me taste myself on his tongue. Maybe it’s only wishful thinking, but this kiss is different—less hurried, less frantic. It’s deep and slow and so erotic my toes are curling.
Then those green eyes are staring into mine and I have to remind myself to breathe when he finally speaks, his voice sexy and rough:
‘Draco, I want you. I need you.’
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The same morning
14 November
Harry hated having arguments on an empty stomach. Actually, he hated having arguments at all. But the look Hermione had given him when he made his way down into the common room Sunday morning told him he wasn’t even going to get a cup of coffee before this one started.
Harry sighed and flopped into his favourite chair in front of the roaring fireplace. Hermione and Ron were seated together opposite him on the small sofa, Ron’s hand playing absently in Hermione’s curls.
“Harry,” Hermione started. “We need to talk.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. He’d been practising the move all summer and he enjoyed using it as much as possible.
Hermione continued. “Harry, I—we—don’t understand what’s going on with you.”
Harry waited. He’d learnt some patience (finally) and he’d realised that silence could be a useful way of getting someone to spit out what they wanted to say without beating around the bush. He found it amusingly ironic that he’d picked up that little trick from Snape. He wondered if the Potions Master would be happy to know Harry had at least learnt one thing from him.
Ron didn’t disappoint him. “What the bloody hell is going on with you and Malfoy, mate?” he exploded. “I can understand your negotiating some kind of…deal…with him, or whatever, to get through DADA classes. But then he goes and laughs in your face about the Death Eaters killing your aunt and you still protected him yesterday. How could you do that?”
Harry blew out a breath. He should have known this was coming.
“Ron, I wasn’t just protecting Malfoy yesterday. I was trying to protect everyone in Hogsmeade. The Death Eaters weren’t going to leave until someone told them where Malfoy was. I was hoping that if I said he wasn’t there, they’d give up and go without hurting anyone. And, with Ginny’s help, it worked. The Death Eaters believed us when we said Malfoy wasn’t in Hogsmeade and gave up. What’s wrong with that?”
Ron looked to be slightly placated but Hermione had latched onto the one word Harry had unintentionally let slip.
“Harry, you said you weren’t “just” protecting Malfoy. That means you weren’t only thinking of the people in Hogsmeade, you were thinking of Malfoy too. Why? Why would you protect him? Why would you think he needed protection from Death Eaters, anyways? You know he’s going to be one, if he isn’t already.”
Harry tapped his fingers on his knee and played with the barbell in his tongue while deciding how to answer Hermione. The One-Way Bubble oath he’d signed in DADA prevented him from telling Hermione and Ron that he knew Malfoy didn’t have the Dark Mark. Finally, he sighed and sat forward in his chair.
“Look, you’re right, I’ll admit it. I was trying to protect Malfoy as well. Didn’t either of you notice anything off about the way those Death Eaters were acting? Something wasn’t right. They weren’t out running errands for Voldemort and stopped by Hogsmeade to pick up Malfoy as a favour to his father or something. They were sent there specifically to get Malfoy—a dozen Death Eaters! To get one underage wizard! It didn’t sit well with me then and it still doesn’t. I don’t know why Voldemort wanted Malfoy, but it wasn’t for anything good, I’m sure of it.”
“So?” Ron countered. “So maybe the git pissed You-Know-Who off somehow and the Death Eaters came to get him because You-Know-Who wanted to punish him. Why’d you stop them?”
Harry stared at his best friend in disbelief. This was a side of Ron he hadn’t seen before—a vengeful side.
“Ron! You can’t be serious! You really think I should have turned Malfoy over to the Death Eaters? And allowed Voldemort to most likely torture him and possibly kill him?”
Ron’s expression didn’t change. “Yes. I do. If anyone deserves it, it’s Malfoy. What I can’t believe is that you disagree!”
In desperation, Harry turned to Hermione, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet. “Hermione, please tell me you don’t agree with Ron!”
Hermione looked uncomfortable. “Well, I can’t honestly say I completely disagree with him, Harry. I mean, wouldn’t we all be better off if Malfoy wasn’t here at Hogwarts? You know he’s probably a spy for his father and V-Voldemort. And he’s…so…cruel and mean to people. He belongs with the Death Eaters. You know he’s going to join them. The only reason I can think of that he didn’t show himself when the Death Eaters came for him yesterday is that he really had already left Hogsmeade and didn’t know they were looking for him!”
Harry was speechless. He sat there, mouth gaping, stunned at what he had just heard his two best friends say. Did he not know them at all? How had he never noticed this…this…cold streak they seemed to have? He tried one more time.
“Hermione, Ron. Look at me, please. I want you both to look me right in the eyes and tell me that if you knew for a fact that Malfoy would be tortured and possibly murdered, you would still let Voldemort have him. Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”
Hermione’s eyes wouldn’t meet Harry’s. “But Harry, we don’t know that Malfoy would have been tortured—”
“Bullshit!” Harry cut her off angrily. “What kind of fantasy world are you living in? Voldemort doesn’t send out a small army of Death Eaters to invite someone to tea! He has something planned for Malfoy—and Voldemort’s plans are always painful! Trust me, I know!”
Harry stood up abruptly. “Forget it. I can’t sit here any longer listening to my two best friends tell me they’d send another human being—no matter who he is—off to be tortured by Voldemort. I’m going to breakfast. See you later.”
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It took Harry a good five minutes of pacing up and down a deserted hallway before he was calm and could put the matter out of his mind for the time being. Harry looked around for Justin when he entered the Great Hall, but didn’t see him. He did see Ginny, however, and walked over to join her.
“Morning, Harry,” she greeted him.
“Morning. Listen, Dumbledore said to thank you yesterday for what you said about Malfoy not being in Hogsmeade. He thinks that you backing me up was what convinced the Death Eaters to leave,” Harry told her as he poured coffee and buttered some toast.
“Oh, well, I’m just glad they did leave,” Ginny said, passing Harry the eggs.
Harry looked at her curiously while sipping his coffee. “Why did you say it, Ginny? Did you know he wasn’t there or were you just playing along?”
“Both, actually,” Ginny grinned. “I hadn’t seen Malfoy in Hogsmeade, but I doubt I would have said anything if you hadn’t first. When I realised you were trying to convince the Death Eaters that Malfoy wasn’t there and that they should leave—I decided it couldn’t hurt if I gave you some reinforcement.”
“Glad you did!” Harry said. “Thanks!”
Ginny winked at him. “Anytime. Nothing I like better than watching Death Eaters go home to Daddy with empty hands!”
Harry laughed so hard at the image of evil, snake-faced, red-eyed Voldemort as “Daddy” that he choked on his eggs and Ginny had to pound him on the back.
“Thanks,” Harry said weakly, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I needed a good laugh.”
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Harry spent the rest of the morning doing homework. When he returned to the Great Hall to eat, he looked again for Justin but he was no where to be seen. After eating a quick pasty seated between Neville and Seamus (he wasn’t ready to deal with Ron and Hermione yet), he decided to search the castle for the elusive Hufflepuff. He wasn’t in the library or out in any of the hallways. So he made his way across the castle and down some stairs to the Hufflepuff common room. He knocked on the door (just a regular door for the Hufflepuffs!) and waited until a fourth year boy he vaguely recognised answered. He asked politely for Justin and waited in the hall for him to appear. He waited for what seemed like an eternity before Justin appeared in the doorway.
“Yes?” Justin asked, rather coldly.
‘So this is how it’s going to be,’ thought Harry with a sigh. ‘This is not my day.’
Out loud, he said, “Listen, Justin, I think we need to talk. Is there somewhere we can go that’s a little less…public?”
Justin shrugged. “Sure, I guess.” He shut the door behind him and led the way down the hall to what appeared to be a broom closet. He opened the door and motioned Harry to go in ahead of him.
“What, here? A broom cupboard?” Harry asked in disbelief.
Justin just looked at him. “What, not up to the lofty standards of a Gryffindor?”
That pissed Harry off. “Look, stop being an arse. I spent the first eleven years of my life in a cupboard and I know quite well that a broom cupboard is not the usual place one goes for a conversation. Isn’t there an empty classroom or an unused room or something around here?”
Justin looked confused when Harry mentioned living in a cupboard, but just crossed his arms over his chest. “Nope. Just our lowly broom closet. I guess us Hufflepuffs aren’t special enough to have convenient empty classrooms laying about for when we need a private conversation.”
Harry could only take so much idiocy in one day and that did it.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he practically shouted. “Do you have some kind of...of…inferiority complex or something? What does having or not having an empty classroom nearby have to do with anything? And since when do you think Gryffindors are better to Hufflepuffs?”
“It’s not me who thinks Gryffindors are superior—it’s you!” Justin shouted back. “All of you Gryffindors think you are better than anyone else here and I for one am sick of it! Just because the Sorting Hat picked Gryffindor for the great Harry Potter—”
Harry cut him off. “Stop right there! This has nothing to do with some fucked up version of the Boy-Who-Lived that the Wizarding World dreamed up. Or does it? Is that why you were going out with me? To be able to tell the world you’d fucked the great Harry Potter?” Harry’s voice was bitter.
Justin sputtered indignantly. “What? NO! That has nothing to do with this! I went out with you because I liked you—it had nothing to do with you being famous or whatever. I swear.”
“Yeah?” Harry took a few calming breaths and willed the red haze away from his vision. “All right. Sorry, I guess I overreacted. But the way you were going on about ‘the great Harry Potter’ being sorted into Gryffindor…” he trailed off, not knowing what else to say.
“Yeah, well, maybe the Gryffindors have always been Dumbledore’s favourites, even before you arrived. I’m the same year as you, so I don’t know what they were like before. Maybe they’ve always thought they were better than everyone else—”
“Hold on,” Harry interrupted. “We don’t think we’re better than everyone else. And what does this have to do with yesterday, anyway?”
Justin rolled his eyes. “Everything! I was right there with you when those Death Eaters attacked, but yet you didn’t think I was good enough to go with you to see Dumbledore. Weasley and Granger were good enough—they’re Gryffindors! But not me.”
“Justin, look, that didn’t have anything to do with being a Gryffindor or being ‘good enough’ or what have you. You’re in the DA and you’re a great bloke—I wouldn’t have gone out with you if I didn’t think you were ‘good enough.’ But…the situation with Dumbledore…it’s complicated. The man is so bloody secretive. I guess he has to be, to some extent. He wouldn’t—and doesn’t!—tell me anything he doesn’t have to. Even after Voldemort came back at the end of fourth year and after everyone knew he was back at the end of last year—he still keeps me in the dark! The bastard’s tried to kill me four times already—you’d think I would have the right to know what’s going on, wouldn’t you? But that’s not what Dumbledore thinks, obviously. So yesterday, I knew he wouldn’t let you stay. I knew if you went with us, he’d send you away…and I thought it might be better hearing it from me, rather than him. I guess I was wrong. And…I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, it wasn’t my intention, I swear.” Harry put all the sincerity he could into his last sentence.
Justin sighed. “I guess I didn’t realise…I mean, it makes sense that Dumbledore can’t go around telling everybody everything. But I always figured Dumbledore let you in on everything…and there you were willing to take Ron and Hermione along…”
Harry snorted. “Yeah, well, Ron and Hermione always seem to be there when I do something stupid and get tangled up with Voldemort, so Dumbledore gave up trying to keep them out of it. What was the point? They knew everything I did! But he doesn’t tell them any more than he tells me—and if were up to Ron’s mum, it would be even less!”
“Wasn’t it Ron’s mum that sent that Howler that one time?” Justin asked.
“Yeah, that was her,” Harry said, grimacing at the memory.
Justin laughed. “Well, I reckon Dumbledore might not want to get on her bad side then!”
Harry laughed. “You’re probably right. Mrs. Weasley’s one of the nicest people I know, but when she’s pissed off…watch out!”
They laughed together for a moment, then fell silent. Harry shifted uncomfortably.
“So…where does that leave us?” he finally asked.
“Ummm…friends? I hope?” Justin said tentatively.
Harry studied the Hufflepuff. “Just friends?”
“Yeah…just friends. You’re a great bloke, Harry…and I like you…but I think we’re better off as friends than…boyfriends.” Justin looked at him uncertainly. “I hope you understand that. I do still want to be friends with you.”
Harry smiled. “Don’t worry, I understand. I guess…I guess I feel the same way. Friends, then?”
Justin looked relieved. “Friends.” He stuck out his hand to Harry.
Harry took it, then pulled Justin in and kissed his cheek. “See you around, Justin.”
They parted ways, Justin back to his common room and Harry up the stairs towards Gryffindor. Harry was a little sad to have ended his relationship with Justin, but knew it was right. At least they had worked things out and weren’t angry with each other anymore. Feeling lighter, Harry took the stairs two at a time, whistling. He never saw the figure hiding in the shadows as he passed by.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Draco rolled up the Extendable Ear and stuck it in his pocket. He hadn’t intended to spy on Harry and Justin. He’d been heading to the kitchens when he’d heard shouting and had recognised Harry’s voice. A good Slytherin never lets an opportunity to eavesdrop go by and Draco was definitely a Slytherin. Remembering he still had Blaise’s Extendable Ear with him, he’d moved into the shadows of a hallway and listened in to the row.
And he was so glad he had! This was the best news he’d had in weeks—well, other than Blaise switching sides. Harry wasn’t dating that Huffleduff any more! They’d broken up! Draco had to fight down the urge to skip back to the Slytherin dungeons. Maybe he didn’t hate Fate entirely anymore…
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A/N: As promised, a little smut for you guys—I hadn’t realised I hadn’t included any in so long! Bad me! Hope you enjoyed it. And I hope no one is too sad to see the end of Harry and Justin…yeah, right! Review please!
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Chapter the Twenty-seventh: Blowing and Rowing
The next day
Draco’s journal
14 November
As far as I’m concerned, the only good thing about Harry Potter dating that Huffleduff Justin Finch-Fletchley is that it makes it easier for me to keep my Malfoy Mask in place whilst playing my role of the self-assured Slytherin. Behind my mask, though…I’m miserable. Miserable with jealousy. Jealousy! Who would have ever thought that I, Draco Malfoy, would be jealous of a Hufflepuff! Certainly not me! But if I can’t admit it here, where can I? Yesterday in Hogsmeade, watching Harry snog that useless git… Urg! It makes my stomach hurt just thinking about it. So I won’t.
To make matters worse, now that Harry is completely unattainable, The Dream has returned in full force. I didn’t have The Dream once whilst I was having those hideously vague nightmares prior to the Death Eater attacks. Damn, but I missed them! Virtual sex is better than no sex at all! But now they are back, more lifelike and detailed than ever.
I’ve decided that Fate definitely has a twisted sense of humour. Why else would The Dream be even more real when making The Dream a reality has become even less possible? I hate Fate. I hate Fate and its twisted sense of humour that leaves me sticky and twisted up in my bedclothes every morning. Sticky from releasing in my sleep when Harry sucks me off in The Dream. The Dream, the amazing, wonderful, frustrating, terrible, beautiful Dream…
The disembodied hand snatching me into the darkness. The mouth I cannot see pressing urgently against my own. The body I can only feel pinning me to the rough stone wall. And the hands…those brilliant hands…
Stroking my face while his lips devour mine. Mapping my chest while his tongue tangles with mine. Opening my robes and my shirt so deftly that I don’t even notice; all of my attention is focused on memorising that hot, sweet mouth.
Harry’s lips are softer than I would have imagined. His tongue is warm. It teases the tip of mine before diving back in to caress and explore. I can feel the vein on the underside of his tongue and the slight chip in his back molar. The kiss grows deeper, more passionate and I’m moaning into Harry’s mouth. His thumbs are rubbing slowly, hypnotically, across my nipples and he’s rolling his hips, pressing his erection firmly against my own. My body is alive with sensation and it’s delicious.
I moan again when he sucks my tongue into his mouth and gently bites it before his lips leave mine. His mouth is a brand, working its way along my jaw, down my neck, across my collarbone. Harry lets out his own moan when I thrust involuntarily against him as he sucks on my neck. He whispers something I can’t understand against my skin, but the feel of his warm breath against the wetness of my skin sends a thrill up my spine.
Harry’s mouth continues down my chest and I arch my back and groan as just the tip of his tongue flicks against my pebbled nipple. The feeling is electric. His hands roam my body as his mouth latches on to one little nub and sucks and licks and nibbles in torturous pleasure. My hands reach blindly and find his head, pressing it against my chest. A last teasing nip before he moves to my other nipple for more of the same torment—a swipe from his slightly rough tongue, a brush of his teeth, the soft press of his lips.
Then he’s moving down my body again and before I can take a single deep breath, his fast fingers have released me and *GODS* that amazing mouth has taken me deep, surrounding me with warmth and wetness.
One hand wraps around the base of my cock while his tongue swirls around the head. He’s sucking and licking and lapping at my slit, tasting the pre-cum that’s oozing out continuously. His fingers fondle my testicles, rolling and caressing them. Harry’s tongue sweeps firmly up the vein running along the underside of my rock-hard penis and I jerk and groan. I’m so close. He seems to know it because he’s working his mouth faster, up and down my shaft, his tongue circling the head. Then he takes almost all of me deep into his mouth, sucking hard as he slowly, slowly moves up to the head. One last twist of his tongue and I’m arching my back, arching my neck, crying out and shooting hard into his waiting mouth. That waiting mouth that keeps working me, milking everything from me, until at last my body relaxes, trembling in the aftermath.
I look down at him and see his green eyes. Then he’s kissing his way back up my body to my lips. And he’s kissing me, letting me taste myself on his tongue. Maybe it’s only wishful thinking, but this kiss is different—less hurried, less frantic. It’s deep and slow and so erotic my toes are curling.
Then those green eyes are staring into mine and I have to remind myself to breathe when he finally speaks, his voice sexy and rough:
‘Draco, I want you. I need you.’
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The same morning
14 November
Harry hated having arguments on an empty stomach. Actually, he hated having arguments at all. But the look Hermione had given him when he made his way down into the common room Sunday morning told him he wasn’t even going to get a cup of coffee before this one started.
Harry sighed and flopped into his favourite chair in front of the roaring fireplace. Hermione and Ron were seated together opposite him on the small sofa, Ron’s hand playing absently in Hermione’s curls.
“Harry,” Hermione started. “We need to talk.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. He’d been practising the move all summer and he enjoyed using it as much as possible.
Hermione continued. “Harry, I—we—don’t understand what’s going on with you.”
Harry waited. He’d learnt some patience (finally) and he’d realised that silence could be a useful way of getting someone to spit out what they wanted to say without beating around the bush. He found it amusingly ironic that he’d picked up that little trick from Snape. He wondered if the Potions Master would be happy to know Harry had at least learnt one thing from him.
Ron didn’t disappoint him. “What the bloody hell is going on with you and Malfoy, mate?” he exploded. “I can understand your negotiating some kind of…deal…with him, or whatever, to get through DADA classes. But then he goes and laughs in your face about the Death Eaters killing your aunt and you still protected him yesterday. How could you do that?”
Harry blew out a breath. He should have known this was coming.
“Ron, I wasn’t just protecting Malfoy yesterday. I was trying to protect everyone in Hogsmeade. The Death Eaters weren’t going to leave until someone told them where Malfoy was. I was hoping that if I said he wasn’t there, they’d give up and go without hurting anyone. And, with Ginny’s help, it worked. The Death Eaters believed us when we said Malfoy wasn’t in Hogsmeade and gave up. What’s wrong with that?”
Ron looked to be slightly placated but Hermione had latched onto the one word Harry had unintentionally let slip.
“Harry, you said you weren’t “just” protecting Malfoy. That means you weren’t only thinking of the people in Hogsmeade, you were thinking of Malfoy too. Why? Why would you protect him? Why would you think he needed protection from Death Eaters, anyways? You know he’s going to be one, if he isn’t already.”
Harry tapped his fingers on his knee and played with the barbell in his tongue while deciding how to answer Hermione. The One-Way Bubble oath he’d signed in DADA prevented him from telling Hermione and Ron that he knew Malfoy didn’t have the Dark Mark. Finally, he sighed and sat forward in his chair.
“Look, you’re right, I’ll admit it. I was trying to protect Malfoy as well. Didn’t either of you notice anything off about the way those Death Eaters were acting? Something wasn’t right. They weren’t out running errands for Voldemort and stopped by Hogsmeade to pick up Malfoy as a favour to his father or something. They were sent there specifically to get Malfoy—a dozen Death Eaters! To get one underage wizard! It didn’t sit well with me then and it still doesn’t. I don’t know why Voldemort wanted Malfoy, but it wasn’t for anything good, I’m sure of it.”
“So?” Ron countered. “So maybe the git pissed You-Know-Who off somehow and the Death Eaters came to get him because You-Know-Who wanted to punish him. Why’d you stop them?”
Harry stared at his best friend in disbelief. This was a side of Ron he hadn’t seen before—a vengeful side.
“Ron! You can’t be serious! You really think I should have turned Malfoy over to the Death Eaters? And allowed Voldemort to most likely torture him and possibly kill him?”
Ron’s expression didn’t change. “Yes. I do. If anyone deserves it, it’s Malfoy. What I can’t believe is that you disagree!”
In desperation, Harry turned to Hermione, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet. “Hermione, please tell me you don’t agree with Ron!”
Hermione looked uncomfortable. “Well, I can’t honestly say I completely disagree with him, Harry. I mean, wouldn’t we all be better off if Malfoy wasn’t here at Hogwarts? You know he’s probably a spy for his father and V-Voldemort. And he’s…so…cruel and mean to people. He belongs with the Death Eaters. You know he’s going to join them. The only reason I can think of that he didn’t show himself when the Death Eaters came for him yesterday is that he really had already left Hogsmeade and didn’t know they were looking for him!”
Harry was speechless. He sat there, mouth gaping, stunned at what he had just heard his two best friends say. Did he not know them at all? How had he never noticed this…this…cold streak they seemed to have? He tried one more time.
“Hermione, Ron. Look at me, please. I want you both to look me right in the eyes and tell me that if you knew for a fact that Malfoy would be tortured and possibly murdered, you would still let Voldemort have him. Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”
Hermione’s eyes wouldn’t meet Harry’s. “But Harry, we don’t know that Malfoy would have been tortured—”
“Bullshit!” Harry cut her off angrily. “What kind of fantasy world are you living in? Voldemort doesn’t send out a small army of Death Eaters to invite someone to tea! He has something planned for Malfoy—and Voldemort’s plans are always painful! Trust me, I know!”
Harry stood up abruptly. “Forget it. I can’t sit here any longer listening to my two best friends tell me they’d send another human being—no matter who he is—off to be tortured by Voldemort. I’m going to breakfast. See you later.”
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It took Harry a good five minutes of pacing up and down a deserted hallway before he was calm and could put the matter out of his mind for the time being. Harry looked around for Justin when he entered the Great Hall, but didn’t see him. He did see Ginny, however, and walked over to join her.
“Morning, Harry,” she greeted him.
“Morning. Listen, Dumbledore said to thank you yesterday for what you said about Malfoy not being in Hogsmeade. He thinks that you backing me up was what convinced the Death Eaters to leave,” Harry told her as he poured coffee and buttered some toast.
“Oh, well, I’m just glad they did leave,” Ginny said, passing Harry the eggs.
Harry looked at her curiously while sipping his coffee. “Why did you say it, Ginny? Did you know he wasn’t there or were you just playing along?”
“Both, actually,” Ginny grinned. “I hadn’t seen Malfoy in Hogsmeade, but I doubt I would have said anything if you hadn’t first. When I realised you were trying to convince the Death Eaters that Malfoy wasn’t there and that they should leave—I decided it couldn’t hurt if I gave you some reinforcement.”
“Glad you did!” Harry said. “Thanks!”
Ginny winked at him. “Anytime. Nothing I like better than watching Death Eaters go home to Daddy with empty hands!”
Harry laughed so hard at the image of evil, snake-faced, red-eyed Voldemort as “Daddy” that he choked on his eggs and Ginny had to pound him on the back.
“Thanks,” Harry said weakly, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I needed a good laugh.”
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Harry spent the rest of the morning doing homework. When he returned to the Great Hall to eat, he looked again for Justin but he was no where to be seen. After eating a quick pasty seated between Neville and Seamus (he wasn’t ready to deal with Ron and Hermione yet), he decided to search the castle for the elusive Hufflepuff. He wasn’t in the library or out in any of the hallways. So he made his way across the castle and down some stairs to the Hufflepuff common room. He knocked on the door (just a regular door for the Hufflepuffs!) and waited until a fourth year boy he vaguely recognised answered. He asked politely for Justin and waited in the hall for him to appear. He waited for what seemed like an eternity before Justin appeared in the doorway.
“Yes?” Justin asked, rather coldly.
‘So this is how it’s going to be,’ thought Harry with a sigh. ‘This is not my day.’
Out loud, he said, “Listen, Justin, I think we need to talk. Is there somewhere we can go that’s a little less…public?”
Justin shrugged. “Sure, I guess.” He shut the door behind him and led the way down the hall to what appeared to be a broom closet. He opened the door and motioned Harry to go in ahead of him.
“What, here? A broom cupboard?” Harry asked in disbelief.
Justin just looked at him. “What, not up to the lofty standards of a Gryffindor?”
That pissed Harry off. “Look, stop being an arse. I spent the first eleven years of my life in a cupboard and I know quite well that a broom cupboard is not the usual place one goes for a conversation. Isn’t there an empty classroom or an unused room or something around here?”
Justin looked confused when Harry mentioned living in a cupboard, but just crossed his arms over his chest. “Nope. Just our lowly broom closet. I guess us Hufflepuffs aren’t special enough to have convenient empty classrooms laying about for when we need a private conversation.”
Harry could only take so much idiocy in one day and that did it.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he practically shouted. “Do you have some kind of...of…inferiority complex or something? What does having or not having an empty classroom nearby have to do with anything? And since when do you think Gryffindors are better to Hufflepuffs?”
“It’s not me who thinks Gryffindors are superior—it’s you!” Justin shouted back. “All of you Gryffindors think you are better than anyone else here and I for one am sick of it! Just because the Sorting Hat picked Gryffindor for the great Harry Potter—”
Harry cut him off. “Stop right there! This has nothing to do with some fucked up version of the Boy-Who-Lived that the Wizarding World dreamed up. Or does it? Is that why you were going out with me? To be able to tell the world you’d fucked the great Harry Potter?” Harry’s voice was bitter.
Justin sputtered indignantly. “What? NO! That has nothing to do with this! I went out with you because I liked you—it had nothing to do with you being famous or whatever. I swear.”
“Yeah?” Harry took a few calming breaths and willed the red haze away from his vision. “All right. Sorry, I guess I overreacted. But the way you were going on about ‘the great Harry Potter’ being sorted into Gryffindor…” he trailed off, not knowing what else to say.
“Yeah, well, maybe the Gryffindors have always been Dumbledore’s favourites, even before you arrived. I’m the same year as you, so I don’t know what they were like before. Maybe they’ve always thought they were better than everyone else—”
“Hold on,” Harry interrupted. “We don’t think we’re better than everyone else. And what does this have to do with yesterday, anyway?”
Justin rolled his eyes. “Everything! I was right there with you when those Death Eaters attacked, but yet you didn’t think I was good enough to go with you to see Dumbledore. Weasley and Granger were good enough—they’re Gryffindors! But not me.”
“Justin, look, that didn’t have anything to do with being a Gryffindor or being ‘good enough’ or what have you. You’re in the DA and you’re a great bloke—I wouldn’t have gone out with you if I didn’t think you were ‘good enough.’ But…the situation with Dumbledore…it’s complicated. The man is so bloody secretive. I guess he has to be, to some extent. He wouldn’t—and doesn’t!—tell me anything he doesn’t have to. Even after Voldemort came back at the end of fourth year and after everyone knew he was back at the end of last year—he still keeps me in the dark! The bastard’s tried to kill me four times already—you’d think I would have the right to know what’s going on, wouldn’t you? But that’s not what Dumbledore thinks, obviously. So yesterday, I knew he wouldn’t let you stay. I knew if you went with us, he’d send you away…and I thought it might be better hearing it from me, rather than him. I guess I was wrong. And…I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, it wasn’t my intention, I swear.” Harry put all the sincerity he could into his last sentence.
Justin sighed. “I guess I didn’t realise…I mean, it makes sense that Dumbledore can’t go around telling everybody everything. But I always figured Dumbledore let you in on everything…and there you were willing to take Ron and Hermione along…”
Harry snorted. “Yeah, well, Ron and Hermione always seem to be there when I do something stupid and get tangled up with Voldemort, so Dumbledore gave up trying to keep them out of it. What was the point? They knew everything I did! But he doesn’t tell them any more than he tells me—and if were up to Ron’s mum, it would be even less!”
“Wasn’t it Ron’s mum that sent that Howler that one time?” Justin asked.
“Yeah, that was her,” Harry said, grimacing at the memory.
Justin laughed. “Well, I reckon Dumbledore might not want to get on her bad side then!”
Harry laughed. “You’re probably right. Mrs. Weasley’s one of the nicest people I know, but when she’s pissed off…watch out!”
They laughed together for a moment, then fell silent. Harry shifted uncomfortably.
“So…where does that leave us?” he finally asked.
“Ummm…friends? I hope?” Justin said tentatively.
Harry studied the Hufflepuff. “Just friends?”
“Yeah…just friends. You’re a great bloke, Harry…and I like you…but I think we’re better off as friends than…boyfriends.” Justin looked at him uncertainly. “I hope you understand that. I do still want to be friends with you.”
Harry smiled. “Don’t worry, I understand. I guess…I guess I feel the same way. Friends, then?”
Justin looked relieved. “Friends.” He stuck out his hand to Harry.
Harry took it, then pulled Justin in and kissed his cheek. “See you around, Justin.”
They parted ways, Justin back to his common room and Harry up the stairs towards Gryffindor. Harry was a little sad to have ended his relationship with Justin, but knew it was right. At least they had worked things out and weren’t angry with each other anymore. Feeling lighter, Harry took the stairs two at a time, whistling. He never saw the figure hiding in the shadows as he passed by.
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Draco rolled up the Extendable Ear and stuck it in his pocket. He hadn’t intended to spy on Harry and Justin. He’d been heading to the kitchens when he’d heard shouting and had recognised Harry’s voice. A good Slytherin never lets an opportunity to eavesdrop go by and Draco was definitely a Slytherin. Remembering he still had Blaise’s Extendable Ear with him, he’d moved into the shadows of a hallway and listened in to the row.
And he was so glad he had! This was the best news he’d had in weeks—well, other than Blaise switching sides. Harry wasn’t dating that Huffleduff any more! They’d broken up! Draco had to fight down the urge to skip back to the Slytherin dungeons. Maybe he didn’t hate Fate entirely anymore…
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A/N: As promised, a little smut for you guys—I hadn’t realised I hadn’t included any in so long! Bad me! Hope you enjoyed it. And I hope no one is too sad to see the end of Harry and Justin…yeah, right! Review please!
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