Ten Steps

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kasey, TutelaTwin and Shannon for their beta on this chapter. I've noticed my chapters for this story are a bit longer than my usual. I'm not sure why that is, but I hope you all enjoy the phenomenon.

Chapter 6 Disastrous

Harry felt discouraged as he tried and failed several times to make his hair behave. It stuck up in all sorts of directions and made him frown in disgust at the mirror. His thoughts drifted to Malfoy as he hit the black mop with a few consecutive spells, noting with a smile that even the well-groomed blond had been unsuccessful at taming Harry’s wild mane. He shook the thought away and sighed, turning and leaving his mission behind. It was useless to try and do anything about his hair, the ebony locks would simply do what they wanted in the end regardless of how much effort Harry put into it. If he were going to date Oliver, the man would just have to deal with his unkemptness.

He was dressed simply in a pair of dark denims and a sky blue jumper. Matching trainers completed the ensemble and he deemed himself ready. The thought hadn’t occurred to him that it might take a pass or something to get onto the Pitch until he Apparated just outside the massive stadium and saw three hulking security guards blocking his entrance. He should have remembered from his many visits at Ron’s pitch that he may run into something like this and probably should have asked Oliver about the protocol long before now.

He strode purposefully over to them, noting their bored stares and hoped it would be easy enough to get inside. All three men were bulky. One was leaning to the right of the entrance slurping on a red slush drink, one was bald – in a purposeful way, not the kind that comes with age - and generally ominous looking and glaring at Harry as he approached. The third was half-asleep with a dirty magazine hanging limply in his giant hand. It was hard for Harry to decide which one he wanted to talk to, because if he were honest, he’d would’ve like to bypass all three of them without having to utter a word, but he figured the one making eye contact – even if that eye contact was surly – would be the best choice.

“Excuse me, I’m here to see Oliver Wood,” Harry began, hoping his date had put him on some sort of list or something.

“Training isn’t over yet,” baldy grunted. “You’ll have to wait.”

“Oh,” Harry muttered stiltedly, not sure how best to proceed. “Well, maybe you could let him know I’m here?” he pressed, trying to be reasonable.

“He’ll be out when they’re done.” The tone was rather final and Harry narrowed his eyes.

“I was told to meet him here,” Harry explained. “I think he’ll be a little miffed if you don’t let me in.”

The other two guards stirred awake at Harry’s raised voice and went to flank either side of the bald man forming an impenetrable wall of bulk. Slush and Dirty Magazine both looked put out that Harry had interrupted their exciting pastime of staring off into space. “Do I look like I care? You can wait outside like the rest of the groupies.” If that wasn’t enough of an insult, the man muttered “Fag” under his breath and sent Harry reeling to a place he rarely went.

“Do you know who I am?” Harry asked, his voice elevating in anger at being treated so poorly. He didn’t often use this tactic, because he didn’t often need to. Most everyone knew him by sight and those who didn’t simply needed a reminder of the name.

“Yeah,” the bald man scoffed. “So what? You think just because you killed some tyrant like ten years ago that you should be exempt from the rules?”

“No!” Harry replied right away, thoroughly affronted. “But I think it means I deserve some respect.”

“Well that makes one of us.” Baldy narrowed his eyes as if challenging Harry to push him further.

Harry was so angry he almost gave up altogether and went home, and perhaps he should have, because what he chose to do instead was rather foolish. He pulled his wand from the holster on his belt, but didn’t even get a chance to aim it before he found himself covered in red slush and looked up to find three wands pointed back at him.

“Harry?” called a voice from further down the walkway. Oliver came bounding over, his gold and navy robes billowing out behind him. “What in Merlin’s name is going on here?”

Harry took a moment to look completely embarrassed as he imagined how silly the scene before Oliver must seem, Harry standing there coated in melting red slush and facing off with three brutish guards must have looked rather ridiculous.

“This bloke tried to Hex us for not letting him onto the pitch,” the bald one told him.

“I did no such thing,” Harry protested. He was only going to cast a Reasoning Charm on the men to make them more pliable to his will. It was a completely harmless spell and would have worn off a few minutes after he cast it.

“It might be more convincing if you put your wand away, Harry,” Oliver said and Harry’s cheeks flushed crimson, but Wood didn’t look angry. He seemed more amused than anything. “He’s with me, Boys,” he told the guards and cast a surreptitious cleaning Charm on Harry’s clothes as he shook his head in mock dismay. “You sure do know how to make an entrance, Harry,” he teased.

Harry blushed as Oliver led him away from the main gate and toward another set of doors, ushering the man through and into the Puddlemere United’s brightly lit locker room. “They are pretty protective of the team,” Oliver told him, nodding in the direction they’d just come from. “Nice blokes usually…dim, but nice.”

“I guess you probably get a lot of crazy fans coming by, eh?” Harry asked, following his date through the locker room and out onto the pitch. He remembered Ron telling him about some crazed Cannons’ fan who had streaked through their pitch one afternoon during their practice and then tried to sneak in on them in the showers. Harry shuddered at the thought of some batty person attacking Oliver while the poor man was at work.

“Sometimes,” Oliver agreed, “but usually only when we’re on tour. Our pitch is warded pretty well against intruders,” he explained, making Harry feel somewhat better. “So, this is it,” he announced grandly as he gestured to the massive field.

The grass below their feet was a lemony gold with a giant blue shield in the center of the pitch. Gold bulrushes crisscrossed its surface and the same shields were mirrored everywhere – the bleachers, the snack bins and even the goalposts. Oliver looked proud, his dark brown eyes taking on a soft gleam as they scanned his beloved pitch.

“It’s impressive,” Harry said and he meant it, but he was more taken with Oliver’s glow than with the pitch itself. It was regulation after all, and aside from being nicer to look at than the garish orange of the Cannons’ field, it was the same as any other pitch Harry had set eyes on.

“Isn’t it?” he replied reverently. “Care to have a quick fly around?”

“Oh,” Harry replied dumbly. “I didn’t bring my broom.” He felt foolish for leaving it behind, they were meeting at a pitch after all, of course Oliver would want to fly.

“No worries,” Oliver replied, pulling his eyes away from the pitch and casting that adoring gaze at Harry instead. “You can use mine and I’ll borrow one of my teammate’s.”

Within minutes both men were in the air, swooping and diving through the air with abandon. Harry hadn’t been on a broom in months and relished the feeling of the breeze whipping through his hair and sending him higher and higher. The pitch filled with laughter as they flew circles around one another and Harry grinned brightly at the child-like bliss that emanated from Wood’s entire body as they soared through the air. Oliver was at home here in the air, probably more than he was on the ground.

“That was brilliant, Harry,” the man called as they descended. “I’d nearly forgotten what a fantastic flyer you are. You’ve only gotten better with practice I see.”

“Me? I’m not the famous Puddlemere Keeper, now am I?” Harry teased as they put their brooms away and strode, winded, back to the locker room.

“I’d get our Seeker sacked in an instant if I could convince you to come on board.” It was clear Oliver was both joking and not, his eyes set in a manic gleam, clearly hoping Harry might bite on the teasing offer. Harry, however, recalled what it was like to play Quidditch under Wood’s regime and simply laughed the suggestion off. He wanted to date the man and he didn’t think a relationship would last long under Oliver’s strict training tactics.

“I think I’m better suited to catching bad guys,” he replied reasonably and Oliver dropped it, smiling somewhat falsely in return. “Besides, we wouldn’t have much to talk about on our dates if we worked together.”

Wood’s eyes lit up at the remark and he wound his arm around Harry’s waist as they walked, filling the brunet with simmering heat. “That’s very true. So, what do you normally talk about on a second date?”

“What’s your favorite color?” Harry asked, smiling at Oliver’s chuckle.

“Red. Yours?”

“Hm…I don’t know if I have a favorite. Blue, maybe?” he replied.

“Ravenclaw at heart?” Oliver teased.

“Are you saying I’m not clever enough to be in Ravenclaw?” Harry managed an affronted look but just barely before making his smile match Oliver’s once more. He was already intensely attracted to the man, feeling only mildly nervous in his presence, which was a feat within itself for Harry, who usually stammered his way through the first few dates.

“No, I just think your favorite color should be green,” Oliver replied, stopping them by the pitch’s exit and pressing Harry into the wall, a hand on either side of his face.

Harry’s breathing quickened along with his pulse and he looked up into Oliver’s dark gaze and whispered, “Why?”

“Because your eyes are the most stunning shade of green I’ve ever seen,” he whispered before leaning in to capture Harry’s lips. Harry, however, quickly dodged the approaching mouth by turning his face, smiling to himself when Oliver’s warm lips pressed into his cheek instead.

“Harry?” Oliver asked after pulling back and seeing the rich blush on his date’s cheek. “What’s wrong?”

His calm demeanor was suddenly shattered and he felt like he was back in Fourth Year trying to round up the Gryffindor courage to ask someone to the Yule Ball. Harry bit into his bottom lip furiously, wishing he had just accepted the kiss as he was meant to. He’d just got the feeling that it was all moving too quickly, that if he and Oliver progressed too fast that their relationship would fizzle out before it had a chance to take off. But he didn’t fancy explaining that to the smoldering Keeper still staring at him like he was a limited edition broomstick model. “I’d just like to get to know you better before we…er…go too far,” he replied meekly.

Confusion flickered through Oliver’s eyes, followed quickly by delight as he chuckled and shifted away from Harry, laying his hand fondly on the man’s shoulder instead of pinning him to the wall. “Well, aren’t you just the sweet gentleman?” Oliver replied playfully, making Harry blush even deeper. “No worries, Mate. I’m in no hurry. We can take things as slow as you like,” he replied, his dark eyes full of sincerity. “So long as you know that I really want to kiss you and I’ll be ready and willing when you are,” he added with a wink.

“Noted,” Harry chuckled and leaned up, pressing a chaste kiss on the man’s cheek, “and thanks. Some people have been a prat about that sort of thing.”

“I couldn’t be a prat to you, Harry,” Oliver assured and opened the door to walk Harry out. “I’d invite you out for drinks, but I have an early training session tomorrow morning. It was really great seeing you tonight though.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder slightly, affection clouding over those dark eyes as he stared at him. Harry wasn’t ready to go just yet, but he wasn’t about to beg for Oliver’s company.

“The pleasure was mine,” Harry replied and bowed slightly, smirking up at the man as he grinned from Harry’s posturing. “Do you think you’ll be able to make it to the party tomorrow night?”

“It depends on how sore I am after practice, but I’ll try. Who’s hosting it this week?” he asked. Harry and his friends always rotated the duties, and Harry figured it was Hermione and Neville’s turn this week. He told Oliver so and gave the man one last lingering glance before Apparating back home.

His heart swelled as he thought of the man he’d just left, every Quidditch toned inch of him. He regretted not allowing the man to kiss him, he’d practically grown up with Oliver after all, but something had moved him away and Harry tried not to regret following his instincts. They had served him well enough in the past. He reasoned that it just wasn’t the right time for their first kiss yet, and as hopelessly romantic as he knew it sounded, he felt that kiss had to be special.

He grabbed a butterbeer from the icebox and sat down at the table, noticing the pile of mail he’d left discarded that morning. He’d been too busy and distracted to even glance at the Quibbler that day, and pulled it in front of him now, flipping immediately to the Quidditch section so that he might find something to chat about with Oliver at the party the next evening. There in bold print was a shot of Oliver’s team and Harry sighed, smiling down at the fiercely determined face of his new boyfriend, Oliver Wood. He read the article and his pulse began to quicken, but not in a good way as it had earlier that evening from being wrapped in Oliver’s arms.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t pieced it together before now; he knew the game schedule and followed the sport closely enough to have anticipated this. But the article served to remind him of a fact he’d overlooked. In less than a month’s time, Oliver would be out of town quite often, and for weeks at a time at that. Worry settled over him as he wondered if their relationship, as new and tenuous as it was, would last if they were separated for so long at such an early stage? Looking down at the paper, he saw images of other players, all bombarded with fans grabbing and pawing at them and Harry remembered how rocky Ron and Luna were in the very beginning with Ron being on tour for so much of the year. They’d long since settled into a routine with it, but that first season was rough on both of them, and they had the help of Professor Amore. Malfoy, he reminded himself with a sigh.

What if Oliver got tired of Harry’s reluctance to bed him and went along with one of these groupies? The pull would surely be great, and if Oliver took a liking to one of the blokes, what would stop him from taking the man back to his hotel room, especially if he and Harry weren’t serious yet? Panic laced through Harry’s entire being as he imagined that very thing happening, and the Owl from Oliver telling him they were through.

Or what if Harry succumbed to his worry and slept with Oliver before the man left? Would Oliver lose respect for him? Would the relationship fizzle out as Harry had predicted? Harry felt suddenly lost and didn’t know what to do. Then, as if a sign from Merlin himself, a gust of wind blew through his flat - though he had no idea from where - and it ruffled his paper and flipped it several pages back, landing on the advice column.

Staring down at the name ‘Professor Amore’ in delicate script, Harry knew what he had to do to salvage his relationship with Oliver.

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Draco had never felt so tangled in all his life. It seemed like someone had put him on a merry-go-round and refused to let him off. He was dizzy with the effort to keep himself in control, but he’d made his decision. He wasn’t going to mess with any dark magic, and the spells had already been cast to show Potter and Wood as gold matches. Whatever it said about he and Potter afterward would have to go unheeded.

Besides, Harry would be perfectly happy with Oliver, and since he wouldn’t require Draco’s assistance in his courtship of the Quidditch player, Draco could easily forget that Harry Potter even existed. That way everyone would be happy. Oliver would get Harry and vice versa and Draco would be spared the horrid fate that would surely befall him if he were to tamper with the bonding magic he’d evoked. Easy. No regrets. Not a one. Potter was probably too high maintenance anyhow.

He’d never gotten a pure bond before, and that alone made him leery. Even after casting the spell several times the evening before, Draco couldn’t believe the results. True soul mates were far too rare, and if he were Harry’s soul mate, then why would it have deemed Oliver his golden match? It just didn’t make sense…unless it was a test, which was what in the end Draco decided it had to be. Some higher power was testing his professionalism and control. He used the dark magic so much in his career choice that it was a wonder the gods hadn’t tested him before this. He always remembered his mother's warnings about repeated use of the ancient magicks, but Draco hadn't put much stock in her caution until now.

So he would leave Potter alone - maybe even move away - and show the gods that he had the power to uphold the rules of the spells he used. But then the gods sent him a new temptation.

He jumped and nearly yelped as he heard someone knock on his door. It took all of his self-control to reason out that the gods didn’t knock. If they wanted to take Draco away, they’d have better methods of doing so. He walked carefully over and opened it, groaning inwardly to see Potter standing on his doorstep. “What?” he snapped. He knew his voice was harsh and he almost apologized, but then he remembered how bitterly they had ended their last conversation and suddenly felt justified in his sour tone.

“I want to take your classes,” Harry told him firmly.

“No,” Draco replied and moved to shut the door. Only Harry’s well-placed foot in the doorjamb kept the door from slamming in the brunet’s face. “Sod off, Potter.”

“You were practically begging me to take the classes before. What’s changed?” Harry asked through the crack, leveling his weight against the door to keep it from closing.

“The window of acceptance has expired. I’ve moved on to another couple. Too busy for you now,” he lied, feeling immediately terrible for it. He didn’t know why though. He’d lied to Harry plenty of times before with a clean conscience, but he’d never lied to his soul mate before…

The sappy thought had him making a wordless noise that sounded broken and guttural and he must have relaxed his grip too much in his distraction because the door flew inward while Harry leapt inside the foyer with his wand drawn as he cast a quick glance around the room. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice fierce as he looked for the invisible perpetrator who had cause Draco to make such an anguished noise.

“I’m fine,” Draco spat; clutching his bruised ego and wrapping it around himself like a comforting blanket. He could do this. He could talk to Harry and not think of him as anything more than an infuriating Gryffindor. “I would just prefer if you left. I’m not able to offer you the lessons any longer.”

“Why not?” Harry demanded.

“Call it a conflict of interest,” Draco replied, his heart heavy even as he said the words.

“One of your other clients wants Oliver?” Harry asked, his eyes widening with fear. The brunet was already falling for Wood. That much was clear by his stance and his obvious jealousy at the unconfirmed thought of Wood having another suitor.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss my client’s preferences or activities,” he responded, saying what he could to keep himself from lying again.

“Please, Draco,” he begged. “I need your help. I’ll double your fee. I just want to make sure I’m doing the right thing as this relationship progresses. I don’t want to lose him.” The man was so sincere and full of longing that it broke Draco’s heart to hear it, especially when directed at another man. He didn’t know if it was Potter’s pleading tone or the way his given name sounded on Harry’s lips, but something deep inside his mind cracked and spewed forth words that Draco felt sure he would regret some day soon.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll do it. For double,” he added quickly so as not to seem too soft.

Harry leapt forward and pulled Draco into a spontaneous hug, mashing their bodies together in perfectly fitting harmony. “Thanks, Draco. I mean it. Anything, and I mean anything I can do for you, just name it and it’s yours.”

‘You, Harry, I want you,’ Draco thought silently but melted into the man’s arms nonetheless, trying not to think about how difficult it was going to be to tear himself away from it. “Speak nothing of it. We’ll start Saturday, how is that?”

“Great,” Harry exclaimed, pulling away only slightly. “Perfect,” he amended, staring up into Draco’s piercing gaze. It seemed so much softer than usual, more like a warm, gray cashmere sweater and less like the iced over lake Harry usually compared it to.

“Potter?” Draco whispered, his breath ghosting across Harry’s lips.

“Hmm?” He was still twined around the blond and felt himself rather distracted by the new sensations coursing through him, coating his lips in Malfoy’s innate flavor.

“You do realize that Slytherins don’t hug, right?” he asked mildly and Harry shook off his daze as he slowly extricated himself from the blond’s lithe form. Draco sighed with a mixture of relief and loss, but his nerves had been tested long enough for one night. They weren’t made of steel, after all, and Potter’s warm embrace had felt too good to resist for much longer.

“I’ll see you Saturday,” Harry whispered before leaving Draco’s home rather abruptly.

And with that, the largest challenge of Draco’s power and faith was to ensue. He would show strength and discipline against his yearnings. He would show the gods what he was made of and prove himself worthy to wield their magic…right after he took a long, cold shower.

Author's Note: Bum Bum Bum. Poor Draco. Blind Harry. I feel worst for Oliver though. Poor bloke doesn't stand a chance. Or does he?!