PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
Harry closed his eyes tightly, trying to put on a face of pleasure. A hand slowly inched its way up his thigh, then teasingly went back down to his knee, making the circuit three times, each loop getting closer to its destination.
This isn't right. A voice in his head screamed. Harry ignored it and let out a strangled sound from the back of his throat. A mouth worked harder on his earlobe, encouraged by the sound.
He should be enjoying this. He should just sit back and enjoy the attention lavishly given by the warm body practically on top of him. He shouldn't feel nauseated and clammy, and he definitely shouldn't be thinking of a way to stop this encounter gently. Politely, even. There had to be an excuse, somewhere in the back of his mind—
The hand had found its destination, softly pulling at the zipper of his oversized blue jeans.
Harry bolted off the chair, toppling the hand and its owner straight to the floor in his haste.
"Merlin, Ginny, I'm sorry. I just—I can't go that fast—" Harry started, offering a hand to her.
"Fast?" Ginny rebuffed his hand, "Its been months and we haven't done anything! What are you waiting for? We can mess around, Harry. Voldemorts dead. There are no more bad guys chasing you. We can have a normal relationship. A little groping doesn't mean the end of the world."
"I know that, I just—"
"Just what, Harry? What excuse are we using today?" She picked herself off of the floor.
Harry had only gotten four hours of sleep the night before and lacked the patience he normally would have implemented. "Why is this so damn important to you?" He really didn't understand, it wasn't like it was that enjoyable. Certainly not enough to get this worked up over. "What?" He added after her look turned incredulous, even through all the fury.
"We are in a relationship, Harry. An adult, romantic relationship, how is this not important?" The den of 12 Grimmauld Place seemed to get smaller as the argument intensified.
"I was under the impression an 'adult romantic relationship' involved more than make-out sessions."
"They do, most of them have sex!" A cold sweat swept through Harry. Sex. His insides squirmed. Ginny's face softened slightly, "are you alright? Your face just went pale."
"Sex?" He croaked. "You're ready for that?"
"Yes. I am." Harry grabbed the wall next to him for support. ""Do you honestly expect me to put up with months worth of rejections? Do you think I don't notice your wince every time I try to deepen a kiss with you? Or you shrinking away from me when I try to press myself against you? You won't let me sit in your lap, you won't even try to touch my breasts, I just don't understand you. Its like you don't even want me."
"Of course I want you, Gin. I wouldn't be dating you if I didn't want you. What more do you want me to say? Just because I'm not like your countless other boyfriends fawning my paws all over you trying to get in your knickers, you get mad at me? How is that supposed to make me feel? What do you want from me?"
"I want you to touch me!" She grabbed Harry's hand and pulled them flat against her breasts. They felt so lumpy and curvy (and wrong, a place in his head added). They felt so foreign and off. Why did guys talk about these mounds of fat for days on end. Harry couldn't see the appeal of them that seemed to fascinate others. He guessed he was more of an ass man. He had looked at Ginny's bum multiple times, that seemed to hold a less nauseating afterthought.
After about three seconds, his curiosity was killed and his hands retreated from the mysterious fat lumps and took a few large steps away, concluding he was just an ass man. Ginny's face showed extreme disappointment and it was clear to Harry that she hadn't expected this reaction. She had probably kept this act of brazen as a final weapon, with the intent of doing him in. But Harry hadn't even seemed phased.
"What the actual fuck, Harry." She drew back, ran a hand through her red hair.
"I will try harder, I promise." A wave of nausea gnawed at his stomach but he reached for her face anyway and leaned down to kiss her. I can do this. I can kiss her and make her happy and then we'll be fine—
But before his lips touched her, Ginny leaned away the anger in her eyes replaced with something entirely more heartbreaking. "That's the point, Harry. You have to try to want me."
She grabbed her bag that had laid against the armchair and stepped into the oversized fireplace. "You are hopeless at relationships, Harry." And with the announcement of the Burrow, green flames swallowed her.
Harry continued staring into the fireplace after she had left, knowing he should go after her, knowing it was expected of him, but also knowing he wouldn't. He was hopeless at relationships, probably destined to be alone. If Ginny couldn't make him happy, how was anyone else supposed to? Ginny was perfect for him, he should be happy and want to make out with her.
He grabbed his wallet and headed out the front door. He needed some tea.
Insomniacs always had dozens of people buzzing in and out of its doors. It easily had the best tea and coffee selection in town, and with its cozy yet cool atmosphere, it was bound for success. Of course Harry liked it best because no one ever recognized him except for the baristas—who only knew him by "Earl Grey Guy" at best.
Harry had taken his time walking to Insomniacs, trying to figure out why he and Ginny fought so much. He supposed he did seem like he was rejecting her, he would have to find a way to make her forgive him. It had been eleven months since the final battle and through all the grief and pain, he had finally been given the chance to figure out what he liked to do when he didn't have to constantly think about someone trying to kill him. And while there had been a few attempts on his life via rouge ex-death eater out for revenge, the Aurors had done their job well enough that Harry didn't worry. He was free to figure out his personal likes and dislikes. He liked to go to Insomniacs, which was conveniently three blocks away, or the dog park across from his flat.
Harry slowly made his way up the line, which wasn't too long thankfully. He need some strong tea for the questions buzzing in his head—like why in Merlin's name Ginny would even want him to touch her there that badly. He longingly stared at the apple turnover on display. He took out his wallet and determined he would have just enough Muggle money to get his tea and his turnover when he heard it. That voice, that pompous drawl that had haunted him all 6 years he had spent at Hogwarts.
"Malfoy." Harry's flat, shocked voice broke through the line making the well-dressed, blonde at the counter still when he heard it. Malfoy slowly turned to face Harry, his eyes wider than usual but otherwise his calm facade held its place. He hid his surprise well, better than Harry at any rate as he was sure he had somewhat of a 'recent stroke' face on.
"Potter," with a deep breath he stepped forward slightly and offered his hand. Harry took it; he wasn't going to come out of this encounter the asshole of the two. Harry watched their slowly shaking hands carefully. Inwardly surprised by the warmth and scratch of calluses given off by Malfoy's hand. "May I buy your coffee?" Malfoy said in a strained voice. Harry marveled at what must be deeply imbedded manners that he had never been on the receiving end of. Harry appreciated the strength it must have taken to offer.
"Oh, no really—"
"I insist." Malfoy said and turned once again to the counter.
"Actually," said the barista, "he drinks tea. Earl Grey to be exact."
"Come here often, do you?" Malfoy smirked.
"Its near my flat."
"Any turnover today? We have your favorite. You might as well if he's buying, eh?"
"Oh, no thanks, that's really not necessary-"
"Just get the damn turnover, Potter." Malfoy whispered, looking behind him at the impatient line.
"Ok, sure Brian," Harry said to the barista. He headed over to the pick up counter as Malfoy took out his wallet and pulled out muggle money, looking as if he thoroughly understood it.
Harry's mind was spinning. What the bloody hell was Malfoy doing in a Muggle Coffee House, using muggle money and buying Harry his tea? He's up to something, he thought. He had to be if he was acting this way. Harry hadn't seen him for over a year, the last time being an awkward encounter of wand returning on Harry's part and a quick, quiet yet heard 'thank you' from Malfoy. Harry hadn't heard anything about Malfoy since then. Not even a rumor. What had he been doing the last year?
Harry's pondering was broken when Malfoy came to stand next to him to wait.
"What are you doing here?" Harry said.
"Waiting for my drink," purposefully misunderstanding him.
"Since when do you go to muggle places? With muggle money, no less?" Malfoy opened his mouth to speak but Harry was just too curious. Thousands of theories were whirling through his mind, anything from terrorist to obliviate mishaps. It was sixth year all over again. "And what have you been up to this past year? You've been totally off the grid. No one knew, and I asked everyone-"
"Had no idea you cared so much, Potter." Harry glared at him. "I've been right here. I live about four blocks from here, on Maple Lane." Suspicious, thought Harry. And as if sensing his unease he added. "Plus no-one, typically I guess I should say, recognizes me."
"Earl Grey's, and apple turnover!" They turned and collected their items, making their way to the service table to get their sugar and cream. Harry raised his eyebrow in slight surprise that they had ordered the same thing, but he had bigger suspects to ask about.
"You live on Maple Lane? Why the fuck would you be living there?" An older lady next to Harry gave him a slight scoff at his language. He ignored it. "What happened to Malfoy Manor?"
"It no longer suited me." Walking over to an empty table, Draco pulled a book from his messenger bag. Harry followed him, awkwardly not sitting. Without looking up from his book, Malfoy asked if he was waiting for an invitation.
Harry sat quietly for several minutes, fixing his tea correctly. He observed Malfoy; his trademark white blonde hair cut short with just a few frays over his eyes (which stayed immobile as he "read" making Harry wonder what he was thinking about). He had rolled up his sleeves in the unusually hot weather exposing Harry to see his Dark Mark. However, Harry was much more fascinated with a new tattoo on the inside of this wrist that spelled out CHOICE.
"Your tea will over brew." Harry said, checking his watch.
"I like it strong."
"It's been six minutes."
"Oh, bloody hell," Malfoy groaned, rushing to fix his very dark tea. Suddenly the weirdness of the situation began to hit Harry and he started laughing, and snorted and consequently laughed even harder.
"What are you on about, Potter?"
"Sorry, I just think it's kind of funny. Surreal, I guess. Don't you think it's weird? I mean, we even ordered the same drink." Malfoy didn't look quite as amused. "I haven't had much sleep lately." Harry felt the need to add.
"Obviously."
"But seriously, why Maple Lane? Out of all the places in London, in the world really, you chose Maple Lane?" Harry began to devour his turnover.
"It was nice, clean and fit my budget," he determinedly stared at his hand stirring his tea.
Harry scoffed, "You have a budget?"
"Yes, that tends to happen when you're disowned."
"What?" Harry put down his cup, "why?" Malfoy just sipped his tea, clearing refusing to answer. Deciding he should keep things on the lighter side and not end things in a duel today, he said "that is a nice area. I live about a block away."
"Near the park?"
"Yeah, I go there pretty often to think. Or escape Ginny." Shit, why did I just say that?
"The Weaselette? Why would you need to escape her? Isn't she your girlfriend?" Malfoy leaned closer, his interest peaked.
"Well, you know how girls can be-I'm sure you've wanted to escape Parkinson loads of times."
"Way more times than that, but Pansy was never my girlfriend." He leaned back again and took another sip.
Harry smirked, "Girlfriend, sex slave, whatever you called her-same principles-"
"Sex slave? Lets get one thing straight here, Pansy and I never slept together."
"Never? Really?" Malfoy shook his head, "I owe Ron ten Galleons."
Malfoy laughed, "he won't know what to do with himself." Harry ignored the jab at Ron, "why were you wagering about my sex life anyway?"
"Oh, you know, it just came up…"
Malfoy's eyebrows shot up, "and how exactly does that subject come up?"
Harry was getting flustered now, "just talking you know, and it came up. I was completely obsessed with you in sixth year-" Harry stopped talking. They had been doing so good and Harry had stepped right onto a huge red button. Malfoy didn't move, didn't breath, waiting for Harry's next words. Harry had many options, finish his sentence, get up and leave, or "Let's just stick to the present, yeah?"
Harry wasn't quite sure why he had picked this option so he instead chose to fold his napkin into impossible small squares.
"Why are you even talking to me?" Malfoy whispered, as if he didn't want to know the answer and already regretted asking.
"I don't know," Harry said slowly, "I guess, I've always found you interesting."
"Because I'm always up to no good, eh?"
Harry thought for a moment, "not exactly."
Malfoy's eyes buzzed, but before he could ask him to clarify-Harry noticed that his cup was empty. "I should probably get going...I've escaped for too long already." Harry grinned and stood. Malfoy stood as well, ingrained manners and all that. Harry shifted his weight to either feet and cursed how fidgety he was when he felt awkward. He reached out to shake his hand again, "it was actually decent talking to you, Malfoy."
Malfoy nodded, his cheeks tinting with pink. And just as Harry turned to leave…
"You could owl me." Malfoy cleared his throat as Harry spun around, convinced he misheard. "You know, if you wanted to, erm, get tea again. Or something." He cleared his throat once more, and then sat without looking up and determinedly stared at his open book.
"Right." And then Harry walked out the door with that same shocked, stroke-like face he had on when he had heard Malfoy's voice earlier. Although this time, with a small smile tugging at his lips, because Draco Sodding Malfoy had just asked him to owl him sometime.
Harry didn't go chasing over Ginny like he probably ought have when he got home. In fact, he wasn't sure how it got to be ten at night at all, he was so lost in thought all afternoon. He had even forgotten about dinner. But it didn't seem to matter much to him as he poured his second two-fingers of fire whiskey. Not much was mattering to him at all, actually.
He sat on his counter tops (a love he believes came from always having to clean Aunt Petunia's counter tops) dangling his feet and taking in 12 Grimmauld place. This whole past year he had spent trying to decalcify this tomb of a house and he thought he had done a pretty damn good job. His days had only consisted of tea, housework, the Weasleys plus Hermione, and the occasional trip to Hogwarts for some volunteer repair work. If he was feeling really adventurous, he would go out for ice cream or people watch in muggle London. He hadn't felt this free since those two weeks in the Leaky Cauldron back in third year.
Harry poured himself a third glass.
He jumped off the counters, and then held on to them very tightly for a few seconds afterwards, before making his way through the house. Nothing screamed at him anymore and no poisons lurked under the impression of dust. Kreacher no longer muttered threateningly in dark corners, but rather whistled as he cooked for Master Harry every day.
He made his way up the stairs to his bedroom where he spent a good fifteen minutes just staring at his wardrobe. Malfoy had looked so bloody perfect in his muggle clothes today. He stood there looking so natural in a crisp white button down shirt, black blazer and dark denim jeans. He could have been raised muggle, he fit in so well. And his stupid hair had been so perfectly messy in that "on purpose" sort of way with the exact right amount of strands falling into his eyes. Those stupid piercing gray eyes, and white blonde hair, and posh fucking accent. And that tattoo.
What in the bloody hell did that mean? CHOICE. Harry wanted to know the whole story.
Harry poured his fourth glass, grateful he had thought to bring the bottle with him.
He pulled at his ratty old t-shirt and baggy jeans (repeated ten-fold in his wardrobe) and promised himself he would update his closet tomorrow. If he was going to have to owl Malfoy then he needed a better wardrobe. He had to owl him, he had to know about that tattoo, if anything, he reasoned. He was dizzy.
He plopped on the bed, letting his now empty glass fall with him and took another swig of out of the bottle until somehow his eyes just seemed much too tired and his conscience seemed much too tired to remind him that he was supposed to be at the Burrow with Ginny…He just needed to close his eyes for a bit...
Harry was in a warm place, he liked it. Malfoy was in front of him, but it was young Malfoy with slicked back hair and an outstretched hand, "I can help you there…"
"I think I can tell for myself, thanks."
And then young Malfoy morphed into the Malfoy of today with short hair and slight blonde stubble, a man's body. Harry couldn't help but notice. This time Harry took his hand and was rewarded with such a beautiful smile. It made Harry smile back.
Malfoy was on the ground now, an arm held above his face, protecting himself. The word 'CHOICE' lifting off of his wrist and floating in the air like a cloud, pulsing light until it was so bright that Harry had to look away…
"Harry, mate, wake up." Ron called, lightly slapping his cheek.
"Ron? Wha..?" Harry tried to get up on his elbows, but the pulsing in his head made him fall back down on the bed again immediately. "Fuck."
Ron grinned over him, handing him a bottle of hangover remedy. "Yeah, I heard you and Ginny got into it again, she wouldn't tell me what happened but Hermione had to come over. Didn't know you were so upset about it, you should have invited me over. I would have gotten pissed with you."
The day before rushed into Harry's brain, he remember the fight he should be more upset over, seeing Draco, drinking tea with Draco, dreaming of Draco…Malfoy. Dreaming of Malfoy. Thought that probably wasn't any better. Harry gulped down the potion. "Erm, right. I didn't want to bother you."
"Yeah, I mean I get that she's my sister and it might be a little weird, but I am here for you." Ron said softly, flushing slightly.
"I know that, Ron." Harry, feeling the potion take effect, he stood from the bed and walked over to the bathroom to start getting ready. "Listen, do you want to go shopping with me?"