A/N: Hey there, folks. Here's a little something I've been working on for the past few days. Don't really know what it is, don't really know where it's going, but I've missed the HP fandom something fierce, and felt that I had to write this. Here is the first instalment.
When Harry got into work, he had an email waiting for him.
Potter,
You've got to stop leaving your bank password just lying around. Borrowed a couple of thousand pounds to go to Spain - the weather is lovely this time of year, or so they say. Do try and get laid while I'm away.
Toodle pip,
DM
"Fucker," Harry cursed, "What an absolute fucker."
Ron poked his head around the door.
"You say something?"
"Yes, I bloody well did," Harry replied, fingering the button hole of his Saville Row jacket irritably, "The poncy git has gone and bloody well hacked into my bank account again! He stole 'a couple of thousand pounds' so that he could go to Spain just in time for the winter."
Ron arranged his face into one of suitable disbelief.
"Bloody hell," he commented unconvincingly, "What an absolute fucker."
Harry looked up from the email suspiciously, clearing his throat. Ron returned the look helplessly.
"Well," he said guiltily, "It's not exactly old news is it? Malfoy annoying the hell out of you, I mean."
Harry was just settling down to porn and a good wank when his doorbell rang.
"Fuck," he muttered, scrambling to pull up his trousers, spray some cologne, and shut the lid of his laptop. He was out of breath when he opened the door.
"Hullo," Malfoy said cheerfully, pausing briefly to give Harry the once over before barging straight past him and into the living room. Where Harry's laptop was sitting innocently on the couch. Ah.
There was an awkward pause as Harry groped around for something to say.
"I thought you were in Spain," he lamely decided on, strategically positioning himself behind the recliner so that his erection wasn't so obvious.
Malfoy hummed absently, eyes darting from Harry's face to the laptop to Harry's face again. He did look ever so good in that trench.
"Well?" Harry asked somewhat desperately, shifting uncomfortably. Malfoy smirked suddenly.
"I was," he said, peeling off the trench and - dear god - rolling up his shirt sleeves slowly, "Thanks for the donation."
"Now, look here, Malfoy," Harry began, but was cut off as Malfoy started to undo the top buttons of his shirt seductively.
"Harry," Malfoy said in a slow, curious voice, "What were you doing before I arrived?"
"Nothing," Harry said, a little too quickly to be believable. Malfoy's eyes flicked to Harry's face. Then they flicked back to the laptop.
"Malfoy, don't," Harry managed, before Malfoy had the screen open and the video playing. Grunts and moans, which sounded obscene to Harry now, filled the room. Malfoy looked delighted.
"Up the arse, Harry?" he said, watching the video intently, "I never knew."
Harry, meanwhile, was frozen in mortification in his position behind the recliner. He watched in utter embarrassment as Malfoy began to palm himself through his trousers.
"What are you doing?" Harry squeaked, but Malfoy just smiled at him lazily.
"I bet you're hard," he said in a low voice, "You've been hard since you opened the door, haven't you?"
Harry said nothing. He couldn't stop his eyes from drifting to Malfoy's lap, where he was palming himself with increasing intensity. Malfoy followed his gaze, and smirked once more. And then he got up.
"Oh, no," Harry managed, as Malfoy advanced with a predatory gleam in his eye.
"Why ever not?" Malfoy asked innocently, "You've been gagging for it practically since we first met."
Harry spluttered unattractively.
"What?" he exclaimed, "We were about eight years old!"
Malfoy shrugged, an action that somehow also involved his shirt being removed from his body. Harry felt the wall behind him - he was trapped.
"It's harmless, Harry," Malfoy purred as his hands began roaming beneath Harry's shirt, "And much better than jerking off by yourself. Just think of me as a catalyst to your pleasure."
Harry learnt a lot of things that night: namely, that Malfoy was very flexible. It wasn't until 11 the next morning that Malfoy awoke. Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the swirling eddies of snow fall.
"Good God," Malfoy croaked, brushing his fringe out of his eyes, "Is that you, Potter? I can't see a thing."
Harry said nothing. Malfoy got up and left the room, returning moments later with a pair of glasses on and a cigarette packet in hand. He wasn't wearing any clothes.
"Huh," he said as he climbed back under the covers, lighting a cigarette absently, "I can't believe I actually slept with you."
Silence.
"I was terribly drunk last night," Malfoy continued lightly. Harry turned to him in surprise.
"Were you really?" he asked, reaching out for Malfoy's cigarette. It was given to him with a scowl.
"Honestly, Potter, bumming cigarettes? How utterly vile," Malfoy muttered, lighting another for himself. "Yes, I apparated straight from Don Juan's birthday do."
Harry frowned. He wasn't sure which question to ask first.
"OK, then," he said, "Who is Don Juan, why did you come straight here, and would you have slept with me had you been sober?"
Malfoy blinked at him in surprise.
"Harry," he said gently, "You know the answer to all three of those questions."
"Enlighten me," Harry said. Malfoy sighed.
"Yes, I would have slept with you had I been sober, I came straight here because I was horny and you're easy, and Don Juan used to work in sales."
Harry shook his head.
"I think I'd remember if I knew anybody called Don Juan, Malfoy," Harry said pointedly.
Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"You went to his farewell party. You even made a speech."
Harry thought for a moment, but nothing came up.
"Huh," he said, wondering at the complexities of life. Then, something else clicked.
"Hey, I'm not easy!" he exclaimed.
"Harry, you're as easy as Cho Chang," Malfoy said, leaning forward to pat Harry on the back condescendingly. Harry retaliated by placing his cold feet on the insides of Malfoy's thighs. Malfoy yelped.
"Merlin, Potter!" he exclaimed, "It's not like you didn't get your chance to fuck her."
A beat.
"You did fuck her, didn't you?"
Harry could do nothing but stare at the ground embarrassedly.
"Oh, come on, Potter," Malfoy said disbelievingly, "Everyone thought you were some sort of sex genius to get her away from Diggory like that."
"I was young, OK?" Harry snapped, "And probably confused about my sexuality."
Malfoy scoffed.
"So you tried to clarify things by securing the easiest girl in the school and not fucking her," he said sarcastically.
"Oh, piss off," Harry said tiredly. There was a pause where both men drew on their cigarettes thoughtfully.
"How easy was she, then?"
Malfoy smirked, and placed his hands behind his head.
"Put it this way," Malfoy drawled around his cigarette, "There was a booking service."
Harry stared at him disbelievingly.
"No way."
Malfoy nodded.
"You remember her friend Marie, or whatever, the one who got cursed?" Malfoy asked. Harry nodded. "Well, it was all very informal, you see. If it was a Monday, Thursday or Sunday and you felt like a quick blow job, you went up to Marie or whatever and asked her what her plans were for the rest of the night. If she said 'oh, nothing really', then you knew that Cho was free and you could work from there. But if she said 'I've got lots of homework, actually', you knew that Cho was with someone. Fridays were pre-booked, naturally."
"So she was working as a prostitute, then," Harry said, not believing his ears, "You're having me on."
Malfoy smiled wanly.
"Just ask any of the Gryffindors," he said, putting out his cigarette in Harry's coffee cup, "Except for Weasley, of course. And Longbottom. And Thomas. Actually, now I think about it, it was only that Finnegan chap who had the balls to do it. Did you have any fun at all being a Gryffindor, Harry?"
"No," Harry answered truthfully, "Not really."
Malfoy gave him a long, blank look.
"Right then," he said after a while, jumping out of bed and dressing quickly, "Must be off. It's been lovely to chat with you. And to have your cock up my arse, and all that."
"What -" Harry started confusedly, but was cut off by Malfoy giving him a quick peck on the lips.
"I'll see you at work. Tata."
Then he apparated. And Harry was left with come-stained sheets and a lot of things to think about.
Harry didn't see Malfoy at work that week, mainly because Malfoy was in Ireland on an assignment and thus wasn't in the office. It seemed that the murder case he had been working on for months was coming to an explosive and dangerous end. Harry didn't know the details.
"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked over her plate of yakisoba, "You seem a bit spaced out."
Harry drank the dribble of sake given to him in his thimble-sized cup, and debated whether or not he should tell her.
"Just tell me," she said suddenly, putting her chopsticks down, "I won't tell Ronald."
So Harry took a deep breath, and told her.
Hermione said nothing, but patted the corners of her mouth delicately with a napkin and signaled for the bill. There was an awkward silence as the waiter took away their plates.
"So, what are you going to do?" Hermione asked suddenly. Harry looked at her in surprise.
"What on earth do you mean?" he asked sharply.
"I mean, are you interested in him?" she said exasperatedly, "Are you going to ask him out?"
"This is Malfoy we're talking about, isn't it?" Harry said weakly. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"So what? He's not the same Malfoy we knew at school. He's a very successful, if slightly insane auror who happens to be very gay. And interested in you. At the very least, you should pursue it as a casual thing."
Harry started at her incredulously.
"What?" she asked, shrugging, "I'm just pointing out your options."
It wasn't until the following week, as Harry was brushing his teeth, that he remembered Malfoy owed him several thousand pounds.
"Bloody fuck," he exclaimed angrily around his toothbrush.
Tracking down Malfoy's address was easy enough. Harry was surprised to find that Malfoy was living in the rather indie suburb of Shoreditch, as opposed to North Kensington as he had expected. In the end, it was close to midnight before Harry knocked on his front door. Malfoy answered in a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else.
"Harry," he said, squinting into the darkness, "Lovely to see you, but may I ask what the fuck?"
"Can I come in, please?" Harry asked tightly, rubbing his hands together. Malfoy frowned.
"Er, I'd rather you didn't," he started, but Harry wasn't in the mood.
"Fuck off, Malfoy, and let me in," he said, glaring menacingly. Malfoy sighed, and stepped aside.
"If you must," he said wearily, closing the door and leading Harry into a kitchen/living area, "But don't say I didn't warn you.
Harry definitely wasn't in the mood for Malfoy's games.
"Whatever," he said, waving absently, "Listen, you owe me money. I want it back, and I also want you to promise that you'll never 'investigate' my bank account again."
Malfoy pouted dramatically and sidled up to Harry.
"Does that mean I'm not allowed to 'investigate' you anymore, as well?"
Harry moved away.
"What? No. Wait - ah! Don't change the subject, Malfoy."
"I'm not changing the subject," Malfoy said, shrugging innocently, "I'm merely clarifying certain points within the subject that confused me."
"Look, I don't care!" Harry said, exasperated, "Just give me my money back."
"God," Malfoy said, frowning, "You are in a bad mood tonight. Fine, I'll have your money to you by morning."
Harry looked at him expectantly. Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"And I promise never to investigate your bank account ever again."
"Thank you," Harry said, feeling rather proud of himself.
"Oh, don't look so smug," Malfoy snapped, pouring himself a drink from the cabinet in the corner of the room, "I would have given it back eventually."
"Yes, well, I always knew that you cared deep, deep down, Malfoy," Harry said sarcastically, plonking himself down on the sofa unceremoniously. Malfoy looked at him strangely.
"Um, planning on staying the night?" he asked.
"Well, the least you could do is offer me a drink," Harry said slowly. He was in the middle of pulling his jacket off when he noticed Malfoy looking uncomfortably behind him to a door that must have been the bedroom. It was also at that point that he noticed a second glass already on the table, as well as a purple mobile that almost certainly didn't belong to Malfoy. Harry got up with a start.
"Oh, god," he said, pulling his jacket back on and looking at Malfoy incredulously, "There's someone here, isn't there? In your bedroom, right now. I can't believe you even let me in."
"I didn't let you in, Potter!" Malfoy snapped, suddenly angry, "You barged your way in, ignoring my warnings, and demanded money from me, if I recall."
"You could have at least warned me!" Harry exclaimed, feeling his temper also flare.
"Didn't you listen to a word I just said?" Malfoy hissed back, his voice rising noticeably, "I tried to stop you, and you decided to -"
"Draco?" a man's voice called from the bedroom. Malfoy froze almost comically. Harry forgot to laugh.
"Whatever," Harry said, holding his palms up, "Get back to your one night stand. I don't even care." With that, he turned on his heel and walked down the hallway.
"Oh, Harry, you are a fool," he heard Malfoy say behind him, but he apparated away before he had the chance to say something he regretted.
For the rest of the week, Harry went about his business with a permanent thunder cloud over his head. On the one hand, he was angry with Malfoy for sleeping with another guy. On the other hand, he was angry with himself for being angry in the first place. What should he care who Malfoy was sleeping with? It made no difference to Harry's life.
But what confused Harry even further were the intense, long looks that Malfoy was sending him seemingly whenever they were in the same room. Whenever Harry went to lunch at the cafe below headquarters, he would feel a familiar set of eyes lock on to him immediately, so that Harry would shift uncomfortably. It didn't seem to help that he was trying to avoid Malfoy at all costs. His mind was constantly replaying the events of a few weeks ago, when Malfoy had returned from Spain. After the initial horror, everything had seemed so easy, so natural - especially the morning after. Which was exactly what Harry wanted. Hermione was right - a casual thing would be a good way of relieving some o the sexual tension that had been building up.
Thus, it was total relief to Harry when he got an owl from Malfoy on Friday afternoon inviting him over to dinner that night. At least, he thought, it wouldn't take any effort on his part. After dressing carefully but casually, he apparated to Malfoy's flat and knocked on the door.
"Harry," Malfoy greeted him when he opened the door, smoothly accepting Harry's bottle of wine and herding him into the living room, "Sit down." Harry did so, taking the drink offered to him and sipping it slowly.
"I'm afraid I just have a few more things to do in the kitchen," Malfoy said, pushing an errant strand of hair out of his eye and moving into the kitchen, which overlooked the living room.
The sound of chopping soon filled the air. Harry got up momentarily and started wandering around the room, examining photos and CDs with interest. He and Malfoy fell into a pleasant cadence of small talk and work chat. Soon, Harry found himself leaning casually on the kitchen counter, watching as Malfoy moved dexterously around the room. It was during a momentary lapse in conversation that Harry had the balls to bring up their last encounter.
"Look, Malfoy," he said, putting his glass down. Malfoy looked at him curiously. "I'm sorry about the way I acted the other night. Barging into your place in the middle of the night, and acting like a complete arse...It was just uncalled for."
Malfoy stopped stirring and turned to face him.
"I'm not going to lie and say it didn't piss me off, because it did," he said bluntly, "But honestly, if I can get you into bed again, I couldn't care less about how you act."
Strangely, surprisingly even, Harry found that as soon as Malfoy had made his intentions clear, the slight tension that had been present since he had arrived dissipated. It was like having two really, really good desserts in front of him: he knew that the second one was there for the taking, but he was enjoying the first one so much that the other could wait. Thus, he and Malfoy settled down to a superb curry and sparkling conversation - Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable in someone else's presence.
After the plates had been levitated into the kitchen, Harry was given a very full glass of rosé and told to sit on the sofa. He watched absently as Malfoy rummaged around in the cabinet drawer for a while, before finally pulling out a stack of photos and coming to sit next to Harry.
"Cho Chang, funnily enough, was the person we were pursuing in Ireland," Malfoy said softly, flicking through the batch of photos and pulling a few out, "I can't tell you the details, obviously, but when we were searching her flat, I came across all these old photos from Hogwarts."
Harry, more confused than anything, accepted the proffered photographs. There were a few of Cho and her friends, happy and youthful, a few of Cho and Cedric, one even of Dumbledore addressing the school. The last one, however, was a photo of the four Quidditch seekers of their school generation. Cho, her shiny ponytail glinting in the sunlight, stood behind Harry, and kept sending looks of appraisal when she thought he wasn't looking. Photo Harry, having noticed the attention, was blushing furiously, and in turn was unaware of the glares that photo Malfoy was sending him.
"I heard that your assignment was a success," Harry said carefully, his eyes following the shiny swish of Cho's hair, "What happened to her?"
Malfoy said nothing for a while. Then -
"She...she's dead, Harry."
Harry felt nothing at the news - that part of him had died a long time ago.
"I see," Harry said. Malfoy took the photo out of his hand and looked at it.
"I was so jealous, you know," he murmured, "I was jealous of Cho because she had been accepted into your little club. She got to spend time with you, talk with you...kiss you. I spent most of our fifth year trying to lure her away from you. I figured if I wasn't allowed to be your friend, then neither was she. I was very foolish, at school."
Harry took the photo from Malfoy's hands gently and placed it on the coffee table.
"We all were, Malfoy," he said, "Me included. Me especially."
Malfoy sent him one of his long, intense looks, where it seemed to Harry as though his deepest desires and fantasies were being judged.
"I still have the scar, you know," Malfoy murmured, unbuttoning his shirt slowly to reveal a pale, toned chest, marred only by a faint line running from his chin to his naval. It formed the shape of an 'S'.
Harry swallowed, and stared at the scar, overcome with the sudden urge to touch it. Malfoy, as if reading his thoughts, picked up Harry's hand and guided it to where the scar began. From there, Harry traced the 'S' pattern softly with his fingers, down and up again. Malfoy's eyes slid closed as Harry's hand moved away from the scar and simply began to touch.
Malfoy said nothing during the whole process, so Harry, suddenly feeling foolish, went to pull his hand away. Malfoy's eyes shot open, and he moved his hand suddenly so that it was pinning Harry's to the warm skin just below his nipple. Without warning, Malfoy's other hand slid into Harry's hair, and Malfoy kissed him, open-mouthed and utterly vulnerable. Harry slid his hand inside Malfoy's shirt and around his waist, pulling Malfoy closer so that he could get a better angle.
They pulled apart a while later to catch their breath.
"I've been a proper gentleman the entire night," Malfoy panted, pulling Harry's shirt off, "And I'm totally sick of it."
Harry chuckled.
"No more Mr Nice Guy, then? he said.
Malfoy pulled a face and pinched Harry's nipple.
"Very funny," he said, extracting himself from Harry's grip and getting off the sofa, "Now shut up and get into the bedroom."
The trip from the living room to the bedroom was long and interrupted, but eventually Harry found himself being shoved roughly onto Malfoy's obscenely large bed.
"I'm going to fuck you tonight," Malfoy murmured in Harry's ear, his breath making Harry shiver pleasantly, "Then we're going to sleep. And then I'm going to fuck you again. All right?"
Harry's answer came in the form of a moan as Malfoy's clever hands found their way into his trousers and started to lightly trace Harry's hardening dick.
"Good," Malfoy said, "Very good."
True to his word, Harry was woken at some ungodly hour of the morning by Malfoy's tongue. He couldn't think of a nicer way of starting the day.
"Good - mmm - morning," he murmured, dragging an hand through Malfoy's blonde locks. Malfoy looked up from his position between Harry's legs.
"I was wondering when you would wake up," Malfoy commented lightly, his breath fanning onto Harry's thoroughly abused dick. Harry squirmed.
"Do you ever think about anything other than sex?" Harry asked, unable to draw his eyes away from his own dick disappearing into Malfoy's mouth. Malfoy looked up again and smiled.
"Not really. Now," he said, pointing at Harry's crotch, "Do you mind...?"
"Mmm, please," Harry replied, settling back onto the pillows comfortably.
An appropriate amount of time later, Harry was showered and dressed and eating a truly delicious meal of scrambled eggs and toast.
"God, Malfoy," he managed to say around his mouthful, "How on earth did you get eggs to taste so good?"
Malfoy beamed at him delightedly.
"You do know how to compliment a man," he said, taking a sip of his very black coffee.
"You mean a Malfoy," Harry replied, waving his fork pointedly.
"I think it's just me, actually," Malfoy replied lightly, "My father definitely didn't hold any love for you."
There was an odd silence as Malfoy looked into his coffee cup interestedly and Harry tried to think of an appropriate response.
"You can say that again," he settled for.
"I'd rather not," Malfoy replied tightly, getting up and clearing the plates, "I try and avoid speaking of my father as much as possible."
Ah. Wrong answer, then.
"Malfoy..." Harry said, getting up and following him into the kitchen.
"Can't you even call me by my name?" Malfoy snapped suddenly, throwing the mug he was holding violently into the sink, where it shattered loudly.
A beat.
"Draco," Harry said. He reached out to touch Malfoy's shoulder, but Malfoy dodged him.
"Sorry," he said quickly, not meeting Harry's eyes, "Thinking about my father...It gets me quite wound up. I'm sorry."
"It's fine, really," Harry said, feeling quite bewildered by Malfoy's sudden mood swing.
"I think it's best if you go now," Malfoy continued, eyes still staring out of the kitchen window fixedly.
"OK, whatever you want," Harry replied, going to the living room to collect his coat. Malfoy followed him down the hallway to the front door, where he turned to face Harry awkwardly.
"Look, Draco," Harry said, stressing Malfoy's name, "I enjoyed myself. A lot. So I just want to say thank you."
Malfoy smiled weakly at him, and allowed Harry to press a chaste kiss onto his cheek.
"I'll see you next week, then," Harry said.
Malfoy nodded slightly, the strange expression on his face staying with Harry long after he had apparated home.