lomonaaeren | Chapter Nineteen of 'Forgive Those Who Trespass'- This Conversation

Thanks again for all the reviews!

Chapter Nineteen—This Conversation

They came out of the Pensieve with what felt like mud clinging to them, but which Harry suspected was simply exhaustion and disgust. Harry sighed, rubbed his eyes, and thought longingly of lying down to rest. But the Cognosco would keep him from that for another couple of hours, at least.

And if I don’t muster up my nerve and talk to Draco right now, I’ll have to talk myself into this all over again.

He released the Sticking Charm on their feet and then turned to look at Draco, who was regarding the Pensieve with a fixed stare. Harry felt his face soften. That last set of memories seemed to have struck Draco more powerfully than the rest, perhaps because he hadn’t delved as deeply into his own motivations for torturing someone.

“Hey,” Harry said, and tapped Draco on the shoulder until he blinked and came back to the fact that more than one person existed in the room. “Do you want the memories back in your head? Or do you—“

He paused, because Draco had already started shaking his head and backing away from the pillar. The revulsion on his face made Harry wince. He would have felt something similar if it was him performing those actions. But this time, from the way Draco hugged himself and looked away, Harry thought he probably didn’t want the memories back at all.

“You don’t have to have them,” he said. “I can’t force them on you. And I don’t want to force them on you,” he had to add, when Draco turned around and looked at him suspiciously.

Draco lowered his eyes and nodded once, then simply folded up and sat down right in the middle of the floor. He buried his head in his hands. Harry couldn’t hear his breathing, of course, but he could see Draco’s back rising and falling steadily. He was probably trying to calm himself the only way he knew how.

Or the only way he believed was permissible, since Harry had rejected his last attempt to reach out. Harry had thought he changed his mind with the way he’d clung for safety and comfort in the Pensieve, but perhaps that was only the shock of the moment. Back in the real world again, he would think it best to stay at a distance.

Harry winced again. Damn, I have a mess to clean up. He wished he and Draco could speak mentally, not only because it would clarify their interactions and Draco’s feelings, but because he could have just delivered a dollop of his confusion and anguish and been done with it.

A friendship isn’t supposed to be simple, though. And neither is explaining why it can’t be more than friendship. Maybe. It had been different with Ginny, because she knew that he would have been with her if he could have, if it wasn’t for his body and mind stupidly deciding on something they’d never consulted him about.

Harry carefully did some deep breathing of his own, distancing himself from the irritation and frustration he’d felt on discovering he was gay. He absolutely had to deal with Draco as Draco. It wasn’t fair—or accurate—to cast him in Ginny’s shadow. Draco just happened to be the first gay man Harry had met after finding out he was gay, and he had tried to depend on Harry only because they were in an extraordinary situation. Harry really didn’t think he would have reacted differently towards, say, Terry Boot or Dean Thomas, had they turned out to be gay and tortured by the Unspeakables.

“Draco,” he said, and tried to be calm and quiet and firm all at once, the way Hermione had sounded when she first sat him down to tell him “sexual orientation” wasn’t something that he could make go away by wishing. Yeah, but maybe I can make it go away by starving it out. “I need to apologize to you.”

It made Harry feel awful to see the slow way Draco’s eyes emerged from behind the fall of his hair, as if he were a wounded animal peering out of a hollow in the trunk of a tree. It made him feel worried and agitated and restless and—

And protective, yes. But the protectiveness could have nothing to do with sex. How to make Draco understand that and not make him feel as if he were being put down, that was the problem.

“I didn’t—when you reached out to me the way you did in the tunnels before we came to that torture chamber, I didn’t push you away because you’re you. Or because you’ve tortured people in the past. I know you’ve changed, and you’re not that man anymore.” Harry because aware that he was addressing his hands, not Draco, and that might make Draco doubt him as less than sincere. He forced himself to look up at the other man. And yes, it was forcing, because he had never been great at apologizing. “Or because you’re ugly. Merlin, you’re not ugly. And I know you’ve changed since our schooldays, so I’m not holding the past against you. It’s just—“ He paused and licked his lips, vaguely surprised that Draco’s offended pride hadn’t yet stopped the discussion.

I think I was counting on it to do that before now.

In this pause, though, Draco reached out for the communication sphere and tapped the Why? facet. The sound of his fingers lingering on that bit of colored glass matched Harry’s heartbeat in volume.

“It’s just—“ Harry shut his eyes. Maybe he was a coward, but he couldn’t do this whilst looking at Draco. Draco could laugh all he liked; at least it wasn’t aloud. “I found out I’m gay. And I don’t want to be. I really don’t want to be. I don’t want a sexual relationship with any man, no matter who he is. And I thought that was what you were trying to initiate. Maybe not,” he added, in fairness to Draco. He was the one obsessed with his sexual orientation. It would be just like him to read some innocent interaction in gay terms. “I’m happy to save your life and be your friend and try to start your healing. But dating you—“ He stopped again, because it seemed so absurd to talk about dating in the middle of a maze built out of the Department of Mysteries for the purpose of achieving immortality. “Or having sex with you, it would be wrong. For both of us. For all sorts of reasons.”

Silence. Utter silence. Draco’s fingers hadn’t even tapped on the glass again. Harry hoped that meant he was considering what Harry had said, and seriously, too.

“I hope we can still be friends,” he finished, and opened his eyes.

Draco was staring at him with his mouth hanging open. Harry blinked. Well, all right, I didn’t expect or predict that reaction.

Maybe Draco hadn’t known he was gay, though. Harry had interpreted everything all wrong, or Draco hadn’t thought he had a chance in hell of making Harry like him, and now Harry had confessed everything for no good reason. Harry felt nausea build up in him, but he couldn’t afford to vomit any more food, so he just held Draco’s gaze and waited for the mockery to start. At least he knew all the sarcastic phrases on that particular facet of the communication sphere already.

It took long moments before Draco could close his mouth and tap Why?

Harry wanted to object that the word could apply to just about everything he’d said, and Draco would have to narrow it down. But he also knew that the objection would make him look like an arsehole, so he chose to interpret it as a question about his last statement.

“Why would it be wrong? Because you’re hurt. I wouldn’t want to sleep with a man who’s in pain and suffering—both mentally and physically.” Harry could hear his voice heating up, and hoped Draco would understand the anger there wasn’t directed at him. “It would be wrong. You need other things so much more than you need sex—“

Draco gave him a very direct look that required no translation.

“Yes, well, I’m certain sex would be nice, but wouldn’t you rather have a competent Healer from St. Mungo’s at your side?”

The direct look.

“With some Skele-Gro?”

The direct look.

Harry threw up his hands. “Bloody hell,” he said, and wished Ron was here to say it for him. He did it better. “Well, the point is that we’re in danger of our lives right now, and this is another complication we don’t need to add. And I don’t want a sexual relationship with a man. I’m certain you’re a fine l-lover—“ his tongue felt numb and far too big for his mouth, and his cheeks were so hot they hurt “—but in this case, it doesn’t matter, because I don’t want to sleep with a man. I just want to marry a woman and have a family and a nice life.”

Why? Draco’s fingers insisted.

“Because being gay isn’t normal.”

In the line of Draco’s body as he reared off the floor, Harry read a deadlier threat than from many cobras.

“I mean—no, damn it.” Harry buried his head in his hands. “I meant, I didn’t mean to say that it wasn’t normal for you. And there are other people it’s normal for, I’m sure. But not me. I didn’t plan for my life to turn out this way. I planned to marry Ginny. And that’s impossible for right now, but I think it will change if I can concentrate on it. I mean, so far I’ve been gay for a few months and I’m not suffering, but when it turns out that I won’t let myself have sex with men, I’ll have to go back to being attracted to women, won’t I?”

He looked up at a faint tapping, and saw Draco’s fingers traveling back and forth on the insulting facets of the communication sphere so fast he couldn’t make out the separate phrases. It was enough to know that Draco was calling him an idiot, a git, a prat, and everything in between.

“I know that.” Harry folded his arms. “Hermione says the same thing.”

She’s right.

“But it’s my decision,” Harry countered stubbornly. “And it only affects me and the women I decide to date. I broke up with Ginny because I wouldn’t lie to her. And if someone wanted to date me—someone I want to date, too, I mean—then I’d certainly tell her I have this inconvenient attraction to men. But I didn’t choose it. It’s a fixation, and that’s all. So I don’t have to do whatever the fixation tells me to.”

Draco let the communication sphere hang in the air as he put his head in his hands. He very deliberately shook it back and forth several times, and Harry saw his fingers curl into his hair, as if he still had the nails to ruffle it. Then he sat up like a spring and reached for the communication sphere again.

It doesn’t work like that.

“Not for you,” said Harry. “Not for other people who think they’re gay. But it will for me.”

Why?

“You use that word more often than a two-year-old,” Harry said crossly.

Draco’s unimpressed look speared him. Harry could reckon the meaning of it well enough: You are acting like a two-year-old.

“Because it will,” said Harry. “Because I’m determined to carry it through. Because I won’t let myself act on this fixation. Like I said, I’m sure that being gay is fine for you and for other people. But not me.”

Draco simply watched him in silence for some moments, his face so blank that Harry couldn’t tell what he was thinking. It was oddly disconcerting. Harry hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on reading Draco’s face as part of their silent speech.

Draco slid closer on his knees, his gaze so intense it reminded Harry of the times he’d laid a hand over Harry’s heart. Harry felt his cheeks flush even more, but he held still. Pulling away from Draco wasn’t an option, not now, when he’d done his best to explain himself and not sound like an imbecile.

Well, you failed in that, didn’t you? As you fail at most things you try to do on your own.

Draco’s hand cupped his cheek a moment later. Harry started. He’d delved too deep into his thoughts, and neglected to realize that Draco hadn’t touched his heart after all. He shook his head a little and reared back.

“Look, I told you—“

The look on Draco’s face effectively shut him up. It wasn’t blank any more, nor full of the contempt that Harry was sure one “normally” gay man would direct at another who wasn’t happy with himself. It wasn’t angry. It was simply appraising, assessing, reading him as if Harry were still light and their minds were flowing into one another’s.

And then the same hopeful openness that Draco had shown back in the alcove appeared in his eyes again.

Harry could not comprehend the strength it must have taken Draco to offer himself like this, after one rejection and Harry’s stumbling, inadequate explanation. He could feel his breath coming faster, even as he grew angry and upset. This was manipulative! Draco had to know that Harry wouldn’t feel able to reject him now!

Even though he should. Because it was still morally wrong, no matter what Draco thought, and it was wrong for Harry personally.

And none of that changed the fact that if Harry tried another rejection now, the guilt would eat him alive.

He felt his eyelids droop, and his throat utter a helpless sound, as if both those things were motions his body made entirely independent of him. It would be nice to think so. It would be nice to disclaim responsibility, too, for the hand that traveled out and cupped the back of Draco’s head, lifting his hair and letting it fall and trail between his fingers, fine and softer than Harry would have expected of a tortured prisoner.

But that one was all him. Harry knew it because he had thought, just a minute before, of how nice it would feel to touch Draco’s hair.

And then he wanted to feel the skin behind his right ear, and his wayward hand obliged. Draco’s mouth opened in a soundless gasp when Harry touched it, and then his eyes closed like a cat’s. He looked content for the first time since Harry had encountered him at the end of the corpse-chain. He leaned nearer, and Harry thought his head would fall on Harry’s shoulder. That was fine. That was a position they’d maintained before, with nothing untoward happening.

Draco, though, halted his swaying and held himself upright, and his eyes opened fully again, a steady gaze that knew what it wanted and what it demanded.

Harry licked his lips. Draco looked at the path of his tongue. Harry thought he should dislike that. Ginny’s reaction had been to blush and lower her eyes, and Harry had been convinced that was the height of erotic demonstrations.

But this—but damn—but he had to think about his plan to free Draco of the maze, which would only hurt him if Harry allowed this to go forward—

But Draco wanted this so badly. Needed it, probably. And Harry’s body was clamoring with curiosity and the stupid attraction it had first manifested to men months ago. So stupid. Why should he care what another man’s mouth tasted like?

He could smell Draco’s breath. It wasn’t awful. It seemed sweetly-scented, even though he’d eaten that orange hours ago. Harry’s face felt so sensitive he was sure he would squirm if Draco moved the hand cupping his cheek.

It wasn’t will that made his head move forwards and his lips touch Draco’s, he told himself. It was gravity, the weight of the situation. It was inevitability.

Draco opened his mouth at once, and if he was surprised or simply delighted, Harry had no idea, because no sounds of any kinds were coming out of him. He did know that Draco’s tongue and mouth tasted different from Ginny’s. What they tasted like, he had no idea, because he wasn’t good with poetic metaphors. But maybe it was orange, and maybe it was desperation, and maybe it was male.

Harry’s heart wanted to pound its way out of his chest. It was the level of excitement that he usually experienced when he was about to actually fuck Ginny, not when he was only kissing her, and he whined helplessly. It wasn’t fair that being gay felt so good. That was a trick, he thought, something to lure him in. His body would make this fixation tempting and good so he couldn’t resist, and then he would find himself in the trap too late to climb out.

His hand tugged on Draco’s hair. Draco angled his head to the side, taking control of the kiss, and then he moved his hand up Harry’s jaw to his ear. Harry jerked and whined again, feeling as if he’d fall over from that simple touch.

Draco closed his eyes and leaned in, his fingers tracing the edge of Harry’s ear this time. Harry shivered so hard that he nearly dislodged Draco’s touch. He could hurt the other man. If he was more afraid than desiring, it was almost inevitable. And Draco had to know that, and yet he didn’t care. He was making himself vulnerable.

And Harry could not reject that gift.

But neither could he allow this to go on. In another moment, he would be lost; he wasn’t sure why he had regained his mental clarity, except that he had looked at Draco’s face. It would be too late to say stop, and—

And they needed to stop.

He pulled his face away when Draco would have cupped the back of his neck, but gently, slowly, so Draco couldn’t have any ridiculous ideas about Harry rejecting him now. When Draco’s eyes flickered open and he tossed an inquiring glance in Harry’s direction, Harry smiled and allowed honest words to emerge from his mouth. “I never thought being gay was like that. Thank you.”

Draco’s face flushed with pink warmth, but he held Harry’s eyes and waited for an answer to his unspoken question all the same.

“We can’t do this here,” Harry whispered. “You’re still hurt, and an enemy may come by at any moment. There are other ways that lead partway through the maze. And do you remember the Unspeakables that came up behind us last time we paused to rest? I do.” Draco’s face was clouding, but his jaw was setting, too, which was probably a sign that he was about to be stubborn. Harry put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “We’re just not safe right now, no matter what we do. Please, let’s wait for more than just kissing until we reach a place we can actually defend.”

Draco raised his eyebrows and stared steadily at Harry. Harry stared back, and hoped Draco wouldn’t realize how terrified he was under his façade of bravado; his heart leaped and thumped dangerously. He hadn’t known—

He really would succumb to these new sensations of pleasure and allow himself to give up all thought of a normal life if this went on.

He had to soothe Draco, show that he accepted him, and at the same time preserve his own life separate from that. He wanted Draco’s friendship; he wanted to save him and keep him comfortable and happy. And he still wanted children, and a partner who, if she wasn’t Ginny, was like the wife he had sometimes dreamed of having whilst he was fighting Voldemort. The only way Harry could think of to have them both was to allow Draco a few liberties right now, and say nothing about his future plans.

And besides, if there’s no way but the one I dreamed up to free him from the maze, then I won’t be part of his life after we leave the maze anyway.

Draco reached for the communication sphere. Harry averted his gaze for just a moment, until he could hear the sound of Draco tapping on the glass. If he kept staring at Draco’s glistening, wet lips, he would kiss him again.

You like that, Draco said.

“Yes, I do,” Harry said, and his voice was hoarse with too much honesty. He winced. Shut up, shut up, he told himself, and especially the part of his brain that had begun to wonder if his fantasies of his future—a family and children—weren’t too limited after all, and whether he wouldn’t rather have something like this.

You think I’m—And Draco glanced up from the sphere with a swift shake of his head. They had no word for “normal,” but the curl of his lip gave Harry no doubts over what was being referred to.

“Yes, I do.” Harry found it in him to smile. “Much more normal than I would have supposed, before I tried it.”

Sheer delight consumed Draco’s expression, but Harry had no idea why until he chose, You have never—from the sphere.

Harry cleared his throat. “I’ve kissed plenty of women,” he said hotly. All right, two, but what difference does number of partners make? The number of kisses is what ought to count. “But you’re the first man I’ve kissed.”

Why?

Harry was starting to resent the fact that each facet of the globe had to carry so much information. Otherwise, he could have ripped out that little piece of glass and flung it away. “Because I didn’t want it to be real. I hoped it would go away if I waited.” He paused. “And I think I told you this already.”

And now?

“Maybe it won’t go away.”

Noble-minded coward, Draco said, but the expression on his face was amiable. He no longer seemed to be drowning in the horror and regret that had consumed him when they came out of the Pensieve. Harry was relieved. This was what he wanted to see, that Draco had strength for the journey ahead.

And if Harry had to kiss him a few more times, touch his face and let Draco touch him, in order to preserve that strength, it was not such a grand sacrifice. Hell, he enjoyed it too.

But he couldn’t let himself enjoy it so much that he lost sight of his goal. Either he might have to give up his life to get Draco out of the maze, or he and Draco would lead separate lives once they were free. Harry couldn’t imagine the bond between them enduring once they had a choice about who to associate with. Oh, everyone heard about whirlwind romances and deep friendships created from experiencing a harrowing situation together; what you didn’t hear about was their lasting.

No. He had to also concentrate on convincing Draco that he was a good person and teaching him how to stand on his own.

It was a tall order, but, for once, Harry was not convinced that Ron or Hermione could do it better. They had no experience in it, either, so far as he knew.

Gazing at Draco’s happy face, he mused, I’ll just have to do the best I can.

Chapter 20.

Chapter Nineteen of 'Forgive Those Who Trespass'- This Conversation

no subject