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lomonaaerenDo not start reading here. This is the last post of three in a massive one-shot. My apologies for dumping this all over your friendslist.
Draco stirred slowly. He had been having a most interesting and involving dream about Potter, and he saw no reason to leave it. But an intrusive squeaking sounded in his ears no matter how he tried to barricade himself against it, and in the end he opened his eyes and sat up in bed.
One of his house-elves bowed to him, clutching its ears. “Roddy is sorry to be disturbing Master Malfoy,” it squeaked. “But Master Malfoy left orders that Master Harry Potter was to be admitted no matter the hour, and—”
“Yes, Roddy, that’s fine,” Draco said absently, with a glance out the window. From the darkness, it was as late as it felt. He shook his head and Summoned the green silk dressing gown that he’d left draped over the chair when he went to sleep. “Escort Potter to the Golden Room and keep him there until I arrive. Offer him refreshments if he asks for them.”
Roddy bowed and vanished. Draco took his time adjusting his robe and brushing his hair in the mirror. Let Potter stew a bit. It was an ample reward for interrupting Draco’s rest.
Then he realized that he was practically preening for Potter. He growled and took the steps down to the Golden Room, on the second floor, two at a time.
Once, the Golden Room had been where the Lord of the Manor would entertain a select circle of guests. Now Draco rarely used it, and his mother, who spent most of her time traveling, saw no reason to, but the house-elves kept it up anyway. The walls had the soft sheen of pure gold, and the mirrors inset exactly halfway between floor and ceiling on all four sides helped multiply the impression.
Potter was on his feet instead of in one of the comfortable chairs before the fireplace, staring at the sole portrait in the room. It was more of a portrait frame, as Lucius’s image preferred to accompany Narcissa in a portable picture. Nonetheless, Potter seemed fascinated by the bookshelves, blazing fire, sleek shining tables, and plate of heaped fruit just visible in the background.
“Can I help you?” Draco asked, stepping through the door. Potter stiffened, but didn’t move at first. Instead, he traced the wall beside the frame with a finger. He was wise enough not to touch the frame itself, Draco noted.
“You can tell me why you decided to intrude into my life and make a mess of it.” Potter’s voice was faint and far away.
“I never could have if you didn’t have your own private doubts,” Draco replied calmly. He kept his voice soft. That would disguise his eagerness.
Potter dropped his hand back to his side and then spun around to scowl at him. “Everything was going fine,” he snapped. “My biggest problem in life was choosing a ring that would suit Ginny until you had to interfere.”
“And I repeat that that’s not true,” Draco said. His heart was in his throat at the sight of the way Potter’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t intend to show it. “The words I spoke to you couldn’t have made an impact unless you let them.”
“Hermione says things like that, too, and they are such bollocks.” Potter stepped towards him. “I want to know what you’re going to do to fix it.”
“How can I unless I know what the problem is?” Draco cocked his head to the side and ran his eyes appreciatively over Potter’s body. From the way Potter flushed, he’d caught Draco at it.
“Ginny heard us talking.” Potter’s voice was flat and ugly. “She said that I obviously never loved her, or I would have spoken up and defended her when we talked this afternoon more than I did. She says that if I want you as a lover and to be free of the marriage, then that’s fine, but I’m not going to have both you and her.”
Draco felt like laughing. He was flying, light and free. Weasley had done exactly as he had expected her to. She wasn’t, after all, secure enough in Potter’s affections to view a challenge with ridicule. She’d let her temper get the better of her, and in the end, she would be the one to suffer for it.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment of consideration. “You said that I had to fix the problem, but I don’t see a problem here. Only something that’s finally happening the way it was supposed to after long years of meddling.”
Potter sprang forwards and grabbed Draco, pinning his shoulders to the wall. Draco wriggled so that Potter would grip and hold him tighter. God, this was exciting. He wanted to know what it was like to lie under Potter and watch that face flushing and changing from one emotion to the other. He hoped it wouldn’t be long before he could find out.
“You can’t tell me that you’ve wanted me for years, Malfoy.” Potter’s hiss was long and deadly.
“Of course not,” Draco said. “But I wanted you as a friend, and I couldn’t be that as long as the Weasleys held you captive. And then recently, I decided I wanted you. That probably would have happened a long time ago, too, without Weasley in the picture.”
“This is mad.” Potter let his head fall forwards, until only a few breaths of space separated his scar and Draco’s shoulder. “You don’t—you can’t just decide that you want me out of thin air and start trying to take me, Malfoy.”
“Mmm.” Draco sniffed. The scent of Potter’s skin was sweaty and salty and interesting. “That’s where you’re wrong, Potter. I do want you, and I’m not overly concerned about how or why. I do what I like because it seems good to me, and only hold off if it could have negative consequences that outweigh the pleasure. I think most people are the same way. It’s only you noble heroes who seek out all these metaphysical reasons and try to lay down paths of principle that you don’t want anyone to deviate from. If you let yourself live a little more, pursue what you wanted and not what you think you ought to want, then maybe you would know more about it and also be able to choose what you do desire.”
Potter stared at him. Draco wanted to lick the skin beneath his eyes, but he was still too far away from Potter’s face for that.
“You’re lying,” Potter whispered. “You said you went after me to get revenge on the Weasleys. You said it.”
“At first, yes,” Draco said. “And then I wanted you. And now I can have you. I’m not inclined to question things that are going the way I want.” He opened his mouth and waited, because surely not even someone as dim as Potter could mistake the invitation to a kiss that Draco was offering.
Potter released him and stepped away. Draco sighed as his heels jolted on the floor. It seemed he would have to wait for a while yet, and that was horrible.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Potter whispered. “How can I be so unsure about my marriage with Ginny? I was in love with her. It was what I wanted.”
“And now it’s not,” Draco said. He couldn’t understand why this was so hard. Weasley had sent him away herself. What more warrant to do as he liked did even someone like Potter need?
Potter stared back at him doubtfully. “I’m not bent,” he said. “I don’t know if I want you.”
“Then figure it out,” Draco said. “Though I think it says something that you keep coming back to me in spite of everything, and that you didn’t run in horror when I first told you what I desired.” He edged closer, while Potter stood there with wide eyes that only saw the inside of himself.
“But there’s no reason for it,” he muttered again.
“There doesn’t have to be,” Draco responded, and reached out to put his hand on Potter’s shoulder.
Potter shuddered beneath the touch, but he still acted as if he was seeing something other than what was in front of him. He reached up and covered Draco’s hand with his own. Draco waited for him to push it away or clasp it tighter. He did neither, only stood there looking at Draco, his forehead wrinkled slightly.
“You need something to change your mind,” Draco said, his voice shaking with eagerness. He didn’t care. Let Potter think he was weak. He didn’t care. He had forgotten—or perhaps he’d never known—what it was like to be this close to someone he truly wanted, the heat between them making the small hairs on his arms rise, their eyes larger than the rest of the world. “You need something to help you make your decision.”
“Yes, maybe—”
From the tone of Potter’s voice, Draco just knew he was about to start another rambling soliloquy. He didn’t think he could take that. He leaned forwards, lifted his other hand into place on Potter’s other shoulder, and pressed his lips firmly against his.
Potter stood utterly still. Then his eyes shut and he hummed in the back of his throat. Draco chuckled in triumph and eased forwards, swirling his tongue deeper. There was no need for wild plunges and thrusts. (At least, not yet). Let Potter have the time to ease slowly into a new experience.
Potter’s mouth tasted dusky. There was no other way that Draco could describe it. It made him think of twilight and stars and bonfires burning on the horizon as evening came down, which was strange. The fire in Potter’s eyes so often reminded him of full sunlight, and Potter himself seemed to belong to the day.
Although, what if that was only what everyone else thought? What if Draco had been taken in the by the same mask that Potter wore around his friends all the time, the one that said he was fine with the Weasels calling him stupid?
A tunnel deeper than Potter’s mouth opened ahead of him. Draco swallowed and sighed as his tongue moved under Potter’s. So many things to find out. So many things to learn. Right now, he wanted to know if Potter liked to have his cheeks licked or not—
Potter’s hands shot out, gripping Draco’s shoulders and holding him still. Draco drew his head back slowly, to show Potter that he wouldn’t be hurried by someone who couldn’t even admit his own desires yet. Then he opened his eyes with an equally slow flutter and handed Potter a languorous sigh.
Potter wasn’t panting, but only because his breaths were too deep for that. Controlled, Draco thought with a slight smile. He looked at Potter’s red cheeks and shaking hands and trembling jaw, and thought he had never seen a man fighting so hard to restrain himself.
“I think that your body’s decided before your mind,” Draco said brightly.
Potter shoved him then. Draco staggered a few steps, but managed to retain his smile. If Potter had really been disgusted with him, Draco knew he would have fallen. He licked his lips and inclined his head. “Are you going to listen to it?” he added.
Potter stood there with his arms down at his sides, shoulders bunched as if he intended to drive his hands into stone. Then he turned and stalked towards the door. Draco raised a curious eyebrow. He hadn’t hurt him. There was no reason for him to walk that stiffly—
Unless he was hunching over something inconvenient between his legs. Draco laughed quietly.
Potter turned around and leaned his back against the door as though he needed it to support him. “Bastard,” he whispered.
“I’ve never denied that label except in the technical sense, since I was born after my parents’ marriage,” Draco replied, and leaned against the wall. Potter’s eyes narrowed and darkened, both at once. Good. Let them. After a kiss like that, Draco wasn’t averse to showing he was affected, too. “You, on the other hand, still haven’t done anything that would show you don’t deserve the label of coward.”
Potter’s mouth fell open. “You—you say things like that to me,” he stuttered. “And th-then you expect me to come back to you?”
“Yes,” Draco said. “Why not? I’m the only one who can teach you what you want.”
Potter rubbed his face with one hand. “It doesn’t make sense, you know.”
“It’s not sense that we need to make.” Draco let himself look down, and yes, there was the thick bulge in Potter’s trousers that he had only suspected the existence of until this moment. He looked back up and didn’t bother to hide the way his mouth was watering and his nostrils flaring as if he’d just sniffed something spicy.
“I don’t—” Potter muttered.
“You say that a lot,” Draco told him. “Why not try beginning a sentence with I do, and see what happens?”
Dark laughter flashed across Potter’s face for a moment. “That’s what I was planning on, and then you managed to dissuade me.”
Draco smiled back. “Then try starting it with I do want,” he suggested softly, and stepped forwards.
Potter drew himself up at once. “I need to see,” he said, and stepped out of the Golden Room. Draco summoned Roddy with a clap and told him to escort Potter out.
He went back to bed with a smile on his face and had one of the longest and most luxurious wanks he’d ever enjoyed. He fell asleep still smiling.
Potter had said I need to see, not I need to think.
*
Ginny stood with her arms wrapped around herself and her head tilted back. Since Harry walked out the door, she hadn’t moved from her post near the bedroom.
She couldn’t remember most of the conversation that had resulted in Harry leaving. There were so many words there, explanations of broken promises and how she wouldn’t be Harry’s bit on the side.
Harry had listened with blinking eyes, and only once or twice flushed and tried to defend himself. Ginny would remember that, and what it meant. He knew he had been at fault. He would have protested furiously if he felt he wasn’t.
What mystified her was why he hadn’t tried harder to prevent himself from being at fault in the first place.
We loved each other, Ginny thought sadly, and finally stood back up and lowered her arms. She no longer felt as though she was going to shake apart like a badly-built house in an earthquake. I know we did. What went wrong? Love is supposed to last, like Hermione and Ron’s, not fall apart.
Someone knocked. Ginny looked up with her heart pounding triple-time, and then told herself it wouldn’t be Harry. Of course not. He had no reason to come back. He had left for good, and Ginny fully expected to receive an owl in a few days asking for permission to come to the flat and clear his things out.
There’s nothing he could say that would make me change my mind, so he has no reason to come back.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened, and Harry stepped in and shut it behind him.
His face was many things—thoughtful and grave and a little frightened—but it wasn’t sorry. Ginny narrowed her eyes and stepped towards him. Harry looked up and gave a little nod.
Like she was a problem he needed to deal with before he moved on. Like she wasn’t a person, like she didn’t matter.
“Why are you here?” Ginny asked. She was proud of how strong her voice was, how flat, like iron. She was a paragon of strength. She could stand on her own, something she thought now Harry probably forgot as often as her parents did.
He didn’t try to get them to let me fight in the war. I should have remembered that before. If he wants to chase after a man, he’s welcome to it, but he never should have pretended that he wanted a strong woman in that case.
“Because there was something I needed to see,” Harry responded. His voice was as quiet as hers, but more curious than anything else. He stepped towards her.
Ginny lifted her wand.
Harry halted and raised an eyebrow. “I only wanted to kiss you one more time,” he said. “To see if there was any passion left. I thought I loved you, but—it went away so quickly. I’m wondering now if it was only passion.”
Ginny flinched before she could stop herself, and she flinched with her whole body, so there was no chance of hiding it from Harry. She had never expected him to say anything so utterly—cold.
For her to think about the destruction of their love was one thing. But for Harry to discuss it was another, and he was doing it academically, the way Hermione would talk about the laws that governed house-elves.
No, Ginny thought then. Hermione would talk about laws that restricted house-elves more passionately.
“I won’t be used like that,” she said.
“All right,” Harry said. “Then I reckon I’ll be a bit uncertain, but probably not a lot.” There was a childish expression on his face now. He looked as though someone had offered him an early birthday present. He turned and waved his wand. Ginny tensed, but it turned out that he was only Summoning his clothes and trunk and broom and other things. He started filling the trunk with the clothes while he shrank the broom and tucked it into his pocket.
“What are you doing?” Ginny wished she could raise her voice, but her own disbelief kept it low.
“Going after what I want, for once,” Harry said. He smiled at her. Ginny blinked. It wasn’t a smile she had ever seen him wear, except maybe immediately after the war. Some great burden had been lifted from his shoulders and he was the better for its removal, said the grin. “I thought I couldn’t want it because, well, why? But I reckon desire and lust don’t always need reasons. We’ll see how this goes. I’ve walked away from one relationship now. I can do it again if I need to.
“But I want to try. I think it could be something wonderful.” Harry finished packing the trunk and shrank that, too, hefting it thoughtfully in his hand. “There’s no reason you can’t back away,” he whispered to himself, “as long as you haven’t actually walked off the cliff.”
Ginny took a step forwards. She had figured out what he was talking about now, and she couldn’t let it pass.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “Are you trying to tell me that you’ve always been bent, and just never thought to let me know? Are you trying to tell me that you’ll give up everything you’ve had with me and your best friends and your surrogate family just because you have some exaggerated false sense of betrayal?”
Harry looked up at her, and his eyes were mercilessly clear. He moved towards her. Ginny froze. His magic made the walls of the room seem to dance. She knew it wasn’t really happening, but she also couldn’t overcome her instinctive dread of his power. He could hurt her. He hadn’t done it yet, but he could.
“I don’t know if I’m bent,” Harry said, “or straight, or maybe a corkscrew.” His voice was deep and calm, but Ginny heard a pulse of building excitement far below the surface that made her wary. He could still give in any moment—and this isn’t a fire we share, like in bed. It’s one only he has. “But I don’t think I have to choose anymore in the absence of information.
“Just like I don’t have to walk away from my friends and family because I’m leaving you.” He raised one eyebrow and surveyed her with a look of pity, and Ginny’s temper felt as if it were boiling her brain. “They can choose if they want to associate with me. Maybe they won’t. But if they do, then I don’t have to blame myself.
“And all the things you said about me down the years—” Harry shook his head. “I just now realized that I don’t have to put up with them to keep people’s friendship. I can be Ron’s friend and still insist on him respecting me. I can be Hermione’s friend and not have to put up with her lectures. I don’t scold them or disparage them all the time. They can bloody well start doing the same for me.”
Ginny lifted her wand, because she couldn’t think of a better response. All Harry did and thought about was leaving her out. He didn’t want her. He had just been pretending. If he wasn’t, he never could have fallen out of love with her so quickly.
She launched the Bat-Bogey Hex at him.
“Protego,” Harry said calmly, and the shimmering Shield Charm that formed in front of him bounced the hex almost straight back at her. Ginny managed to dodge. Harry shook his head, said, “That was mildly pathetic,” and then left.
Long after the echoes of the door shutting had faded, Ginny stood with her head bowed and her hands clenched, clinging to her strength.
Harry wasn’t worth weeping over.
*
This time, Roddy didn’t have to squeak long in distress before Draco awoke. His dreams had been shallow and restless without Potter’s presence, and he opened his eyes and sat up knowing the house-elf’s message before he gave it.
“Master Harry Potter is here!” Roddy wailed, trying to stomp on his own feet. “He demands entrance to Master Draco’s bedroom immediately!”
“Let him in.” Draco started to reach for the dressing gown, and then paused, smiled, and leaned back into the pillows. He saw no reason to pick up something that would almost certainly be torn off him again.
Roddy stared at Draco in disbelief, his eyes popping with an audible sound. “But, Master Draco…” He glanced around as though someone might hear him, stole closer, and whispered, “Master Harry Potter is to be ravishing Master Draco.”
“God, I hope so,” Draco said fervently.
Roddy looked at him with an open mouth some more, then bowed and vanished. Draco drew back the covers and spread his legs lazily. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, but it was long enough to restore interest to his cock. He wanted the sight to hit Potter when he stepped through the door.
It did, but it didn’t stop him, the way Draco had planned. Instead, Potter slid closer to the bed, his shoulders and hips rolling, his eyes wide and dark and greedy and relentless.
“You look better than I imagined,” Potter breathed, and pulled his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor. He wasn’t wearing robes, which Draco approved of. Less clothing to get in the war and make Potter hesitate.
“No last-minute qualms?” Draco taunted, letting his head fall back on the pillow so his hair spread around his face. Plenty of lovers had told him they found him irresistible like that, especially with the color that his blood lent his pale cheeks and chest, and the appreciation in Potter’s gaze deepened immediately. He looked pretty damn good with his bare muscles flushed, Draco noted.
“None,” Potter answered calmly, and pulled off his trousers. He had unfairly got rid of his socks when Draco wasn’t looking. At least it seemed as though Draco would have plenty of chances to appreciate the sight of his feet in the future.
“Even though you aren’t sure you want me?” Draco licked his lips as Potter hooked his fingers in his pants.
Potter proved he had a bit of the mischievous schoolboy left in him after all, by pausing there instead of tugging his pants down the way he had everything else and smirking at Draco until Draco squirmed. Then he answered, “I’m pretty sure I want you. What happens later is another question—”
Draco held his breath.
“And one that I’ve decided not to worry about right now,” Potter finished, and pulled his pants down.
God, his cock was so flushed, so dark with blood that Draco thought it looked painful. He could imagine the heat if he put his mouth on it. He would have offered to do so, except that Potter strode over, leaped on the bed, and pinned Draco’s shoulders to the pillow with his hands in a way that showed he knew exactly what he wanted. And, well, who was Draco to argue with a Gryffindor’s certainty unhindered by tiresome moral scruples?
First, Potter gave Draco a kiss that made black stars explode in his vision from lack of air. Then he pulled back and growled “How do we do this?” in a tone that made Draco’s balls draw up.
“I—I—” Draco was the one stuttering now, his fingers digging wildly and uselessly at the pillow.
Potter chuckled and leaned back on his heels, following the direction of Draco’s eyes rather than his hand to find the lube that Draco kept in one of the small tables next to his bed. Draco usually used that for wanking, though he hadn’t needed any earlier.
Potter smeared his cock with the oil, and Draco whined. It was ridiculous to be jealous of a liquid, but he was and it hurt and he had to spread his legs and practically hump Potter’s knee before the idiot would condescend to pay attention to him.
“Wow,” Potter whispered, his fingers trailing over Draco’s tensed groin as he reached down and back to his entrance. “You really do want me.”
His voice was full of wonder, and Draco glared at him in disbelief. “False modesty,” he snapped. “Do you ever get rid of it? Who wouldn’t want you?”
“I’m not answering that, because I don’t want to be depressed right now,” Potter said frankly, and sank one oiled finger right into Draco’s entrance without so much as a by-your-leave.
Draco bucked and rubbed his cock against Potter’s reaching arm. Yes, warmth; yes, smoothness; yes, skin, but it wasn’t enough, and Potter sat there with his finger in Draco as if waiting for something, instead of moving.
“Fuck you,” he growled.
“Not this time,” Potter said, voice sharp but breathless, and stabbed his finger deeper. Then he joined it with another, and Draco arched his back, deciding that Potter would be a quick study and he didn’t need to worry about him. He had been afraid that Potter would hold back when it came up to the moment, asking Draco if it hurt and crooning at him about specialness and asking if he was sure, but he wasn’t.
How many years has he denied what he wanted in favor of what the entire rest of the world wanted? Draco wondered, as his legs spread until his thighs trembled and his heels almost left the bed. Too bloody long, if this is the result.
Potter found his prostate and dug at it until he seemed confident that he could find the way back. Then he paused for the barest of moments. Draco glared at him, but only until Potter scooped up Draco’s ankles along his arms and he realized that Potter had been trying to decide where his legs should go.
Legs on shoulders, already threatening to slip off from the sheer height of Potter’s muscles, and hips thrusting forwards, and Draco’s hole slick and clenching and no, there wasn’t more oil needed, Potter had better not stop now and look earnest about it—
And then Potter was inside.
Draco threw back his head, his strangled cry ripping free, his mouth bursting with excitement and triumph, his veins burning with adrenaline, because he had a powerful lover and a lover he’d taunted for years and still managed to court to his bed and a victory over the Weasleys and this hurt so much and it was brilliant.
Of course Potter thrust too fast and too much and too hard, and Draco’s legs ached from the position they were holding and also regularly slipped off so that Potter shoved them back into place with irritated little grunts, and of course Draco knew he would be sore in the morning. Why wouldn’t he be? This was Potter’s first time with a man—
(It had better be his first time with a man)
—and he had no idea about what was acceptable and what wasn’t, and his excitement was ruling him.
But none of those cautious sentiments said anything about the way Potter grunted when he slammed into Draco, so soft and so satisfied that it made Draco’s arse squeeze down twice as hard. Or the grip of his fingers as he held Draco’s ankles in place, so hard that they were real and Draco would carry the marks. Or the roll and surge and flex of his muscles, an Auror’s muscles, beautiful and strong as some wild animal’s.
Or the way his eyes shone.
Draco wondered now why he had ever been foolish enough to take any lover who didn’t have those radiant green eyes.
His orgasm came from a great distance, a burning coil of white-hot light that wound its way slowly up from his spine and his buttocks and then hit him so hard he screamed and shuddered and then couldn’t stop shuddering, shaking as though lightning had hit him. The pleasure whirled him and broke him into a turning void where there were green eyes and warm skin and trailing dots of light and warmth like a forge.
When it was gone and Potter paused, froze with his face locked in an expression of astonishment, and spasmed and shouted and pounded his orgasm out, Draco was so tired and so hot that he could only lie there and smile. He did the same thing when Potter fell face-forward across him. He managed, after two minutes of concentration, to lower his legs into a more comfortable position and wrap his arms around Potter.
Potter finally shifted to look at him, jaw loose and eyes wide with wonder.
“Aren’t you glad I’m a bastard?” Draco whispered, and kissed him.
*
That had been…
There were no words for what that had been.
Long after his new lover—he could taste the word and like it, for now, though he might insist on something else, later—lay snoring, he lay with his eyes open and stared into the darkness.
He’d seen falling stars when he came. The vision was with him now, and he watched the lights streak past his eyes and explode on contact with some new land he couldn’t see, and shivered.
He still didn’t understand everything that had happened. But he was thinking, now, maybe he didn’t need to understand. Maybe he really could give in and, even though he thought about the consequences of his actions, he could also think about what he wanted.
The realization seemed so simple now, but he didn’t think he’d take it for granted, because it had been such a long time coming.
Maybe the world wouldn’t end if he did something for himself once in a while, or even something wrong. Maybe this had been wrong. He didn’t think he would be able to know until months had passed.
And more sex.
He smiled. Definitely more sex.
He rolled over and looked down. Draco—as he reckoned he had to think of him now—snored with his mouth open and his forehead wrinkled. Even in sleep, it seemed, he was trying to solve his problems and get what he wanted.
With a grin as he thought about the way Draco would react when he realized the Weasleys could still be part of the picture, Harry fell asleep.
The End.
Draco stirred slowly. He had been having a most interesting and involving dream about Potter, and he saw no reason to leave it. But an intrusive squeaking sounded in his ears no matter how he tried to barricade himself against it, and in the end he opened his eyes and sat up in bed.
One of his house-elves bowed to him, clutching its ears. “Roddy is sorry to be disturbing Master Malfoy,” it squeaked. “But Master Malfoy left orders that Master Harry Potter was to be admitted no matter the hour, and—”
“Yes, Roddy, that’s fine,” Draco said absently, with a glance out the window. From the darkness, it was as late as it felt. He shook his head and Summoned the green silk dressing gown that he’d left draped over the chair when he went to sleep. “Escort Potter to the Golden Room and keep him there until I arrive. Offer him refreshments if he asks for them.”
Roddy bowed and vanished. Draco took his time adjusting his robe and brushing his hair in the mirror. Let Potter stew a bit. It was an ample reward for interrupting Draco’s rest.
Then he realized that he was practically preening for Potter. He growled and took the steps down to the Golden Room, on the second floor, two at a time.
Once, the Golden Room had been where the Lord of the Manor would entertain a select circle of guests. Now Draco rarely used it, and his mother, who spent most of her time traveling, saw no reason to, but the house-elves kept it up anyway. The walls had the soft sheen of pure gold, and the mirrors inset exactly halfway between floor and ceiling on all four sides helped multiply the impression.
Potter was on his feet instead of in one of the comfortable chairs before the fireplace, staring at the sole portrait in the room. It was more of a portrait frame, as Lucius’s image preferred to accompany Narcissa in a portable picture. Nonetheless, Potter seemed fascinated by the bookshelves, blazing fire, sleek shining tables, and plate of heaped fruit just visible in the background.
“Can I help you?” Draco asked, stepping through the door. Potter stiffened, but didn’t move at first. Instead, he traced the wall beside the frame with a finger. He was wise enough not to touch the frame itself, Draco noted.
“You can tell me why you decided to intrude into my life and make a mess of it.” Potter’s voice was faint and far away.
“I never could have if you didn’t have your own private doubts,” Draco replied calmly. He kept his voice soft. That would disguise his eagerness.
Potter dropped his hand back to his side and then spun around to scowl at him. “Everything was going fine,” he snapped. “My biggest problem in life was choosing a ring that would suit Ginny until you had to interfere.”
“And I repeat that that’s not true,” Draco said. His heart was in his throat at the sight of the way Potter’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t intend to show it. “The words I spoke to you couldn’t have made an impact unless you let them.”
“Hermione says things like that, too, and they are such bollocks.” Potter stepped towards him. “I want to know what you’re going to do to fix it.”
“How can I unless I know what the problem is?” Draco cocked his head to the side and ran his eyes appreciatively over Potter’s body. From the way Potter flushed, he’d caught Draco at it.
“Ginny heard us talking.” Potter’s voice was flat and ugly. “She said that I obviously never loved her, or I would have spoken up and defended her when we talked this afternoon more than I did. She says that if I want you as a lover and to be free of the marriage, then that’s fine, but I’m not going to have both you and her.”
Draco felt like laughing. He was flying, light and free. Weasley had done exactly as he had expected her to. She wasn’t, after all, secure enough in Potter’s affections to view a challenge with ridicule. She’d let her temper get the better of her, and in the end, she would be the one to suffer for it.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment of consideration. “You said that I had to fix the problem, but I don’t see a problem here. Only something that’s finally happening the way it was supposed to after long years of meddling.”
Potter sprang forwards and grabbed Draco, pinning his shoulders to the wall. Draco wriggled so that Potter would grip and hold him tighter. God, this was exciting. He wanted to know what it was like to lie under Potter and watch that face flushing and changing from one emotion to the other. He hoped it wouldn’t be long before he could find out.
“You can’t tell me that you’ve wanted me for years, Malfoy.” Potter’s hiss was long and deadly.
“Of course not,” Draco said. “But I wanted you as a friend, and I couldn’t be that as long as the Weasleys held you captive. And then recently, I decided I wanted you. That probably would have happened a long time ago, too, without Weasley in the picture.”
“This is mad.” Potter let his head fall forwards, until only a few breaths of space separated his scar and Draco’s shoulder. “You don’t—you can’t just decide that you want me out of thin air and start trying to take me, Malfoy.”
“Mmm.” Draco sniffed. The scent of Potter’s skin was sweaty and salty and interesting. “That’s where you’re wrong, Potter. I do want you, and I’m not overly concerned about how or why. I do what I like because it seems good to me, and only hold off if it could have negative consequences that outweigh the pleasure. I think most people are the same way. It’s only you noble heroes who seek out all these metaphysical reasons and try to lay down paths of principle that you don’t want anyone to deviate from. If you let yourself live a little more, pursue what you wanted and not what you think you ought to want, then maybe you would know more about it and also be able to choose what you do desire.”
Potter stared at him. Draco wanted to lick the skin beneath his eyes, but he was still too far away from Potter’s face for that.
“You’re lying,” Potter whispered. “You said you went after me to get revenge on the Weasleys. You said it.”
“At first, yes,” Draco said. “And then I wanted you. And now I can have you. I’m not inclined to question things that are going the way I want.” He opened his mouth and waited, because surely not even someone as dim as Potter could mistake the invitation to a kiss that Draco was offering.
Potter released him and stepped away. Draco sighed as his heels jolted on the floor. It seemed he would have to wait for a while yet, and that was horrible.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Potter whispered. “How can I be so unsure about my marriage with Ginny? I was in love with her. It was what I wanted.”
“And now it’s not,” Draco said. He couldn’t understand why this was so hard. Weasley had sent him away herself. What more warrant to do as he liked did even someone like Potter need?
Potter stared back at him doubtfully. “I’m not bent,” he said. “I don’t know if I want you.”
“Then figure it out,” Draco said. “Though I think it says something that you keep coming back to me in spite of everything, and that you didn’t run in horror when I first told you what I desired.” He edged closer, while Potter stood there with wide eyes that only saw the inside of himself.
“But there’s no reason for it,” he muttered again.
“There doesn’t have to be,” Draco responded, and reached out to put his hand on Potter’s shoulder.
Potter shuddered beneath the touch, but he still acted as if he was seeing something other than what was in front of him. He reached up and covered Draco’s hand with his own. Draco waited for him to push it away or clasp it tighter. He did neither, only stood there looking at Draco, his forehead wrinkled slightly.
“You need something to change your mind,” Draco said, his voice shaking with eagerness. He didn’t care. Let Potter think he was weak. He didn’t care. He had forgotten—or perhaps he’d never known—what it was like to be this close to someone he truly wanted, the heat between them making the small hairs on his arms rise, their eyes larger than the rest of the world. “You need something to help you make your decision.”
“Yes, maybe—”
From the tone of Potter’s voice, Draco just knew he was about to start another rambling soliloquy. He didn’t think he could take that. He leaned forwards, lifted his other hand into place on Potter’s other shoulder, and pressed his lips firmly against his.
Potter stood utterly still. Then his eyes shut and he hummed in the back of his throat. Draco chuckled in triumph and eased forwards, swirling his tongue deeper. There was no need for wild plunges and thrusts. (At least, not yet). Let Potter have the time to ease slowly into a new experience.
Potter’s mouth tasted dusky. There was no other way that Draco could describe it. It made him think of twilight and stars and bonfires burning on the horizon as evening came down, which was strange. The fire in Potter’s eyes so often reminded him of full sunlight, and Potter himself seemed to belong to the day.
Although, what if that was only what everyone else thought? What if Draco had been taken in the by the same mask that Potter wore around his friends all the time, the one that said he was fine with the Weasels calling him stupid?
A tunnel deeper than Potter’s mouth opened ahead of him. Draco swallowed and sighed as his tongue moved under Potter’s. So many things to find out. So many things to learn. Right now, he wanted to know if Potter liked to have his cheeks licked or not—
Potter’s hands shot out, gripping Draco’s shoulders and holding him still. Draco drew his head back slowly, to show Potter that he wouldn’t be hurried by someone who couldn’t even admit his own desires yet. Then he opened his eyes with an equally slow flutter and handed Potter a languorous sigh.
Potter wasn’t panting, but only because his breaths were too deep for that. Controlled, Draco thought with a slight smile. He looked at Potter’s red cheeks and shaking hands and trembling jaw, and thought he had never seen a man fighting so hard to restrain himself.
“I think that your body’s decided before your mind,” Draco said brightly.
Potter shoved him then. Draco staggered a few steps, but managed to retain his smile. If Potter had really been disgusted with him, Draco knew he would have fallen. He licked his lips and inclined his head. “Are you going to listen to it?” he added.
Potter stood there with his arms down at his sides, shoulders bunched as if he intended to drive his hands into stone. Then he turned and stalked towards the door. Draco raised a curious eyebrow. He hadn’t hurt him. There was no reason for him to walk that stiffly—
Unless he was hunching over something inconvenient between his legs. Draco laughed quietly.
Potter turned around and leaned his back against the door as though he needed it to support him. “Bastard,” he whispered.
“I’ve never denied that label except in the technical sense, since I was born after my parents’ marriage,” Draco replied, and leaned against the wall. Potter’s eyes narrowed and darkened, both at once. Good. Let them. After a kiss like that, Draco wasn’t averse to showing he was affected, too. “You, on the other hand, still haven’t done anything that would show you don’t deserve the label of coward.”
Potter’s mouth fell open. “You—you say things like that to me,” he stuttered. “And th-then you expect me to come back to you?”
“Yes,” Draco said. “Why not? I’m the only one who can teach you what you want.”
Potter rubbed his face with one hand. “It doesn’t make sense, you know.”
“It’s not sense that we need to make.” Draco let himself look down, and yes, there was the thick bulge in Potter’s trousers that he had only suspected the existence of until this moment. He looked back up and didn’t bother to hide the way his mouth was watering and his nostrils flaring as if he’d just sniffed something spicy.
“I don’t—” Potter muttered.
“You say that a lot,” Draco told him. “Why not try beginning a sentence with I do, and see what happens?”
Dark laughter flashed across Potter’s face for a moment. “That’s what I was planning on, and then you managed to dissuade me.”
Draco smiled back. “Then try starting it with I do want,” he suggested softly, and stepped forwards.
Potter drew himself up at once. “I need to see,” he said, and stepped out of the Golden Room. Draco summoned Roddy with a clap and told him to escort Potter out.
He went back to bed with a smile on his face and had one of the longest and most luxurious wanks he’d ever enjoyed. He fell asleep still smiling.
Potter had said I need to see, not I need to think.
*
Ginny stood with her arms wrapped around herself and her head tilted back. Since Harry walked out the door, she hadn’t moved from her post near the bedroom.
She couldn’t remember most of the conversation that had resulted in Harry leaving. There were so many words there, explanations of broken promises and how she wouldn’t be Harry’s bit on the side.
Harry had listened with blinking eyes, and only once or twice flushed and tried to defend himself. Ginny would remember that, and what it meant. He knew he had been at fault. He would have protested furiously if he felt he wasn’t.
What mystified her was why he hadn’t tried harder to prevent himself from being at fault in the first place.
We loved each other, Ginny thought sadly, and finally stood back up and lowered her arms. She no longer felt as though she was going to shake apart like a badly-built house in an earthquake. I know we did. What went wrong? Love is supposed to last, like Hermione and Ron’s, not fall apart.
Someone knocked. Ginny looked up with her heart pounding triple-time, and then told herself it wouldn’t be Harry. Of course not. He had no reason to come back. He had left for good, and Ginny fully expected to receive an owl in a few days asking for permission to come to the flat and clear his things out.
There’s nothing he could say that would make me change my mind, so he has no reason to come back.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened, and Harry stepped in and shut it behind him.
His face was many things—thoughtful and grave and a little frightened—but it wasn’t sorry. Ginny narrowed her eyes and stepped towards him. Harry looked up and gave a little nod.
Like she was a problem he needed to deal with before he moved on. Like she wasn’t a person, like she didn’t matter.
“Why are you here?” Ginny asked. She was proud of how strong her voice was, how flat, like iron. She was a paragon of strength. She could stand on her own, something she thought now Harry probably forgot as often as her parents did.
He didn’t try to get them to let me fight in the war. I should have remembered that before. If he wants to chase after a man, he’s welcome to it, but he never should have pretended that he wanted a strong woman in that case.
“Because there was something I needed to see,” Harry responded. His voice was as quiet as hers, but more curious than anything else. He stepped towards her.
Ginny lifted her wand.
Harry halted and raised an eyebrow. “I only wanted to kiss you one more time,” he said. “To see if there was any passion left. I thought I loved you, but—it went away so quickly. I’m wondering now if it was only passion.”
Ginny flinched before she could stop herself, and she flinched with her whole body, so there was no chance of hiding it from Harry. She had never expected him to say anything so utterly—cold.
For her to think about the destruction of their love was one thing. But for Harry to discuss it was another, and he was doing it academically, the way Hermione would talk about the laws that governed house-elves.
No, Ginny thought then. Hermione would talk about laws that restricted house-elves more passionately.
“I won’t be used like that,” she said.
“All right,” Harry said. “Then I reckon I’ll be a bit uncertain, but probably not a lot.” There was a childish expression on his face now. He looked as though someone had offered him an early birthday present. He turned and waved his wand. Ginny tensed, but it turned out that he was only Summoning his clothes and trunk and broom and other things. He started filling the trunk with the clothes while he shrank the broom and tucked it into his pocket.
“What are you doing?” Ginny wished she could raise her voice, but her own disbelief kept it low.
“Going after what I want, for once,” Harry said. He smiled at her. Ginny blinked. It wasn’t a smile she had ever seen him wear, except maybe immediately after the war. Some great burden had been lifted from his shoulders and he was the better for its removal, said the grin. “I thought I couldn’t want it because, well, why? But I reckon desire and lust don’t always need reasons. We’ll see how this goes. I’ve walked away from one relationship now. I can do it again if I need to.
“But I want to try. I think it could be something wonderful.” Harry finished packing the trunk and shrank that, too, hefting it thoughtfully in his hand. “There’s no reason you can’t back away,” he whispered to himself, “as long as you haven’t actually walked off the cliff.”
Ginny took a step forwards. She had figured out what he was talking about now, and she couldn’t let it pass.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “Are you trying to tell me that you’ve always been bent, and just never thought to let me know? Are you trying to tell me that you’ll give up everything you’ve had with me and your best friends and your surrogate family just because you have some exaggerated false sense of betrayal?”
Harry looked up at her, and his eyes were mercilessly clear. He moved towards her. Ginny froze. His magic made the walls of the room seem to dance. She knew it wasn’t really happening, but she also couldn’t overcome her instinctive dread of his power. He could hurt her. He hadn’t done it yet, but he could.
“I don’t know if I’m bent,” Harry said, “or straight, or maybe a corkscrew.” His voice was deep and calm, but Ginny heard a pulse of building excitement far below the surface that made her wary. He could still give in any moment—and this isn’t a fire we share, like in bed. It’s one only he has. “But I don’t think I have to choose anymore in the absence of information.
“Just like I don’t have to walk away from my friends and family because I’m leaving you.” He raised one eyebrow and surveyed her with a look of pity, and Ginny’s temper felt as if it were boiling her brain. “They can choose if they want to associate with me. Maybe they won’t. But if they do, then I don’t have to blame myself.
“And all the things you said about me down the years—” Harry shook his head. “I just now realized that I don’t have to put up with them to keep people’s friendship. I can be Ron’s friend and still insist on him respecting me. I can be Hermione’s friend and not have to put up with her lectures. I don’t scold them or disparage them all the time. They can bloody well start doing the same for me.”
Ginny lifted her wand, because she couldn’t think of a better response. All Harry did and thought about was leaving her out. He didn’t want her. He had just been pretending. If he wasn’t, he never could have fallen out of love with her so quickly.
She launched the Bat-Bogey Hex at him.
“Protego,” Harry said calmly, and the shimmering Shield Charm that formed in front of him bounced the hex almost straight back at her. Ginny managed to dodge. Harry shook his head, said, “That was mildly pathetic,” and then left.
Long after the echoes of the door shutting had faded, Ginny stood with her head bowed and her hands clenched, clinging to her strength.
Harry wasn’t worth weeping over.
*
This time, Roddy didn’t have to squeak long in distress before Draco awoke. His dreams had been shallow and restless without Potter’s presence, and he opened his eyes and sat up knowing the house-elf’s message before he gave it.
“Master Harry Potter is here!” Roddy wailed, trying to stomp on his own feet. “He demands entrance to Master Draco’s bedroom immediately!”
“Let him in.” Draco started to reach for the dressing gown, and then paused, smiled, and leaned back into the pillows. He saw no reason to pick up something that would almost certainly be torn off him again.
Roddy stared at Draco in disbelief, his eyes popping with an audible sound. “But, Master Draco…” He glanced around as though someone might hear him, stole closer, and whispered, “Master Harry Potter is to be ravishing Master Draco.”
“God, I hope so,” Draco said fervently.
Roddy looked at him with an open mouth some more, then bowed and vanished. Draco drew back the covers and spread his legs lazily. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, but it was long enough to restore interest to his cock. He wanted the sight to hit Potter when he stepped through the door.
It did, but it didn’t stop him, the way Draco had planned. Instead, Potter slid closer to the bed, his shoulders and hips rolling, his eyes wide and dark and greedy and relentless.
“You look better than I imagined,” Potter breathed, and pulled his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor. He wasn’t wearing robes, which Draco approved of. Less clothing to get in the war and make Potter hesitate.
“No last-minute qualms?” Draco taunted, letting his head fall back on the pillow so his hair spread around his face. Plenty of lovers had told him they found him irresistible like that, especially with the color that his blood lent his pale cheeks and chest, and the appreciation in Potter’s gaze deepened immediately. He looked pretty damn good with his bare muscles flushed, Draco noted.
“None,” Potter answered calmly, and pulled off his trousers. He had unfairly got rid of his socks when Draco wasn’t looking. At least it seemed as though Draco would have plenty of chances to appreciate the sight of his feet in the future.
“Even though you aren’t sure you want me?” Draco licked his lips as Potter hooked his fingers in his pants.
Potter proved he had a bit of the mischievous schoolboy left in him after all, by pausing there instead of tugging his pants down the way he had everything else and smirking at Draco until Draco squirmed. Then he answered, “I’m pretty sure I want you. What happens later is another question—”
Draco held his breath.
“And one that I’ve decided not to worry about right now,” Potter finished, and pulled his pants down.
God, his cock was so flushed, so dark with blood that Draco thought it looked painful. He could imagine the heat if he put his mouth on it. He would have offered to do so, except that Potter strode over, leaped on the bed, and pinned Draco’s shoulders to the pillow with his hands in a way that showed he knew exactly what he wanted. And, well, who was Draco to argue with a Gryffindor’s certainty unhindered by tiresome moral scruples?
First, Potter gave Draco a kiss that made black stars explode in his vision from lack of air. Then he pulled back and growled “How do we do this?” in a tone that made Draco’s balls draw up.
“I—I—” Draco was the one stuttering now, his fingers digging wildly and uselessly at the pillow.
Potter chuckled and leaned back on his heels, following the direction of Draco’s eyes rather than his hand to find the lube that Draco kept in one of the small tables next to his bed. Draco usually used that for wanking, though he hadn’t needed any earlier.
Potter smeared his cock with the oil, and Draco whined. It was ridiculous to be jealous of a liquid, but he was and it hurt and he had to spread his legs and practically hump Potter’s knee before the idiot would condescend to pay attention to him.
“Wow,” Potter whispered, his fingers trailing over Draco’s tensed groin as he reached down and back to his entrance. “You really do want me.”
His voice was full of wonder, and Draco glared at him in disbelief. “False modesty,” he snapped. “Do you ever get rid of it? Who wouldn’t want you?”
“I’m not answering that, because I don’t want to be depressed right now,” Potter said frankly, and sank one oiled finger right into Draco’s entrance without so much as a by-your-leave.
Draco bucked and rubbed his cock against Potter’s reaching arm. Yes, warmth; yes, smoothness; yes, skin, but it wasn’t enough, and Potter sat there with his finger in Draco as if waiting for something, instead of moving.
“Fuck you,” he growled.
“Not this time,” Potter said, voice sharp but breathless, and stabbed his finger deeper. Then he joined it with another, and Draco arched his back, deciding that Potter would be a quick study and he didn’t need to worry about him. He had been afraid that Potter would hold back when it came up to the moment, asking Draco if it hurt and crooning at him about specialness and asking if he was sure, but he wasn’t.
How many years has he denied what he wanted in favor of what the entire rest of the world wanted? Draco wondered, as his legs spread until his thighs trembled and his heels almost left the bed. Too bloody long, if this is the result.
Potter found his prostate and dug at it until he seemed confident that he could find the way back. Then he paused for the barest of moments. Draco glared at him, but only until Potter scooped up Draco’s ankles along his arms and he realized that Potter had been trying to decide where his legs should go.
Legs on shoulders, already threatening to slip off from the sheer height of Potter’s muscles, and hips thrusting forwards, and Draco’s hole slick and clenching and no, there wasn’t more oil needed, Potter had better not stop now and look earnest about it—
And then Potter was inside.
Draco threw back his head, his strangled cry ripping free, his mouth bursting with excitement and triumph, his veins burning with adrenaline, because he had a powerful lover and a lover he’d taunted for years and still managed to court to his bed and a victory over the Weasleys and this hurt so much and it was brilliant.
Of course Potter thrust too fast and too much and too hard, and Draco’s legs ached from the position they were holding and also regularly slipped off so that Potter shoved them back into place with irritated little grunts, and of course Draco knew he would be sore in the morning. Why wouldn’t he be? This was Potter’s first time with a man—
(It had better be his first time with a man)
—and he had no idea about what was acceptable and what wasn’t, and his excitement was ruling him.
But none of those cautious sentiments said anything about the way Potter grunted when he slammed into Draco, so soft and so satisfied that it made Draco’s arse squeeze down twice as hard. Or the grip of his fingers as he held Draco’s ankles in place, so hard that they were real and Draco would carry the marks. Or the roll and surge and flex of his muscles, an Auror’s muscles, beautiful and strong as some wild animal’s.
Or the way his eyes shone.
Draco wondered now why he had ever been foolish enough to take any lover who didn’t have those radiant green eyes.
His orgasm came from a great distance, a burning coil of white-hot light that wound its way slowly up from his spine and his buttocks and then hit him so hard he screamed and shuddered and then couldn’t stop shuddering, shaking as though lightning had hit him. The pleasure whirled him and broke him into a turning void where there were green eyes and warm skin and trailing dots of light and warmth like a forge.
When it was gone and Potter paused, froze with his face locked in an expression of astonishment, and spasmed and shouted and pounded his orgasm out, Draco was so tired and so hot that he could only lie there and smile. He did the same thing when Potter fell face-forward across him. He managed, after two minutes of concentration, to lower his legs into a more comfortable position and wrap his arms around Potter.
Potter finally shifted to look at him, jaw loose and eyes wide with wonder.
“Aren’t you glad I’m a bastard?” Draco whispered, and kissed him.
*
That had been…
There were no words for what that had been.
Long after his new lover—he could taste the word and like it, for now, though he might insist on something else, later—lay snoring, he lay with his eyes open and stared into the darkness.
He’d seen falling stars when he came. The vision was with him now, and he watched the lights streak past his eyes and explode on contact with some new land he couldn’t see, and shivered.
He still didn’t understand everything that had happened. But he was thinking, now, maybe he didn’t need to understand. Maybe he really could give in and, even though he thought about the consequences of his actions, he could also think about what he wanted.
The realization seemed so simple now, but he didn’t think he’d take it for granted, because it had been such a long time coming.
Maybe the world wouldn’t end if he did something for himself once in a while, or even something wrong. Maybe this had been wrong. He didn’t think he would be able to know until months had passed.
And more sex.
He smiled. Definitely more sex.
He rolled over and looked down. Draco—as he reckoned he had to think of him now—snored with his mouth open and his forehead wrinkled. Even in sleep, it seemed, he was trying to solve his problems and get what he wanted.
With a grin as he thought about the way Draco would react when he realized the Weasleys could still be part of the picture, Harry fell asleep.
The End.
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Date: 2009-11-16 02:03 am (UTC)