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One Harry Potter, Please	By : faithwood Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7529 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 1-One Harry Potter, Please
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 3
- 4
- 5
One Harry Potter, Please
(If Possible, Seduced and Ready)
IV

There was one particular memory that pushed to the forefront of Draco's mind. It had happened in his second year at the Auror Academy during duelling practice. Draco had always had trouble with Defensive Spells as he didn't pay much attention to them at school, and that day hadn't been any different. His instructor had jokingly suggested that if his spell failed he should just grab his duelling partner by the balls. Everyone had laughed and Draco had laughed with them, even though he hadn't found it funny. His duelling partner at the time was a handsome, dark-haired man who liked to tease and smile at Draco cockily, and the thought of grabbing him by his balls had made Draco feel strange. He had lost the duel, never considering the possibility of touching his opponent in such a way, because somehow that action would likely have backfired. Looking back on it now, that had probably been a good decision.
Draco was much too flustered now that his hand rested against Potter's crotch. Draco had grabbed him there to distract the idiot and stop him from explaining how this was a one off and he would have slept with anyone who came his way because he was a crazy sex obsessed bastard. Draco was possessed with a sudden urge to explore the bulge in Potter's trousers, to caress and trail his fingers over the rough fabric, to cup and squeeze, and to touch the heated skin beneath. The touch had affected Draco much more than Potter, apparently, because Potter obviously had more pressing matters to attend to. His hands grabbed Draco's shirt and he was trying futilely to rip the fabric apart. Honestly, Draco didn't know if Potter was used to ripping fabrics apart but his shirt was made of quality material and Potter was fighting a lost battle. Draco would have told him as much but his mouth was otherwise occupied by returning Potter's hot open-mouth kisses.
Draco tried to summon some courage and squeeze the hardness under his hand, but his arm was frozen and it refused to budge. Giving up, Draco released Potter and gripped the hands that wrestled with his shirt.
Potter whined and mumbled something incomprehensible against Draco's lips, but he clearly didn't intend to detach his mouth from Draco's.
"Let me," Draco murmured and reached for the buttons of his shirt.
Potter pulled back and Draco quickly looked down, not wanting to meet Potter's gaze. Potter's looks, full of desire and lust, unsettled Draco, and he feared that if he looked at Potter now he would not be able to keep his hands steady. He unbuttoned his shirt with deft fingers, but didn't manage to take it off since Potter all but lunged at him, his palms pressing against the newly exposed skin of Draco's chest.
Draco shuddered and moaned, then scowled, annoyed he had made such a sound and that a simple touch like this made him shiver, but Potter had already proven that his touch was magical so these reactions weren't Draco's fault. Draco had expected that the feelings Potter's caress aroused would cease to be so intense the more Potter touched him, but instead the feelings had only intensified.
Potter made a sudden movement and in the next second he was on the floor, kneeling between Draco's legs. Startled, Draco forgot he didn't want to look at Potter and he found himself staring down at lustful green eyes. As expected, Draco's whole body shook and the last of his composure shattered.
Others, women, and even a few men, had looked at Draco with appreciation, but no one had ever looked at him like this. Potter's gaze raked over Draco's chest and face with such reverence and hunger, Draco felt his skin grow hot. It was almost too much to bear. It was almost terrifying to be on the receiving end of such powerful desire. Mercifully, Potter rose up a little and reached out to lightly touch the back of Draco's head, and Draco had to withstand just a few more seconds of that hot stare before Potter closed his eyes and kissed him again.
How was it possible that every new kiss surprised Draco so much? Potter kissed him differently every time, hungrily when Draco expected him to be slow and slowly when Draco expected him to be rough. This kiss was a strange mix of unhurried exploration and slow-burning intensity. It was a lingering, gentle kiss with Potter tilting his head backwards, his lips pliant and soft, and yet Draco was the one trapped, captured by the gentle pressure of Potter's hand on his head and by Potter's tongue that moved sensually against his. Potter asserted control effortlessly, without any aggression or demand, but by making Draco feel helpless in the face of so much tenderness.
It was both torture and bliss when Potter finally released him. Torture because Draco missed Potter's lips the moment they moved away from his, and bliss because Potter hadn't stopped his gentle assault, now sliding his lips against the skin of Draco's neck. Draco closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. The branding touch of Potter's mouth was maddening. Potter trailed his tongue and lips over every part of Draco's skin he could reach, occasionally sinking his teeth into the flesh, teasing Draco with measured bites that never became painful but every one of them made Draco hiss and shudder and tilt his head further to give Potter better access. Even the slide of fabric of his shirt felt nice against Draco's sensitive skin when Potter lowered it to reveal Draco's shoulders, then grazed his teeth over the new, unexplored parts of Draco's body.
Potter tried to pull Draco's shirt completely away, but Draco didn't let him. He buried his hands into Potter's thick hair, marvelling at the texture of the dark strands. It wasn't silky, nor coarse, but it felt wonderful and he let it slide between his fingers. Draco even liked the gentle tickling of that hair when it brushed against his chest and shoulders. He opened his eyes to look down, and a feeling that he couldn't identify rushed through him at the sight of that dark head cradled in his hands. The wild tousled locks were ink-black, as dark as hair could be, contrasting heavily with the pale skin of Draco's hands, and beneath it, Potter's skin was warm. Draco wanted to bury his face into those locks and press kisses against the warmth.
But Potter moved lower, his tongue circling one of Draco's nipples before he grazed it with his teeth and pulled it into his mouth, sucking gently but persistently. Draco's toes curled and a low hiss escaped his lips as his hands moved of their own accord, sliding down Potter's back and then moving upwards again, effectively pulling Potter's body closer. The movement shoved Potter's shirt up, revealing the pale skin of his spine, and Draco quickly reached down to press his palms against the heated skin, surprised when Potter gave a muffled moan and curved his spine, sucking harder on Draco's nipples. Amazed by this reaction, Draco trailed his hands over Potter's sides and ribs, pushing them beneath Potter's shirt, not daring to touch lower where the waistband of Potter's jeans hugged Potter's jutting hips. Humming softly in approval, Potter slid his own hands over Draco's back as though in reciprocation of Draco's touch. He abandoned Draco's nipples, now hard and almost painfully sensitive, and moved his mouth upwards pressing sloppy, hot kisses over Draco's collarbone, throat and chin, then he stopped, his lips hovering in front of Draco's mouth.
Draco found himself staring at Potter's eyes again, forgetting that it always had a negative effect on his nerves. Potter seemed dazed now, completely lost, and Draco had a silly urge to ask him ludicrous question such as "What year it is?" to see if Potter would know the answer or not.
"You taste so good," Potter said and Draco's throat constricted. Potter didn't say it in a breathy, lusty tone and it didn't even sound like a compliment. It sounded like an apology, as though Potter felt guilty and he wanted Draco to know that his kissing assault was a natural reaction to Draco's taste.
Draco wanted to tell him that there was nothing to apologise for, but Potter kissed him again and Draco lost the thread of his thoughts. Fortunately, his hands were still working even though his brain was not. They struggled to take off Potter's shirt, which was impossible while their tongues were intertwined, but Potter took the hint and moved away to let Draco pull the shirt over his head. Draco had no time to appreciate the view of Potter's chest, all smoothness and hard lines, because Potter pressed his lips back to his while still struggling to free his arms of the shirt. The moment his arms were freed, Potter reached down, fumbling with the button of Draco's trousers.
Draco had no idea how long this kiss lasted, as the occasional brushes of Potter's knuckles against Draco's cock were very distracting, but Potter's fingers fumbled and fumbled and yet he made no progress with the button and Draco was growing impatient.
He pushed Potter gently away to unfasten the damn button himself, but he froze when he unwittingly looked up and not down. Potter's glasses must have fallen away when he took off his shirt and Draco was completely taken aback at the sight of Potter's face. He looked oddly naked without his glasses. His eyes were stripped of their protection, revealing too much emotion; pain and desire were mixed in that unfocused gaze and something else, something powerful that Draco didn't know how to name. Panicking, though he wasn't sure why it affected him so much, Draco scanned the floor, quickly located Potter's glasses, snatched them, and handed them to the man kneeling before him. Potter blinked at him, then squinted and took the proffered glasses before returning them to his nose. He looked at Draco again, his gaze dark and troubled, and there was still something else in his eyes, an emotion Draco couldn't stand to see even though he had no idea what it was.
"We should take off our clothes," Draco heard himself say and winced at the coarseness of his voice.
The moment he said that, Potter's expression cleared and he smiled brilliantly, clearly relieved. "Oh. All right," he breathed, immediately reaching for the zipper of his own jeans.
"Um. Shoes first?" Draco suggested, bemused.
"Oh. Right," Potter said again, nearly falling as he twisted to sit on the floor to take off his shoes.
Potter's nervousness made Draco feel a little better. He had no problem with buttons and laces, unlike Potter, who only managed to take his shoes and socks off before Draco waited on the edge of the bed, already naked and beginning to feel cold.
Potter fought with his zipper valiantly for a full minute, but then he caught sight of Draco's nude body and he apparently gave up. He knelt again and crawled towards Draco, his gaze focused on Draco's hard cock. Instinctively, Draco tried to press his knees together; the desire in Potter's expression was too intense again, but Potter was faster and Draco's legs only managed to capture Potter's body between them.
The warmth returned with Potter, as did the familiar tingling sensation when Potter tentatively touched Draco's thighs, his gaze still fixed obsessively on Draco's cock. Finally, Potter tore his gaze away and looked up. Draco surprised himself by knowing exactly what to expect. He nodded even before Potter asked, the plea clear on Potter's face. Something tugged on Draco's heart as Potter smiled widely and bent his neck. What a strange man he was. Draco was used to Potter never asking for anything from anyone, but here he was asking Draco’s permission for something like this.
Potter wrapped one of his hands around the base of Draco's cock, the touch making Draco grip the sheets and clench his teeth to stop himself from making embarrassing sounds, but then Potter stuck out his tongue and gave the head of Draco's cock one firm lick. Air escaped through Draco's clenched teeth, producing an odd hissing sound.
"Mmm," Potter said, sounding pleased, and Draco sighed in relief, not aware he had been worried that Potter might change his mind and declare Draco didn't taste so well after all.
It occurred to Draco that all his fantasies had centered around Harry Potter sucking his cock, but Draco had never dared to go further, not even in his mind. He used to tell himself that that was normal because, clearly, all he wanted was to get Potter on his knees and shove his cock into his mouth in order to humiliate him. He had never expected that Potter would not see it as humiliation. He had never imagined this particular expression on Potter's face. Never thought that Potter would do this willingly, eagerly, that he would plead with Draco to let him suck his cock as though Draco was doing him a favour.
Draco hissed again when Potter closed his eyes and took Draco's cock into his mouth, his tongue swirling and lips stretching around the head as he hummed quietly. He looked as though he thoroughly enjoyed it, and despite the incomparable sensation of Potter's warm mouth surrounding his cock, it was the utter reverence on Potter's face that pulled choked, needy sounds from Draco's mouth. The whimpers he fought desperately to rein in spilled past his lips in a rush.
Emboldened, Potter took Draco's cock deeper into his mouth and sucked lightly, too lightly, the feeling maddening as Draco tried to stop himself from begging Potter to speed up, to suck harder. Potter did both, no begging required, or maybe Draco ignored the moment when he had whined incoherently and said Harry's name — a lot.
Even though Potter did incredible things with his mouth and tongue, Draco surprised himself with his ability to focus on the strangest details, but so many things fascinated him. Like Potter's eyes, not firmly shut but half-open, eyelashes fluttering every time Potter pulled him in, and eyelids closing as he moved his mouth back, applying suction; his cheeks hollowed, reddening a little more every time he did so. He opened his eyes again as his tongue swirled over the head of Draco's cock, the tip shiny with precome and Harry's spit, and then he would repeat the whole enthralling process again. Then there was the feeling of Harry's hand wrapped around the base of Draco's cock; Potter didn't move his hand at all, but his thumb kept stroking the sensitive vein on the underside, the touch light and inconsequential, but Draco could feel it acutely. Potter's other hand was on Draco's thigh, his fingertips sliding over Draco's sweaty skin, as though Potter was trying to soothe him with his caress though Draco had no idea why Potter would think Draco was upset.
Unconsciously, Draco pressed the underside of his bared left forearm to his thigh and reached out to place his hand over Potter's, stopping the slow caress, though he wasn't sure where the sudden urge to hold Potter's hand came from. Potter moaned around his mouthful, intertwining their fingers, and then he took Draco's cock even deeper, flattening his tongue against the underside. He pulled back, sucking hard, and then suddenly, he looked up. That was all it took, even though Draco wasn't aware he had been so close. His orgasm took him by surprise, building rapidly, the pleasure hanging just out of reach before Draco could even consider controlling himself. He said Potter's name to warn him, but Potter didn't budge. His eyes darkened and then fluttered close as he tightened the grip of their hands, as though to tell Draco that it was all right. But Draco was past caring, his vision turned white and his body convulsed, as he spilled himself down Potter's throat, shuddering violently.
After his vision cleared, shivers still raked through his body and weakness settled in his limbs; Draco saw Potter pull away. Potter looked at Draco, then swallowed and licked his lips, and Draco shuddered again.
Potter kept staring, eyes wide, lips wet and parted, looking as though he expected something.
Draco frowned, not knowing what Potter wanted him to do or say. Confused, he decided to tell the truth. "That was amazing," he whispered, breathless.
It was the right thing to say. Potter smiled an impossibly wide smile, making Draco grin in return. Honestly, all this time he had wondered what he should do to make Potter smile like this; had he known that he would be rewarded with a dimpled smile if he let Potter suck his cock, he'd have found a way to suggest it sooner.
Potter tried to free his hand and, realising he was holding it captive, Draco quickly released it. He watched with avid attention as Potter stood and then surprised them both by unbuttoning the button of his jeans at first try. Potter's hips and strong thighs were quickly revealed, and Draco spared them an appreciative glance before he fixed his gaze on Potter's cock.
Completely naked, Potter stood still, his cock hard and long with pearly moisture gathered on the head. Draco waited patiently for the negative emotions to kick in. This was another man's cock and it was entirely too close to Draco's face, so close Draco could feel the heady scent of Potter's arousal. Shouldn't he feel disgusted, especially if Potter expected Draco to reciprocate the favour? But disgust simply refused to show itself. On the contrary, Draco's mouth watered and he found himself contemplating how it would feel to reach out and take Potter's cock into his mouth. The thought was appealing, not revolting.
Sweet Merlin, how could he have lived this long and not known that he would find the thought of having someone's cock in his mouth exciting? Had he truly been lying to himself, as Potter had suggested earlier this evening? Had he been missing out?
Well, he was here now and maybe it was time to find out what else he liked.
Draco reached out and wrapped his hand around the warm flesh of Potter's cock, marvelling at the velvety feel of skin and heat as though he had never touched his own cock like this before. But the feeling was incomparable, more so because Potter made a weak, broken sound and grabbed Draco's wrist, his cock twitching in Draco's hand.
"Don't," Potter rasped. "I can't . . . I want . . . Fuck." Potter shivered and grabbed Draco tighter, forcing his hand away.
Draco bit his lip, trying to calm down, desperate not to show he was suddenly terrified. Of course. Potter had said he wanted to fuck his date into the mattress. He wanted to push his cock into a place Draco considered much too private for such an endeavour.
Potter's cock stopped looking appealing; instead, it seemed threatening, and enormous. Which was why Draco had to look away and make the same mistake he had been making the whole evening. He looked at Potter's face and almost groaned aloud, knowing he'd let Potter do whatever he wished to him. Potter had that look again, the pleading look full of emotion and question, that made Draco feel powerless to defy him.
Sighing, Draco nodded and scooted backwards on the bed. This wouldn't kill him. He hoped. He had lived through worse, surely?
Potter didn't smile as Draco expected he would, he just looked more nervous. And hungry.
"I need lube," Potter mumbled. "You have any?"
Draco shook his head. Sometimes he would buy it for wanking, but sometimes he didn't. It wasn't his top priority. Maybe they couldn't do it now. Draco wouldn't have anything against more blowjobs.
But apparently lube was Potter's top priority.
"I think I have some in my coat pocket," he said, then turned and rushed away toward the closet.
Of course, Potter was the kind of guy that carried lube in his coat pocket. He came to the dated prepared. Though the thought unsettled Draco, his spirits lifted as he watched Potter fiddling through Draco's closet, looking for his coat. Draco thanked Merlin for Potter's nervousness that made him drop the lube after he had found it, so he had to bend down to get it.
Potter's arse was surprisingly lovely. Round and pert and shaped to perfection. Potter's stupid clothes always obscured the view, the loosely fitting denim making it seem like Potter had no arse to speak of. Draco frowned, displeased with his thoughts. He shouldn't have known that, technically. He shouldn't have been aware that Potter's jeans usually hid his fine arse. Did it mean that Draco had been looking?
"What?" Potter asked, already near the bed, holding a tube in his hand. He sounded worried and he looked worried, chewing on his bottom lip.
Realising he'd been staring at Potter's nude body a little too intently, Draco cleared his throat, chastising himself inwardly.
"I was just thinking . . ." Draco couldn't help smiling a little. "This whole time, I was admiring the wrong set of cheeks and dimples."
Potter blinked and then blushed, nonetheless looking relieved. He climbed on the bed, sat on his heels, and cocked his head. "This whole time?"
Fuck.

"This evening, I mean," Draco said quickly.
Potter stared at him, his gaze hypnotic, searching Draco's face for something.
Unable to bear it anymore, Draco asked, "Should I turn around?"
Potter shook off his daze and licked his lips again, reminding Draco where those lips had been earlier. He shivered and looked down at his hands.
"If you want," Potter said, sounding reluctant.
Draco figured Potter would have preferred a different position, but Draco couldn't do this if he had to stare at Potter's face as he . . . did things to him.
"Yeah," he said and made to turn, but suddenly Potter was right there next to him.
"Wait," Potter said and then grabbed Draco's chin and kissed him.
Draco tasted both Potter and himself on Potter's lips, the mix of their joined taste sending a new wave of arousal through his body, making his spent cock twitch boldly. He grabbed a fistful of Potter's hair just in case Potter decided to end the kiss before Draco had his fill.
They parted after some time, breathing heavily.
Potter looked dazed as he murmured, "I'll be careful."
A soothing feeling washed over Draco, but he wasn't willing to show that he was relieved, so he rolled his eyes and said, "I'm not some delicate girl, Potter."
Potter laughed with genuine humour. "I know," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I wouldn't be here if you were."
Draco grumbled, and as he turned around he thought he heard Potter add pensively, "I think."
Before he could ponder Potter's words further, Potter grabbed a pillow and attempted to shove it beneath Draco.
"Here," he said and Draco automatically raised his hips, although he regretted his acceptance at once. As he lowered his head to the bed, he realised that his arse was now raised high, exposed to Potter's lustful eyes.
This was the most embarrassing position he had ever been made to endure, Draco thought miserably. But then, an image flashed into his mind, an image of himself kneeling down in the mud before a man with dark robes and red eyes. Shuddering, he pushed the thought away and decided that perhaps this wasn't as embarrassing as it originally seemed.
Potter pressed his palms to Draco's back, the touch soothing in its innocence. But the hands moved lower, tracing the curve of Draco's arse and then caressing his thighs before returning slowly to his back again. Draco knew what Potter was doing, knew he was trying to calm Draco down and he was incredibly grateful, though he did not plan to tell Potter that.
Potter continued his caressing, focusing more and more on Draco's buttocks, until his hands just stayed there, kneading, and then he spread Draco's arse cheeks apart.
Draco shut his eyes, determined not to react in any way. He almost missed Potter's quiet, "Could you spread your legs a little?"
Draco's fists clenched and he did as bid, spreading his legs a lot, not little, not wanting Potter to ask the question again. Ridiculously, he remembered wondering if Potter ordered his bed mates around and said things like, "Please spread your legs," in that maddeningly polite but commanding tone of his. But Potter sounded hesitant and unsure now, which was fortunate because Draco feared that if Potter tried to command him Draco would have to turn around and punch him, and he really didn't want to do that.
Something warm and wet touched his left buttock and Draco nearly jumped out of his skin, but then he realised that Potter had simply pressed his lips and tongue to his arse. Which caused another turmoil of emotions in Draco, but these emotions were pleasant and none of them were fear. But fear showed its ugly head when Potter's gentle and pleasant kisses steadily turned more localised.
"What are you doing?" Draco gasped and lifted his head, making sure that his tone of voice told Potter that his current actions were out of limits.
Potter retreated immediately and mumbled, "Sorry." He kneaded Draco's buttocks soothingly and Draco relaxed, lowering his head back onto the pillow, only to lift it back up again as Potter's slick finger brushed over the crease of Draco's arse. Miffed that he couldn't complain about this part unless he wanted to stop the whole thing altogether--which he didn't--Draco gritted his teeth and tried to think about something else.
As Potter's finger circled Draco's entrance, his touch pleasant but frightening, Draco catalogued the ingredients used to make Veritaserum. Potter pushed his finger inside slowly, the feeling odd and beginning to rapidly feel even odder.
Add seven Jobberknoll feathers and armadillo bile to a silver pot and leave the pot in a cool, dark place for three days, Draco recited as Potter pushed deeper and left his finger there, not moving. Draco remained still and silent, ignoring the slight pain and waiting, not knowing what to expect next. Potter pulled out, only to push back in as slowly as the first time, but much deeper.
Add water and powdered moonstoon and let it shimmer for half an hour, Draco thought frantically.

Merlin, Potter had gigantic fingers. That was the real problem. He wondered if Potter would let him shrink his fingers. And his cock.
"Relax," Potter whispered. He must have leaned closer because Draco could feel Potter's hot breath over his skin. That was nice, calming. Potter breathed hotly again and said, "Please."
Damn the man. Why couldn't he boss Draco around? Then Draco could get mad and they'd have a fight and all this would be over. Why did he insist on using a tone that made Draco feel powerless and forced him to do Potter's bidding?
Draco did relax, at least a little, enough to make the pain lessen, but Potter ruined everything by adding another gigantic finger, clearly determined to rip Draco in half.
Add lacewing flies and essence of belladonna and stir.

"Fuck," Draco growled.
Potter was caressing Draco's shivery, sweaty thighs, his touch gentle, but his fingers merciless pushed deeper. Oddly, even though it burned every time Potter pushed in and dragged his fingers almost completely out, Draco began to feel a little better. One particular spot within him seemed to enjoy Potter's ministrations. Draco raised his head, if only to avoid suffocation, and concentrated on that feeling. Relief washed over him every time Potter touched that magical spot. Relief turned into genuine pleasure and Draco pushed back experientially, thinking that perhaps this wasn't so bad after all.
But Potter clearly misinterpreted Draco's movement; he seemed to think it was encouragement for yet more violation. The third finger just plain hurt and Draco tried desperately to brew Veritaserum in his mind but he feared that he had only managed to brew mud.
Potter pulled out completely and Draco was ready to breathe out a sigh of relief, but instead he just felt empty. Great, Potter was turning him into a masochist. And now he would push his enormous cock inside him and possibly kill him. What a way to go.
"Draco?"
Draco gasped, unnerved because Potter's voice was much too close.
An arm sneaked under his body and encircled his waist, and Draco found himself turned to his side, his back pressed against a warm, hard chest. Potter's other hand was still caressing his arse, teasingly brushing over the much abused flesh of Draco's arsehole.
Was that it? Had Draco somehow missed the actual fucking? Maybe he had fallen asleep, or lost consciousness?
But that was clearly not the case because Potter grabbed Draco's hip and pressed his body even closer, and Potter's cock pushed snugly against the crease of Draco's arse. Potter was still hard, his skin still hot, and though it meant Draco had to prepare himself for more pain, he decided that this part was actually nice. Maybe they could just do this.
Potter leaned in and murmured against Draco's ear, "Are you okay?"
"Brilliant," Draco said promptly, carefully looking at his pillow because Potter kept leaning in even closer, trying to establish eye contact. Draco wasn't in the mood for that.
"Do you want to stop?" Potter sounded as though it pained him to say those words.
For a moment, Draco considered the possibility. He could offer to suck off Potter, for example, which sounded like an excellent idea. Although it was slightly disturbing to note that sucking off Potter currently occupied the number one place on Draco's to-do list.
Potter pressed a kiss near Draco's ear while his hand drew maddening circles over the skin of Draco's abdomen. "I mean it," Potter said, sounding much more convincing now. "If you changed your mind and this isn't something you want, then we'll stop."
Potter's hand on Draco's stomach curled into a fist as Potter's whole body went still. Draco could feel him dreading his decision.
Draco closed his eyes, wishing that Potter hadn't stopped to ask the question, because then maybe Draco would stop if it became too much, which it hadn't yet, but Potter's cock felt threatening against Draco's skin. But hearing Potter struggle to offer something he clearly didn't want to do made Draco want to give something in return. Which just wasn't like him, so Potter had clearly messed up Draco's mind.
Steeling himself, Draco looked over his shoulder, mentally preparing himself for the sight of those troubled green eyes. Potter didn't disappoint; his jaw was tight and he had an expression of a resolute man with the eyes of a puppy.
"Shouldn't you be fucking me by now, Potter?" Draco asked.
Potter's eyes widened, then darkened, and Draco felt a little better about his decision to continue. He moved to turn around again, but Potter's arm around his waist tightened.
"No. Like this," he said.
"Oh." Draco settled back, unable to find a sound argument against the position. He wasn't sure it would work, but Potter was gay and Draco supposed he knew these things.
"You'll be more relaxed," Potter promised and Draco believed him. It was relaxing. At least until Potter gripped Draco's thigh and made him lift his leg and bend it at the knee, which made Potter's cock press more intimately against Draco's arse; then it turned terrifying again.
Potter pressed another kiss near Draco's hairline and another to his shoulder, and then he moved a little away and reached down to position his cock, pressing the head against Draco's entrance.
"If it becomes too much, push out. If it's still too much, tell me," Potter instructed.
Draco experienced a moment of confusion, not really sure what he was so worried about. Potter would clearly stop without any drama if Draco asked him to, so it wasn't something that should trouble him. It made no sense that stopping scared him much more than continuing. Stopping would mean he didn't like this and Draco just couldn't understand why he wanted to like this so much.
Potter pushed in slowly, just a little, and then stopped. Which was fortunate because Draco would have had to murder him if he hadn't stopped. It hurt and it burned, but Potter kept still and the pain slowly ebbed away. Potter dragged his fingertips over Draco's raised leg and then grabbed Draco's thigh, supporting the leg's weight, and Draco relaxed even more. Potter showed no sign of movement and Draco grew agitated, so he pushed back, taking more of it in. Potter's choked gasp made the pain easier to bear so Draco pushed down even harder, fascinated by the odd feeling of fullness as well as the keening sounds coming from Potter's mouth. It hurt when Potter pushed in again, much deeper this time, but Draco remembered to push out and that really did help a little.
"Okay?" Potter said, almost whining, and then added, "Oh God. Draco, you're so —"
Potter finished that sentence, Draco was sure of it, but he didn't hear it. His mind lingered on the way Potter said his name — with much more reverence than when he called out for God.
"Move," Draco said, surprised to hear that the word sounded like a plea.
Potter did move, panting heavily, his hot breath caressing Draco's shoulder. He eased out and pushed back in, and Draco almost complained because it fucking hurt, but then Potter did it again and again, and that wonderful feeling Draco had experienced while Potter had his fingers up Draco's arse returned, and that made everything better. Potter's thrusts were slow, but deep; he pulled out almost completely and pushed back in until his balls were pressed to the skin of Draco's buttocks. The wet sounds Draco could hear when their bodies slapped together were embarrassing, but Draco couldn't concentrate on that. He was beginning to see the appeal of this. He had wondered why anyone would ever let someone breach them in such an intimate way. It was bloody odd, but nonetheless wondrous, the feel of Potter moving inside him, the heat and the uncomfortable burn and the pleasure that came with it, and the feel of Potter's body pressed to Draco's back as Potter gasped and breathed heavily, moving his hips, pushing in and filling Draco over and over again. Draco moved his hips as well, welcoming Potter's thrusts, and then, almost subconsciously, he reached behind to grip Potter's arse and pull him even closer, to make Potter push deeper even though that probably wasn't possible.
"Draco," Potter panted and Draco closed his eyes, waiting, hoping that Potter would say his name again. "Draco, I can't . . . I can't —"
Draco almost panicked, for a moment sure that Potter was backing out, that Draco had done something wrong, and Potter no longer wanted this. But then Potter groaned and shuddered violently; he thrust faster and the heat became unbearable. Draco's fingers dug into the flesh of Potter's arse, possibly leaving a bruise. And then Potter stopped suddenly, shuddering as Draco felt something sticky and wet and uncomfortable inside of him.
Ah. That was it. It was over. Draco took several deep breaths and released Potter's arse from his grasp, feeling oddly proud of himself. He had managed to do this after all, and he had not only survived but he had almost enjoyed it, and Potter had clearly enjoyed it a lot, so much he didn't last very long.
Potter pulled away carefully, but Draco still winced. He lay there with his breathing calming and his body cooling off while he waited for something, though he didn't know what. Then he realised that he had expected Potter would want to kiss him and give him one of those intense looks, maybe thank him or do something soppy like that, but Potter did no such thing.
Confused, Draco turned, wincing again as pain shot through his arse. Draco ignored it and focused on Potter, surprised to find the man staring at the ceiling. His eyes were unfocused and his jaw was clenched tight, as though he was angry about something.
"What's wrong?' Draco asked, worried that he had misinterpreted something. Maybe Potter had not enjoyed it after all.
But Potter closed his eyes for a moment and then looked at Draco, distress obvious in his expression. "I'm sorry," he said and Draco's hands clenched into fists. What the fuck was wrong with the man? Why did he apologise all the time? Draco promised himself that if Potter said he was sorry one more time, he would punch him.
"For what?" Draco asked through gritted teeth.
Potter shook his head and took a shuddering breath. "I couldn’t . . . you were just so . . . and I . . ." Potter inhaled again. "You didn't even —" He waved his hand in the direction of Draco's cock. Draco was half-hard, which was a feat, in his opinion. Perplexed, Draco tried to make sense of Potter's words. Did Potter expect him to have another orgasm? Draco was happy to be alive. Honestly.
Annoyed, Draco huffed and lay back, grumbling, "You're an idiot, Potter. This was my first time, what the fuck did you expect? I'd start shouting, 'Give it to me hard, baby?' I couldn't just — honestly."
Potter quickly rose up, his palm pressing against Draco's chest and his face hovering above him. "No, of course not. This is my failure," Potter mourned and Draco wished Potter had his glasses on his face.
"Failure?" Draco asked, displeased. It was a failure?
"I wanted to make it good for you, but I blew it."
Panic quickly replaced Draco's annoyance. Potter looked — sweet Merlin — Potter looked like he was about to fucking cry.
Not knowing what to say, Draco decided to make a joke. "You did blow it," he said and Potter looked away, hurt. "Fortunately, you blow very well," Draco finished, smiling a little when Potter blinked in confusion.
Draco sighed inwardly, relieved when Potter blushed, the corner of his mouth twitching. But Potter's expression turned serious too quickly.
"It gets better, you know," Potter said. "Once you get used to it. Maybe, maybe if we try again . . .?"
Maybe we could try again, Draco wanted to say, except he was worried that Potter meant right now. Draco couldn't do it now, he was in pain, but he didn’t know how Potter would react if Draco suggested another date.
Keep things light, Draco told himself and said, "This was nice." He reached out and grabbed the back of Potter's head, pulling him closer. "Want me to tell you a secret?" he asked and Potter nodded, his gaze flickering toward Draco's lips. "I think I'm a little bit," Draco paused dramatically, "gay."
Potter's lips twitched and he looked happier. He opened his mouth a little and Draco, fearing that Potter would start whining again, pulled him in and pressed their lips together.
The kiss was different again. Slow and sated, wet and sloppy and perfect. And bitter-sweet because Draco didn't know if this was the last time he would kiss Potter. Maybe Potter would get up and leave now, or maybe he would stay the night and disappear in the morning.
Potter trailed a line of soft kisses over Draco's jaw and neck and then he just stayed there, with his head buried in the crook of Draco's neck, sighing and sounding exhausted. Draco didn't dare to question Potter's sudden urge to snuggle; he had never thought that Potter was a snuggler, but after today it wasn't so surprising. He wrapped his arm around Potter's torso and pushed his hand into his tousled hair, breathing in Potter's scent.
Maybe he could suggest another date. Maybe they could meet again and experiment further. It would be strictly educational. They would just be occasional fuck-buddies. It wouldn't mean anything.
Potter pressed another kiss to Draco's neck and mumbled something that involved saying Draco's name. Draco's heart rate sped up and his arms tightened their hold on Potter as Draco determinedly continued his line of thought.
It wouldn't mean anything, he repeated determinedly. Potter would simply show him a few tricks so that Draco knew what to do if he ever had sex with some other man. Someone else, not Potter. The thought made Draco's fist in Potter's hair clench.
He didn't think he could do this with someone else. He didn't want to. He didn't want some girl, either. He just wanted . . .
Fuck.
Something was clawing at his insides, making it hard for Draco to breathe. Gripping Potter even tighter seemed like the most important thing in the world, so Draco gripped and held on, terrified of letting go.
Horrified, he felt moisture on his cheeks as thoughts swirled madly through his mind, trying desperately to make Draco draw a conclusion he didn't want to draw. He fought against the sudden rush of feelings but they were choking him, and Draco grabbed Potter's hair so hard it must have hurt, but Potter didn't complain; he had probably fallen asleep. Which meant Draco could keep him for the night.
And then he would have to let him go.
Draco closed his eyes, losing the battle against himself.
How could he have been so stupid? All this time he had been scrambling for Potter's attention, telling himself it didn't mean anything, telling himself everything would be fine if Potter would act just a little nicer, convincing himself that all he wanted was Potter's friendship. But what he got was this; he got Potter, seduced by another man and served to Draco on a silver platter, and now all Draco wanted was to take his order back.
He wished it had never happened, that he had never seen Potter like this, that he had never had him in his arms, that he had never had his bloody cock up his arse and his sad eyes staring at him the way they had. What he would do now? Now that he knew how things could be, how it felt to be the sole focus of Potter's attention, how it felt to have him. What the fuck would he do now that he knew that friendship wasn't enough? That fucking wasn't enough. That he wanted everything?
What were the odds that Potter would want something more?
Right on cue, Draco's arm began to burn, the underside of his left forearm pressed against Potter's skin. If Potter had stopped to think, if Draco hadn't been hiding his mark since his shirt fell away, Draco wondered whether Potter would still be here, letting the Dark Mark burn against the naked skin of his back.
It all came back to this, really. Marked for life, that was what the Dark Lord had told him; the Mark was there to stay, reminding Draco of what he could never have. With time, everybody might forget he had it, the public, the Ministry, but not the person Draco wanted to share his bed with. Potter only had to look at it once to remember why he had always disliked Draco. Or maybe he didn't even have to look at it. Even if, by some miracle, Potter decided to see if it could work between them, maybe turn into something more serious, one day he'd remember who Draco had been. He was Harry Potter, after all. Potter might befriend ex-Death Eaters, he might pity them, and he might even fuck them, but he wouldn't date them. Resentfully, Draco wondered if that was the reason he had convinced himself that all he wanted was Potter's friendship, because he knew he could never have more.
Sweet Merlin, why did it have to be Potter? The punishment was too cruel. He didn't deserve this. Potter's rejection had hurt before, but now, if Draco had to face it again — and realistically he would — it would rip him apart.
Draco trailed his hand down Potter's back, loosening the grip on his hair and listening to Potter's breathing. He tried to stop thinking, to clear his mind and forget everything he had found out about himself today. He was so good at repressing things, maybe he'd manage to repress this; maybe in the morning he wouldn't remember his misery.
He concentrated on the steady rhythm of Potter's heart and the slow rise and fall of his back, so intently he almost didn't hear a thing when the first spell hit the window. He heard the second one, however, because the window shattered and the glass splattered all over the floor.
Potter stirred in his arms and Draco sighed with a detached sense of resignation as he easily recognised the not-so-cheerful voice of Derek Hogan screaming Draco's name in the distance.
oOo
Potter rose up and looked around, clearly confused and lost until his eyes met Draco's. Then he blinked and relaxed, smiling a little. Draco tightened his arms around him instinctively.
"I heard a noise." Potter frowned and right on cue, Hogan shouted Draco's name again.
Startled, Potter looked towards the window, his eyes widening. He tried to free himself of Draco's grip but Draco held him tighter, not letting go.
"Derek's here," Potter informed him.
Draco cocked his head and tried to look puzzled. "I don't hear anything."
Potter gave him an incredulous look and freed himself forcefully from Draco's grasp. Draco sighed in defeat as Potter located his glasses and put them on his nose. Potter looked towards the window again and gasped when he spotted the shattered glass.
"What the hell . . .?" Potter grumbled, getting up.
Draco didn’t even have the energy to be upset. He figured that this would happen at some point; Potter was bound to discover Draco's lies eventually. Now was as good a time as any.
"Where are you going?" he asked as Potter gathered his clothes.
"Er, we're under attack, if you didn't notice," Potter said, putting on his jeans.
Draco pursed his lips, hating the jeans that obscured Potter's body. He preferred Potter naked.
"It's just Hogan. Who cares?"
Potter wasn't listening; he was already fully dressed and he went to retrieve his wand from the closet. Distractedly, Draco noticed that Potter had left his coat where it was.
"I'll go and talk to him," Potter said, giving Draco one furtive look.
"Good luck with that," Draco grumbled, not moving.
Potter looked at him again, worry clear on his face. He walked closer and knelt on the bed, then leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to Draco's lips. Draco closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment while it lasted.
"I'll get rid of him and be right back," Potter whispered. "Stay here." He smiled in what was probably meant to be a reassuring manner and then got up and left.
Outside, Hogan banged on the front door.
Annoyed, Draco got up as well. He had planned to stay here. Actually, he had planned to lock himself in his room and stay there forever. But Potter's "Stay here," sounded suspiciously like an order and Draco had no intention of letting Potter tell him what to do. Besides, Hogan was crazy, as demonstrated, so Potter could be in trouble.
Reluctantly, Draco put on his trousers and considered his options. Since he was here, Hogan clearly remembered something. Draco feared he had made a silly mistake. He just wanted Hogan to forget he had a date with Potter, but he should have realised that once the effects of the Memory Charm subsided, Hogan would cease to be confused and he'd remember enough to realise something was wrong. Draco should have made him forget the entire month.
Potter would realise what Draco had done and then Draco would lose the chance of having Potter's friendship, if such a chance had even existed. Which was fine, Draco reminded himself, because he had concluded that he didn't want Potter's friendship, anyway. He only hoped that Potter wouldn't be so upset and so vindictive as to sabotage Draco's career; Draco was aware that Potter could do that if he wanted to. And he hoped that if things got bad and curses started flying, Hogan would be caught in the crossfire.
Draco almost buttoned up his shirt, but then he decided against it. Since things were looking so bad for Draco, it was only fair that Hogan suffered as well. Draco didn't want Hogan to have any doubts about what had happened here.
Gripping the wand in his hand, Draco took a deep breath and walked towards the door. It was time to face the consequences with as much dignity as he could muster.
The moment he stepped into the hallway he heard hushed voices coming from the ground floor. Irrationally, he felt extra annoyed that Derek Hogan was in his house.
He descended the staircase and spotted Potter and Hogan near the entrance. Hogan didn't look good, or rather, he looked worse than usual; his trademark smile was missing from his face, and as creepy as that smile had been its absence didn't compliment his looks.
But Draco didn't stare at Hogan for long. Curious, he looked at Potter carefully, wondering if Derek had already told him that Draco had deceived him. Potter was speaking, his voice low and calm, and his tone took Draco aback. He realised that this was the tone of voice he was accustomed hearing from Potter. He had already forgotten that Potter usually sounded cold and distant. He wondered if that Potter's business tone was fake, or if the softness and hesitancy from earlier was an act.
"But, Harry, you don't understand," Hogan whined and then scowled as he spotted Draco.
Draco focused on Hogan, determined to avoid looking at Potter.
"Hogan," Draco greeted pleasantly. "What a surprise to see you here. I'd offer you something to drink, but I'm afraid this is a private party and you weren't invited."
Derek fumed and took two steps forward, but then he stopped as Potter made a sudden move that Draco didn't quite catch. Draco glanced at Potter, but by the time he did, Potter was still.
Returning his attention to Hogan, Draco saw him narrow his eyes as he said, "Last time I checked, this was a private party, but you're the one that crashed it."
"Derek," Potter said, sounding very worried. "You look unwell. You should go home and rest."
"And have a shower," Draco added, feeling vindicated, if a little queasy, as a nasty sewer smell wafted over from Hogan's direction.
"Harry, aren't you listening? He" — Hogan pointed a finger at Draco, shaking it savagely — "lied to you. He's not your secret admirer. I am," he declared dramatically.
"Personally, I think you’re just drunk," Draco said, surprised he could speak at all. This was it. The moment of truth. Draco awaited Potter's reaction with bated breath.
Potter, however, was undeterred. "Derek, I'll talk to you tomorrow. I think you should leave."
Draco frowned, confused. Potter was taking the whole thing a little too well, or perhaps he didn't believe Hogan. Draco took a moment to be impressed by his own acting abilities.
"I think we should leave," Derek said incredulously. "Harry, he assaulted me. I think he Obliviated me. I was so confused, but I remembered I planned to ask you out today, so I went to the restaurant. Imagine my surprise when the waitress told me that you were there — with your fellow detective. A blond pretty bloke. And apparently," Hogan huffed and looked at Draco, "you'll both come back and put my drunken arse to jail where I belong. The nerve of you," Derek added, glaring. "You told her I was a criminal!"
Though he was both confused and horrified by Hogan's ramblings, Draco still grinned. "I knew I liked that waitress for a reason."
"Did you hear what I said?" Hogan yelled, turning to stare at Potter.
Too curious to resist, Draco looked at Potter as well, at the same time gripping his wand a little tighter. But Potter didn't look angry; he just looked tired. Or hurt. Or defeated. Draco had no idea how to describe Potter's expression, but Potter's reaction scared him; he would have preferred to see anger.
"I heard," Potter said and fell silent.
"He Obliviated me!" Derek said, whining again. "Do I need to remind you that's illegal?"
A muscle in Potter's jaw twitched. Now he did look angry, but he seemed angry with Derek.
"You should leave," Potter said quietly.
Though he tried not to, Draco shivered. Of course, Potter wanted to get rid of witnesses. Before he murdered him.
Hogan looked as Draco felt — confused and possibly a little scared.
"But, I am your secret —"
"I know!" Potter snapped.
The words hung in the air for a long moment before Hogan said something, but Draco didn't hear him. His vision blurred as his thoughts whirled and he was sure that he would fall, but miraculously he remained upright. Potter knew Draco had been lying to him. All this time, he knew. What did it mean? Draco struggled to understand why Potter would do this, why would he have sex with Draco if he had been aware that Draco had lied. All those looks, and all that desire, and all that gentleness, were they all fake? Draco had been sure that Potter would tell Draco it couldn't work between them before he left; he didn't expect anything, but he had never imagined that Potter was capable of this. Draco's stomach twisted. Had Potter only done it to humiliate him?
And Draco had let him . . .
"Why are you here, then?"
Draco honestly didn't know if he or Hogan asked the question, but Potter looked at Draco as he spoke.
"Why are you here?" he countered.
Draco gripped his wand so tightly he feared it would snap.
"This is my house, Potter," he said, deliberately misinterpreting the question.
"Why did you bring me here?" Potter rephrased patiently, looking unnaturally calm. It was almost frightening. "Why did you do this? I need to know."
Hogan snorted, but Potter ignored him.
Things seemed surprisingly clear to Draco all of a sudden. Potter had only come here because he wanted to know what Draco was up to. He was here to investigate like a good little Auror. It made sense now; of course Potter's flirting was an act. Potter didn't behave like that; Draco should have realised it immediately. It had been a game; a stupid pointless game and Potter was winning.
Shaking as pain worse than anything he ever felt shot through him, Draco clenched his fists and curved his lips. Potter would not be the winner here. Draco might have been hurt, but he still had his pride.
"Honestly, Potter," Draco said, pleased that his voice sounded cool and collected. "Why do you think I usually bring men to my house?"
Potter stared, incredulous. He didn't believe him. Not yet. Draco bared his teeth, sneering. "I confess, no one ever falls for the good ol' 'You are the first person in my bed' line. You are amusing, Potter."
Potter shook his head, his eyes wide. "You're lying."
"Oh, Harry," Hogan said in a condescending tone, "I think this is the first time he has spoken the truth."
Draco almost hexed him before he remembered that it was something he wanted Potter to believe. Or at least, he thought he wanted that; Potter's wide-eyed expression was difficult to watch.
"Listen to your boy-toy, Potter."
"You're lying," Potter repeated stubbornly, his gaze furious. "What happened up there wasn't an act, it was —"
"Special?" Draco suggested, still sneering. "Sweet? Beautiful?" Draco swallowed heavily. "Personally, I thought it was boring." That did it. Potter paled and Draco found it hard to look at him, but he steeled himself and looked straight into Potter's eyes. "You might have noticed, Potter, I didn't exactly have a good time. I have to say, it was the dullest shag I’ve had in ages."
Potter winced as though Draco had slapped him and Draco had to remember Potter's gentle touches and remind himself that those meant nothing to Potter, that the whole time Potter was actively trying to hurt him. That he had faked the whole thing. The memory helped and Draco felt strong enough to continue.
"You want to claim I'm lying about that too?" he said in a flat tone. "Because I think you should know that part is true. For the record, I'm not interested whether or not it gets better. I can find better elsewhere."
Potter looked so shocked and hurt, Draco had to look away.
"Bastard!" Hogan snarled. "I knew this would happen!"
Agitated, Draco spared Hogan a glance. "Really? You knew this exact thing would happen? You're a Seer?"
"I knew you'd hurt him," Hogan said quietly.
Unbidden, shame washed over Draco. Potter hurt me first, he told himself, knowing he sounded like a spoilt child, but he was afraid that if he didn't hurt Potter in return, he would fall apart right here and start crying. Possibly the worst thing about this was that Draco had brought it all down on himself and he was fully aware of it. He should have stayed out of Potter's life.
Now, they truly would hate each other forever.
"Harry, let's get out of here," Hogan murmured, ignoring Draco and reaching towards Potter's elbow.
Draco tensed, staring at the offensive hand that wanted to touch Potter. Stupefy was already on the tip of Draco's tongue, consequences and consistency be damned, but Potter stepped back and glared.
"Derek, you should leave. I promise I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"You want me to leave you here with him? After all he said?"
"This is none of your business."
"None of my business?" Hogan gasped. "You are my business. Harry, don't you understand that I'm in lo—"
"Derek!" Potter shouted as Draco shivered. Hearing Hogan almost say those words hurt.
Potter rubbed his temples. "Look, Derek, I'm sorry. I wanted to talk to you in private, but since you won't listen . . . I'm not interested in you. I'm sorry if I ever made you believe I was, but I'm not."
The words were music to Draco's ears until he realised that it was something Potter could say to him as well. Except that Potter would never apologise to him. Potter would never again apologise about anything to him. And to think that Draco had promised himself he would punch Potter if he ever told him he was sorry again.
"Not interested," Hogan repeated as though he was unfamiliar with this concept. "You came to the date, you accepted the gifts . . ."
"I didn't know they were yours, then. I only found out tonight." Potter winced, probably realising how hurtful his words were. Not that Draco minded.
"So what? You were hoping they were his?" Hogan threw a scathing look at Draco. "What do you see in him? Have you forgotten who he is?"
"This has nothing to do with Draco," Potter said with a strange, dark edge to his tone. "I'm not interested in you, regardless. I am sorry."
Hogan wasn't listening. "Nothing to do with him? Right. Never thought you'd be the kind of person to go for a pretty face. You have a short memory, Harry."
Draco was much too distracted by Potter's expression that grew steadily darker, so he didn't notice Hogan lunge forward. By the time he reacted, Hogan had already grabbed Draco's arm, yanking on his left forearm, trying to push his sleeve back.
"He's nothing but a filthy Death Eater! I can't believe you! You of all people should —"
Horrified, Draco jerked his hand away and pointed his wand at Hogan as Potter snarled furiously, "Get away from him!"
"Oh whatever, Potter," Draco growled, taking a step back, his whole body shaking as he tried to ignore the irrational pain that Potter's words had caused. He should have known that Potter would defend his friend. "This party is over," he said, stepping even farther back. "You should both get out of my house before I sue you for trespassing."
He turned towards the stairs, but Potter appeared next to him and grabbed his left hand.
"Draco —"
Panicking, Draco freed his arm and turned, pointing his wand straight at Potter.
"It's Malfoy to you, Potter," he said coldly before he turned back and went up the stairs.
He made it to his bed before he collapsed. He buried his head into the pillow, breathing in Potter's lingering scent.
He didn't cry, though he wanted to, but he did give up. He couldn't do this anymore; he couldn't stay here.
First thing tomorrow, he would get a Portkey for France.
oOo
Harry was so confused, he felt like crying. He felt like he used to feel when he was a kid getting ready for school. Aunt Petunia usually had a fit over the weekend and made him clean the house, including his cupboard. Panicking, Harry would gather all of his dirty clothes, which Aunt Petunia rarely washed, and stuffed them into a tiny closet together with his clean clothing. On Mondays, he didn't have anything to wear because he no longer knew which items were dirty and which were clean. And it didn't really matter because all of it stank.
Draco had thrown a bunch of lies and a bunch of truths at him and Harry just didn't know what to think. Nothing added up, but Harry couldn't separate the truth from the lies. He could stand here, stare at the spot where Malfoy had disappeared, and ignore Derek's continuous ramblings for days and it wouldn't help. His mind was a closet full of dirty clothes and the only sensible thing to do was throw it all out and wash it. So Harry simply refused to believe Draco's hurtful words until they talk about it. Draco would have to explain himself and Harry would have to explain himself, and Harry wasn't leaving until that happened. He had nothing to lose, now. He had been afraid that Draco would ridicule him, but Draco had already done that.
Well, sure, there was that little thing called pride. The little thing that kept him rooted to the spot and prevented him from rushing up the stairs.
"— the way he looked at you just made me sick, and you didn't even notice. I mean, the man has an unhealthy obsession or he thinks you're his path towards career advancement, I don't even know, but honestly, I just knew you'd end up hurt. What else can you expect from a Death Eater? He cares about nothing except himself. Surely you see that he can't offer you anything. You need someone who is prepared to make a commitment, someone who would respect you, someone who can offer you love and someday something more —"
"People change if given a chance," Harry said, stopping Derek's ramblings. Derek's words were beginning to make him feel very uncomfortable. The man had gotten carried away.
"I don't think he will change, Harry. He's just not a good person."
Harry tore his gaze from the top of the stairs and forced himself to look at Derek. Harry had been sympathetic; after all, he knew how it felt to be in love with someone who didn't return your affection, but after Derek had so rudely manhandled Draco, Harry's sympathies were limited.
"I was quoting you." Harry narrowed his eyes as Derek blinked. "That's what you told me before when I complained about Draco. Remember? We were discussing how he clearly has a problem with gay people. And you said we should be nice to him and sooner or later he would come around. You said, 'People change if given a chance.'"
Derek's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I was wrong."
"No. You were lying. You told me what you thought I wanted to hear. All this time you hated his guts but pretended not to." Harry laughed a little; Draco's low tolerance of Derek Hogan seemed much more understandable now. "I guess Draco saw that, even though I didn’t."
"Of course I hated his guts!" Derek snapped. "But only because I knew that he was making you suffer, and that you would end up hurt. And I was right."
Harry bristled. "That's not the point. The point is that you lied to me."
"Oh, I see. I love your double standards, Harry. My lies are unforgivable but Malfoy's are full of rainbows and sunshine."
"I just want you to get off that high horse of yours and realise you have no right to point your finger at anyone. Yes, Malfoy lied to me, but so did you. And so did I, for that matter."
"Wonderful. Now you're comparing me to a Death Eater."
"His name is Draco Malfoy and he's an Auror," Harry gritted out.
"Yes, his name is Malfoy and you're the one who has forgotten what that means. He's wrong for you, why can't you see that?"
Harry found it hard to keep his temper in check. He wanted Derek to leave, but he didn't want to hurt him, even though Derek was being an arse. Rejection hurt, Harry was aware of that, but Derek needed to take a bloody hint. "And I'm not interested in you, why can't you see that?"
"Well, you're clearly not interested in Malfoy, either, at least not as much as you seem to think. You were sufficiently distracted by my gifts and letters to end whatever the two of you began."
Harry blinked. "What? What we began? We weren't together before."
"Oh please," Derek snorted, as though insulted.
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, now truly confused.
"I'm talking about that night a few weeks ago, Harry, when Malfoy burst into your apartment and you didn't throw him out. I know he spent the night with you, but I also know it never happened again. You seemed quite happy with your gifts. Happy enough not to seek Malfoy's company again."
Harry's eyes widened. "Well, aren't you well-informed."
"Don't look at me like that." Derek held his hands up defensively. "I was just keeping an eye on you to protect you."
"Oh, how thoughtful."
"Look, I'm not proud of it, but when I saw Malfoy stumble out of the diner completely pissed, mumbling to himself, I knew he was up to something. So I followed him. I don't know how I managed not to bang on your door to make sure you were all right. For all I knew, he could have cursed you. For all I know, he did. You can't blame me for keeping an eye on you since then. I was worried and I knew I had to distract you from Malfoy. So I sent you those gifts. And it worked. It did. Until . . ." Derek waved his hand vaguely. "The bastard usurped my place."
Derek's stalking ways worried Harry for exactly five seconds, but then his words hit him and he realised an amazing thing. Draco had been waiting for him that day, after all. He was waiting and drinking and sitting in that diner feeling rejected. He had told Harry as much; and that part had been true.
"Why are you smiling?" Derek asked, sounding very worried. "Look, Harry, I know what I did was wrong. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have followed you liked that, but I was just —"
"No, Derek," Harry said, still smiling. The world seemed brighter suddenly. "I'm not mad at you. Actually, I'm grateful. You just found me a clean pair of socks. I needed those."
If possible, Derek looked even more worried and Harry couldn't blame him. He probably seemed insane at the moment. He felt insane. He felt insanely happy.
"Harry, please just listen to me. Malfoy will hurt you; he already has."
And I had already hurt him, Harry thought. Because Draco had been hurt when Harry had stood him up. That was obvious, now. "I think," Harry said, his smile wavering, "that's all we know how to do when we’re together. We just hurt each other. But we can learn not to."
"So what? You’re attracted to that? Is this that famous martyr thing? You want to be hurt?" Derek glared, and then added darkly, "Well, I could help you there, if you want."
Harry snapped out of his daze and shot a glare at Derek. "You haven't smiled once this evening, Derek," he accused. "All out of smiles?"
"I have nothing to be happy about."
"Glad you realise that."
Derek ran a hand through his hair and said in a frustrated tone, "I'm sorry, I am, about everything. Can't we just go somewhere, talk and straighten this out?"
"We have nothing to talk about. But I have plenty to do here. I'm asking for the last time: Leave."
Derek's eye twitched and he grimaced, nodding as though he understood more than what was said. "I see. Fine. You want to stay, then stay."
"Glad I have your permission," Harry said, making sure that sarcasm was apparent in his tone.
"I'm leaving," Derek declared as though that was something he decided to do himself. "But don't think this is over."
"Derek, this can't be over since it never began."
Derek waved him off, then gave Harry an ugly look. "That's not what I mean. Malfoy Obliviated me. In a Muggle area. I plan to report him first thing Monday morning."
Harry froze, worried for the first time since Derek had arrived. "You're forgetting you broke in here. You took down the wards and broke a window. Not to mention you've been stalking me."
"Oh, now that bothers you. I thought you said you weren't mad."
"I'm willing to let it go, if you let this go."
"No," Derek growled. "Malfoy attacked me in front of a witness; he endangered my life and breached the Statute of Secrecy. And then he proved that my worry had been reasonable by kidnapping Harry Potter. Whom I tried to save. Malfoy will not only lose his job, but I'll make sure he spends some time in Azkaban."
Harry found it difficult to breathe. "You would lie?"
"That's not a lie; it's what happened. For all I know, you're Confunded, or worse."
"I won't let you do this."
"Some Auror you are. This is justice."
"No, this is revenge."
"Justifiable revenge. You can fight this all you want, but you and I both know that the Ministry can't wait to find a reason to sack Malfoy. Not even you can save him this time." Derek smiled then, but his smile no longer looked cheerful. He turned to leave, but Harry made a decision quickly; Draco would not lose his job because of this.
Harry stopped Derek by saying, "If Malfoy goes to Azkaban for Obliviating you, I'm afraid I'll have to go with him."
Derek had a split second to frown in confusion before Harry raised his wand and snarled, "Obliviate !"
Harry winced as Derek flew backward and fell down, unconscious. Harry figured he might have been a little too enthusiastic when he cast the spell, but he was pretty sure that he hadn't damaged Derek's mind. Harry had cast many Memory Charms in the last few years, Muggles being his usual victims. He tried to avoid it as much as he could, but many times he had no alternative. Admittedly, he usually felt much guiltier when he made someone forget certain events. But guilt was conspicuously absent now. The Memory Charm would do Derek more good than harm. Derek had been deluding himself and Harry feared he had done him no favours by accepting those gifts. He needed to forget this secret admirer business that seemed to have convinced him that he was entitled to something.
Harry sighed and hauled Derek upright, then wrinkled his nose at the nasty smell that assaulted him. He realised, amused, that Draco had been serious when he had declared that he had thrown Harry's real secret admirer in the sewer.
Harry Disapparated to Derek's house where they were greeted by Derek's frantic mother. Derek woke up, and though he was groggy and had trouble focusing, he was incredibly embarrassed when Harry explained to him — and his mother — that Derek had showed up drunk on Harry's date with Malfoy.
Derek apologised profoundly; though he did warn Harry that Malfoy was likely to hurt him. Harry dropped him on his bed, rejected chocolate milk offered to him by Derek's mother, and left without any regrets. In fact, he felt vindicated that not only he had Obliviated the threat to Draco, but he had told Derek's mother that her son had been a bad boy. That seemed to have bothered Derek the most.
Without a moment's thought, he Apparated back to the Manor, an easy feat since Derek had broken the wards. He was already standing in front of Draco's bedroom when he paused to think about what he was doing.
Maybe he was making a mistake. Maybe talking to Malfoy now was the worst possible thing to do. Maybe he should wait until both of them calmed down. Draco might just lie again and they'd get nowhere. Besides, Harry feared that if he went in now, he'd end up begging pathetically. And there was always the possibility that he had been deluding himself; maybe Draco had been interested but after tonight . . . Harry swallowed, losing courage. Maybe Draco meant what he had said earlier. Maybe he had been disappointed.
Successfully convincing himself to leave, Harry turned around, but then he remembered that his coat was still in Draco's bedroom.
I have to go get my coat, Harry reasoned. That was a valid excuse for entering.
Emboldened by his newly found motive, Harry opened the door and walked into the room.
Draco, however, was nowhere to be seen. Harry searched the room and the bathroom, but Draco simply wasn't there. Of course, the Manor was enormous and Draco could be hiding anywhere.
Sighing, Harry went to get his coat. Apparently, we won’t have that talk today, he thought, exasperated.
However, after he opened and searched through the closet — twice — Harry was no longer exasperated. He was worried and a little confused. It was obvious that Draco was gone because not only was Draco's coat missing, but strangely enough, so was Harry's.
TBC
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