Chapter 4: Sugar with Coffee and Tea
Draco's time in University was eventful, to say the least. At Hogwarts, Draco had worked bloody hard to get top NEWT scores and become something of a workaholic in the process. He was no different with his muggle coursework. Draco was used to putting his best effort into whatever he did (by default being the best at it as well) and half-assing the assignments would have caused him to think less of himself. He'd chosen English as a major, reflecting that he'd always liked to read, so he mainly wrote essays while still having some exams thrown in.
After a throughout tongue-lashing from his roommate, who firmly abided by the rule "C's get degrees," Draco tried one night to play as hard as he worked. His acquaintances from Debate Club (he'd reluctantly joined at the suggestion of a professor he actually respected) threw a party, and, while sniggering about the awkward games they'd played in middle and high school, decided to take their reminiscing one step further. Draco's usual composure was already slipping thanks to cheap whiskey, but when they announced that everyone would now be participating in a game of "Suck and Blow," his eyes widened and he choked on his drink.
Fortunately, the name was quite misleading: taking part only involved sitting in a circle and "sucking" a playing card against one's lips to pass to another person by "blowing" the card off to their mouth. Draco had been reluctant enough to participate, but the general ribbing of the group soon incited him to participate – they were fellow members of the Debate Club, after all. His reluctance reached an all-time high when the next game, "Spin the Bottle," was announced. Once he understood the rules of the game, Draco became convinced that his teammates were all just horny fucks. They explained the rules to him – you spin the bottle and kiss whoever it points to – and he could only imagine where they'd been. There weren't rumors of mad STD outbreaks on campus for no reason.
There was also a twist. After the kiss had occurred, everyone else would judge whether or not the participants had enjoyed themselves, and if they had, each would do a shot. If they were blushing afterwards, two shots. Draco had not consented to the additions to the rules; as far as he was concerned, "Suck and Blow" had been close contact enough. Not that he cared about what others thought, but it would have been very difficult to leave the game and walk out of the room. After all, he'd have to see these people every club meeting for the rest of the year. Not to mention the fact he didn't think he could walk home thanks to the whiskey.
Of course, basking in Draco's discomfort, they voted him the lucky first to spin. Grimacing, he did, and it landed on a dude. Amidst squeals and laughter, he shrugged his shoulders, and reached out to spin again. Hands came out of nowhere to stop him as some of the drunker girls shouted, "What're you doing? Kiss him already!"
His eyes met those of his grinning partner's, and Draco looked away. He'd spent an hour earlier that same day debating the varied uses of a spatula with the man he now had to kiss. "Ooh, he's already blushing!" another girl gushed, "Can we make him do 4 shots?"
Draco shot her an icy glare, rising to his feet on slightly shaking legs. He walked towards Jake, who was already standing, and looked at him tentatively as if to say, this is ridiculous. Unable to make the first move, he stood there until one of the more perverted club members shoved him. Tipsy and off-balance, Draco went soaring towards his friend, who caught him effortlessly and swung him down for a movie-star kiss. His lips were plump, warm, and soft – exactly the opposite of what Draco had been expecting. The surrounding vultures clapped and drunkenly cheered while his body, quite unwelcomely, had a heated and unpredictable reaction to the contact. Good God.
When Jake finally released him, Draco managed to turn and retreat gracefully back to his spot in the circle, but his face was burning. Naturally, this fact was noticed and he was passed one of several bottles of whiskey and a shot glass. "Two shots!" they crowed gleefully.
The game progressed without much more incident, for which Draco was eternally grateful. Everyone eagerly watched as one of the silly drunk girls came over to kiss him a while later, but Draco wasn't nearly as affected by the embrace. In his drunken haze, he wasn't able to realize the implications of why he had no reaction.
After burning through another couple bottles, the group slowly disbanded. Draco had started slowing down after his blushing incident, but was still having trouble standing upright. Jake came over and clapped him on the back, smirking. "You're a good sport, man."
"Shut up, wanker," Draco groaned, grabbing his coat from the back of a chair. "So you're used to making out with blokes then?"
"'Course not," Jake said slowly. "But it wouldn't be a problem, would it."
Draco merely looked over and raised his eyebrow with a disparaging glare. "Idiot."
They started walking towards the exit of the apartment building, Jake stumbling down the last few stairs and flailing wildly. Draco ran his hand through his hair: the ground was spinning. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this. You and my friggin' roommate, you're both morons. I have a midterm tomorrow. A midterm. That's twenty, no, thirty percent of my grade."
They continued to walk falteringly down the street, Jake sniggering at Draco's predicament. "What time? You know, it's only 10, no 11, now. Wait, it's not past 12, is it?"
"I only did this," Draco conceded, "Because it's an afternoon class. But never again!" he threw one finger up in the air and paused to rest on a telephone pole outside Jake's apartment. "I can't think clearly unless I'm standing still…" he moaned, closing his eyes.
Suddenly, he felt a hand on his waist and yet another pair of lips meeting his. "Can you still think straight now?" came Jake's voice before he crushed his mouth back down upon Draco's. Not as surprised as he would have been just a few hours ago, Draco kissed back this time. Without the eyes of the crowd upon him it didn't feel nearly as wrong.
When Jake pulled away, Draco said, "You really are a wanker. Didn't you get enough earlier?"
"Not nearly enough," breathed Jake. "Do you want me to stop?"
Unable to believe himself, Draco whispered, "No."
"Come upstairs," urged Jake when they surfaced again. Draco allowed himself to be led out of the street and up the iron stairs that led to Jake's apartment.
When he woke up the next morning in Jake's bed, he had absolutely no recollection of what he'd been doing there. Draco whipped back the covers and saw with relief that he still had his jeans on, because if he hadn't, bloody hell. He noticed with satisfaction that Jake wasn't in the room, so as gracefully as possible he shot out of the bed and found his shirt.
He was just opening the door to the hallway when Jake popped out of the kitchen. "Oh, hey! You're up. Want to go down to East-"
Draco fixed him with a deathly look. "Now, now," Jake smiled, "You weren't wearing that cold face last night when I-"
"Jake," said Draco, holding out his hand and closing his eyes. "Just stop. I have no idea what happened last night, and I don't think I want to know."
"Bro, you don't have to be like that," said Jake, stung.
Draco relented. "Look, I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "For the meeting, alright?"
"Yeah, for sure," Jake mumbled, still clearly upset.
Draco twisted his face into what he hoped was a semi-apologetic gaze for a few seconds before he made a break for the door. Good God, he never thought he'd be making the walk of shame not only out of a muggle's house, but a muggle man's house. No wonder he'd overheard so many parents telling their little first years to stay sober.
Harry had finally progressed to the next step in his training, having passed the Auror entrance exam with flying colors at the end of August. Since then, throughout most of the late summer and fall he'd been confined to the office in the Ministry, following up his summer studying textbooks with the equally tedious job of filling out all sorts of forms and paperwork. The more experienced Aurors went out in the field and did something worthwhile, while Harry and the other Auror trainees learned how to process and store the information they brought back. Harry couldn't pretend he wasn't resentful of this fact. He desperately tried not to think it, but couldn't hold back the nagging thought that none of them had faced Voldemort on multiple occasions until they finally killed him. Yet they weren't swimming in paperwork.
He still didn't even want the position. Most of the names that circled through were those of former Death Eaters, and Harry began to feel more indignant each day that they continued to disturb the peace without the Dark Lord's influence. He hadn't saved the world for nothing.
Finally, after yet another file had come through about Parkinson's current misdeed and was waiting to be processed. Harry lost it. He threw down the folder with a bang, shoved his chair back from the desk, and gathered his robes around him. The other trainees gave him emphasizing gazes, but otherwise said or did nothing. That was it, he'd had it; he was going to stomp into Dawlish's office right now and resign, effective immediately.
He'd been hoping to meet someone else as he walked down the corridor as to give them scathing looks that perfectly described what he thought of the Ministry, and by extension, bureaucracy, but unfortunately the halls were empty. Dawlish's door was closed. Without knocking, Harry threw open the door and inhaled, preparing for the torrent of angry words that would follow.
Before he could get out the first sentence, Dawlish said, "Ah, Harry. I was just about to come down and give you the good news. You'll be going out on your first case tomorrow."
Harry goggled. He closed his mouth, vividly aware that it was still open, and simply gawked at Dawlish. All the fire had been taken right out of him.
"How're you liking the desk job?" asked Dawlish, crossing his legs and turning a pencil upside down in his hands.
"Um," said Harry, trying to find a polite way to say that he was losing his mind. "It's, er, quiet."
Dawlish guffawed. "You hate it, don't you?"
"Yes," said Harry, relieved. He wasn't about to miss his chance to speak honestly.
"I thought as much. Someone like you who's already been in the field, you'll never be happy behind a desk," said Dawlish. "But we have certain methods and procedures, so I couldn't in good faith send you out there without knowing all the proper information."
Harry barely restrained a snort. Those "methods and procedures" hadn't been necessary to fight Voldemort. This was just some cock and bull nonsense; more sludgy bureaucracy.
"But you aced your entrance exams, and now that you're familiar with the office, I think you're ready. You'll be with me tomorrow."
"You're the Head Auror, though," blurted Harry. He was certain to be accused of being impulsive or hot-headed under the "by the book" attitude he noticed that Dawlish had.
Dawlish smiled. "I'll be honest. Before I was promoted after the war, I'd been in charge of training all new recruits. Finn does it now, but why pass up the chance to train Harry Potter?"
Flushed, Harry narrowly avoided throwing a temper tantrum in Dawlish's office. More special treatment, that's what this was. Special treatment he didn't even want.
"Don't worry, though. It'll be fun. You won't be going on a routine house call. I've got something special in mind."
Harry's interest was piqued and it was enough to reconsider quitting. "Er, thanks. I'll see you tomorrow morning then," he nodded to Dawlish on the way out, thinking about how, just maybe, this job wouldn't be so bad after all.
He Apparated home to Grimmauld Place, in a rare good mood. So good, in fact, that he didn't even mind seeing that Ginny had let herself in and fought Kreacher for the task of preparing dinner.
"Harry!" she said in surprise, "I didn't expect you for another hour at least!"
"Yeah, well, Dawlish let me out early to get some rest for my first field day tomorrow," Harry said, unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face.
"That's great, Harry!" Ginny cried, launching herself across the kitchen and into Harry's arms. He didn't pull back, for a change, instead putting his hand in her bright red hair and meeting her lips in a rough kiss.
Gasping, Ginny looked into Harry's eyes before slowly deepening the kiss. He knew he hadn't been all that physical lately, but surely it was just the paperwork getting to him. With his other hand, Harry ran his fingers along the curve of Ginny's breast as her breath caught in her throat. She clasped her hands around his shoulders and whispered, "Tonight?" In response, Harry lifted her off the ground and started off in the direction of his bedroom.
They fell on the bed together, Harry already unbuttoning Ginny's blouse and unhooking her bra. She sharply inhaled as his mouth fell over her taunt nipples, running her hands through his hair. He kissed her again then, fingers taking the place of where his mouth had been seconds earlier. Ginny undid his trousers and stroked his length through his boxes, sighing contentedly. Harry responded in kind by nipping at the tender skin around the nape of her neck, sliding up her skirt; backing up long enough to pull off his boxers and trousers while she removed her panties.
Seeing as Harry wasn't quite yet hard enough, Ginny leaned down and caressed until he was much more erect. Hot and ready, Harry clambered on top of Ginny and pulled her apart so that he could join them together. Finally. She was so soft, and Harry gently thrust into her, bending down to kiss her more fully. She wrapped her legs around his back and he again stroked her breasts.
But they both noticed that something was wrong on the next thrust. Harry pulled out and saw that he was totally and completely flaccid. Humiliated, he looked down at Ginny and saw that she was blushing as well. He had no idea what to say.
Eventually, he twisted off and plopped down next to her on the bed. "Uh, it's only our first time," Ginny said, nervously playing with a piece of red hair. "Isn't it supposed to be awkward?" They made eye contact again, and this time, burst out laughing. Harry reached over and touched her cheek, grateful that she wasn't having a more severe reaction to his dysfunctionality. But seriously, what the fuck? This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
She leaned in and kissed him before rotating to settle as his little spoon. He wrapped his arm around her stomach, glad that she wasn't looking at him anymore. Otherwise, she'd have been able to see his eyes tearing up before the wetness silently spilled down his cheek closest to the pillow.