Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
Warning: Mild sexual content.
A/N: A little something I wrote for the hp_silencio fest, a dialogue free fest. The summary line is different from what I had submitted to the fest, but the story is the same. Thank you very much to Jo for being my beta.
If I Drown in You
When Harry woke up on a bed that had become all too familiar, he found the space beside him warm but empty. After lingering on the warmth for several heartbeats, he threw the blanket aside, got dressed, and walked barefoot into the unlit living room. A tall, masculine figure was smoking a cigarette by the open window, and despite the chill, Harry went over to join him.
Arching an eyebrow, Draco sent Harry a sidelong glance that was saddled with too much or too little meaning. While Harry watched him in silence, he took another drag from his cigarette and blew purple smoke into the night. A whiff of cedar and tobacco fluttered towards Harry's direction and coiled around him like a teasing finger. He did not know Draco smoked; then again, he did not know a lot of things about the man who was once his rival and now his lover.
Without a word Harry took away Draco's cigarette, held it to his mouth, and, imitating his lover, he inhaled. Smoke invaded his lungs like glass shards and made him cough. Chuckling in amusement, Draco took the cigarette from him and showed him how it was done.
His eyes narrowed in agitation, Harry opted to watch Draco smoke instead. City lights had cast a death-like glow upon Draco's profile. The autumn breeze toyed with blond hair that appeared as if bleached. With his elbow on the window-sill and a cigarette dangling between his fingers, Draco had an abstracted look as though lost in thought. Once upon a time, Harry had been content to watch, but he had crossed the line since then.
Translating impulse into action, he grabbed Draco by the back of his head and kissed him, tasting tobacco and all things bitter. A beat later, Draco kissed him back, their lips joining and parting in time to their pulse. Not the frantic passion after a long absence, not the timid exploration of first-time lovers, but an intimacy built upon unspoken consensus and experience—they knew what they wanted from each other.
The kissing session ended with a chaste kiss. Harry drew in a deep breath, letting cold air sting his throat like needles. Turning away from him, Draco stubbed out the cigarette and gazed at the twinkling nightscape as though nothing had happened. The murk swirling in Harry's heart grew restless, but he took the hint and turned to leave.
A hand shot out and grabbed Harry's arm. Harry blinked before peering into the depth of grey eyes, asking a question that needed not be put into words. At length, Draco released him. Common sense dictated that he should walk away from this strange relationship of theirs, but Harry rarely listened to his voice of reason.
After returning to Draco's side, Harry leant out the window and surveyed the scene. In the distance, the arc of the London Eye sliced across the velvet night like a giant scythe. There were no stars in the sky; they had fallen to earth and become lost in the underbelly of the metropolis.
A smile playing about his lips, Draco stood behind Harry and unzipped Harry's trousers. The sound cut through silence like the swish of a blade. Leaning into the man, Harry clutched the window sill and felt a cool hand slip inside his boxer briefs. There was something perverse about being fondled in front of the window while being watched by the Eye, not knowing if other eyes were watching him in the dark. Harry did not know what kind of expression he was showing, but the shivers trailing up his back were not of apprehension or fear but of delight. Not even his former girlfriend had seen this side of him, the side of him that he would only reveal in front of Draco, who knew his desires, his fantasies and the secrets of his body.
What remained of Harry's rationality was in shambles. When the blond stopped what he was doing, Harry twisted around to look at the man. His lover was staring at him with a look he had no trouble interpreting. An understanding was reached. After shutting the window, Draco led Harry into the bedroom and to his bed.
The scent of Draco's cigarette seeped under Harry's skin and intoxicated him. Various men and women had become addicted to the taste of Draco Malfoy, and Harry Potter was one among the flock. When an opportunity presented itself, Harry bit down on the inside of Draco's thigh, leaving behind a deep bite mark to mark his stay. Instead of pushing him away, the blond laughed in that low voice of his and stroked Harry's hair as he would stroke a cat.
On the next day, Harry left Draco's place and bought himself a pack of cigarettes—the same brand as Draco's.
With a chime the lift arrived at the Atrium, and Harry, waiting on the other side, saw Draco walk out with Blaise Zabini, Draco's friend and former lover. Harry met Draco's gaze for two seconds before averting his eyes; in turn, Draco strolled past the Auror and continued talking to Blaise, who listened and smirked. Not once looking to check if the two men had disappeared into the crowd together, Harry entered the lift and stared hard at the glass wall.
Outside the glass walls, the elliptical galaxy known as Centaurus A was floating in space, a haze of red clouds concealing the ravenous black hole at its centre. The staff of Magical Maintenance had outdone themselves with their artistic design for the revamped Ministry building, which, in this case, involved transforming the lift into a tiny planetarium.
As the lift made its ascent, Harry had the impression of flying through space towards the great unknown. The illusion evoked the same queasy feeling he sometimes had when he was with Draco, a false sense of security so paper thin that it could give out beneath his feet in a heartbeat.
When the lift reached Level Two, Harry stepped out with two other fellow passengers, who went one way while he went the other way to the Auror Office. After greeting his colleagues with a nod and a smile, he returned to his cubicle. Photographs and rolls of parchment occupied much of his desktop, and in the midst of the orderly chaos, a box of Belgian chocolates and a single white rose were waiting for Harry. There was no card attached to the gift; the rose was the signature.
Every witch and wizard who passed by Harry's cubicle gave him a grin or a wink. Everyone in the office knew he had an admirer; the large bouquet of white tulips he received on his birthday had made the matter rather conspicuous. Nevertheless, no one knew who the admirer was, for Harry felt no need to advertise his relationship with Draco Malfoy to the world.
In an attempt to dissuade his colleagues from interrogating him, Harry took a piece of chocolate from the box and gave the rest to the cheering crowd, leaving only the rose behind. A thornless white rose did not suit him, for he was neither innocent nor thornless. Twirling the flower in his hand, Harry popped the chocolate into his mouth, a substitute for something else he wanted to taste right now.
Nightlife was in full motion in the city, but a certain bar that was styled after speakeasies of the 1920s maintained its cool nonchalance. Furnished in dark wood from floor to ceiling, the bar was the exemplar of elegance and understatement. With its dim, atmospheric lighting, it was a place for clandestine affair, though Harry was not here on clandestine business.
Weary after a long day at work, Harry rested his elbow on the polished bar, his head on his palm, his eyes staring at the army of shiny bottles behind the burly bartender. Snippets of conversations fluttered around him like butterfly wings, reminding him that he was alone. It was Draco's idea to visit this bar, and the man in question was late.
While Harry stared into his glass of whisky, someone slid into the seat next to him, smelling of cedar and musk and all things nice. After making a gesture to the bartender, Draco turned to Harry, a faint smile playing across his lips. Harry cast the blond a sidelong glance before looking away. Nonchalance is the key to the game, but whenever Draco was around, Harry had trouble keeping up a poker face.
In silence Harry and Draco sipped their liquid vice; in the background, a smoky female voice sang about one distant summertime. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw two women sitting at the other end of the bar, ogling at them—or at Draco. Harry shot a glance at Draco, who stared at the bartender with unseeing eyes, and seemed oblivious to the attention he had attracted.
Urged on by the instinct of an animal wanting to mark its territory, Harry pressed up close to the blond until their arms touched. Grey eyes snapped out of their lethargy and gazed upon him. Like a cat Harry licked his lips, stole the olive from Draco's martini and rolled the fruit around in his own mouth. One pale eyebrow arched; a lazy smile spread across Draco's face. Playing along, Draco reached over for Harry's whisky. Before anyone would notice, he licked Harry's ear and moved back, whisky glass in hand. Within three seconds the moisture faded, leaving behind a cool sensation before it too vanished.
Harry cast a glance at the women, who had moved onto the next target. Mischief Managed, he bit down on the salty fruit and leant away from Draco, feigning innocence. Both blond eyebrows lifted, but the smile remained on Draco's lips. In response, Harry finished Draco's drink for him, his ear burning from the invisible mark left behind by the capricious blond.
One more drink later, the weariness in Draco grew more apparent. After taking one look at the man, Harry paid for the drinks, got up and took Draco's arm. Without resistance the blond followed him out the door.
The night air was frigid and smelled of snow; Draco seemed more awake than before. Breathing in the cold air, Harry buttoned up his coat, slipped his arm through Draco's and walked along the road. The streetlight cast its orange glow upon them, illuminating another typical scene that could happen anywhere in the metropolis after dark.
When they reached a dark spot where they could Apparate out of sight, Draco pulled Harry in for an overdue kiss and mingled his breath with Harry's. With his arms around his lover, Harry slipped his tongue inside Draco's mouth and mixed their saliva together, stirring up the blond like a bartender stirring together vermouth and gin. Draco was warmer than usual, his cheeks burning with heat, though it might have something to do with the alcohol.
After one final entwining of tongues, Harry ended the kiss and took a step back. Draco let him go. Warmth swiftly departed from Harry, but he steeled his mind and took out his wand. As he was about to Disapparate, Draco grabbed his arm. Taken aback, Harry gazed at Draco, but he could not see his expression. A hand slid down his arm and found his hand, and Harry, letting out a misty breath, gripped Draco's hand and Disapparated.
In one of the bedrooms at 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry straddled Draco and moved with him in bed. Biting on Draco's tie to keep himself from moaning out loud, Harry lusted after the man's body like a starved animal. Draco's hands roamed about Harry's body as though longing to memorise every inch of his skin. Warm lips fell at times upon Harry's neck and shoulders, tasting him, branding him, and adoring him. Those bright grey eyes of Draco's were looking only at him, and for one glorious, devastating moment, Harry could glimpse into Draco's heart.
When everything quieted down at last, Harry leant over the sleeping blond and studied his face, seeing very little beyond pale skin and vague contour in the dark. He had never watched Draco sleep before. On the other hand, he had once feigned sleep while Draco watched him.
The blond stirred and made a sleepy sound. Smiling in spite of himself, Harry shushed him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, a little spell that had nothing to do with magic. A murmur and a rustle later, Draco settled down on his side and sank once more into the realm of dreams.
Like a lullaby the sound of Draco's breathing lulled Harry into a state of indolence. The languor that followed the satiation of the body had caught up to him at last. Lying down, he pressed up against Draco's back and closed his eyes.
When Harry opened his eyes again, dawn had arrived and Draco was gone. Feeling a pang of disappointment, he ran his hand over the empty space beside him, but nothing was left behind to remind him of the man's overnight stay.
Harry pushed himself up and reached for the drawer, where an unopened pack of cigarettes was kept. After tearing open the wrapping, he shook out a stick, lifted it to his mouth and went to the window. Outside, the overcast sky was the same shade of grey as a certain someone's eyes. A thin layer of white veiled the roofs on the other side of the street. Harry opened the window to a slit; crisp air trickled into the room and chased away his drowsiness.
In a hesitant gesture he lit the cigarette and inhaled. Smoke cut into his throat like a knife. He coughed until his eyes watered, but unlike last time no one was there to take the cigarette from him. When the coughing fit passed, he tried again. Even though the itch in his throat persisted, he smoked some more, letting the smell of tobacco soak into his lungs and his skin.
Boxes of imported confections continued to appear on Harry's desk, as though Draco longed to drown the wary Auror in a pool of sweetness. As usual, Harry gave them away, taking only a piece for himself. The white rose had its place in a glass beside a yellowing photograph of his parents. Steering his mind away from Draco, Harry grabbed several rolls of parchment from his desk and went to the meeting area for the mission briefing.
The Aurors' latest target was hiding in a seedy part of the city; therefore, it was appropriate that the hunt would happen at night.
With the Anti-Disapparition Jinx in place, the Aurors made their move. Unfortunately for them, the target noticed their presence and ran off. Cursing under his breath, Harry, along with his two other colleagues, gave chase down the alley, through the red-light area before cornering the man in a closed sex shop. In a final gambit to evade capture, the wizard turned the wand on himself, but Harry and his colleagues were quicker. Hit by three Stunners at the same time, the man crashed into the shelves and landed on a pile of shiny leather toys, unconscious and defeated.
The surge of adrenaline brought on by the hunt made Harry more agitated than usual. The hunter in him was dissatisfied that the chase was over so soon. During the questioning of the wizard, he could not stop pacing around, to the point that his colleague, annoyed by his antics, threw him out of the room. By the time his superior dismissed him, a sense of emptiness, more terrifying than being swallowed by the dark, seized him. After grabbing his coat from the hatstand, he made his way down to the Atrium and Apparated to Draco's flat.
An irritated Draco answered the door, his hair tousled and his dressing gown hastily thrown on. When he saw who the visitor was, he narrowed his eyes. His clothes reeked of smoke and alcohol and sweat and the odour of the metropolis, Harry gave no explanation for why he showed up here in the middle of the night. In turn, Draco did not ask the obvious question. For a moment, they stared at each other—contemplating, speculating, pondering—in the end, Draco pulled Harry into the house and closed the door.
In the morning, while Draco slept on, Harry slipped out of bed, got dressed, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. After a quick search, he found several eggs, a carton of milk, sliced ham, half a loaf of bread and some vegetables. While whisking the eggs, Harry, feeling quite cheerful for some reason, hummed a tune he had heard somewhere before.
The aroma of melted butter and toasted bread soon filled the kitchen. The omelette turned out a little misshapen, but Harry shrugged off the minor detail and slid it onto the plate. After he had finished cleaning up, he carried the plates to the living room and laid them out on the coffee table. It was the first time Harry cooked for Draco, albeit as a compensation for disturbing the man last night.
Woken by the smell of food, Draco stood at the doorway, his arms crossed and his eyes following Harry's movement. Aware of the man's gaze, Harry straightened up and put on his coat. Without a word Draco walked over and gave him an envelope. Raising an eyebrow, Harry accepted the envelope and pulled out a cream-coloured card—an invitation to a masked party at Malfoy Manor. Suspicious of Draco's motive, he frowned at the man, who smiled a strange half smile.
The invitation went beyond the bounds of their relationship, yet Harry shoved the invitation into his pocket. As though satisfied with his non-answer, Draco led him back to the living room, where breakfast awaited. Sitting on the floor, Harry and Draco shared the food. The ham-and-tomato omelette tasted better than expected, if a little overcooked.
While Harry drank his tea, Draco watched him through heavy-lidded eyes. After casting a glance at the man, Harry put down his cup and studied the abstract painting on the wall. A hand reached out and wiped the corner of Harry's mouth. Tilting his head, Harry looked at Draco, who licked his own finger and got up.
Draco summoned a pack of cigarettes and went over to the window; several beats later, Harry got up and went to his side. When Draco lifted a cigarette to his mouth, Harry lit the tip for him. Grinning in gratitude, the man inhaled for some seconds before blowing smoke towards the leaden sky.
Unable to suppress the craving, Harry stole the cigarette, took a drag and returned the stick to Draco. Grey eyes squinted at Harry as though they had never beheld his true face till now; nevertheless, Draco's lips curled into a wry smile.
Sharing a cigarette, Harry and Draco watched the first snowflake drift down and soon become lost in the urban jungle. More snowflakes followed the same fate, descending upon the world only to disappear without a trace. Feeling a sense of calm inside him, Harry leant against his companion, who, after a beat, brought the cigarette to Harry's lips.
When Harry stood in front of the mirror, he could not quite recognise himself. Dressed in a black dress robe, a dark-haired stranger stared back at him with bright green eyes: eyes that were not hidden behind a pair of glasses. In an attempt to ease his tension, Harry tried to smile, and the stranger smiled a sheepish smile at him. After fixing his tie one last time, he checked the time, picked up his wand and went downstairs to the living room.
Looking elegant in his dress robe, Draco was standing in front of the piano, pressing ivory keys at random. When his gaze fell upon Harry, the dissonant tune came to an abrupt end, and a pleasant smile spread across his face. Feeling a flutter in his stomach, Harry turned away to contemplate the pair of domino masks on the piano. The masks were identical except in colour: one black and one dark green, their glossy surfaces embellished with vine-like silver curves.
Harry went over to the piano, took the black mask and covered Draco's face with it. Draco chuckled and let him do whatever he pleased. There was neither a ribbon nor a rubber band to secure the mask in place, yet when Harry withdrew his hands, the mask stayed on Draco's face. For a final touch of magic Harry pressed his mouth against Draco's, savouring softness so unlike his own chapped lips. A beat later, he pulled back and gazed into Draco's eyes; the leather mask had dyed those grey irises black.
Wearing a faint smile, Draco secured the other mask on Harry's face. As leather slid against his skin, the nervousness inside Harry whimpered and died. When Draco took a step back to study his work, he could not look more pleased. Harry felt no need to check himself in the mirror; the man knew what he was doing, much better than Harry himself did.
For a moment, Harry and Draco gazed at each other in their respective masks. But as Kreacher shuffled into the room, holding Harry's cloak in his arms, the spell was broken. After smiling at the house-elf in gratitude, Harry took the cloak and put it on. Once he had waved goodbye to Kreacher, he turned to Draco and held out his hand, his lips curved into an unpretentious smile. Returning the smile, Draco gave his hand to Harry and let the dark-haired man lead him into the indigo night.
Finis.
A/N: Trying to decipher someone's action and gesture can be frustrating at times, but that is part of the fun of watching a film. Harry is quite insecure in this story, and it doesn't help that Draco is being contradictory at times.
The first scene was originally intended for something else, but I ended up using it here. The place where Harry chased the dark wizard is probably somewhere in Soho. Thank you very much for reading. Also, thank you to everyone who reviewed and favourited my other stories.