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Nothing Like the Sun	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 35148 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Four—Compassion

            “You didn’t tell me you were going to do that.”

            Draco glanced up, his mind whirling with numbers and procedures that he would need to bring to bear on the latest potion the Ministry had asked him to supervise. Yes, Draco knew many Potions masters nowadays made at least a few vials of Wolfsbane every month, but most people wouldn’t be asked to take responsibility for a batch of seven hundred.

            The sight of Daphne lingering and pouting in the doorway was so different from what he was thinking about that he had to pause and physically rub his temple before he could focus on her. And then what she said made no more sense, and he shook his head and said, “What?”

            “I told you that I was trying to figure out the real information about Potter’s dating life so I could sell the story.” Daphne slinked into the room and flung herself down in the chair before his desk, folding her hands under her chin so she could blink up at him. Draco knew that look of old, and he narrowed his eyes before he could stop himself. Daphne either didn’t notice or saw no reason to let that interrupt her rant. “And then you go and insinuate yourself into his bed before I can do anything. It’s not fair, Draco.”

            Draco rubbed his temple for a different reason this time, pushed the details on the Wolfsbane back across his desk, and took the seat across from her. “I didn’t know that I was going to ask Potter out when I talked to you. I only had the idea afterwards.”

            After talking to Tobley. After seeing, or thinking he’d seen, the immense mess Potter had ended up in.

            Now, after his date and night with Potter, Draco knew the mess was co-extensive with Potter’s soul. He didn’t know how to handle it yet, when he would see Potter again, what he would say to convince him that he could do more than blow Draco once in a while and be grateful for it. That was another reason Draco’d flung himself so eagerly into his work today; it was something else to think about.

            “Still, it wasn’t fair. It was stealing my story and my broom money.” Daphne leaned forwards. “I know a way you can make it up to me, Draco.”

            Draco flapped his hand. “Of course I’ll take you to dinner at the Sapphire Rose. Or wherever else you like,” he added quickly.

Then he told himself to stop being stupid. As far as he knew, Daphne had no dislike for the food at the Sapphire Rose, and it was cheaper than a few of the other places she might choose.

The revulsion he felt at the thought of being there with someone other than Potter was silly. Besides, he didn’t know that he was ever going to date Potter, and would he shut himself out of one of his favorite restaurants for the rest of his life because of some silly sentiment?

Of course not.

            Daphne ducked her head, and Draco stiffened a little. That was the way she acted when she was going to totally ignore some offer he’d made and take off on her own. Except this time, he couldn’t fathom what she could do that would affect the situation in any way.

            He found out when she looked up at him, shook her head, and said, “No, tempting as that is. I want the details.”

            “Excuse me?” Draco was proud of himself for keeping his voice so bland, given the rapid heartbeat that had started to rock his limbs and the clammy sweat gathering at his temples.

            “The details. The gossip.” Daphne leaned towards him, still backwards on the chair, so that it tilted under her and she had to spend a moment righting its legs. Draco used that moment to wipe out every trace of any emotion but polite interest from his face. “I know you left the Sapphire Rose early. You went back to the Manor, didn’t you?”

            Draco shrugged with one shoulder, to tell Daphne she could believe whatever she liked.

            Daphne licked her lips. “What was it like? What’s he like? As bad as those rumors said? Or did he make that vow that he would never date another wizard, and keep it?” She closed one eye in a slow wink. “Of course, there are lots of things you can do to someone without dating them, don’t you agree?”

            Draco sat there, and there was no reason for his hands to want to knot and his legs to want to carry him out of the office.

            No reason, and so after a moment, he was able to sigh and say, “You think I would give you such privileged information because you think I cost you money? Money from a story that you might or might not have been able to unearth or sell?” Draco rolled his eyes. “Find some price more worth the goods, Daphne.”

            Daphne sat up and stared at him. Then she said, “You’ve never not gossiped about someone else, Draco.”

            “Pansy,” Draco reminded her.

            “That’s different.” Daphne tossed back a lock of her hair. “Pansy’s Slytherin. I know what she would do to someone who gossiped about her. But Potter’s not one of us. He’s always been as different as he could be. I want to know. What loyalty can you possibly have to him? Why won’t you tell me?”

            Her voice had become a slight whine by the last words, always one of her least attractive qualities. Draco restrained the snarl he wanted to utter. No, there was no reason for him to be so sensitive, and therefore no reason to expose the weakness. Daphne would be on it like a hound after a rabbit.

            “Because I don’t want to tell you,” he said. Because what’s wrong with Potter is my business now, more my business than anyone else’s. Because Potter’s past lovers did this to him and Potter himself doesn’t understand why it’s wrong.

            Daphne stood up hard enough to send her chair careening into Draco’s desk, and stood looking at Draco with eyes in which the light had settled. Then she said, quietly, “You might choose to change your mind about that later, Draco,” and walked out of the office.

            Draco closed his eyes. Then he turned back to his Wolfsbane order, because really, some things were more important than Daphne and her insatiable appetite for gossip.

*

            “I do feel sorry for you, Potter.”

            Harry didn’t look up. He’d felt Daphne Greengrass’s approach long before she came close enough to say that. He carefully signed the report he was writing, and then leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. “Why do you say that?”

            Greengrass paused, as though she had thought Harry would explode at her with eager demands to know what she meant, or else hot denials. She chose to take a seat on the edge of his desk, and cross one leg over the other. Harry just carried on watching her. He knew someone passing by might take this incident and spread rumors about it, but after all the horrible gossip that had circulated in the last year, who cared? Lies always hurt less than truth, and Harry had faced the truth and taught himself not to feel pain from it.

            “You ought to know that Malfoy’s spreading tales,” Greengrass said, and examined her nails.

            Harry blinked once. He hadn’t thought it of Malfoy, but it was possible. After all, some of his other lovers had. Harry recognized the small hints and twists of memory among the rumors. The problem for them was, there were so many stories about him already that no one paid much attention to any one rumor.

            “I think I’ll go and ask him why,” Harry said, and stood up.

            Greengrass spun towards him, and then turned it into a smooth slide down from his desk. But she smiled too widely, and murmured, “Is that necessary? You can ask me what he said, and then you wouldn’t have to confront someone who obviously doesn’t care about you.”

            “Not many people care about me,” Harry said, and saw her blink. It was probably his tone on the words that had confused her, far from the self-pitying one she must have expected. “I don’t think the circle’s expanded to include you. Or Malfoy, for that matter. But I’m curious about a lot more people than care about me, and I want to ask him what he thought he could gain from gossip.” He tipped a smile at Greengrass. “Who knows, it might be some arcane and complicated Slytherin motive that I’ll never grasp, but in that case, I’m extending my knowledge of humanity in general.”

            He took a step, and Greengrass grabbed his shoulder. Harry spun smoothly towards her, taking her wrist and flinging her hand up so that it hit the wall. Greengrass recoiled with a pained gasp, staring at him.

            “Listen,” Harry said softly. “You must not have spent time around a lot of people with Auror training, or you wouldn’t have done that. But it gives me very…sharp reflexes. You could get hurt if you persisted.”

            He held her gaze and gave her the chance to understand that his message referred to far more than the way she had touched him. Greengrass turned a little red, but she shook her head. “I just don’t want you to get into a confrontation in the middle of the Ministry,” she muttered. “I know that Draco has something pretty important to do today, and he’s a friend. I don’t want you to distract him. Or cost him his job,” she added, obviously warming to the lie. “That might happen, so many people still distrust him.”

            Harry smiled at her. “And if he’s a friend, why betray him by telling me that he’s spreading tales in the first place?”

            Greengrass clenched her hands in the folds of her robe and drew herself up. “As a decent person—” she began.

            Harry drew his wand and flicked it under cover of his sleeve. Greengrass doubled up, her arms wrapped around her stomach, gasping from the nonverbal pain curse that Harry had mastered when he had a few persistent suitors who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. It wasn’t anything like the Cruciatus, but it was a few intense seconds of concentrated pain, in the gut area, which was one of the worst.

            Harry waited until five heartbeats had passed, removed the spell, and stepped up to Greengrass, speaking softly into her ear. Let someone else take that as intimate if they wanted. Harry was going to Malfoy right after this and explaining the situation, and Malfoy was the only one who might have a right to be disturbed by the scene.

            “Let me explain something to you,” Harry whispered. “I don’t take shit like this anymore. I don’t believe anyone who comes up and claims they have a horrible secret to tell me about a friend or a lover, because my enemies have tried it so fucking often. So now, when someone tells me that, I go to immediately confront the person who supposedly has the horrible secret. If they do, then I can just as immediately end the relationship with that person. But it’s never true, and then I know who’s the main cause of that tale.”

            He leaned his wand up against Greengrass’s throat, and watched her eyes widen desperately. “If you’re afraid of what Malfoy might do to you for this, then be doubly afraid of what I will. If it turns out that it’s not true. Which I know it won’t be.” He paused thoughtfully. “Maybe I ought to do something about you now, just as preemptive insurance…”

            Greengrass backed away, staring at him, her hands out to the side as though to hold on to the walls for support. And then she turned and ran.

            Harry snorted and strolled away towards the Potions Division. He felt a small regret that that wasn’t the direction Greengrass had run in, because it would have terrified her to see him walking calmly after her. But he had more than enough to make up for it, given who he would see soon.

*

            “Oi!”

            Draco would have jumped, but he hadn’t been so involved in his paperwork as to miss the footsteps walking up the corridor. He turned around and considered Potter, who leaned on his doorframe with crossed arms and ruffled hair that pointed up and away from his scar. He looked absolutely ridiculous, but Draco felt less inclined to laugh at him now, considering what he had found out.

            “Yes, Potter?” he asked. “Is there something I can do for you?”

            Potter stepped into his office, shut the door, and grinned at him. “Several things, but one main one,” he said. “Greengrass came and told me that you were spreading stories about our date. That true?”

            Draco put up a hand to feel at his throat and the invisible block of ice that seemed to be sitting in it. “Really?” he croaked.

            Daphne. You’re going to pay for this.

            “Did you?” Potter’s eyes had far more lights in them than Draco had realized before, and far more shadows.

            Draco could think of similar situations where he would have dodged and exclaimed, because speaking straightforwardly was something only weaklings and Gryffindors did. But he knew how that would make Potter react, and so he sat forwards and said, “No. I didn’t tell her anything. She’s angry because she thought finding out the reason you stopped dating wizards would let her sell the story to the Prophet, and so I supposedly cost her money. She was here threatening me this morning.”

            Potter nodded without appearing surprised. “She came to me and tried to hint that you’d joined in the rumor-spreading competition. But the way she panicked when I said that I’d come and ask you about it was a clue that she was lying.” Potter snorted a little and rolled his eyes. “Honestly. I’m a trained Auror. I know that people lie, and how to spot it. I wonder why no one remembers that.”

            “She must have thought you would be too wounded to approach me, and she could spread what misinformation she liked,” Draco said, automatically. “That’s the kind of thing she would do.”

            “And she thinks that all other people’s reactions are like hers?” Potter nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind if I have to deal with her again. She’s one of those who thinks that all minds are like hers only inferior, right? So if she can’t anticipate having a different emotion or doing something different, it doesn’t exist.”

            “Right,” Draco said, staring at him. He wanted to ask where Potter had learned that, innocent that he was, but then bit his lip and stayed silent. Right, his lovers. Really, as cheerful as Potter acted, it was hard to remember that he’d had an awful past few years sometimes.

            “And another thing,” Potter went on, looking directly at Draco. “If you ever do want to stop dating me, or not let me suck you again, or whatever you want to call this, then just tell me. I promise I won’t be hurt. I’ve been through that before. It always hurts less the ninth time or so than the first.” He grinned at Draco.

            And sometimes, Draco thought, half-scowling, it’s remarkably easy to remember what he said. He shoved himself back from his desk and stalked around it in Potter’s direction. Potter took a step back to open the door.

            “What?” Draco asked, stopping. “Don’t trust yourself alone in a locked room with me?”

            “I thought that if you were about to say something to me that involved never wanting to see me again,” Potter said quietly, “you would want an audience. So that way, it’ll be harder to distort the story and spread it around.”

            Draco rubbed his forehead. He might have had a scar like Potter’s there, with the amount of time he’d spent doing that in the last day.

            “You don’t need to protect me,” he said.

            Potter raised his eyebrows. “Even from Greengrass?”

            “You can do whatever you like to her,” Draco said firmly. “Just think of yourself as my proxy, instead of my protector.”

            Potter grinned. “All right.”

            “But I do want something from you,” Draco went on, stepping forwards. “Something that doesn’t involve gossip or Daphne or telling when people are lying.”

            “All right,” Potter said, focusing on Draco, although he blinked a few times. “I’m not a good source of rare Potions ingredients, though. And I rather suspect that you have enough Galleons of your own.”

            Draco hissed under his breath. Anyone normal would know what he wanted without making this many mistakes.

            But then, Potter wasn’t normal, was he? He was fucked in the head, or Draco wouldn’t have had to do half this much.

            “I want a kiss,” he said, and stopped in front of Potter, using his arms to cage Potter against the wall. “A real one. On the lips,” he added, because he already suspected what dodge Potter would use to get out of this. “One that you make as good as you can, because I don’t believe you when you say you can’t kiss.”

            Potter carried on staring at him. “But what motive would I have to lie?” he asked, sounding perplexed. “I might pretend I was good, but why would I pretend that I was bad? I was telling you the truth.”

            “I don’t need a protector,” Draco said clearly, again. “This time, I want you to kiss me. Or hold still and let me kiss you.”

            Potter slightly shook his head, but Draco didn’t think it was meant as a refusal, so he waited for Potter to speak, although it made his face feel as if he had a fever to do so. “I am trying to keep you from an experience you’ll regret. It’s horrible, being kissed by me. Everyone who’s kissed me’s said so.” Potter hesitated, then continued in a lower voice. “And if you have to endure that, you might never want to be with me again. And I’d hate that, especially after last night.”

            Draco wrapped his fingers through Potter’s hair, harder and harder, expecting a wince every moment. But perhaps Potter thought that such things didn’t hurt next to the “truths” that his lovers had told him in the past, because he just stood there, his eyes wide and earnest and fixed on Draco.

            And so, so wrong.

            Draco leaned near enough to kiss Potter, but savagely, didn’t let his mouth close the distance. He was going to make Potter do this. He was going to break through those barriers, because he didn’t choose that any challenge he took on should defeat him. And he was going to insist that Potter join him in this.

            The moisture and the warmth grew between their mouths, until Draco felt as if he stood in a jungle. Potter’s hair grew loose and wet with the heat under his fingers. And still Potter didn’t move, and still Draco held onto his resolve not to do it, although it made all his muscles stiff and his mouth dry with desire.

            Idiot. What’s it going to take for him to realize that I’m telling the truth?

*

            Moron. I never saw a Slytherin so determined to destroy himself.

            Harry had to hold back so he wouldn’t simply shove Malfoy away. He did want to spend time with him again. Malfoy was the first wizard to tolerate him sexually in a year. Harry knew he didn’t have much to offer, but what he did, he’d given to Malfoy, and Malfoy hadn’t disdained it. That made him precious, special, and much more giving than Harry had known he could be.

            But Malfoy was also stubborn, and he seemed to be falling victim to the delusion that he was the only one strong enough to endure a kiss from Harry or something. Harry’s fingers tightened on the walls, and he made the decision all at once, in a long, strong strike. Malfoy would have the kiss he wanted. And then he would either retreat fully, or he would give up enough that Harry could go back to sucking him off and things would be fine.

            Harry leaned forwards and kissed Malfoy like a snake, quick as one lunging.

            He knew all the deficiencies of his kiss, and he watched Malfoy with open eyes, to see when he would start to notice them. There was the wetness, and the awkwardness of the way Harry held his face, so that his glasses always pressed into the other person’s nose, and the way he kept pushing in until he bruised lips and clicked teeth. And it wasn’t that he wanted to. It was just that he never knew when to stop.

            He didn’t bother bringing his tongue into play. Malfoy would be convinced enough without that.

            Malfoy pulled his head back, staring at Harry. Harry nodded a little. “That was the worst kiss you’ve ever had, wasn’t it?” he asked.

            Malfoy said nothing. He moved back, and Harry sighed and turned towards the door. “Send me your decision by owl about whether you want me to come by later,” he said over his shoulder. “Or you could meet me at the Leaky Cauldron, and we could go somewhere else for dinner. I’ll pay for it this time,” he added. It was the only thing he thought he could do to make up for a situation that he had unwillingly precipitated.

            Malfoy sat down behind his desk and turned his back. Harry checked another sigh. Malfoy was probably lamenting his own bad judgment, and Harry didn’t want to make him feel worse. He slipped out silently.

            He walked down the corridor thirty steps, brooding, before he lifted his head, and shook it, and snapped himself out of the senseless emotion. No. It was true that he didn’t want to lose Malfoy, but that wasn’t his decision. Nothing could be, not when he could make someone else feel so bad.

            If Malfoy left him, he had Muggles. He had his friends, and his job, and everything else that mattered so much outside the bedroom. He would never force someone to spend time with him again. He could wait for Malfoy’s owl, but he couldn’t hope for it.

            Harry went quietly back to his desk, and began to work on the next report, the one he owed the Head Auror from a month back. And if sometimes he felt the pressure of sadness in the back of his mind, he knew techniques to deal with it.

*

            It was the worst kiss Draco had ever experienced.

            But that was partially because it was barely a kiss, he thought. Potter had driven his tongue into Draco’s closed lips like someone driving a battering ram at a castle, and then pulled it back and used sloppy, wet lips to masticate along his mouth instead. And his glasses had pressed into the side of Draco’s nose, and Draco had been uncomfortable and stiff all through it, knowing he wasn’t the slightest bit aroused.

            Still, he had asked for it, and he couldn’t say it was a surprise. Tobley had warned him. Potter had warned him.

            Draco blinked as a small snapping noise sounded near him, and looked down. The quill he’d been holding had broken.

            Draco cast a non-verbal Reparo on it, and shook his head. He couldn’t allow himself to get like this; he couldn’t. No challenge had defeated him in the last few years, from the time he had set himself to become Head of the Potions Division.

            He was going to change things with Potter. And he was doing it because of the way his throat tightened when he thought about what Potter had told him.

            If no one else took the time to teach him, I will.

            Draco did have to lean back, though, shutting the door to his office with a spell, so that he could concentrate on the next thoughts. Did he want to be the one to teach Potter when he knew that serious inconveniences would also attend on that teaching? That he would have to put up with a lot of disappointment and frustration, and Potter might walk away in the end with his walls of denial still intact? Draco might expend a great deal of effort, and still not scale those walls.

            Yes. I want to.

            Because the way that Potter had explained about the horrors of his kiss to Draco and tried to “protect” Draco from them bothered Draco. He didn’t want that to exist. He didn’t want to see it again—although he knew he would if he took up the task of instructing and dating Potter.

            This much I can say, Draco decided, in the moments before he opened his door and gave himself an order to direct his attention back to the huge supply of Wolfsbane. My life won’t be boring.

*

            Harry opened his eyes early, blinking muzzily. The night before had passed without an owl from Malfoy, and Harry had eaten with Ron and Hermione instead, teasing Ron about the conclusion of their last case and how he had mistaken a shadow for a spider and cast a curse that ended up ripping down a good portion of the wall of the house they’d come to investigate. That had actually been a good thing, because they’d discovered a hoard of stolen rubies behind it, but Ron hadn’t known that at the time.

            Harry had stayed late, and slept late this morning because it was Saturday. He rolled over now and waved his wand, yawning as he opened the owl-sized pane in the glass that would let the tapping bird in.

            He had to work saliva back into his mouth when he saw the seal on the letter, Malfoy’s seal without a doubt, although Harry had only seen it a few times before, and years ago. He didn’t let his hands shake as they opened it, but that was because he waited until they stopped shaking.

            Dear Potter,

            I know what you must be thinking, but I needed some time to consider before writing to you. If you still want to date me, then come to my house at seven this evening. For what I have in mind, we don’t need to be in public.

            Draco Malfoy.

            Harry tilted back against his pillows, which could have become silken at that moment, so much pleasure did he take in that simple gesture. The relief made him languid and light-headed, and he flipped himself over to write an immediate acceptance to Malfoy, ignoring the way the owl hooted in disapproval at the sight of his naked arse. Everyone did that. It wasn’t like an owl’s comment mattered.

            Malfoy hadn’t let the horror of that kiss drive him away. He was still going to give Harry a chance.

            That made him so different from everyone else that Harry could easily forgive the delay in the owl he’d sent.

*

            Draco took a step back and looked critically around the room. He had prepared it as best he could for a romantic evening with Potter—and that was what he was going to make it, not just an evening of blowjobs and nothing else. He wondered how long it would take Potter to realize that was what he was aiming for.

            Perhaps he’ll be entirely blind, but he seemed to like the atmosphere of the Sapphire Rose well enough.

            Draco hadn’t tried to mimic that, not entirely. He thought what Potter had most liked about the place was the size and the magic used, so this was the second-biggest dining room the Manor had to offer, with white walls and enchanted windows showing expanses of green grass that made it appear even bigger. Still, the only table was small and intimate, made of cherry wood and glowing in the light of candles that Draco had enchanted to float in the air. They could move elsewhere at the push of a wand, but otherwise would follow a course that would let them illuminate the ivory plates, the hands and eyes of two people dining at the table, in a steady, gentle glow.

            Draco nodded, and glanced at the sideboard. All the foods he intended to let Potter choose from were already there, under Warming or Cooling or Stasis Charms as was appropriate. Draco didn’t intend to let house-elves intrude on this evening, either, even by letting them make the food appear on the plates.

            “Malfoy?”

            The only open Floo in the Manor this evening led into this room, so it shouldn’t have surprised Draco so much to hear Potter’s voice. Maybe it wasn’t surprise but anticipation that made Draco’s throat clench and the muscles in his shoulders hunch. But he did manage to turn around and smile. “Potter,” he said, holding out his hand to help Potter down from the high, decorative hearth that almost all his guests tripped over. “I’m glad you came.”

            “I’m glad you wrote.”

            There was such wonder in his voice, and the look in his eyes, watching Draco over their joined hands, made Draco feel as if he ought to be a jeweled treasure on his very own velvet cushion. He flushed and inclined his head. “I hope that you like to make your own choices as to food, and not just from a limited menu,” he said, waving his hand at the sideboard. “There’s a lot here.”

            “There is.” Potter followed his glance, then darted another one at Draco and grinned. “What was it that made you not accept my offer to pay for our food? Were you afraid of which restaurant I’d choose?”

            Draco had to smile back, although part of him wondered at the way Potter could joke. Did his own pain not matter that much to him? Or had he just got so used to ignoring it that the relief from it was the gift, and he didn’t really see the pain itself as an injury?

            If that’s so, then I’m going to have much more work to do here than I ever imagined.

            For now, though, Draco only shook his head and said, “I wanted to feed you here. And give us some privacy.”

            Potter’s eyes grew heavy and deep at once. He stepped up to Draco and ran his hands down Draco’s hips, pausing where the fabric outlined the bones. “Would you like me to give you some more dessert?” he whispered. “Because I could do that, if you decided that you needed me to.”

            Draco held back the sharp noise he wanted to make, the sharp words he wanted to say about how Potter seemed to think of nothing but sex. “Not right now,” he said, and his voice was steady. “I want you to sit down and eat with me.”

            “I thought I was going to serve myself.” Potter glanced back and forth between the sideboard and the table, seeming to notice the absence of house-elves.

            “Let me serve you,” Draco said, seeing an opportunity to teach the first lesson in a subtle way. “Please?”

*

            Harry was slightly worried about Malfoy. It was nice of him to invite Harry to his house for dinner, and apparently he had put the horrible kiss behind him, but he looked at Harry in an odd, quick, darting way, always turning his eyes off to the side again, and he had offered to serve him, and he had said please. That didn’t fit with the Malfoy Harry thought he knew, the one who had insulted him less than ten minutes into their date last night.

            And it didn’t fit with the Malfoy he had been sure would accept his offer of a casual relationship, and fulfill a few of his fantasies in doing so.

            But maybe this meant nothing and he was overthinking things—another fault that Frank had made him aware of. Harry smiled and sat down at the table. “If you want to,” he said, just to make sure that he wasn’t compelling Malfoy against Malfoy’s own desires.

            “I want to,” Malfoy said, giving Harry a cautious look, as though he was the one who might be compelled against his will. Harry responded to that by slinging his arms along the back of his chair and crossing his legs. He had debated putting his feet on the table, but even he felt that was a little beyond the pale when it came to a place where food would soon be served. Malfoy shook his head at Harry as it was, before turning to the sideboard and picking up a platter loaded with almost transparent slices of ham. He Summoned the plate in front of Harry with a flick of his wand.

            “What, I don’t even get to choose?” Harry half-complained. He knew the chances that Malfoy would give him something he hated were slim, but he had thought Malfoy would dish up some food based on what Harry said.

            “I think I know your tastes, from that night at the Sapphire Rose,” Malfoy said, giving him a quick glance. “I’d like to do this, if you don’t mind.”

            Harry flipped his hand. “Go ahead. And I know your taste, too.” He eyed Malfoy, and wondered what the chances of getting his mouth on him were tonight, given that Malfoy had already resisted one offer.

            Malfoy’s flush was immediate, but he didn’t seem inclined to relent. He busied himself with the ham instead, and something Harry thought was quiche, and then salad that was thick with berries. Harry reclined and watched him.

            He tried to remember the last time he had done something like this with someone, and then shook his head. Stupid memories lay in that direction, memories that weren’t worth recalling. Harry wanted to wince when he thought about how naïve and blind he had been, when he was with other people. How much he had hurt them without realizing it, like a thoughtless child hurting an animal for the fun of it.

            Malfoy turned around and carried the plate over to him. He set it in front of Harry with intense eye contact that cheered Harry up about his prospects for sucking Malfoy later in the evening. But Malfoy did step back when Harry made a teasing move towards his groin.

            “No,” he murmured, pivoting and walking back to the sideboard to serve himself. “I want you to keep up your strength. I’m going to ask something rather demanding of you, later.”

            Harry sighed and eyed Malfoy’s back, how it led perfectly to slim hips and narrow, flaring buttocks. Not that he would ever get to see much of that part of Malfoy’s body, but they’d been amazing to touch. “Okay. But I think you’re underrating the nourishing properties of semen.”

            Malfoy choked and half-glared at him. Harry waited, breath held, but Malfoy shook his head and turned back to the sideboard instead of chucking him out. Harry had to laugh to himself as he began to eat—and the food was indeed delicious, proving Malfoy knew him.

            He had even found a lover who could put up with his sense of humor. Could the night get any better?

*

            Draco watched beneath his eyelids, and sometimes his fringe, as Potter ate. When he asked questions about Auror business, Potter told him, seeming to harbor no suspicion that Draco might still be involved in anything nefarious. Of course, Draco was head of the Potions Division, and Potter probably thought few more boring positions existed.

            Draco patted at his mouth with his napkin, and swallowed. The position was challenging, not boring, but it must not have been challenging enough, or would he be taking this on at all?

            But there was something about Potter that went deeper than the challenge, loathe though he was to admit it. Something that made his heart beat as well as his eyes tighten, and made him stare at Potter’s fingers curled around his glass of wine until Potter caught his glance and lifted his brows, and Draco turn away blushing. Yes, there was something else.

            Perhaps he couldn’t define it right now. Perhaps he would have to wait until he saw that this would work before he knew exactly what Potter meant to him.

            But he knew one thing: it was already more than an eager mouth and a few conveniences on nights when he wanted someone in his bed. He’d wanted acknowledgment. A convenient mouth couldn’t give acknowledgment.

            “This is really good.”

            Draco glanced up and felt his mouth softening. Potter had his face practically buried in his plate as he gulped down some of the small slivers of him and berries that had rolled away from the main salad.

            “I wouldn’t have invited you to my house if I thought my house-elves incapable of providing good food,” Draco said, leaning back in his chair and reaching for his wine glass. He had drunk only a little so far, and it would remain a little. There was no way that he wanted to lose control around Potter. He would need to choose his words as carefully as his actions.

            “So they did make it, even though they didn’t serve it?” Potter studied him with a difficult expression on his face.

            “Can you see me slaving in a kitchen?” Draco asked, gesturing down his body, and Potter laughed and leaned back in his chair.

            “I suppose you have a few too many muscles for that.” Potter’s smile twisted at the edges, and he looked as though he had a hard time preventing himself from popping up from his chair. “Let me feel them to make sure?”

            All he ever thinks about is sex. But then, at the moment, Potter had no idea what else Draco might offer him. The lesson of the food—that Potter deserved the best and Draco wanted to give it to him—hadn’t taken in the way Draco had hoped.

            “In a moment, Potter,” Draco murmured, sitting up and leaning forwards. “Why do you think I wanted to see you again?”

            Potter blinked, slowly. “You like having someone to spoil?”

            Draco snorted. “I haven’t started spoiling you.”

            “Yeah, didn’t think so.” Potter considered Draco with that same difficult expression, as though Draco was the one who was hard to figure out, and then shrugged. “Really? I think that you decided that, no matter how I kissed, I’m still talented enough elsewhere for you to put up with me. Or you wanted to see what else I can do now that you’ve had one taste.”

            Draco didn’t like feeling the way Potter made him feel, the tight, trembling tension on the edge of incredulity. He wanted to yell, to tell Potter to stop acting like he didn’t know his value.

            But Potter didn’t, and Draco wouldn’t undo the damage of years in a single screaming session. He inclined his head. “I did want to see you again. But not for your skill with your mouth.”

            Potter laughed, full and free, and stood up, inching around the table towards Draco. Draco watched his muscles ripple, concealed but not hidden by his shirt and trousers, and wondered how this man could ever have decided that he wasn’t beautiful enough to merit careful treatment. “Come on, Malfoy. We both know it’s nothing else. Although I have to admit, you have a great sense of humor.”

            Potter ended up with his hands on the table, leaning over Draco, who returned a steady gaze while his heart fluttered as madly as if he’d been leaping over desks to dodge the effects of a ruined potion. Potter’s eyes turned soft when he saw that, and he reached out and trailed his fingers over Draco’s throat, letting his fingers rest above the pulse in the hollow of it. “No need to be so nervous,” he whispered. “You have a great body.”

            Draco reached up and gripped Potter’s wrist, hard enough to crush a few of the tendons and smash his fingers together. Potter winced as Draco turned his hand over, but didn’t try to draw back.

            “Sorry,” Potter said. “Don’t like compliments like that?”

            And his eyes were still soft, taking all the blame of his clumsy flirtation of himself, willing to believe that he’d crossed some boundary he couldn’t have known about, when really, what irritated Draco the most was the unspoken implication behind Potter’s words. You have a great body, and I don’t.



            To hell with subtle lessons, then. No, Draco wouldn’t undo the damage of years in a single screaming session, but if he never made a start, then he would never do anything but let Potter suck him off until one of them got bored.

            “I hate being compared to other people,” Draco said, which was true enough, as he used his hold on Potter’s wrist to spin Potter around and pin him with Potter’s back against his chest. He leaned down and spoke quietly into his ear, noting that Potter stood tense and alert, but not nervous—as if he knew that he could break out of Draco’s hold at any time. He probably could, with his Auror training. And there was no way that he would think of this position as intimate, given his complexes. “I told you that almost immediately.”

            “But I didn’t say anything about a former lover, yours or mine,” Potter said, craning his head back to look at Draco. “What do you mean?”

            Baffled, blinking, and Draco wanted to kiss him, but he knew how that would end right now. He used words instead, making them as sharp as he could, to drill through the layers of misunderstanding laid down over Potter’s already thick skull. “You said I have a great body. And based on what you’ve said and done so far, I know what that means. You don’t think that you do. I happen to disagree.”

*

            Harry froze. The hand that held his wrist, and still hurt, became less important than the disbelief that filled him, that rocketed through him, that burst like a supernova and burned inside his brain.

            He couldn’t…

            He couldn’t believe that Malfoy was like this, that he wanted to talk about this and use the information Harry had freely given him bloody against him.

            He flung himself to the side, flicking his head back at the same time, forcing Malfoy to release him or sustain a broken nose. Harry turned fully to face the bastard, hands clasped in front of him, eyes darting to the exits of the room. Only the Floo was really feasible. The door beyond Malfoy led out into a corridor, from the slight glimpse of color Harry could see past it, and Harry didn’t know the Manor well enough to navigate around it.

            “Potter.” Malfoy took a step towards him, eyes wide and hand extended as if everything would make sense if he could just grab Harry back.

            “No,” Harry growled, and darted towards the fireplace.

            He saw the glow of the tripwire ward just before he spilled over it, and tucked himself into a roll, flinging his arms around his head so he wouldn’t bash it in on the hearth. Then he got up, hopped over it, and started towards the Floo again.

            This time, the looping silvery ward that appeared in front of it was one Harry knew and hated, one he’d had to contend with a lot when he was investigating houses abandoned by their owners. No one but a wizard of the correct bloodline could destroy such a ward, and it prevented all access to what was beyond it—in this case, any escape from the Floo.

            Harry turned, his arms clasped closely to his side. “Listen,” he said, harsh as a croaking bird.

            Malfoy had said the exact same word at the exact same time. He blinked a second, and then stepped forwards. “Listen,” he repeated. “Potter—”

            “You’re either some sort of bloody scar fetishist,” Harry said, speaking fast, because if he listened to Malfoy for too long the git might persuade Harry the way he’d already done, “or you intend to mock me, lead me on, and then dump me when I start believing you. That’s what it is, isn’t it? I should have known.” Malfoy approaching him after all this time was ridiculous. Harry could have believed it of Zabini or Nott, maybe, Slytherins he’d never been friends with but never enemies with either, but he just had too much history with Malfoy. It hadn’t been enough to stop him from spending one night with Malfoy, but Harry could only be thankful that it had enabled him to catch Malfoy before he did something Harry could really regret.

            “I’m not either,” Malfoy said. He looked as offended as though Harry had said his profile was inbred. “I want—I want to help you. You’re saying all sorts of things about your body that aren’t true, and I want to change that.”

            Harry stared at him with his mouth open. That was the cover Malfoy had come up with for his slip?

            Harry guffawed, because he had to, after those moments in which Malfoy didn’t move but just stared at him with serious eyes. “Pull the other one, Malfoy.”

            Malfoy shook his head. “Look, I’m not going to lie. The kiss was horrible. But I don’t think it has to be. I want—I want to see you actually come for me. I want to be able to touch you and not have you run away. I want to teach you better.”

            Harry’s belly tightened. This was the sort of thing he had dreamed about during the months when he stumbled around after Frank, before Veronica, wishing that someone cared enough about him to take him in hand and show him what he was doing wrong.

            But it was also the sort of thing that didn’t happen. Harry knew that, because he had experienced a partial version of it. Veronica had tried. She had shown him some of the things he was doing wrong, and showed him how to slow down when he was kissing, and told him when she didn’t like the way he grabbed and squeezed and pressed.

            But in the end, it didn’t matter. Harry was too deficient; Veronica just didn’t have enough patience. And Veronica had been a hell of a lot more invested in him than Malfoy was.

            “I assure you,” Harry said, tilting his head back and straightening his shoulders and trying to decide what about him had presented as pathetic enough for Malfoy to make this offer, “I’ve tried to improve on my own, and had other people tell me what was wrong, and it didn’t matter. Nothing changes, except I get clumsier. I’ve made my peace with it. I improved my sucking skills. Isn’t that enough?” He grimaced at the pleading tone in his own voice. He should have walked out the Floo before things got to this stage, the minute Malfoy had acted hesitant about having Harry’s mouth on him again. Someone who didn’t want the only thing Harry had to offer was someone with unrealistic expectations. “What else do you want?”

            He waited, but Malfoy didn’t say anything, only watched him with that pale, pointy face that had gone back to being hard for Harry to understand. He understood when Malfoy was taunting him, or lost in the depths of pleasure, but this was neither. Malfoy just seemed to be thinking.

            “What is there to think about?” Harry finally snapped. “You want what I can offer, or you don’t want it. You let me walk out of here, or you let me stay and suck you. What other options are there?”

*

            Draco wanted to rage, but there would have been no one to direct the rage at, except people who weren’t there and wouldn’t know what he was talking about if they were. Raging at Potter was counterproductive.

            Potter believed every single stupid word he was saying. That was obvious. Draco shook his head and took a step forwards. Potter tensed, but seemed to decide he was tired of backing away, because he stood there with arms folded and took it.

            “What makes your mouth so different from everything else?” Draco asked. “Why did you think you could get good at that, and not anything else?”

            Potter blinked at him, but answered. “Because that was the one skill that actually improved when I tried. And besides, it’s the only one I could think of that doesn’t involve touching someone else too much. They could always pull away if they didn’t like it. But wanking someone, or fucking someone, or kissing someone…it’s too much of the body. The less contact someone else has with me, the happier they are.”

            Draco really did want to throw something. But the candles were too expensive, and so were the dishes, and everything else was too big. He settled for coming close enough to lean an elbow on the fireplace mantle, ignoring the longing way that Potter eyed the Floo entrance behind him. “And what about you?”

            “I told you what I like already,” Potter said, half-crouching. “I told you what I can offer. Why are you ignoring it? I know you’re not stupid enough to have forgotten.”

            Draco ignored the insult. “I meant, are you happy this way?”

            “I was happier the other night than I’ve been in a long time,” Potter said evenly, “because you seemed to enjoy it.”

            “That’s a no, then,” Draco said. Potter glared at him as though Draco had done something deadly to him by not playing along with his stupid little game. Draco ignored that, too. “I want you to enjoy it, too, Potter. Despite what you might think of me, I’m not someone who just wants to take and take and not give.”

            “But why can’t you be?” Potter held out one hand towards him. “Sure, with normal people you might be different, but with me? That’s what I can offer you. So you have the right to be selfish for once. You can do whatever you like. Why don’t you just take that and then tell me when you’re tired of it?”

            Normal people. Draco felt the bile burning in his throat, destroying the last taste of the fine food he’d eaten.

            “I am tired of it,” Draco said.

            He’d never seen someone withdraw into himself as fast as Potter did. His face became smooth, his outstretched hand dropped to his side, and he nodded. “All right,” he said. His voice was as empty as his plate. “Let me go, then. Please,” he added, when Draco didn’t move away from the fireplace or drop the ward.

            “I’m tired of it,” Draco said, “because I want something more. Something that isn’t casual. Something where you give me more than just your mouth.” He took a stalking step towards Potter.

            Potter, who just watched him with those empty eyes and said, as if he worked in a restaurant, “I’m sorry, that isn’t available.” Then he shook his head and shut his eyes. “Look, Malfoy, I hope you find it with your next lover, I really do. But you won’t with me.”

            “Because you won’t give me a bloody chance to do it,” Draco said, and he was close enough now to reach out and grab Potter’s right hand, the one with the Blood Quill scar on the back. “You gave other people who were more ready to betray you a chance. Why not me?”

            “Because they taught me what I was,” Potter snapped, and once again twisted smoothly away, staring at Draco’s palm as if he thought his scar would have scarred Draco in return. “You—you have no idea, really, what you’re escaping by not sleeping with me. It’s horrible. I’m rude and inconsiderate and ugly and I hurt people. Not to mention all the emotional damage that comes along with me. A casual relationship, if you wanted one, would let you escape all that. Why do you want more?”

            “Because I want more from you, already,” Draco said. “Someone who was honest and came to me about Daphne’s gossip, someone who thinks I need to be protected, someone who has a sense of humor and cares that much for my pleasure. And you’re going to let me have it.”

            Potter smiled at him, reaching up towards his throat. Draco saw his hand rest on the top button of his shirt as Potter said, sweetly, “No, I’m not.”

            And he vanished into the swirling pinwheel of colors that was typical of a Portkey, leaving Draco staring, in the moments before he whirled around, seized one of the wineglasses, and had the satisfaction of smashing something delicate after all.

*

            Harry landed in the middle of his drawing room rug, breathing so hard he almost vomited. He sagged to his knees and put his hands on them.

            The emergency Portkey was really only supposed to be used in situations that risked his life. But Harry thought it could be justified in situations that risked someone else’s, too. And he knew there was a high chance that he would have hurt Malfoy if he remained there, either directly, because of his magic lashing out, or…

            Or later. Because he might have agreed to Malfoy’s wild scheme, and hurt him just like he’d hurt Veronica and Frank and Kurt and Ginny and all the rest.

            Isn’t six people hurt because of me enough?

            Harry straightened up, shaking his head. He had done the best he could to tell Malfoy the truth, and Malfoy still didn’t believe him. Maybe he wouldn’t until after he had spent one horrible night with Harry and seen. But Harry didn’t believe in letting someone else experience pain just to convince them.

            No, Harry would go back to normal now, and never date a wizard again. Or only someone he was convinced wanted to take what Harry wanted to give them, and nothing else.

            Malfoy is mad. Or convinced that he would receive some benefit from my fame by sleeping with me.

            But I bet he’ll also be too humiliated to face me again, because of the rumors I might spread about him, whereas I wouldn’t care if he said something. I’m stronger than he is. Harry half-smiled as he reached down to touch the small of his back. I have more scars.

            He won’t come near me again.

*

            Which made the specter of Malfoy standing by his desk the next morning, arms folded and eyes implacably on Harry, something of a shock.

*

            Property_Of_A_DeadGirl4-25: Hopefully you like it anyway?

            delia cerrano: Harry doesn’t believe he can, but then, he also believes a lot about Draco that isn’t true.

            Bickymonster: Thanks! I don’t have experience writing about this, really, but I have been in the position of trying to explain things to other people, and listening to explanations that only make sense if you understand what’s happening inside another person’s mind.

            SP777: Harry is too afraid of hurting Draco to agree to that.

            Anon: Is he ever going to try.

            moodysavage: He does, and he knows now that impatience isn’t going to help.

            BAFan: Thanks! I don’t know whether to hope this chapter is more or less painful; Harry has a long way to go before his mind changes.

            CareeLessLover: Here you go! Please don’t die.
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