”There are many reasons to why I think you’re a foul git Potter, and this constant pesting is one of them.”
The gray eyes that were peering into his swam with rage and hate. Harry gave out a faint sigh, and slowly twirled the haw-thorn wand between his fingers. The surface was smooth and warm to the touch, as he was sure the skin of it's master sitting in front of him would be.
After all, it had been before
“Why won't you just leave me alone?”.
Draco stared at him, anger and hate beaming out of the somewhat ferret-like face he had loathed most of his adolescent life.
“I get that, I get you don't want me here, but I'm just trying to help you Dra...”
“Don't use my name!”
The disgust in Draco's voice was so thick that he might as well have been covered in Wavering Warts, another invention of George Weasley who had kept the shop going in memory of Fred. Harry was f***ed to back off for the moment, still twirling the wand between his fingers as he spoke again.
“Fine then I won't. Look, I know we don't get along since I'm not the favourite person in your book, but all I want to do is HELP...”
“And what makes you think I even need your help Potter?”
God, how he loved and loathed his name off of those thin lips! Harry's jaws worked furiously as he fought the urge to beat the smugness out of Draco. The room surrounding them, white and lightly furnished with only two chairs, a table, and the bed which Draco sat in, seemed to capture the silence and magnify it by thousands. He looked at the angry and stubborn man in front of him, and wondered what to answer him. His brain, God how he wanted Hermione with him now, told him to leave. That this was too much heartbreak, he knew he couldn't change what had happened and that he should just stop coming here. The breaking heart in question pleaded for him to stay.
And as always, stupidly, Harry followed his heart. Bluntly he asked:
He noticed how Draco recoiled from him at this, and sighed again. With patience, he continued.
“Malfoy. Haven't you wondered about this room? About why you're in here?”
The look of utter surprise that filled Draco's ferret face pained him. He had looked like that once before.
In the celebration after the final battle.
Victory. The feeling clinging to him like wet fabric, almost suffocating him and yet he had never felt more free. It was over. Finally, it was over! How funny it was that the word seemed to burn his mouth to bad for him to say it. Instead he walked between the celebrating people, d***k with the feeling of happiness and new found life, getting patted on the back, hugged, kissed. All around him people seemed to be pairing up, he saw Ron and Hermione sneaking in to a dark corner, Hermione kissing him soothingly as he gripped her in a mixture of grief and too long hidden love. Suddenly, the love that they had found in each other seemed to pain him. It was not jealousy, he did not desire Hermione nor Ron in that sort of way. But he felt a need inside of him. A need that was both of the flesh and of the heart, maybe it was just the memory of the battle still making his bl**d feel like a cauldron over salamander fire, but when he saw Draco Malfoy in the midst of hugging, crying and kissing, he came to him like a moth to a flame.
His face was paler than ever and Harry found him close to angelic.
“Are my parents...?”
The question came trembling of his thin lips, his eyes weary and wide. This almost frightened Harry. Draco seemed to have lost everything that had fed Harry's loathing against him. His snorky attitude, his selfconfidence, and most of all, his hatred for Harry himself.
“No, they're alive. They're searching for you like mad though.”
Draco nodded, the relief that took over his face made him look breathtaking, and an ache came into Harry’s chest, a drawling and still somewhat piercing ache that made his breaths not seem quite enough to fill his lungs. He must have been looking like he was about to faint, because the next thing he knew Draco was next to him, those grey eyes were piercing into his not with hatred but with concern, the pale hands that had been giving all sorts of rude gestures the past years was gripping his waste and if he hadn’t been breathless before he sure as hell was now. A slight blush rose to Draco’s cheeks, and he whispered with a voice that was obviously meant to be harsh:
“Don’t you die on us now Potter. Although it would be just like you, chickening out at the last moment, leaving it to your friends to clean it all up…”
Blinking, Harry put his arm around Draco’s neck, getting them steadied were they stood. Draco’s lips were parted, and he looked almost angry. But he didn’t let go of Harry’s waist. Maybe it was this single action, this small, insignificant action that made Harry do what he did. The muscles in the arm that was wrapped around Draco’s neck tensed a little as he pulled him closer, close enough so Harry could feel his prickling breath against his own mouth. Draco’s eyes seemed to want to escape from his head, and Harry laughed:
“So you consider yourself my friend?”
He would have expected Draco to be outraged at this moment. Either by the fact that their lips we’re close enough to kiss, or that he called him his friend. But he didn’t. He only smile, the sweetest smile Harry ever saw, and touched he’s cheek with trembling fingers.
And Harry kissed him. He kissed him with the fierceness of hate, the sweetness of love and the hunger of a man taking what he had been missing out on for too long. Draco’s fingers stiffened at first, as did his entire body, but he didn’t push Harry away, and at last, after what felt like an eternity longer than when he had awaited his death, he kissed him back. They stood like that for a long time, just kissing, hands fluttering over bodies, to scared to grip for real, to longing to stop the touch, until Harry broke away to look at the man in front of him. Draco’s lips where parted, his eyes big and surprised and his breath seemed to tremble as it softly touched Harry’s face. That very look he saved within him, the look after their first kiss.
Harry tried to regain his own face as he looked at Draco’s, wich very very soon returned to its ferrety, snorky self. He looked at Harry in contempt, and Harry could feel his heart being ripped out of his chest by those eyes.
“I’m in this room because of an accident POTTER, and my f****y will soon have me returned to my own home. Merlin knows what these St Mungos people have done to me while I’m in here. Now, I want you to sod off, and never visit me again. I don’t know why you would even get the idea in your mind, probably got something to do with that mudbl**d mother of yours and-…”
Harry looked at him, and slowly rose to his feet. The wand he had been twirling between his fingers he put on the nightstand, and he left the room without one more word to the silverhaired man in the bed. With quick steps he left the room, cursing himself under his breath for coming there again, knowing very well how it all would end. Remembering that night, one year ago.
His fingers burrowed themselves in the mattress, his teeth so clamped together he thought they were going to burst, and his breath was caught very harshly in his throat. The wet mouth wrapped around his cock sucked and nibbled on him, a tongue slid down the shaft of his dick with such expertise that he seriously thought he was going to explode. In the darkness of the night around him he felt nothing but pleasure and burning desire for the man hiding under the sheets, making him feel so amazing. Suddenly he felt an intense burning in the shaft, a prickle going down his spine and he gave out a little cry, suddenly sitting upright and throwing the covers of, showing Draco’s grinning face looking up at him with his hand still tight around the shaft of his dick.
The laughter in his voice was to noticeable to be accidental, and Harry grasped him by his neck, pulling him up toward his face with both firmness and love, staring into his gray eyes. Draco stared back, smiling broadly.
“Why wouldn’t you let me finish?”
Harry looked down into his eyes, and smiled back, because that was the only thing he could do. Bending his neck a little, he gave his boyfriends lips a soft peck.
He murmured, stroking Draco’s hair until he was like putty in his hands, his erection poking hard against Harry’s own, every little move made a fantastic thrill shoot through his body.
“I want this night, like every night, to last.”
The next thing he knew, he was covered by the young wizard, his lips hard against his own, his hands stroking his arms body and hips, and his erection, standing like an exclamation mark midst a bush of brightly blond hair, rubbing against his own in fantastic friction that made him whimper hard, nearly losing his load immediately. Draco, knowing this, started licking and sucking the side of his neck, making him roar from bone-melting pleasure.
The kissing and rubbing kept on going for quite a while, they didn’t want to reach the peak right away but in the end it was going to come, and when it did Harry felt a wave of ecstasy flowing through him, he looked down on Draco, for they had shifted positions in the end, hands gripping each other tightly, jacking the other off with high panting, and when he came all over Draco’s stomach, painting the white skin with even whiter droplets of cum, he couldn’t help but smile a little, groaning happily. When it was all done, when the lust had poured out of his veins and love had filled them once again, he layed down next to Draco, taking his hand into his own, just holding it. That’s how he wanted to fall asl**p in the home that they shared, holding his boyfriend’s, his lover’s, hand and remembering why he loved him so much. Forgetting all the hate that they had shared, just looking forward to what was about to come and the future that they would share.
Little did he know that the future he dreamt of, the f****y he saw in Draco’s eyes, would never come. When the hours drew close to midnight the house was shook by a loud roar, sounding like a fire had swept through the entire building, shaking it from the ground up. Harry sat up in his bed, eyes wide open, almost knowing what was going on the moment the bedroom door was opened. They had found them. The spells hadn’t been enough, the moving every two months had not been enough, and the remaining Deatheaters had at last found them.
Harry thrust himself out of the bed at the same time as the cloaked and masked Deatheater came in to the room. He fumbled for his wand, his hands trembling from being awakened so sudden, and dropped it to the floor. Draco, sitting upright in the bed, staring at the cloaked form in front of him, seemed to have frozen on the spot. A wand was lifted, and he could almost hear the smirk from behind the mask. Looking for something, anything at all, Harry picked up the haw-thorn wand belonging to the man on the bed, pointed it toward the cloaked figure, and yelled with it in a deafening roar:
Light filled the room, and then, darkness.
He remembered this as he made his way out of St Mungos, fighting the tears the best he could. He remembered how he had awoken hours later, finding Draco knocked out on the bed, the Deatheater dead on the floor beside them. How he had taken him to St Mungos, beging for him to be safe, to wake up. And he remembered, oh how he remembered when they told him that he had been hurt. That he had been saved from the killing spell, but that the last years of his life had been swept clean. That he would never regain them. Yes, Harry staggered out of the hospital, into the nearest Alley with cries of pain and grief bursting out of him, his heart thumping hard and fast in pain, tears dripping down his cheeks as he thrust his fists against the wall, drawing bl**d to the surface, knowing that Draco would stay in St Mungos for the rest of his life. That he would wait for his f****y, the f****y that rejected and banished him when they learned his choice of lifepartner, to come and get him.
And Harry fell to his knees, sobbing roughly now, putting his forhead against the stone of the wall, and making hard fists of his hand, knowing that in his mind Draco would always be fifteen. That he would always despice the very look of him. And that he would never remember how sweet their love had been, how lustful the bed they shared had been, or how Harry had gripped his hand as they fell asl**p.
Harry Potter, the Boy who lived, cried in the alley because without Draco, he had no reason to.