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Harry Potter, Virgin Extraordinaire	By : lordoberon Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 16229 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is entirely the property of J.K. Rowling. I claim no ownership over it. I make no money in the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Sorry I took so long to update!

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HARRY POTTER, VIRGIN EXTRAORDINAIRE

An HP fanfic

by lordoberon

Chapter 7

Grinning at Blaise’s impatience, Harry sat up, and with a hand on Blaise’s hip and another guiding himself, he pushed all the way inside Blaise in one slide. The Slytherin moaned at the sensation, and as Harry rocked his hips just a little, he gasped. Harry’s eyes had slid shut and he was just reveling in how it felt.

When he moved back and then pushed back in slowly, Blaise squeezed around him, and the pleasure rolled up Harry and struck through his whole body. He shivered, moaning, and pushed again, again, again, establishing a rhythm. Blaise’s body was hot against him, and his pushing back against Harry sent violent thrums up Harry’s cock that had him panting Blaise’s name.

“Yes,” Blaise moaned, “Harry…” His hands gripped at Harry’s waist, then his shoulders, then his hair. He hugged himself tight to Harry’s body. When he clenched against Harry’s cock, a startled cry shot from Harry’s lips, and he moved faster, pushing harder.

“Mmm,” Blaise laughed, “I’ve never played with Gryffindors before. All that bravery and courage turns into passion in bed…oh! Harry…”

Harry’s response to Blaise’s words was to move faster. His fingers were digging into the soft heat of Blaise’s arse, pulling the other man closer. The table jerked and scraped against the floor, adding obscene noises to their melody of moans. Harry was using all his strength, just as Blaise had said, and the heat of Blaise’s body was intoxicating, around him, against him, that sibilant voice thrumming lust through him just like his thrumming cock slammed home into Blaise over and over.

When Blaise began to rock back against Harry in earnest, they were shouting, and the pleasure high cascaded down Harry, while it also sprang up from his cock and trickled deep into him. He was dizzy with it, he was incoherent, and he knew he hadn’t fucked anyone this hard before. The women he’d enjoyed with were nothing in comparison to Blaise. Their words were cooings meant to put him in their power, their bodies were mush, but Blaise with his hard angles and his soft hands stroking Harry’s body, and his voice pleading for more, he was bespelled by Harry, but he invited it. They were entrancing each other, diving into each other, and Harry didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed such sensations before.

He pounded Blaise against the table, rough, his hands harsh on Blaise’s body, forced to grip Blaise’s bony hips, forced by passion to squeeze over Blaise’s arse hard enough to bruise. But Blaise loved it, moaning, encouraging Harry. When he lifted his legs so they were up over Harry’s shoulders, Harry angled deeper and moved faster. Blaise’s body squeezed him so tightly, and felt delicious. He was out of breath, he was pouring sweat. The squeeze of Blaise became tighter, and Harry was making some alien sound, and he could smell treacle all over them both…

And then he came, glorious and long, bursting deep inside Blaise. The Slytherin moaned, pushing up against Harry one more time, and when Harry’s hands descended to play with his cock, it took only a moment for him to come all over Harry’s hands.

Harry licked it up from his fingers, and then settled himself comfortable over Blaise. His cock remained, softening in Blaise’s body. Warm fingers stroked his hair back from his sweaty forehead, and then a tongue slithered into his mouth and thanked him, wordlessly, forcefully. They both relaxed then, panting into the cool night air.

There was nothing like the comfort of being against Blaise’s body so intimately. Harry slept, but when he woke occasionally it was to nuzzle closer to Blaise, and to feel Blaise tenderly touching him, stroking his cheek, his neck. He slept dreamlessly, the first he had in a week, and woke with an aching but loose, satisfied feeling in his body the next morning.

Well, more like afternoon. It was late, and a hangover was already turning Harry’s initial wakeup joy into misery. Blaise was already awake, still lying beneath him. They sat up, and Harry reluctantly pulled away. He resumed his seat at the table with a groan at the sudden throb of a headache.

Blaise slipped off the table with ease, but his gait was different, awkward from the hard fuck Harry had given him. Harry grinned, watching as Blaise limped over to the kitchen. He bent over the drawers and strained towards the cupboards, giving Harry nice eyefuls of his arse. He mumbled, “Potion, potion,” to himself, and occasionally grimaced if he moved too fast. Harry reckoned Blaise’s current hangover was worse, since he had drank much more than Harry - at Malfoy’s wedding.

Finally he found the potion he wanted, and walked back over to join Harry at the table. He wordlessly handed Harry a steaming cup. He himself drank straight out of the bottle, reminding Harry of the Fire Whiskey the night before. Harry drank the potion, grimacing at the gross taste, and then sat back to wait for its effects.

“Nasty stuff, isn’t it?” Blaise grinned. He had drank his potion, and sat now with his feet on the table, and although he was surely feeling pain he gave no sign of it.

“I’ve always hated drinking potions,” Harry grumbled. “They very rarely taste any good. What’s the point of an art where you have to drink the results, when you can’t even make it taste good? Even Muggles have an idea of how to make medicine taste better.”

“Yes, but their cures don’t work as quickly. We have to sacrifice taste for a better result. Magic medicines are always better than Muggle methods.”

“I don’t know,” Harry laughed, “I remember re-growing bones in Second Year, and it was horrible. Fast, yes, but painful.”

Blaise Summoned breakfast to them, and halfway through, Harry started to feel normal again. He really wanted a bath though. Years of living with picky Petunia had made him lazy about cleaning himself up as a teenager, but with all the messes he’d experienced working as an Auror (read: garlands of guts, throw-up from ill victim, blood stains), it was wonderful to be clean.

He opened his mouth to suggest another shower together, but Blaise cut him off. “You want a bath, don’t you? I noticed you have a sortof thing about being clean.”

Harry frowned, and then laughed. “You noticed. Yes. You have a tub? I didn’t see one.”

Blaise rolled his eyes, and waited for Harry to stand before heading towards the bedroom bathroom. “It’s called Transfiguration, Harry. You started learning it when you were eleven. McGonagall was your Head of House, for Merlin’s sake. You must use it sometimes at home.”

Harry grumbled something and then said, “Please don’t give me the Malfoy treatment. I hate that. Besides…I’ve been living with Muggles lately. I guess some of their habits have rubbed off on me. Plus, it takes up time to do things the Muggle way, and sometimes I have too much time. Muggle methods keep me busy.”

Blaise Transfigured the shower into a roomy tub, and switched on the taps. He sat on the rim of it and looked at Harry. “Time? An Auror?”

Harry sighed and leaned against the counter. “My boss insisted I start taking more time off.”

The taps turned off with a flick of Blaise’s wand. “Oh?” Blaise raised a brow. “Why is that?”

Harry folded his arms across his chest, even though he knew it was a childish defensive pose. “I work too much, alright?” He huffed. “That’s the long and short of it.”

He brought his wand with him, tucking it in one corner of the tub’s expansive protruding shelf, and let himself sink bodily into the water. Its warmth surrounded him, and he basked in it a moment, before surfacing and shaking water from his head.

Blaise sat next to him in the tub, and he nodded his head towards Harry’s wand on the shelf. “Paranoid?”

Harry smiled. “Paranoid, otherwise known as Auror, otherwise known as Harry James Potter. Deal with it. It’s not about you.”

Blaise grinned at him, and began to lather himself with soap. “I like your fire, Harry. I noticed it at school and I liked it, especially when you gave Draco snark back threefold. You may not be Slytherin, but your wit is quick.”

“I almost was, actually. In Slytherin,” Harry said. It flowed out of him naturally, smoothly, and he regretted it a moment, revealing that secret, but then he saw the surprise on Blaise’s face and his regret vanished. He laughed.

“That’s the same look Ron gave me when I told him. Is it that surprising?”

Blaise shut his mouth and began to scrub himself. “Well…no, not really. After all, you got through so much, there has to be some good amount of cunning in that head of yours.”

He smiled. “Bravery and the ability to plow through to the end don’t guarantee success time and time again, I think. But…it is surprising, because that’s my House. And you entrenched yourself very deeply in the name Gryffindor, and seemed to loathe so thoroughly the qualities and people of Slytherin.”

Harry watched the circles of soap he was creating, and said slowly, “I know what you mean…but…well… I knew that really all Slytherins weren’t bad, because how could I say that, when I was almost put there myself? Arrogant to say, but true. My bias was begun from the very start, with something Ron said. And he’d already become a friend before I was Sorted. I realized in the last couple of years at Hogwarts, though, that my thing against Slytherin wasn’t all justified, because Slytherins aren’t all…well, I can’t even say ‘like Malfoy,’ because he’s one of the main reasons I’ve lost my problem with Slytherin House.”

Blaise looked at him. “Draco. Really? Tell me.”

“Well.” Harry swallowed. “He didn’t kill Dumbledore, for one thing. Snape did.”

Harry took a deep breath. “And…his mother helped me, right after I came back to life, after Voldemort killed me. I feel like they’ve redeemed themselves a little over the past few years, especially Narcissa Malfoy, testifying against Death Eaters in one or two cases…and Malfoy showed that he’s human. A coward, yes, impressionable, yes, rude and stupid sometimes…but he’s not as bad as I always thought he was. We all have things we’ve regretted…and I’m sure he does, when he sees that faded Mark on his arm.”

Harry looked up, and Blaise was studying him again. He bit his lip thoughtfully, and then nodded. “He does, you know. I’m not privy to a lot of what goes on in his head, but I’ve heard some of it. I think that he does wish he’d made different choices, sometimes.”

“I hope the choice of Astoria Greengrass doesn’t blow up on him.”

Blaise smiled at Harry, and then kissed him gently. “You’re generous, to care. I hope it doesn’t, either. Should we go out to lunch, or dinner as planned?”

Harry was hungry, but the idea of a moonlit dinner, however cheesy that was, had swirled in his head last night, and he wasn’t quite ready to give it up. Besides, if they had lunch, then perhaps he’d have to leave sooner. Having dinner made sure that Blaise had to spend the day with him. Because he wasn’t leaving now, only to come back later. No way was he going to sulk alone at his flat.

But what would he do, in an afternoon with Blaise?

“Dinner. But don’t expect me to have any ideas for what to do until then.”

Blaise tapped Harry on the temple, and rose from the bath. “Use that Slytherin-like brain of yours. What do you do in your spare time? You said you have so much of it. Surely Granger and Weasley aren’t so busy that they can’t spare time for you.”

Harry stood up, too, and stood dripping on the tiles until Blaise handed him a towel. He scrubbed himself over with it, and then his clothes, clean and dry, were put in front of him, and he put those on.

“It’s not that they have no time for me,” he explained. “It’s that I have no time for them. They’re still expecting me to get back together with Ginny.”

Blaise rolled his eyes again, and then smiled when Harry smiled at him. “How long has it been since you broke it with her?”

Harry watched with simultaneous sadness and eagerness as Blaise dressed – brown trousers with a flattering fit, a casual smooth blue shirt, slightly heeled squeaky glossy shoes, a spritz of something in his hair that made it tamed but still teasing. He answered, “One month,” and followed Blaise out onto the balcony.

“Hmm. And they haven’t gotten the point yet?” Blaise shook his head. “And knowing how stubborn you are. Well, that’s plain stupid.”

Harry grinned at him. “Thanks.”

Blaise winked. “Pleasure. So, what do you feel like doing? We can do anything, and go anywhere. No limits.”

Harry blushed, because he was happy that there were no limits, and he felt embarrassed with how happy he was with all of this. He looked away so Blaise wouldn’t read it in his face. He was delighted that Blaise was so easy to be with. Blaise was courteous. He was kind. He was funny, and understanding, and hadn’t asked Harry an annoying, prying question since Harry had pointedly requested he not. And he was sexy in nothing and anything, and he had his entire day free for Harry.

They could go anywhere and do anything! Harry wanted to laugh. This was just the sort of thing he’d burned for as a child – a free day, with no Dursleys or lack of money to stop him from doing anything. And friends, of course. He’d desperately wished for friends. He had them now, and money, and more free time, but Blaise, whose companionship was proving quite enjoyable, was all of that and more.

Here he had wanted this sort of thing as a child – time, friends, money – and he couldn’t think of what to do. He had no idea.

Harry laughed. “I don’t know what to do. I would be happy with anything, really. There’s so much out there I haven’t seen, places I haven’t been…work ties me down, I don’t get to travel a lot. I’d love to go flying…” He sighed, in an embarrassingly revealing, wistful fashion.

Blaise looked perturbed. “You don’t get to go flying whenever you want to?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Work gets in the way. And the reporters…and people, including friends…and not wanting to be seen around my Muggle neighborhood… etcetera.”

“Hmm. I think those are all easily overcome.” Blaise frowned out over the park. “We must go flying, then. Do you have your broom with you?”

“No.”

Blaise raised his brows. “Let’s go get it.”

Harry cringed, and wasn’t able to hide it before Blaise saw it. “Um, well,” he sputtered in the face of Blaise’s curious expression, “My, my flat…” He sighed, and then laughed. “It’s an absolute sty! I’m miserable at cleaning spells.”

Blaise laughed, and that started Harry laughing again. “I don’t care, Harry!” he said. “I don’t care if your flat is dirty. I’ll help you clean it. After we go flying. And then we can go out to dinner somewhere pleasant and quiet. Come on.”

Clean his flat? Oh no. Hope flared up in Harry – maybe Blaise really did like Harry for more than just sex? – and also self loathing, for even wanting that. Couldn’t he learn how to be happy alone? Harry didn’t like feeling needy. He sucked in a breath and schooled his face not to show the feelings in him.

He held his arms out, and it was ridiculous how good it felt and how easy it was – already, already, and he had only known this man for two nights! – to step into his embrace.

Harry thought of his flat and Apparated them in a single turn.

They arrived in his bedroom, and Harry dove for his closet where he proceeded to begin unlocking the sets of spells on it that kept his Firebolt and some other things safe. He wanted to leave soon, so that Blaise wouldn’t see how badly kept his flat was. But it was too late, for already Blaise was looking around. He saw the unmade bed in the corner by the window, the tall electric lamp next to it, the bookshelves, and the desk, which was cluttered.

Folders of case files were littered all over, amidst Quidditch magazines, candy wrappers, and a trunk at the foot of Harry’s bed was so full that things were bursting out of it. He had Potions items on a little shelf on one wall, alongside a Quidditch calendar, and an old Gryffindor badge hanging on a nail next to that. It seemed silly, now. Framed moving pictures of Ron and Hermione, the Weasley family, Dumbledore, one of his parents sat on his desk and bedside table. Blaise hovered there longer, and Harry took advantage of the time to grab his Firebolt.

“Ready?”

Blaise turned and surveyed Harry as if Harry were part of the room. Harry laughed nervously and scratched his head. His broom was thrumming in his hand already, as if eager to be used after being neglected for too long.

“Alright,” Blaise said. “But I’m coming back with you, to help you clean. I promised I would, and I won’t back out. Besides, you need the help,” he laughed, “Although frankly, I thought it would be worse.”

Harry laughed. “You haven’t seen the laundry room.”

Blaise Apparated them back to his flat, and unpacked his broom from a very nice custom made trunk that Harry envied for one brief flash. Blaise’s broom was a sleek reddish wood, with every twig nearly in place. Also a Firebolt.

Harry stood waiting, not sure how they were going to pull this off or where from. “Why didn’t you play Quidditch at Hogwarts?” he asked.

Blaise took his arm and Harry followed him out of the bedroom and into the hallway. They stood there a moment, and Blaise was silent. He turned to face the picture on the wall, and tapped his wand twice on the right side of a picture frame, once on the left, twice to bottom, once on top, then once in the middle.

“Seven,” he whispered to himself, and then whispered a password to the frame. Immediately it shrunk down, dropped to the floor, and scuttled away like a sort of crab. Again Blaise tapped, now at the revealed wall, and then he carved some symbol in the air while saying another spell Harry couldn’t quite hear.

Then he yanked Harry’s arm, and they fell through the wall. A secret lift was there, and Blaise said, “Fire escape.”

The lift whirred them in a stomach-lurching pattern sideways, up, around, and up again, and then dumped them unceremoniously on a rickety stairway landing after Blaise checked for people.

“There,” he said, as he got up smiling. “Nobody’s around.”

They were at the very back of the building, and directly in front of them was the plain wall of the back of another apartment building. They were so high up, that the nearest row of windows was below them. No one seemed to be around.

“Sorry about the whispering. I have to do that with everyone who visits, if they come out here with me, because I don’t want anyone jeopardizing the safety of my flat. To answer your question,” Blaise said, “I didn’t play Quidditch because I’m a very private person, and I already had enough reputation by my First Year, because my mother had already killed three husbands – my father was Husband Two, in case you’re wondering. I didn’t want the extra attention, I didn’t give a whit for glory, and I had enough fun playing it with others during the summer. If I were on a team, I would make a decent Chaser.”

Harry made a face. “On the having a reputation already in First Year…I can relate.”

They laughed, and mounted their brooms. Immediately Harry felt that familiar rush of adrenaline and joy surge into him. Flying! It had been way too long! He looked over at Blaise and said, “Any particular direction we should go?”

“Up.”

Harry kicked off and hurtled upwards, far beyond the roofs of the nearby buildings, up into the clouds, wind and sunlight. He shut his eyes and just let himself go. It felt so perfect to be up here, to have no more walls – no shutting himself up in the boxlike rooms of his flat, no people trying to shut him in, no more having to shut his friends or Ginny or anyone out. It was just him and his Firebolt, with the entire sky available.

He flew with abandon, rushing, slowing, twirling, diving, around and around. When he focused again, he saw that Blaise was up above him, smiling and watching.

“I love this!” Harry shouted up at him. “Thank you!”

Blaise shrugged, turning around Harry in a figure eight. “No trouble. Besides, I didn’t really do anything.”

Harry grinned at him. “Yes, you did. You made this happen. You shot down my stupid reasons for not going out flying. And you’re here with me, and it’s better with someone. Sometimes. When I’m not intensely concentrating on the Snitch, it’s better.”

“You have a full set of Quidditch equipment?”

Harry shook his head. “Just a Snitch. I like to keep one on hand. I don’t want to get rusty.”

He didn’t tell Blaise the back story, that one Snitch he had was the very same he’d first touched, the one that Dumbledore had placed the Resurrection Stone in. He still had it, because he had a fondness for it. The one he actually played with was another, which Ginny, Ron and Hermione had bought for him with loads of savings last year. He’d been going out for lone practice sessions with it since (against the advice of Hermione, who thought it far too dangerous – what if he had an accident and no one was there to help? She had a point. Harry just didn’t want to listen).

“Do you have it on you?”

“No. Just flying is all right with me, for now. Have you ever been night flying?”

They were side by side now, dipping down through clouds to look at the view a moment, then back up.

“I like night flying,” Blaise said, “Especially in the country. It’s very quiet. Different. And you get beautiful sights in winter…the snow just lying over everything. It gets cold, of course. A simple warming spell in a coat only lasts so long. And I would use Fire Whiskey, but drinking and flying don’t go very well together.”

Harry laughed. “That makes me think of Muggles. They say the same about drinking and driving cars. Of course, it’s not really funny. A lot of people get killed from drunk driving.”

Blaise leaned back on his broom, casual, resting. “Do you do a lot of things the Muggle way, Harry?”

Harry felt his face go hot. “No, not a lot. I Apparate a lot, I read the magical news like everyone else, I owl, and a lot of my free time places are wizarding. But I do like to go out clubbing at Muggle places on Friday nights sometimes…”

They smiled together, knowingly, in camaraderie, in gladness for how they had met – again.

He dared the question he didn’t really want to ask. “Does it bother you that I live amongst Muggles? That I do some things their way?”

Blaise flew closer, and slid a hand up Harry’s arm. His smile seemed warmer in the sunlight somehow, his eyes brighter. “No, not really. I care more about who people are than how they do things. But, I suppose if someone were to choose Muggle over magical, and weren’t a Squib, then I would wonder.”

Harry nodded. “I would, too. I grew up in a Muggle household, but it was a dream come true when I got my Hogwarts letter. I wouldn’t give up all this for anything…I wouldn’t have a life, really, without magic. I mean, I would still be thinking that my parents died in a car crash, and weird things would be going on around me with no explanation…talking to snakes and all that with no answers, I think I would’ve gone nuts by now.”

“You can’t do it anymore, can you. Parseltongue.”

Harry blinked. “How did you know? Not a lot of people know that. They don’t know why I was able to speak it in the first place.”

“Rumors in the media. So they’re true?”

Harry flew up and around in circles. “Yes, they are. I can’t speak it anymore, because Voldemort killed that part of me, when he killed me, before I came back.”

He was nervous. He didn’t talk to very many people about this, not even Ron and Hermione. But Blaise was so easy to talk to. Was that a problem, or good? It was good, right? Because he trusted Blaise with the information. He really did, he realized.

“So now all the Slytherin bits in you are dead? Guess you’re not as clever as I thought after all,” Blaise smirked.

They laughed together. The sun was still bright in the sky, and for what might have been hours, or maybe minutes, they flew more, far enough that Harry thought maybe they were near his flat. They flew back leisurely, and when it was time to go back down because of the combination of rain and Harry’s stomach rumbling, he didn’t want to.

“Er, Blaise,” he murmured, looking over at the handsome man leaning over his broom across from him. “Can we do this again? Flying. Together. Maybe we could try a night time trip or something.”

That melting smile flashed in Harry’s direction. “I’d love to.”

They landed back at the fire escape after checking for people, and again took the horrible lift, and were back in Blaise’s apartment as the sun was disappearing over the horizon line.

“I know it’s early,” Harry said, “but I’m starving.”

Blaise finished putting his broom away, and tucked Harry’s carefully beneath his bed. “It’s all the sex,” he explained, “And the Fire Whiskey. They make you hungrier than is rational.”

He gave Harry a devilish grin, to which Harry could only laugh in response. Then he took Harry’s arm, and said, “First things first. We have to clean your flat.”

Harry’s stomach grumbled as if to voice his feelings on that idea. “Can’t that wait, Blaise?”

Long lashes stroked down, then back up, and Blaise was closer now, smiling at Harry tenderly. “I like it when you call me Blaise,” he whispered, “During sex or conversation.”

Then he was leaning in, and Harry accepted the long, tonguing kiss that Blaise gave him. It made him a little hungry in a different way. He sighed into Blaise’s mouth, kissing back, wrapping dark curls around his fingers and tugging.

“I’ll be fast, I promise,” Blaise assured Harry, and grumbling, Harry grabbed his broom, and then they Apparated back to his messy flat.

He stayed behind, putting his broom away as slow as he could, while Blaise stepped out to start cleaning – or, as Harry suspected, to look around when Harry’s resentful gaze wasn’t there. Soundlessly he walked around, and Harry, with his wand tucked away, could not help but think – this was dangerous. He would never allow someone who he had only known for a couple days into his apartment, especially a competent wizard, especially someone with family in the Dark Arts. As an Auror, his brain told him this was stupid. But as a man, as Harry, it told him not to be so paranoid.

He wondered if being around Blaise was going to make him lose his sense of caution, timing, and a sense for the criminal, all which he needed as an Auror. He needed to expect danger around every corner. He needed to wonder about the backgrounds of fellow witches and wizards. He needed to know their backgrounds, in case there were clues to any of his cases. He needed to know who carried their wand with them always, and who didn’t. He needed to be “paranoid,” because that paranoia could mean the difference between life and death.

With a sigh, while making sure his hand was close to his wand, Harry walked down the short hallway to his living room.

Blaise sat on an utterly clean couch that was almost unrecognizable. It had no dust. It had no clothes or books or junk piled on it. Its pillows were fluffed and spotless, and the coffee table in front of it shone. Blaise had his feet rested there, and his arms were on either side of him. He surveyed the room and then looked at Harry.

“It’s like you’re living at the bottom of Hogwarts Lake,” he smiled, a wide smile that was close to laughter, “some things here are useful, but most of it can go. And a lot of it is just shit. And perhaps there’s one or two dangerous items, one or two ‘mermaids’ or ‘Giant Squid’ things.”

Harry really liked that analogy, and knew it was true. A lot of the things he had lying around could be gotten rid of – broken Dark Arts items he had been studying for work but never figured out, books he would never read that he’d been gifted, and a conspicuously unopened Potions kit, to name a few.

“Where do I start? I want to help. I’m not going to let you clean my whole flat alone.”

Blaise grinned. “Just how bad are you at cleaning spells? If you’re really bad, then you’ll just make it harder for me.”

“Uh…” Harry blushed. He felt really stupid now. “I admit most of it is laziness.”

“How about you start in the laundry room, since you think it’s so bad that you don’t want me to see it. I haven’t even found where it is, anyway. I’ll do the living room.”

“Thanks.”

Harry put himself in the laundry room behind the large living room, and set to moving, washing, and drying his clothes. A couple items got burned, or were flung against the wall by accident, but for the most part he did alright. (And some of the clothes, Ginny’s, he burned on purpose). From behind him he could hear Blaise murmuring spells, and occasionally the grind of furniture moving, when Blaise hadn’t the space to shift things silently with a spell.

He was a little afraid of what he would see when he returned to the living room. For how would he ever keep it up to whatever standard Blaise would establish for it?

His thoughts were interrupted by the alarming sound of his doorbell ringing. Ding, dong, ding, dong! Harry stood up straight quickly, and stepped into the laundry room doorway. Blaise stood across the room, and their eyes met.

Shit!

Harry checked his magical danger items to see if the intruder was anyone but a Muggle, even if only Muggles ever seemed to ring his door bell. After checking it was safe, he gestured quickly to Blaise to help him set things back to “normal.”

Hovering furniture slammed down to the floor with a couple ungraceful bangs. Harry hoped they didn’t break anything. Other items that were magical and miscellaneous were shrunk down and shoved into a drawer messily. Harry thrust a pile of magical newspapers into a cupboard, while Blaise magicked the moving pictures in the living room to be still (the people in his photos didn’t like that much, but Blaise was forceful about it).

Finally everything was Muggle-ized, and Harry answered the door breathlessly. “Sorry about that,” he wheezed, “We were lifting a sofa. What’s the problem?”

A woman he vaguely recognized was standing in his doorway in trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. She eyed Blaise standing in the background, and for a moment Harry felt like he should have his wand in his hand, but then her gaze returned to Harry and she smiled.

“I was just wondering if you could keep it down a little, if possible,” she said, “I live below you, and you two were making a bit of a racket with all that furniture. But I suppose you can’t help it. It’s not as if you can float it, after all!”

She laughed, and Harry laughed with her. He smiled, running a hand through his hair, saying, “Yeah, sorry about that. We’ll try to be done as quickly as possible. I’m finally cleaning my place, so it’s hard to get behind some areas…we’ll try to be more careful about it. I’m glad you came up to ask. Feel free to come by if we make too much noise again.”

“Alright, thanks.” She was already turning away, and walking down the corridor. “See you.”

“Bye.”

Harry waved and shut the door, and then slammed himself unceremoniously against it, gasping. “That was close.”

Blaise stood just looking at Harry, smiling. “Very close. Does that happen a lot? My Muggle neighbors tend to leave the flat and my supposed roommate alone. You must be very social.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, it does change things, because of the fact that the Muggles know where I live, whereas they think you live next door with that witch.”

Blaise had spelled the heavy furniture up into the air again, and was casting cleaning spells on the floor in quick stabbing motions. “True, but still…I think you’re just afraid to admit that you enjoy their company. It’s alright. And maybe you’re lonely, too. It takes time getting used to living alone, I imagine. I was brought mostly alone, so I’m used to it, but you weren’t.”

Harry’s stomach would have felt queasy at where the topic of conversation was going, if it weren’t so hungry. Blaise had a way of getting to heart of matters when he really wanted to. Was he worried for Harry?

“Thank you for the concern. You’re right again, as usual. But do we have to talk about it? It makes me feel like crap, honestly.”

Blaise let his wand hand drop, and he looked straight at Harry. “You have got to take more control of your life, Harry. That’s what you’re missing. You’re so used to everyone else controlling it for you. Those Muggles you lived with…Dumbledore…your friends, then and now. I’m not here to control your life. I want you to take the reins. Do what you will with life. Make it yours. Work for your happiness. Don’t let it drown you.”

Harry knew Blaise was right. He had been controlled by so many, and those who controlled him, though he had loved some of them and still did (Dumbledore, his friends, etc.), still he had a right to take control of his own life. But he didn’t want a lonely, self-contained life where he’d arranged things for himself. He did want to be with someone, because he was afraid that he was terrible at knowing what to do all by himself. Somehow, he wasn’t fulfilled enough all alone, even with his work that he wouldn’t leave for the world.

“I suppose you’re right,” Harry nodded, “I’m going through a sort of transition period, in several senses of the word.”

“Those are often the most interesting parts of life. Aren’t you going to finish the laundry room?”

For Harry was standing there, just looking at Blaise. He’d been thinking that it was another plus that this man seemed to intuit what was going on with Harry, without Harry having to struggle to get it out. And maybe Blaise was even willing to help Harry get himself and his life together more.

He shook himself from his reverie and returned to the laundry. A little while later and his stomach was positively growling. He walked out into the living room with his mouth open, ready to ask about dinner, but then his mouth remained open.

The floor was clear. The furniture was all dusted, poofed, scrubbed, and perfect. Even the windowsills were shining. His television shelf had magazines on one side, piled neatly, and all signs of his case files were gone from the living room. Candy wrappers were gone. Stains from potions and spells were cleared. His kitchen…Harry stumbled into it, still gaping. The counters were clear. He opened his cupboards. The items were organized, in rows, in piles, cups and plates easy to reach. The hallway’s shelf of books was neatened.

Harry stepped into his room, and Blaise was there, lying on his bed. God, that gave Harry ideas. Blaise smiled, turning onto his belly, and flung his hair back from his face. “Do you like it? I left your room for you to clean. I didn’t want to accidentally find anything private. But I put your case files in the drawers of your desk where they belong. I’ll admit to opening a couple, but I read no names. It’s startling to see what you work with every day…all of that gore, there’s no romanticizing that.”

Harry joined him on the bed, and slowly lay down next to Blaise. It was a tight fit, but it felt good.

“But,” Blaise continued, “Looking at a couple of your files didn’t ruin my appetite. How’s yours?”

Again Harry was struck by the insinuation of Blaise’s words. Was his meaning purely literal, or also sexual? Or only sexual?

Harry sat up and leaned over Blaise, and kissed him. He showed the hunger in his kiss, the desire that he felt springing in him at the sight of Blaise in his room, on his bed. He had thought he wouldn’t like it, especially because his room was still relatively messy, but he didn’t just like it, he loved it. He really enjoyed the sight of Blaise stretched out in his bedroom, on his bed, his sweet smell on the sheets, wisps of his hair left on Harry’s pillow for later…

He kissed Blaise deeply, licking, tonguing, passionate enough that Blaise moaned. At the same time his hands drifted up beneath Blaise’s shirt, just touching Blaise’s soft skin. His lover reached his arms up to pull Harry closer, moving his lips gently over Harry’s, moving his hands over Harry’s arse and groping.

They pulled apart and wordlessly stared at each other. Harry was caught by the desire and happiness that flooded Blaise’s warm gaze, and he leaned in to give Blaise another kiss, but Blaise stopped him with a finger against his mouth.

“We have to stop, or else you’ll starve,” Blaise murmured, “And besides, this will give us something to look forward to after dinner.”

Harry smiled, and gave a lick to Blaise’s finger and then sat up. “Yes. So where would you like to eat? Do I need to dress up?”

“Fine as is. Are you a fan of Italian?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. That’s where your mother comes from, isn’t it? Italy?”

“Yes. We have a castle there, and she’s not visiting that one at the moment. Would you like to go?”

“Wait. To Italy? You have a manor there?”

“A castle, yes. I can have the chef make something for us, and then we can do some night flying before we return, if we aren’t too full. Do you like the idea?”

Harry grinned. “Italy! Of course. Let’s go.”

They stood up, and Harry took Blaise’s hand. Then it was all a whirl…

____________________________________________________________________

Heh, the chapters in this fic always seem to end in Apparition....ah well....the next chapter will hopefully be the last.
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Harry Potter, Virgin Extraordinaire