Harry Potter © JK Rowling.
I never thought I'd write a HP fic, but here it is haha. Nothin' special in terms of plot, but I still wanted to post it. This is going to be slightly AU, mostly after the final book (not including the horrific epilogue). Characters will likely be OOC as well, so be warned.
The rain pours as Draco Malfoy makes his way through the empty muggle streets. He feels lost and he has a sense that he looks it, too. He wraps his arms around himself, entering a nearby tavern. It's early evening, but he sits at a bar stool and orders a drink nonetheless. He doesn't have any muggle money, but he'll worry about that later. Right now, he needs to calm down. He needs to sit still long enough to breathe. He needs to think. He needs to figure out where he'll go from here.
"Rough day?" a burly bartender asks.
"You have no idea," Draco murmurs, feeling drained by the day's events.
"Here, this one's on the house," the bartender says, placing a tall glass in front of Draco.
Draco smiles forcefully at the muggle before taking the first sip. 'Vile,' he thinks to himself, but nonetheless he continues to drink.
Harry Potter rolls around in his bed before finally getting up. He spent the day sleeping off a hangover, but he's relieved to see he is alone this time. It's never pleasant waking up next to a strange face.
He opens the curtains and stares out the window. It's yet another rainy day. He moves downstairs and makes coffee, leafing through the paper carelessly. He still gets the Daily Prophet delivered and this morning he is surprised to see Draco Malfoy on the front page after breaking off his engagement to Astoria Greengrass.
MALFOY HEIR RUNS AWAY SCARED
"Sounds about right," Harry snorts at the tactless title, shaking his head as he skims the article. The author has no kind words to say about the Malfoy name, that is for damn sure.
The moving image shows the familiar blond throwing an arm over his face as the sudden flash of countless cameras go off.
"The life of the rich and famous," Harry muses before folding the paper and setting it aside. Harry himself ran away from all of that. He never graduated from Hogwarts. The goals he made for himself as a child never fell through. Now he lives in alone in a London apartment. His plans on becoming an auror went down the drain after he killed Voldemort. He grew tired and he grew spiteful. Magic was convenient and fun at first, but it caused him so much grief. Now he puts up a wall between himself and the world of magic he once welcomed. Instead, he works in a muggle library. It's a simple job and many say it doesn't suit the great Harry Potter, but he prefers it like that.
His apartment is above a pub and many nights are spent getting pleasantly drunk. Tonight will likely be no different.
Once finished his cup of coffee, Harry moves to take a shower. He peels off last night's clothes and stairs at himself in the mirror. He has uncooperatively messy jet-black hair and clear peachy skin. He has grown in height over the years and is no longer scrawny. Yes, he looks much like his father apart from his bright, green eyes. Those are his mum's.
And, of course… his legacy. Harry brushes the hair off of his forehead and stares at it - the unmistakable scar. His muggle friends always find it the most interesting conversational piece.
"This is Harry, he has a scar shaped like a lightning bolt!"
Harry always laughs it off and smiles, pushing away his bangs when they ask to see it.
With a sigh, he moves away from the mirror and towards the shower before stepping inside. He takes his time, simply letting the water cascade once he's finished washing his hair.
Everything is simple. Everything is easy. Everything is perfectly mundane and unchanging. This is the life he chose, yet there are times when it's feels so unfulfilling. Times like now.
When Harry is finished, he dries off and puts on a pair of beige khakis and a red sweater. He grabs his round, wire-rimmed glasses, pockets his wallet and slips into his shoes before leaving his apartment.
It takes him less than a minute to reach the pub. As soon as he steps inside he walks to the empty side of the bar and orders a beer. He'll start off light tonight. For a few minutes, Harry plays on his phone, responding to emails from Hermione. He hears people in the pub conversing and one voice in particular sounds strangely familiar. When he lifts his head, he's more than shocked to see Draco Malfoy, of all people, sitting in the stool on the opposite end of the pub. Draco pauses and the two men make awkward eye contact. Draco is the first to look away. He turns up his nose and Harry feels like they're in Hogwarts again.
Speak of the devil.
Harry finds himself smiling at the sheer coincidence of it all, though he has a feeling Draco doesn't find it as humorous as he does.
Harry finishes his beer quickly before ordering something stiffer. Drink in hand, he makes his way to the other end of the pub and sits down next to Draco.
"Malfoy," he greets.
"Potter," is the curt response he gets.
"Long time, no see."
"Fortunately," Draco replies tartly, raising his glass to his lips finishing the rest of his drink.
"You're a miserable sight."
Draco sneers at the brunet before sarcastically saying, "How kind of you to notice."
"What happened to you?" Harry asks. "You used to swagger up and down the halls of Hogwarts like you were God's gift to all humanity – magic and muggle alike."
Draco doesn't respond. He avoids eye contact, tightening his grip on the glass on alcohol. Instead, he asks a question of his own. "Why are you here?"
"I live nearby, but I should be the one asking you that," Harry retorts. The last thing he would have expected was to find a Malfoy in a muggle pub. "So, are you okay?"
"Peachy," he answers angrily, "and if I wasn't, I wouldn't tell you about it."
"I saw you in the newspaper," the brunet admits suddenly, brushing off the cold response. "Why'd you break things off?"
"Saint Potter," Draco murmurs bitterly. "I'm really not in the mood to talk, least of all to you."
Harry can't help but laugh, clearly the blond hasn't changed much. "Come on," the urges. "We're twenty-three. We're not kids anymore. We can put the past behind us."
"Buy me another drink and I'll consider."
So, Harry does and the more Draco drinks the easier the words come out.
"It was an arranged marriage," he confesses, staring down into his drink as he swirls it around. "It was just politics. I knew it would make my parents happy, so I agreed to it. I thought I'd be able to go through with it but as the wedding date grew closer… Well, it got difficult. I want different things for myself."
"That's understandable," Harry sympathizes. "Everyone deserves to choose who they spend the rest of their life with."
Draco nods his head lazily. "What about you and the Weasley girl, then?"
"Our relationship made no sense," Harry says with a shrug. "Fortunately, we kind of realized that before things got too serious. We mutually decided to end things, but we're still friends."
"Hm," Draco muses, not seeming to care.
"Was there someone else?" Harry asks, changing the subject back towards Draco.
"Not really," the blond says vaguely. "She just wasn't my type."
"Who is your type, then?"
"Well, for starters, not girls," Draco murmurs, taking another long sip of his latest drink.
That surprises Harry. His lips part, but he quickly tries to mask his shock. "Oh," is all he musters up. It shouldn't surprise it as much as it does. He heard the tasteless and crude rumours that used to float around Hogwarts about Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin slut.
Draco offers the brunet a sardonic smile before finishing his glass of liquor. Harry orders them both another round. He wants to know more and liquor seems to be the way to crack Draco.
"Say something," Draco demands impatiently.
"I guess this means we both ran away," Harry says with a forced chuckle. "I ran away from the world of magic and you ran away from your marriage."
"No one knows," Draco murmurs. "I mean, maybe if they did they would understand… but my father would be less than pleased."
"What about your mum?"
"I don't think she would mind so much," Draco admits. "So, why did you run?"
"People expected great things from me," Harry starts. "I felt like I did what I was supposed to do and after that I lost my purpose. I didn't feel like I had a place in that world anymore, so I left. I feel more at ease in the muggle world anyway. It's what I'm used to. Magic is a perk. At first it was supposed to be a break, but I fell into a cycle. I'm content, I suppose. It's easier here, so I stayed."
Draco nods his head.
"Me and Ginny…" Harry continues, pausing. "We didn't work out because she isn't my type either."
"You mean…?"
"Yeah," Harry admits.
"Funny," Draco mutters.
"I know," Harry agrees. "It's all very funny… in a bitter way. Now look at us. You hate me, yet you're sitting here in a muggle pub and we're spilling secrets to each other."
"I never hated you, Potter," Draco admits. "I simply wasn't used to rejection. I spited you for thinking poorly of me."
"Well, do you blame me?"
"Yes."
Harry lets out a sigh. "Well, either way, I'm sorry for making you feel that way."
Draco shrugs a careless shoulder. "It's fine. I don't want to talk about that. Change the subject." His tone is haughty and Harry can't help but wonder if he's trying to disguise the fact that it still bothers him.
"All right," Harry relents. "When did you find out you liked men?"
"I used to suck off Crabbe and Goyle," Draco crudely confesses with a bitter laugh before cringing at the memory. "We used to get drunk and I'd offer my services. I tried to have sex with Pansy once before any of that started. I mean, she made the first move. I didn't even get my pants off. Once I saw her tits I ran away. So, I decided to see if boys were any better."
Harry's jaw drops as vividly repulsive images make their way into his mind – images he'd rather not see. "No…!"
"Yes."
Harry starts laughing at the sheer insanity of it and Draco can't help but join him. The two of them continue to converse, swapping equally strange stories and it feels normal. It feels right. It feels the way it should feel and the way it could have been if things hadn't gotten in the way years before.
Soon, the nearby clock chimes and it is midnight.
Draco gets up, stumbling slightly. "Anyway, I should leave…"
"Where are you going?" Harry asks him.
"I don't know," Draco admits, "but it's getting late and I need to figure it out."
"Stay with me," Harry suggests. "I live in an apartment above the pub."
Draco hesitates, but nonetheless he says, "All right, if you insist."
Harry pays the bill and the two of them leave without another word. Draco follows Harry silently into the cool London streets and then into a nearby door.
They go up a few flights of stairs and down a narrow hallway.
"Here it is," Harry announces as he digs out his keys, unlocking the door. "It's not much, but it's home."
Draco glances around as they walk inside, still wavering with each step he takes. It's small and warm, unlike the Malfoy mansion.
The two men slip off their shoes and Harry leads Draco into the living room before saying, "I'll get you a glass of water. You could probably do with some hydration."
Draco sits on the sofa. The room is small and personal. There are photographs, some are moving images of familiar faces and some are still images of unfamiliar faces. Muggle photographs. Glancing away, he spots old issues of the Daily Prophet on the coffee table. Then he sees the most recent headline featuring a picture of himself. He flips it over, not wanting to think about it.
When Harry returns, he's holding two glasses of water. He hands one to Draco before sitting down beside him. They both sip silently and slowly before setting their cups down.
They stare at one another and it's quiet.
"Potter –" Draco starts, voice wavering.
Just like that the dam separating them breaks and Harry leans forward, closing the gap between their faces. He doesn't know what makes him do it, but for now he's going to blame it on the alcohol. He half expects Draco to push him away, but he doesn't. Instead, he kisses Harry back.
When they break apart, Draco glances away. "Why?" is all he asks.
"I don't know," Harry admits. "There doesn't have to be a reason, does there?"
"I guess not," Draco relents.
Harry stands up, offering his hand to the blond. Draco stares at it before tentatively accepting and the two of them move to the bedroom.
"Do you do this a lot?" Draco asks, surveying his surroundings. There is a bed in the center of the room with red bed sheets. There is a nightstand on the right side with a lamp and a desk on the left with a laptop. On the opposite side of the room is a bureau and a closet adjacent to it. It's small and modest, but Draco finds it nice. It's just as homey as the rest of Harry's apartment. Draco finds it suiting to the brunet.
"What?" Harry questions.
"Bring men to your apartment to sleep with?"
"I didn't plan for this when I invited you to stay," Harry insists.
"Is that a yes?"
"Fine, yes, I do this a lot," Harry relents, "but I still didn't plan on doing a thing like this tonight."
"All right," Draco says. With that, he reaches for the top button on his shirt.
"You're okay with this, right?" Harry asks. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."
"I want to," Draco insists. "I haven't had a proper fuck in a while. You better be good, Potter."
Harry only smiles and they don't say anything more after that. Harry simply watches the blond undress as more and more milk-white skin is revealed. He's hairless apart from the trail of public hair below his navel. He looks soft and smooth.
When Draco is bare, he sits in the center of Harry's bed. "Your turn," he says.
Harry doesn't hesitate. He reaches for the rim of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and discarding it carelessly. He's confident in his appearance. He grew into his body after Hogwarts and is no longer awkward and small.
Once naked, Harry reaches into his nightstand to fish out a condom and a bottle of lubricant.
Draco lies down, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to feel self-conscious. Still, he can't help but recall the sting of rejection Harry once made him feel. He doesn't want to feel that way again – especially not now.
Harry kneels between the blond's parted knees, staring down. "These…" he murmurs, moving his palms over the old wounds on the pale man's smooth chest. The marks are familiar and Harry knows them all too well. Seeing them so close and feeling them beneath his fingertips causes a painful twinge in his chest. Guilt.
"Snape did his best, but…" Draco trails off, pausing. "It still scarred."
"I'm sorry," Harry apologizes sincerely.
"It's of the past," Draco says with finality. His voice is terse and tight and Harry can tell this is something that plagues him.
"We can talk about it if you want," Harry suggests.
Draco's mouth twists into a cynical smile. "Not now and not like this. Besides, I have a feeling you want to talk about it more than I do, Potter."
"Maybe," the brunet relents. "I remember you were crying and every time I look back on that day I wish I approached you differently. I wish I didn't attack you with a spell I knew nothing about."
Draco sneers at the mention of it. "I wasn't crying."
Harry gives him a dull look. "Yes, you were. I heard you sobbing. I saw you, too. Your eyes were red when you turned around. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I mean… the entire situation was rather messy, was it not?"
"I suppose," Draco agrees begrudgingly. "I never wanted to do any of the things I was forced to do."
"I know," Harry tells him.
"If it makes you feel any better you redeemed yourself by saving my life when we were seventeen," he says before quickly adding, "Not that I care about making you feel any better."
Harry smiles at him once more, though the memory isn't particularly pleasant in any way. The fire was unlike any other. It was fiendfyre – not something you'd find in nature. It was completely out of control. Crabbe didn't know what he was doing when he used that spell and it showed.
Those were dark days. Harry can still see the faded dark mark on Draco's forearm – the proof of what he was once a part of. Still, Harry never believed that Draco was evil. The blond is a classist arsehole, sure… but he was never evil. He tried to be, but he just wasn't cut out for it.
In an almost self-conscious manner, Draco touches the faded dark mark. "It never quite disappeared. So, I tend to keep it covered."
"Well, you don't have to do that with me," Harry promises.
Draco lets out a soft sigh. "Let's not talk anymore. It feels odd to talk while we're in this position."
With a chuckle, Harry relents. He reaches for Draco's legs, pushing them back. The blond wears an unsure look, mixed with one of mild disgust.
"What is it?" Harry asks.
"It feels odd," the blond admits unsurely, trying to force away the flush that must be showing on his face. "Doing this with you…"
Harry rolls his eyes. "I already told you that we don't have to."
"We've already come this far," Draco reasons in a business-like tone. "Just hurry up."
Harry snorts back a laugh. "All right."
He touches, gently pushing and probing. Draco squirms around and Harry watches with pleasure. He finds it pleasing to pull lewd reactions out of Draco. This is never a position he thought he'd find himself in. It's especially not a position he ever thought he'd want to be in, but he doesn't mind. The view is nice and he can't deny that Draco has a beautiful body and a face to match it.
"Hurry…" Draco says again, weaker this time.
Harry removes the fingers and presses against Draco slowly. Draco presses back, exhibiting impatience that satisfies Harry. "It doesn't hurt?" he asks.
"No," Draco says. "I've done it before. You don't need to be so careful."
So, Harry relents.
They move in synchronicity and it feels like they've done it a hundred times before. Instead of feeling strange, it begins to feel right and Harry knows he isn't the only one who feels it.
Halfway through, they switch positions. Harry locks an arm around Draco, bringing him onto his lap before lying down on his back. Draco grinds his hips, repeatedly impaling himself on the brunet's cock. His stomach tightens as he lets out soft, breathy moans.
To Harry, the sight of Draco bouncing on his lap is erotic. His hair is no longer neatly combed. There are pale strands falling in his face.
Draco bends down, placing an open-mouthed kiss on the brunet's lips as they pant into each other's mouths.
When it's over they lie side by side, both breathing, sweaty messes.
"Erm," Draco pauses, turning his head to the side and glancing at Harry. "Was I okay?" he asks, exhibiting a rare amount of insecurity.
"Yeah," Harry says, glancing back. "Yeah, of course."
The morning after is not romantic. Instead, it's cold and unsure. Harry wakes up first and the first thing he sees is Draco's bare back. With a sigh, he recalls the prior night and he is quick to throw on his sweatpants. He eyes Draco, who looks peaceful in his unconscious state. His soft yet sharp features are relaxed. Harry knows that he'll likely be volatile when he wakes.
Harry leaves the room and paces in the hallway. He half expected to feel regret, but he doesn't and that is what's confusing him the most. He rubs his head, trying to force away the hangover, but no such luck.
Eventually, he hears the bed creak. With a sigh, he nears the doorway to his bedroom and peers inside.
Draco looks stunned and it's an expression Harry isn't used to seeing on the blond's face. If the situation was less stressful, Harry would probably laugh.
"Good morning," he offers.
Draco doesn't respond. Instead, he simply pulls the sheets up, trying to make himself modest.
"I saw it all last night," Harry reminds him.
Draco flushes angrily. "I only did it because I was depressed and drunk!" he yells, trying to justify himself.
Harry crosses his arms as he leans in the doorway. "I don't buy it. There was something… You felt it, too. I know you did."
Draco softens, glancing away. He doesn't want to admit that it's true. "How unconventional," he murmurs instead. "Everyone is going to find it strange."
"I don't care," Harry promises. "Do you?"
"I have to care," Draco tells him. "I'm a Malfoy."
Harry waves a dismissive hand. "And I'm Harry Potter, but so what?"
Draco rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh, returning his gaze to the brunet.
Harry approaches and sits on the bed next to him, shifting closer. "We'd be good together."
Draco snorts at that. "We paint a strange picture to every nearby person."
"Strange, but good," Harry says.
"We'll be front page news," Draco jokes.
Harry chuckles at that, though he wouldn't be surprised if it really happened. Rita Skeeter makes gossip popular. Everyone loves a good story, especially when that story has a little romance. "It doesn't matter what people say or think," Harry insists. "Go home. Tell your parents what you want. Don't be afraid of them. Face your fears."
"Fine," Draco retorts. "I will if you will."
"Deal," Harry says with a smile. He can already tell that this will be the start of something very new and very exciting.
Fin.