Author's Note: Dear God, I've finally done it. This is the
real smut you've all been waiting for. I'm going to hell. So you better
review before I'm struck by lightning, eh?! Ugh...Kat's gonna have a
field day. Well I hope you like it. I must admit, it was fun to write,
since the song fits so well. But I was so embarrassed! Hehe. Oh well.
Enjoy it.
Actually not yet. In answer to a review I received; Harry breaks the habit because...yeah basically. They're not fooling around anymore. The habit being shagging Draco (or being shagged) as just a shagging thing. And it's not anymore. I was planning on something different, but I couldn't bear to write it.
Disclaimer: The character's belong to J.K. Rowling, and I'm not making money off them. The song is Breaking the Habit by Linkin Park from their Meteora album.
Harry lay on his bed, eyes open but unseeing. The red velvet hangings over his head had become a screen on which he projected his memories like a Pensieve, where he drowned in regret and self-loathing. Only here, with the curtains shut around him, did he allow himself to crumble; calm, competent mask slipping away to reveal the face of a boy who was, after all, only fifteen. The face was a handsome one, hopelessly sweet, vulnerable and hopelessly lost. Harry wished Sirius were there to help him. Sirius always knew what to do, and Harry did not.
He never did anymore. Everyone always expected so much from the Boy Who Lived, and Harry usually measured up—at least to the others, if not in his heart. But this time, Harry was afraid he could never measure up; never be the one they needed him to be. The wizarding world was under attack, Harry, along with everyone else it seemed, had succumbed to the terror, and despair that seemed to follow the Death Eater attacks everywhere. Harry, however, was not allowed to show his fear or his misery. For he was The Boy Who Lived, he had responsibility. Harry scowled; he did not want the responsibility! Not at all. Everyone assumed he loved the glory that followed him, but truly, he didn't want it. None of it. How Harry would have loved to be a normal wizard—paradox that it was—to be just like everyone else.
Now Harry scowled again, in annoyance with himself this time. He could not spend time falling into depression, there was too much to do, too much to think of. They were counting on him. Everyone was. He would just have to measure up. Somehow. Harry stood and went to stand before the full- length mirror in the boy's dormitory. Looking at himself, he frowned and wondered what everyone saw in him. How could he be a hero? He was only an average boy. Mostly. Loose, baggy clothing—for no one bothered with Hogwarts uniforms anymore—that didn't fit him well at all, frayed jeans and a shapeless green t-shirt, and black trainers. Underneath the shirt, Harry's ribs jutted out like everyone else's; Hogwarts was running low on food and everyone had grown much thinner, and there were hollows around his prominent collarbones. His hipbones stuck out with sharp points, and bony elbows and knees protruded at odd angles. His face was thin, normally high cheekbones even more pronounced because of the hollowed cheeks beneath them. Too large green eyes gazed at Harry from behind thick-framed black glasses, surrounded by exceedingly pale skin that seemed to glow in the dim light of the dormitory. Harry glowered at the scar that stood out on his forehead like a neon sign that said "Don't worry, I'll save you. I'm Harry Potter, after all." Harry hated the scar now. He'd never liked it, but now it foisted too much liability on his slender shoulders. So, he hated it. He still couldn't see what the hundreds of wizards and witches who looked to him for guidance saw in him. He was just...ordinary. Besides the scar.
Harry checked his watch, 7:03; Time for dinner. He left the dormitory, shutting the door quietly behind him, and went down the stairs to the common room. Near the fire, his two best friends, Hermione and Ron sat together, heads bent toward each other as they talked. Harry hesitated, not wanting to interrupt their conversation, but Hermione saw him standing at the foot of the stairs and beckoned him over with a smile.
"Harry!"
Harry walked over with a sigh. "Hello Hermione, Ron." He was just as surprised at his formality as the other two Gryffindors were. "Let's go to dinner?"
The two stood and accompanied Harry down the flights of stairs to the Great Hall, where they took their seats at the Gryffindor table. Harry glanced down the table, checking who was still at school today. Students had been pulled out of school at a steady rate since the first attack; now there were only about six Gryffindors left, four Hufflepuffs, five Ravenclaws, and two Slytherins. Speaking of Slytherins, Harry's gaze was unwillingly drawn to one of the remaining Slytherins. White-blond hair and icy-grey eyes caught his attention and held it. Draco Malfoy. The iron eyes met his green ones and Harry shivered. Draco smiled, a dangerous, inviting smile that made Harry redden slightly. They stared each other down. Harry was the first to blink and look down. But he knew what the smile meant. He couldn't help the wave of flushed anticipation that followed the smile, but he didn't look up again. Harry knew that Draco was watching him, as he always did. Harry couldn't eat. When people began drifting away back to their common rooms, Harry stood, told Hermione and Ron he'd see them later, and hurried to the library.
Draco was already there, sitting on a table in a far corner of the Restricted Section that no one ever went to. No one, that is, but Draco and Harry. The Gryffindor crossed the small space between them and kissed Draco, hard. The blond boy responded instantly, clutching Harry's hair and weaving his tongue with the Gryffindor's in a moaning, tangled dance.
Harry pulled away first, breathing hard from lack of air and...well. By the time Harry could breath normally, Draco had pulled off his clothes and they lay in a discarded pile on the ground. Harry lost his breath again with a whoosh. Draco smiled again, smugly, and pulled Harry's t-shirt over his head. Harry did not resist, but sat on the table, wriggling his hips to help Draco remove his pants. The Slytherin paused a moment, watching Harry through half-lidded eyes, and swept his grey eyes over Harry's pale body. He nodded once, approvingly, and Harry flushed. It always unnerved him, the way Draco stared at him. But, somehow, Harry always seemed to pass the test.
Draco kissed him again, pressing Harry's back to his front. With a quick thrust of pale hip, Harry was impaled. The black-haired boy gasped, rolling his head back to rest on Draco's shoulder. The Slytherin sighed contentedly and kissed Harry's temple, before pulling back and slamming back in. Harry moaned, a bit louder than was wont in a otherwise silent library, and Draco covered his mouth with one hand, whispering shushing noises in his ear. When Harry nodded to show he understood, Draco did it again. This time, the Gryffindor managed to contain his groans. Draco's hand removed itself from Harry's mouth and wrapped around another part of Harry, strokes matching the plunging motions of his hips. Harry's back arched against the touch and Draco stopped a moment, mesmerized by Harry's face. The normally sober boy's face was transformed into a mosaic of ecstasy and frustration. When Harry noticed that Draco had stopped, he opened his eyes to glare at him. Chagrined, the Slytherin grinned, kissed him quickly, and resumed his previous motions.
Harry exploded at the same time that Draco did, and they collapsed against the table together, still connected. The Gryffindor lay limply against Draco's body, aligned at the hips, legs, and back. They fit together perfectly. Suddenly, Draco's chest began to shake, a quiet rumbling sound filled Harry's left ear. When the black-haired boy lifted his head, he found, to his surprise, that Draco was laughing, albeit quietly.
Harry scowled. "What's so funny?"
With a barely concealed grin, the Slytherin raised one languid arm and pointed at the wall less than two feet away from them. There was a generous splatter of...well. Harry blushed. Draco looked him sideways and snorted, rather un-Malfoy-ly. Harry didn't want to get up, so he didn't.
"I'll clean it up later."
"That would be recommended. I can't imagine Dumbledore coming back here, seeing it, and surviving."
Harry laughed at the imagery. "I'd rather he didn't come back here at all. This is our place." He stopped, startled by the fierceness in his voice. If Draco cared, he didn't show it.
They separated finally and pulled on their clothes. Harry cleaned the wall with a well-aimed spell and sat on the table again. Draco usually left first, without a word, but this time he stayed. Slate-grey eyes fixed on his for a while, and when Harry remained silent, Draco stood to leave. Finally, Harry found his voice.
"Hey, Draco. We've got to talk."
Draco stopped where he was, back turned, and slowly pivoted on one foot. Was that a flash of apprehension Harry caught on his face?
"Yes?"
Harry stood too, and began pacing, as he always did when he was nervous. "It's just...this whole...thing." Harry waved his hands vaguely, trying to encompass the peculiar relationship he had with Draco. The Slytherin seemed to understand, but Harry thought he caught a spark of fear and pain in the blonde's eyes. "Don't get me wrong," Harry hurried to reassure Draco, wondering all the while, why he felt the need to at all, "This whole 'let's shag when we need to' thing is pretty good with the stress-relief thing. You know?"
Draco smirked, the guarded look back on his face. Harry sighed; he'd gotten used to not seeing that anymore on the Slytherins' face. He'd forgotten how much it hurt to see it. "I see. But the noble Gryffindor in you realized it was all wrong and you've decided to put a stop to the 'shag-sessions'?"
"In a sense...I suppose. It's not right, and you know that and I know that. Even if you can't admit it. Look, this whole war is screwing everyone up, and I don't know what's going to happen to us, so...I suppose I might as well use the time I've got the best way I know how."
"And how's that, Potter?" Harry winced. "Shagging everyone else too?"
"No! That isn't what I meant." Harry turned away, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He mumbled, "This is not going like it's supposed to." The Gryffindor raised his voice again. "Look, Draco. Will you...go out with me? Officially?"
Draco didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
Actually not yet. In answer to a review I received; Harry breaks the habit because...yeah basically. They're not fooling around anymore. The habit being shagging Draco (or being shagged) as just a shagging thing. And it's not anymore. I was planning on something different, but I couldn't bear to write it.
Disclaimer: The character's belong to J.K. Rowling, and I'm not making money off them. The song is Breaking the Habit by Linkin Park from their Meteora album.
Memories consume
Like opening the wound
I'm picking me apart again
You all assume
I'm safe here in my room
[Unless I try to start again]
Like opening the wound
I'm picking me apart again
You all assume
I'm safe here in my room
[Unless I try to start again]
Harry lay on his bed, eyes open but unseeing. The red velvet hangings over his head had become a screen on which he projected his memories like a Pensieve, where he drowned in regret and self-loathing. Only here, with the curtains shut around him, did he allow himself to crumble; calm, competent mask slipping away to reveal the face of a boy who was, after all, only fifteen. The face was a handsome one, hopelessly sweet, vulnerable and hopelessly lost. Harry wished Sirius were there to help him. Sirius always knew what to do, and Harry did not.
I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
'Cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused
The battles always choose
'Cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused
He never did anymore. Everyone always expected so much from the Boy Who Lived, and Harry usually measured up—at least to the others, if not in his heart. But this time, Harry was afraid he could never measure up; never be the one they needed him to be. The wizarding world was under attack, Harry, along with everyone else it seemed, had succumbed to the terror, and despair that seemed to follow the Death Eater attacks everywhere. Harry, however, was not allowed to show his fear or his misery. For he was The Boy Who Lived, he had responsibility. Harry scowled; he did not want the responsibility! Not at all. Everyone assumed he loved the glory that followed him, but truly, he didn't want it. None of it. How Harry would have loved to be a normal wizard—paradox that it was—to be just like everyone else.
Now Harry scowled again, in annoyance with himself this time. He could not spend time falling into depression, there was too much to do, too much to think of. They were counting on him. Everyone was. He would just have to measure up. Somehow. Harry stood and went to stand before the full- length mirror in the boy's dormitory. Looking at himself, he frowned and wondered what everyone saw in him. How could he be a hero? He was only an average boy. Mostly. Loose, baggy clothing—for no one bothered with Hogwarts uniforms anymore—that didn't fit him well at all, frayed jeans and a shapeless green t-shirt, and black trainers. Underneath the shirt, Harry's ribs jutted out like everyone else's; Hogwarts was running low on food and everyone had grown much thinner, and there were hollows around his prominent collarbones. His hipbones stuck out with sharp points, and bony elbows and knees protruded at odd angles. His face was thin, normally high cheekbones even more pronounced because of the hollowed cheeks beneath them. Too large green eyes gazed at Harry from behind thick-framed black glasses, surrounded by exceedingly pale skin that seemed to glow in the dim light of the dormitory. Harry glowered at the scar that stood out on his forehead like a neon sign that said "Don't worry, I'll save you. I'm Harry Potter, after all." Harry hated the scar now. He'd never liked it, but now it foisted too much liability on his slender shoulders. So, he hated it. He still couldn't see what the hundreds of wizards and witches who looked to him for guidance saw in him. He was just...ordinary. Besides the scar.
I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I know it's not alright
So I'm breaking the habit
Tonight
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I know it's not alright
So I'm breaking the habit
Tonight
Harry checked his watch, 7:03; Time for dinner. He left the dormitory, shutting the door quietly behind him, and went down the stairs to the common room. Near the fire, his two best friends, Hermione and Ron sat together, heads bent toward each other as they talked. Harry hesitated, not wanting to interrupt their conversation, but Hermione saw him standing at the foot of the stairs and beckoned him over with a smile.
"Harry!"
Harry walked over with a sigh. "Hello Hermione, Ron." He was just as surprised at his formality as the other two Gryffindors were. "Let's go to dinner?"
The two stood and accompanied Harry down the flights of stairs to the Great Hall, where they took their seats at the Gryffindor table. Harry glanced down the table, checking who was still at school today. Students had been pulled out of school at a steady rate since the first attack; now there were only about six Gryffindors left, four Hufflepuffs, five Ravenclaws, and two Slytherins. Speaking of Slytherins, Harry's gaze was unwillingly drawn to one of the remaining Slytherins. White-blond hair and icy-grey eyes caught his attention and held it. Draco Malfoy. The iron eyes met his green ones and Harry shivered. Draco smiled, a dangerous, inviting smile that made Harry redden slightly. They stared each other down. Harry was the first to blink and look down. But he knew what the smile meant. He couldn't help the wave of flushed anticipation that followed the smile, but he didn't look up again. Harry knew that Draco was watching him, as he always did. Harry couldn't eat. When people began drifting away back to their common rooms, Harry stood, told Hermione and Ron he'd see them later, and hurried to the library.
Clutching my cure
I tightly lock the door
I try to catch my breath again
I hurt much more
Than anytime before
I had no options left again
I tightly lock the door
I try to catch my breath again
I hurt much more
Than anytime before
I had no options left again
Draco was already there, sitting on a table in a far corner of the Restricted Section that no one ever went to. No one, that is, but Draco and Harry. The Gryffindor crossed the small space between them and kissed Draco, hard. The blond boy responded instantly, clutching Harry's hair and weaving his tongue with the Gryffindor's in a moaning, tangled dance.
Harry pulled away first, breathing hard from lack of air and...well. By the time Harry could breath normally, Draco had pulled off his clothes and they lay in a discarded pile on the ground. Harry lost his breath again with a whoosh. Draco smiled again, smugly, and pulled Harry's t-shirt over his head. Harry did not resist, but sat on the table, wriggling his hips to help Draco remove his pants. The Slytherin paused a moment, watching Harry through half-lidded eyes, and swept his grey eyes over Harry's pale body. He nodded once, approvingly, and Harry flushed. It always unnerved him, the way Draco stared at him. But, somehow, Harry always seemed to pass the test.
Draco kissed him again, pressing Harry's back to his front. With a quick thrust of pale hip, Harry was impaled. The black-haired boy gasped, rolling his head back to rest on Draco's shoulder. The Slytherin sighed contentedly and kissed Harry's temple, before pulling back and slamming back in. Harry moaned, a bit louder than was wont in a otherwise silent library, and Draco covered his mouth with one hand, whispering shushing noises in his ear. When Harry nodded to show he understood, Draco did it again. This time, the Gryffindor managed to contain his groans. Draco's hand removed itself from Harry's mouth and wrapped around another part of Harry, strokes matching the plunging motions of his hips. Harry's back arched against the touch and Draco stopped a moment, mesmerized by Harry's face. The normally sober boy's face was transformed into a mosaic of ecstasy and frustration. When Harry noticed that Draco had stopped, he opened his eyes to glare at him. Chagrined, the Slytherin grinned, kissed him quickly, and resumed his previous motions.
I'll paint it on the walls
'Cause I'm the one at fault
I'll never fight again
And this is how it ends
'Cause I'm the one at fault
I'll never fight again
And this is how it ends
Harry exploded at the same time that Draco did, and they collapsed against the table together, still connected. The Gryffindor lay limply against Draco's body, aligned at the hips, legs, and back. They fit together perfectly. Suddenly, Draco's chest began to shake, a quiet rumbling sound filled Harry's left ear. When the black-haired boy lifted his head, he found, to his surprise, that Draco was laughing, albeit quietly.
Harry scowled. "What's so funny?"
With a barely concealed grin, the Slytherin raised one languid arm and pointed at the wall less than two feet away from them. There was a generous splatter of...well. Harry blushed. Draco looked him sideways and snorted, rather un-Malfoy-ly. Harry didn't want to get up, so he didn't.
"I'll clean it up later."
"That would be recommended. I can't imagine Dumbledore coming back here, seeing it, and surviving."
Harry laughed at the imagery. "I'd rather he didn't come back here at all. This is our place." He stopped, startled by the fierceness in his voice. If Draco cared, he didn't show it.
They separated finally and pulled on their clothes. Harry cleaned the wall with a well-aimed spell and sat on the table again. Draco usually left first, without a word, but this time he stayed. Slate-grey eyes fixed on his for a while, and when Harry remained silent, Draco stood to leave. Finally, Harry found his voice.
"Hey, Draco. We've got to talk."
I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
But now I have some clarity
To show you what I mean
I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright
So I'm breaking the habit
Breaking the Habit
Tonight
Or why I have to scream
But now I have some clarity
To show you what I mean
I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright
So I'm breaking the habit
Breaking the Habit
Tonight
Draco stopped where he was, back turned, and slowly pivoted on one foot. Was that a flash of apprehension Harry caught on his face?
"Yes?"
Harry stood too, and began pacing, as he always did when he was nervous. "It's just...this whole...thing." Harry waved his hands vaguely, trying to encompass the peculiar relationship he had with Draco. The Slytherin seemed to understand, but Harry thought he caught a spark of fear and pain in the blonde's eyes. "Don't get me wrong," Harry hurried to reassure Draco, wondering all the while, why he felt the need to at all, "This whole 'let's shag when we need to' thing is pretty good with the stress-relief thing. You know?"
Draco smirked, the guarded look back on his face. Harry sighed; he'd gotten used to not seeing that anymore on the Slytherins' face. He'd forgotten how much it hurt to see it. "I see. But the noble Gryffindor in you realized it was all wrong and you've decided to put a stop to the 'shag-sessions'?"
"In a sense...I suppose. It's not right, and you know that and I know that. Even if you can't admit it. Look, this whole war is screwing everyone up, and I don't know what's going to happen to us, so...I suppose I might as well use the time I've got the best way I know how."
"And how's that, Potter?" Harry winced. "Shagging everyone else too?"
"No! That isn't what I meant." Harry turned away, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He mumbled, "This is not going like it's supposed to." The Gryffindor raised his voice again. "Look, Draco. Will you...go out with me? Officially?"
Draco didn't answer.
He didn't have to.