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Chapter Ten—What Draco Malfoy Fought

“What is going on, Harry?”

Harry took in Rodrigo’s folded arms and aggressive stance with a sigh. He would have to explain Draco’s presence now, and he doubted there was anything that would adequately do it.

He ran a hand through his hair and said, “I’m sorry, Rodrigo. I left Britain because I was convinced that I’d made an utterly stupid mistake and could never be with the man I wanted to be with. I was trying to find someone else I could like. And I do like you,” he added quickly. Looked at objectively, he thought, Rodrigo was still a better match for him than Draco. He didn’t know how he and Draco were going to fit together. They might have smashing sex, but Draco would probably laugh when he discovered how long Harry had spent watching him from afar. “I didn’t know he’d show up here. I didn’t tell him where I was going. I didn’t want to have anything more to do with him.”

Rodrigo arched an eyebrow and flicked a glance at the door of the room, which Harry had closed behind him. “I’m not stupid,” he said. “I know what you did in there.”

Harry winced and nodded. “But I didn’t anticipate that,” he said. “I still don’t think we’ll really be together. He wasn’t my boyfriend when I came here, and I didn’t try to cheat on him with you.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “That’s really all I wanted to say.”

Rodrigo clenched his jaw for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he believed Harry. Then he reached out and squeezed his hand, so tightly it could have been a blessing or shown anger. “Good luck,” he said. “I do not know whether to hope you will succeed or fail.”

Harry relaxed and shook Rodrigo’s hand eagerly. “At least we’re in the same situation, then,” he said. “I don’t know, either.”

*

Potter came back into the room subdued, his eyes dark and thoughtful in a way that Draco didn’t like. When Potter tried to think, he tied his brain up in a labyrinthine maze of contradictions and knotted innocent people—like Draco—in with him. It would be best to act before he had time to reconsider.

“Of course you’ll come back to Britain with me tonight,” he said.

Potter jerked his head up as if Draco had startled him from deep contemplation, which told Draco that he had interrupted those thoughts just in time. Then he scowled. “Of course I won’t,” he said. “I have to finish my business at the Spanish Ministry first, and even if Rodrigo can’t be my guide, running away in the middle of the job would be extremely unprofessional.”

“Hmmm.” Draco let his eyelids fall. “Yet you wrote love letters to me whilst you worked. I hadn’t thought a touch of the unprofessional would bother you.”

Potter snorted. “My job as an Auror has nothing to do with this,” he said. “Except that it’ll probably exacerbate your arrogance and make it impossible for us to be together after all.”

“I admit I would prefer a lover who worked in a field less—inimical to the history of my family,” Draco said delicately. “But if you wish for me to let you go, you will need to find a more compelling reason.”

“You’ll see,” said Potter, with an infuriating amount of gloomy satisfaction. “If it’s not my job, it’ll be something else. Something will make sure that we can’t be together. You’ll see.” He nodded to himself and brushed past Draco towards the bed.

Draco seized Potter’s arm and made him turn about. “Evidently you don’t realize what a rare event this is,” he whispered. Standing close to Potter, he could smell his sweat and see the lines of tension and scorn around his eyes. He considered a kiss, but decided it would work against his best interests at the moment. “I don’t come after lovers. I don’t give them chances when they’ve tried to run away from me. But I did for you.”

Potter wrenched away, and such was his strength from Auror training that Draco actually let him go in surprise. Potter took a stiff step back and then stood there with anger radiating like heat off his body. Draco gave a slight gasp as he stared into his eyes. Had Potter’s eyes ever looked like that when they were still students at Hogwarts and he was angry? Surely not, or Draco might have suspected that the passion he needed existed right in front of him.

“As arrogant as ever, I see,” Potter said, his voice disagreeably cool. Draco would have preferred his voice riled and sparking to match his eyes. “Has it occurred to you that I’d done my best to distance myself? I didn’t ask for you to make an extra special exception to your normal rule of treating other people like the shit that you scrape off your boots.”

“You as much as said that I’d have to mend my manners to have a chance with you,” Draco said, his irritation overwhelming his admiration. “And now my attempts to do it can’t win so much as an acknowledgment from you?”

Potter sneered. It looked ugly and wrong on him, and Draco opened his mouth to tell him so, but Potter beat him to the mark. “The motive matters as much as the actions—not that your actions are so clever or far-reaching at the moment, given all the insults you’ve hurled since you saw me face-to-face.”

“You were insulting me as well,” Draco said, and rage crept into the back of his voice.

Potter gave him a look of devastating pity. Draco had to fight not to lash out. “Oh, please, Draco. You sound like you’re at Hogwarts and trying to convince McGonagall that I should have detention instead of you.”

Draco tried to count to ten in French, but Potter had flowed on, evidently mistaking his silence as acquiescence. “And you still haven’t internalized the first part of your new lessons. The motive matters as much as the actions. If you’re only changing your behavior to coddle me, then it can’t last, not the way it would if you had actually decided that other people were worthy of your respect and attention. And I don’t like being coddled.”

“Oh, bollocks,” Draco snapped, a thousand circumstances from the Battle of Hogwarts on filtering into his mind. “You’re telling me that you don’t appreciate the opportunities you’re offered? The way that the Ministry smoothes your path every time you have to spend a day speaking to the public on the anniversary of the Dark Lord’s defeat? The fact that—”

“I’ve never been the attention-seeker that you thought me,” Potter said, leaning into Draco’s personal space and curling his lip as if he were about to spit. Draco might have moved away in fear for the sanctity of his robes, but he knew Potter would interpret the movement as a sign of weakness. He would have to put up with a Cleaning Charm if Potter chose to bestow his saliva on Draco. “As it happens, the protections that I do accept are necessary so fame-hungry assassins can’t kill me. There’s this thing called death that Aurors face on a daily basis, though I understand how you may have forgotten that, living in the middle of a Manor that doesn’t show you one plain natural fact—”

“You fucker,” Draco hissed, and shot his hand out, gripping Potter’s arm and clamping down. Potter gave him another look of pity, and Draco dug his fingers into Potter’s bicep. At least that produced a minute flinch. “Have you forgotten what they did to my mother? I live with the presence of death and the war every day, even if I don’t have a scar on my forehead to prove it.”

*

Harry badly wished that he could be sure a Time-Turner still existed somewhere in Britain, so he could go back and erase the last few minutes.

No matter what happens, I say the wrong thing around him, he thought, and dashed his free hand across his forehead and the scar Draco had just damned. I keep thinking that his experience wasn’t so much different than my own and acting like he’ll understand me and argue for a while and then make up like Ron would. But he won’t, and I’m an idiot for trying this.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lowly, his eyes fastened on the floor because he would fuck matters up even worse if he looked at Draco right now. “I did forget. But I shouldn’t. Your mother helped save me in the Forbidden Forest, and she was part of the reason I fell in love with you in the first place, because I saw how well you loved and defended her.” He summoned as much courage as he’d needed to fight in the Battle of Hogwarts, or at least it felt that way, and looked up into Draco’s eyes.

Draco was regarding him with the distant, imperturbable expression that Harry hadn’t learned to read, except to know that he offered it to too many of his dates. Harry shook his head in frustration.

“Can’t you see that this won’t work?” he demanded. “We’re together for half an hour and we duel, hump each other, and then try to bludgeon each other to death with words. There’s nothing that can come out of that. It’s a dead end, and you and I have both had enough of those.”

Draco continued to watch him in silence. Harry fretted and clenched his arm in Draco’s grip as the silence stretched to snapping point. Why doesn’t he say something? Any explanation, any accusation, is better than this.

Finally, Draco said, “Do you honestly think it would be any better if we separated?”

Harry blinked for a while. Is he stupid or what? But Draco went on staring at him, waiting for an answer, and that showed remarkable patience, for him. Harry at last tried cautiously, “Well, yes. You would have some space to recover from the wounds I’ve dealt you. I would have room to think myself out of my feelings.”

“I don’t think it would work,” Draco said, and his grip on Harry’s arm changed subtly, drawing him near without demanding his presence. “I think that I would still be tempted to come after you, because of the excitement factor. And you said you’re in love with me. One doesn’t generally walk away from love.” He paused. “And there’s the fact that I brought my mother home from St. Mungo’s almost two years ago. Can you honestly think you’ll forget that emotion in another two?”

Harry exhaled a frustrated breath and closed his eyes. “The excitement factor isn’t enough,” he said. “You need other things. Children. Someone who knows and understands the pure-blood traditions. I know how important your family is to you. You’ll have to marry to expand it sooner or later.”

*

Draco waited for long moments before he could reply. If he tried now, then he would only curse Potter for his stupidity, which perhaps the idiot was trying to get him to do.

But Draco wouldn’t play that game. He enjoyed the insults on one level; that level wouldn’t get him what he wanted. Potter had taunted and coaxed and lured him with those letters. Draco could see that he would have to do the same thing in turn, at least for a little while.

“I don’t have to get married now,” he murmured, turning his head so that his breath brushed against Potter’s ear. Ah. A shiver. He’s not immune to me. “We don’t know that this would be permanent. We might try it and see. And you underestimate how important the excitement factor is for me. It’s something I’ve never had before. I want to try it now before I dismiss it as a mere childish temptation.”

Potter hesitated.

It was a hesitation that Draco had seen too often to mistake. He smiled thinly, glad that Potter was looking away from him at the moment and couldn’t see an expression he might have interpreted as reason for discouragement. Good. He does want to be me with me. It’s his own scruples holding him back, and nothing else.

“Think about it,” he continued, keeping his voice soft but neutral. Unlike most of the women he’d dated, who were willing partners in their own seductions, Potter would balk if he saw the path leading to bed too clearly. “Why not date me? That way we’ll learn more quickly whether we’re suited for each other or not. If we go our separate ways, you’ll always pine and I’ll always wonder.” He had thought of saying that he would pine, too, but refrained at the last moment. Potter didn’t believe that Draco’s feelings were as strong for him as his were for Draco—quite reasonably—and speaking too much in hyperbole could break the spell.

“Why not?” he said again, when Potter stood there in silence, and nudged his hip against Potter’s. Potter clamped his legs together promptly, which made Draco smile, and smolder at the same time with the desire to get between those legs again. “A temporary arrangement can’t do any harm.”

“I told you that I didn’t want to simply be tolerated,” Potter said tightly, and turned his head. The look in his eyes matched the tension that vibrated in the lines of his throat. It would have helped if Draco hadn’t immediately thought about how that throat tasted.

But he had pushed on before through more potent distractions, and he did now. “Temporary for the moment,” he said. “It might grow and become something more permanent and lasting.” He forced himself into a light shrug, and so lied with his body as well as his next words. “I don’t think it will, with your desire to get away from me at all costs, but it could work.”

Potter relaxed and tilted his head. It was obvious when his brain was running, Draco thought; the green eyes clouded and the lines around his mouth sharpened, as if he were determined to make himself look old before his time. Perhaps he could do with tutoring in hiding his emotions, and not only because of Draco’s pure-blood social circle, who would look on his openness as gauche. It would help confuse the criminals, too, who could probably read every plan from his face as matters stood.

“It could work,” Potter echoed at last, and looked up at Draco with hard eyes. “But I need to tell you the story of how I came up with the letters and enlisted Astoria first.”

“Of course,” Draco said politely, and easily stepped away now, knowing that he’d won and that Potter wanted to move into a more comfortable position. “I am eager to hear it.”

*

Harry explained the story as briefly as he could, because it made him sound stupid and he didn’t like doing that in front of Draco.

Not even though his stupidity might have convinced Draco to retire for his own peace of mind.

Harry berated himself for it, but he needed to stay close to Draco for a short time if there was some hope. He’d spent too long at a distance and trying to convince himself the distance would never contract. Now it had, and Harry was living in a mental and physical world that didn’t make sense.

If I stay close to him, then perhaps I can learn to dislike his arrogance more than I love the rest of him and get away, Harry thought hopefully.

Draco listened to the letter story without comment, though his face spoke—at least to someone who knew him as well as Harry did—with its flickers of eyelids and its bending of brows. At last he said, “And you were happy to see Astoria marry me?”

“Content,” Harry corrected. “I knew it would be the best thing for you.”

Draco’s nostrils flared. “You’ve done an awful lot of thinking that things are good for me without considering what my take on the situation would be,” he said.

“But Astoria does have stronger feelings for you than most of the women you dated, who only wanted to sleep with you,” Harry said. Draco could think Harry was stupid—it would happen anyway, and perhaps it was the best thing in the long run—but Harry wouldn’t hear him defame Astoria. “She was part of your circle already. And she was female. She would have been perfect if you’d fallen in love with her.”

“You’re the reason I didn’t.” Draco’s eyes locked with his. “You wrote letters that portrayed someone she couldn’t be.”

Harry shrugged irritably, and wished he could look away. “So that’s why I did it,” he said. “I wanted you to be happy.”

“And you would have been—happy, if I had dated Astoria?” Draco laughed in a delicate, sarcastic manner that made Harry’s spine prickle. “Forgive me for not believing that.”

“Not happy,” Harry said. “Content.”

“I understand the distinction,” Draco said, “but not why you choose to make it for yourself.”

“Because your happiness matters more to me than mine, of course,” Harry said, frowning and wondering how Draco could have missed that. He was sure he’d put it in his story. “Why do you think I left England? I wanted to stay away from you and stop communicating with you because I didn’t think I’d make you happy if I didn’t.”

*

Draco sat in silence, staring at Potter. He knew that he should come up with a witty reply; he had a reputation to protect.

But he couldn’t, because he had never encountered any statement that summed up someone’s nature quite so well.

He knew that most of the people he associated with would not have said the same thing. They were too accustomed to negotiations, to games. One gave away information in return for information, and Draco had made no similarly revealing confession. Potter tossed the currency of his soul into the air as if he did not care where it fell.

Someone should.

And the strong hunger in his belly told Draco that he wanted to be that person.

Someone else might come along and claim Harry. Or Harry might drive himself into someone else’s arms, the way he had chosen this Spanish Auror in an effort to forget Draco.

He was clever but with amusing blind spots. He was brave enough to face Draco in a duel instead of running away—even if he had tried to Obliviate Draco at first—and then admit the embarrassing story of the letters. He could bare his spirit without noticing he had done so, but still Draco didn’t think it was something he did on a regular basis, or the interviews in the Prophet would have been a mite more honest and a good deal more arresting. He simply couldn’t help doing it in front of someone whom he loved.

And Draco couldn’t wait to find out what it was like to fuck him.

Yes, altogether Harry Potter was quite a bargain.

Draco stood. Harry watched him come with an arched brow. He didn’t quite manage to hide the nervousness behind the gesture, but Draco knew it would have fooled many a less discerning audience. He laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. It tensed beneath his fingers, but still Harry didn’t back away. Draco was beginning to fathom why that would be anathema to someone like him.

He bent his head and touched his lips to Harry’s with far more gentleness than he’d shown so far. He wanted to persuade more than he wanted to seduce.

Harry made to pull away at first, but Draco delicately chased him, flicking his tongue once against Harry’s lips before returning to a normal kiss. In the end, even if Harry didn’t have much choice about Draco’s trying to make this a permanent arrangement, it was best to leave him the illusion of choice.

*

Harry didn’t understand Draco close at hand the way he thought he did when watching from a distance. Draco seemed to have more mood shifts than a hurricane and as few reasons for the change.

But he believed he understood the emotion behind this kiss. Draco seemed strongly affected by his words. He couldn’t say that, of course, and perhaps he didn’t want Harry to know it at all. He could use actions to show it, though.

Harry stopped flinching away when he thought that. He returned the kiss with interest, opening his mouth to admit Draco’s tongue.

Even when invited, Draco took his time, probing slowly inwards instead of trying to conquer Harry’s mouth as he had earlier. By the time Harry had felt dozens of soft touches to the insides of his cheeks and the roof of his mouth and the back of his teeth, he was wandering in a mental fog, half-ready to lie back and let Draco have his way with him.

As always, it was his love for Draco that saved him. Draco perhaps believed they could coexist; Harry was not so certain.

He braced a hand on Draco’s chest and pushed him backwards. Draco went, but his pupils had become great blown dark blots of color and he rested both hands on Harry’s shoulders as though he would fall if he let go. His gaze never stopped roaming Harry’s face, collecting emotions from it.

“I do have to finish up my job in Spain before we go back to Britain,” Harry said. His voice sounded hoarser than normal, and he shook his head. Draco might not be good for my mental health.

His body pulsed an enthusiastic suggestion about what Draco would be good for. Harry held his attention on what he needed to say with difficulty, waiting for some acknowledgment of his words.

Draco blinked languidly, which seemed to be the extent of his response. Harry drew a deep breath—unfortunately filled with Draco’s scent—and forged on. “But then I’ll come back to Britain with you, and we will talk. I want this, even if it’s wrong. Even if it’s temporary. I at least want to try.”

Draco caught his breath, and blinked again, and then gave Harry a smile of such brilliance that Harry stepped backwards. Draco’s hands firmed on his shoulders at once, and he gave a small sigh.

“That’s all I ask,” he said. “A chance. I want you. Give me a chance to love you.”

Even suspecting that Draco had said that mostly to charm him, Harry simply didn’t have the strength of will—or the bitterness—that would have been necessary to resist. He laid his head on Draco’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

And Draco didn’t mock him, but touched his neck and cheek and hair slowly and wonderingly, like a man under the Leper’s Curse who had regained his sense of touch.

*

A pure, sweet, strong sense of life was driving through Draco, as if a tree were striving to achieve a hundred years’ worth of growth through him all at once.

Yes. This is what I want.

It is wonderful to know at last.

Chapter 11.