A/N: Second chapter in as many days! Woohoo! I felt it almost necessary since the previous chapter was sort of shorter and it had been a while.
Also, WARNING: this chapter contains depictions of sexual situations, as well as references to past non-consensual acts. More importantly I think, if you have a problem with reading rape recovery fics, due to experience of just natural skepticism, I'd tread carefully. I understand that everyone experiences trauma recovery differently and I would hate to offend if my description seemed crass or unbelievable, for whatever reason. If I have offended anyone, I'm really really sorry. It wasn't my intention at all.
Otherwise, hope you enjoy.
Chapter 7: Breaking the Ice
Amelie gave a flutter of her fingers, waving in farewell as Harry stepped out of her shop into the cool evening. The bell overhead tinkled merrily with his passage, a birdsong chime that resounded with the ambiance of the scene. The sun had nearly disappeared below the horizon, bathing Rivierie Ville in a deep red glow. Darkness was falling earlier and earlier as winter encroached upon the Pyrenees; deeply into December as they were, Harry found himself wrapped in a scarf and thick jumper despite the lack of snow.
"Well, I wish you a very Merry Christmas, Harry."
Turning towards Socorro standing alongside him, Harry offered her a bright smile and nodded, returning the sentiment. "And thank you, as always."
"Not at all," Socorro replied, shaking her head, her own mellow smile spreading across her face. "I'm simply glad that you're feeling more confident for the holiday break. Remember, though we haven't any sessions booked, should you need the support I am always available for booking an urgent session or a spurr of the moment Floo exchange. On the other hand, correspondence by letters, should you feel it would be of benefit, is also an alternative."
Harry bowed his head, accepting the offer of support despite his urge to wave off the suggestion and assure her he would be fine. If he'd learnt anything over the past few weeks, the past few months, it was that the simple act of talking to Socorro provided an immense relief. Draco had even gone so far as to comment on the fact; apparently the effects were visible. "I'll bear that in mind. Thank you, again."
Socorro's smile broadened. It felt as delightful as it did embarrassing to see her so genuinely gladdened by Harry's acceptance. Far be it from the distant and formal relationship Harry had anticipated, he felt remarkably comfortable with the psychologist. She was almost like a very learned, very supportive friend. He hadn't expected that at all. And yet, unlike a friend, she was always seeking to urge him into furthering his treatment, into challenging himself with both little things and…
"If you please, consider what I've suggested about your family. I will not repeat my own stance on the matter – we've been through this – and I respect your wishes to not immediately push charges." She kept her tone low, despite there being not a soul in the vicinity who could overhear them. A slight dampening of her smile bespoke sincere sadness at the matter, yet her ever-present understanding persisted. "However, I think it would be beneficial to your recovery to further reconsider how you view them."
Yes. Socorro also seemed to urge confrontation of the big things too.
The big topics had gradually clambered to the surface, presenting themselves at the forefront of Harry's discussions with the psychologist. From working through the aversive issue of the death of Voldemort – a memory that still at times caused him to flinch even after such intense work in the area – to Harry's relationship with Draco and difficulties that surrounded their situation, Socorro seemed to consider them all on par in terms of importance.
The topic of the Dursleys, and of Stephen Defaux, had naturally arisen too, elbowing its way to to forefront of their conversations like a particularly demanding child. It had been a controversial subject since Harry had first managed to strangle out a broken recitation of his memories concerning the matter. For the first time in the sessions he held with Socorro, the witch had actually shown a flicker of emotion. The room was too dark to completely discern its nature, but she looked almost angry. It was a strange expression on her otherwise sedate face.
Far be it from the emotional strain of reliving the trauma, Harry had found that finally voicing his experience had been almost… liberating. He never would have expected that. Oh, there had been tears, and at one point he'd fallen victim to sheer hysteria, something that he would never have anticipated, had never experienced before. Socorro had to send word to the school in that instance, such had been his debilitation. Harry was relieved when it was only Tali with a struggling Lyssy and a floundering Neville who arrived, escorted by the Resident Spokeswoman Bernadette who had significantly mellowed over the months since school had begun. And though he had cringed with guilt and humiliation at the turn of events, he was similarly thankful when Neville had somehow contacted Draco. With almost superhuman speed Draco had raced to Harry's side and hadn't left to return back to Scotland until he'd ascertained Harry could cope at least marginally without his presence. By the end of his short visit, Harry wasn't exactly sure who was reassuring whom. Draco seemed more upset by the incident than he was.
The whole ordeal had been horribly embarrassing, though Harry could barely summon the energy to blush shamefully. His emotional weariness bordered on exhaustion. After that, Socorro suggested they meet twice a week, at least until the vividness of Harry's recollections eased.
When they had eased – for painful though they still were, they had – Socorro had presented her suggestion. Pressing charges had not even crossed Harry's mind as a possibility. He didn't want to associate with the Durselys again. At all. As for Stephen Defaux… well, Harry had argued with deliberate civility with Draco over visiting the man who had been his guardian. It had been a long and verbose 'discussion' over the summer holidays, but eventually Draco had agreed that if Harry truly wanted to visit the man then he would come with him. Harry couldn't really explain the desire to simply see the man; he didn't really understand it himself. Any accompanying emotions surrounding the figure that had 'cared' for him for five years were deep and murky and a riot of jumbled stressors.
Stephen Defaux was a shell of a man. Insane, Draco called him, and though he didn't particularly like the word itself, Harry had to agree, at least in sentiment. He was installed in long-term care at a rehabilitation centre, though a quiet word from an open-faced attendant upon arrival indicated that 'rehabilitation' was a loosely applied label. The patients rarely left. When Harry saw his old guardian for the first time in six months, he'd had been rendered mute. Stephen was wasted, sallow skinned and nearly hidden beneath a patchy beard and loose-fitting patient's gown. He'd barely raised his gaze at the two boys when they'd entered, and even then there was not a glimmer of recognition.
Harry hadn't been able to adequately sort through the tangle of emotions that had coursed through him. There was confusion, an upwelling of nervousness, an almost terror that was oddly detached. Yet there was also apprehension that paradoxically contrasted a feeling of relief, and most surprisingly of all there was… loss.
Loss, but not sadness at the loss. That much Harry could discern. He couldn't quite understand it, but… yes, it felt like loss. The pillar that had been the centre of his world for years was gone and though it left only a blessed freedom, hollowness remained. It was disconcerting, and he and Draco had hastily left the room.
Draco had asked the questions. Asked what exactly was wrong with the man. Stephen's attendant, a homely, middle-aged woman with a kind, round face, had only shaken her head and shrugged.
"Your guess is as good as mine. Symptoms suggest that he may be suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, though it is unknown what has induced it. At times, his responses indicate he may have developed mild schizophrenic, but…" She paused, glancing towards the half-opened door into Stephen's brightly sun-lit room. A flicker of thoughtfulness brushed across her features. "How did you say you knew him again?"
They'd left quickly after that with a muttered excuse and a garbled explanation of "cousin's step-son's aunt" or some such. And Harry had forcibly shoved the lingering remains of his old guardian from his mind; he didn't want to see the man again.
And yet, dusted of Stephen as Harry was – at least in terms of direct confrontation – Socorro maintained her concern. For the mentally debilitated Defaux as well as the Dursleys. She never pushed when Harry cringed from her suggestions, but he was always aware that they were there, loitering on the outskirts of every discussion. Their most recent session, another two hours of talking that Harry had become unexpectedly comfortable with, had involved a lot of consideration for the Dursleys. As far as Socorro was concerned, Harry shouldn't – and likely couldn't – leave the situation as it was.
Harry was ambivalent to the matter and so simply wore her suggestions silently. As they stood outside of Amelie's Mediwares and Potions, he hoped his uneasiness on the matter was hidden by the stretching shadows of night. He managed to nod with a feeble smile at her reminder. "I'll think about it."
"Then that's all I can ask for." Socorro's smile was back two-fold, the concerned thoughtfulness replaced by her gentle kindliness. "I'll be seeing you in January, then, if not before."
They departed with a final wave, the magical green polish on Socorro's nails flashing with every tilt of her fingers. Harry turned along the now familiar route towards Beauxbatons Academy and made his slow, wandering way up the hill.
"What I just don't understand is why they changed her name to Mary Poppins? It's not like any of the Muggles would have known she was a real witch or anything." Tali frowned thoughtfully as she stepped out of the vent tuyaux. "Anyway, Poppenjack isn't even that different from Poppins."
Harry smiled at his friend as they departed the shade of Beauxbatons Academy. Tali had been having an animated discussion with herself – and the long-suffering Professeur Gueguen – all afternoon, ever since the topic in Histoire de Magie had turned to theatrical interpretations of witchcraft and wizardary. They'd recently moved onto the history of Wizard-Muggle relations and Harry had been surprised to discover that the loveable sixties movie character was in fact based on a real-life witch. He had to wonder at the author Travers and Walt Disney both after that. "I think it's probably to protect the privacy of the Madame Poppenjack. They do that with movies."
"But Poppenjack as a surname isn't even that unusual," Tali rebuffed pointedly.
"Maybe not with wizards, but in the Muggle world I think Poppins is probably more common."
Tali shook her head, muttering under her breath at the extremes of the Muggle entertainment industry. Harry listened with only half an ear, standing on his toes briefly to peer down the hill along the winding path dotted with students and trailing trunks that headed towards the carriages. It was the first day of the Christmas holidays and they were supposed to meet Neville before departing. Aime was heading straight south rather then by-passing Paris so had likely left already.
As they approached the muted chatter of waiting students, Harry saw a dirty-blonde mop wading towards them through the sea of hatted heads. Despite the coolness of the weather, Neville still refused to wear the berets that were a part of their uniform. Harry didn't bother calling out – Neville wouldn't hear him anyway. Nudging a still mumbling Tali, he directed them towards their friend.
"About time, you two," Neville called with a grin as he noticed their approach, weaving more purposefully towards their fellow students.
At an indignant tap on his ankle, Harry stooped to scoop Lyssy from the danger of being trampled. "Sorry, Lyssy was with the –"
"Giant koi? Again?"
Harry smiled indulgently at the little cat in his arms. Though he couldn't communicate with her like he used to be able to, her emotions were writ clearly in her half-lidded eyes. Utter self-satisfaction.
"It's only a natural progression, really," Tali explained to Neville practically. "She's a cat. It would surely be stranger for her to repress her hunting instincts. To avoid the deterioration into stereotypic behaviours and potential depression, it's crucial for animals to be able to express their normal behaviours."
"Depression?" Neville repeated incredulously, which naturally led Tali into a long-winded explanation of mammalian mental disorders. She certainly could talk, despite that the quite buzz of her voice would indicate she was anything but a chatterbox to an unwary stranger.
Harry listened with his now-practiced half attention, offering a small, commiserating smile to Neville before leading his friends through the slowly roiling body of students filing into the carriage bay.
Scanning through the weaving bodies for Jean, Harry turned at the sound of his name being called. A young dark-haired youth with a prominent brow and a fuzz of hair sprouting from his chin trotted towards him with a grin spreading wide across his face. He offered a half-wave of greeting to Tali and Neville, which was returned with distraction and relief respectively.
"Salut, Giles. I didn't know you were working today."
Giles beamed wider. He was an affable fellow, exceptionally friendly, and though he only worked every other week at the Pegasus stables of Beauxbatons he was a familiar and welcome face amongst the students. Especially to those that volunteered to work with the magical creatures as Harry and Tali chose to.
"Ouais, Jean couldn't work today so he called me in a favour. Had to get up at the crack of dawn to make it here by eight, I tell you." The breadth of his smile suggested the early rise didn't leave him any worse for wear.
Tali finally seemed drawn from her muted tirade and sidled up to Harry's side. "Did he have to leave for the foaling? He mentioned yesterday that Magnolia looked about ready. Is he keeping her on site at the Bordeaux Paddocks? Will he bring her and the foal to the school or are they staying off campus? Please tell him to bring the foal to the academy."
As always, Giles looked faintly bemused and more than a little overwhelmed with Tali's verbal onslaught. "Erm… I think you might be right. I'm not entirely sure. He was sort of in a hurry." He gave a rueful laugh. "I'll pass on the message if I see Jean before you do." He paused as Tali nodded shortly, satisfied with the explanation, and allowed her questions to be quelled momentarily. "Anyway, did you folks want me to drive you back? You're all headed towards Paris, yes?"
"Would you?" Neville chimed in, eagerness making his lean forward and clap Giles on the shoulder heartily. "That would be great! Harry said Jean'd promised he'd take us, but I guess that's not going to happen."
Giles looked faintly surprised at Neville's easy-going approach, eyes flickering to his shoulder before he overlooked the friendly gesture. Harry was somewhat relieved by the his following assurance and continued enthusiasm as he shepherded them towards the gradually filling carriages. He'd come to the realisation that, in an ironic similarity to his own aversion, French wizards and witches rarely partook in physical contact save for a customary faire la bise upon occasion. The only exception seemed to be between family and close friends. Giles had only met Neville once, so it was a show of his easy-going nature that he didn't immediately turn a cold shoulder at the familiarity. Far from it, in fact, as with that naturalness that Neville possessed, the pair fell into friendly chatter. Harry couldn't contain a hint of pride as he noted detachedly just how adept Neville had become at French, both in culture and speech, over the course of a few short months.
The carriage Giles lead them to was already seating a pair of third year girls who accepted their company easily enough as the three fifth years clambered aboard. Giles, with skill gained from experience, deftly hefted their trunks into the boot of the carriage and disappeared momentarily in search of Pegasus. He returned minutes later leading a pair of nearly white geldings that Harry recognised as being siblings, hitched them to the carriage, and within moments set their small party into motion.
It was a surreal feeling, leaving the Beauxbatons for the first time. Or for the first extended time, anyway. As Harry gazed out of the small back window, catching a final glimpse of the palace he realised that he had truly quite enjoyed his months at his new school. Despite the lacking presence of Draco, it was comfortable. He didn't know if it was due simply to the predominant use of French as the first language or a result of being distanced from Hogwarts and the memories that it entailed, but could hardly deny the reality. What he did know was that a big part of it had been the presence of Neville and Tali, even Aime, Melody, Magdalane, and, on frequent occasions, Christophe and Eloise.
It was odd that the support of people he had once hardly known – and several of which he only developed a friendly companionability with – could so settle him. Harry was a realist enough to know that his history had been nothing if not minimalistic in terms of social interactions. It had been a surprise at Hogwarts when so many people had attempted to befriend him and when Draco had explained Narcissa's hypothesis of his apparent accidental magic 'attracting' attention, he had been disconsolate but not particularly surprised. It would make sense that some magical phenomenon was afoot to entice their interest. It wasn't as though he actively elicited it himself.
What he did find surprising, however, was that, when he had overcome the initial discomfort of simply being around people for so much of his day, it had become almost… comfortable. There was Draco, of course, who Harry felt as at ease with as he did Lyssy, which was truly saying something, but even Hermione, Blaise and Ron had always been a welcoming presence. Pansy… Harry missed her deeply, even with the knowledge that had she still been alive he would hardly be seeing her more frequently. Her loss sat like a physical wound in his chest that made itself known at the slightest thought. Picking delicately at the feelings to further his understanding of them, Harry came to the realisation of just how much his life had changed over the course of a year and a half, and not only because of magic. There were people he cared about, people he wanted to spend time with, in preference of his self-imposed isolation.
Harry never would have thought he would actively desire the company of others. Maybe he had been lonely and hadn't realised it?
It still baffled him at times, that he had come to rely upon people so quickly. Harry had never relied on anyone before, and yet that had all changed just last Christmas when, barely concious and crumpled to the path-side in Paris' metropolitan, he had been awakened by the terrified voice of Draco. That image, of Draco's pale face and wide eyes, his voice muffled by the mugginess of Harry's mind, would stay with him forever.
Thank God it's Christmas. We might get a week less of break than Hogwarts students, but still, that's two weeks together. Two whole weeks! Harry knew Tali watched him with barely suppressed amusement as he fought to control the excitement he'd hitherto witheld from spreading across his face. He didn't really care. His enthusiasm only grew with every moment of travel, even when the nearly-four hour trip seem to take significantly longer than the predicted four hours.
Disembarking in the underground carriage bay in Le Cachee Labyrinthe, Harry, Tali and Neville offered Giles their gratitude and a smattering of well-wishes for the holiday break. Giles replied in kind, calling to them boisterously that he would be more than happy to cart them back on the return trip should they desire as much.
Parking their trunks at a distance from the parked carriages and stamping Pegsus, the sporadic calls from grooms and carriage drivers both as they directed incoming arrivals every which way, Neville sighed heartily. He grinned towards his two friends and Harry didn't think he needed a genius to predict his next words.
"Well, not that this hasn't been fun, but I have places I need to be. You know, sights to see, people to talk to."
"Oh? I thought Ginny was still in Belgium, meeting that scout. What was his name…?" Tali picked at her teeth in the way she did when she was adopting false thoughtfulness. Her façade wasn't entirely fool proof, however; Harry noticed the small quivering of her lips that told of the beginnings of a smile.
Neville blinked at the French girl in surprise. "How did you know Ginny was in Belgium?" He paused, then frowned. "And I never even said I was meeting Ginny."
"I know, Neville, because I listen. Eyes peeled, ears open, you know the drill." She dropped the act, smiling widely.
"But I never said anything…"
"Don't worry, Neville," Harry consoled him. "Tali just sort of knows things. You probably just haven't been on the receiving end of it that often so haven't noticed. I wouldn't think on it too much."
Neville continued to frown at Tali, who only replied with an overly bright smile. "Ri-ght. Well, anyway, no, as a matter of fact, she came back from Belgium early."
"Oh dear. Did it end badly?"
"No, not really. At least Ginny seemed to think the bloke thought she was pretty good. But I'm meeting her for lunch, so I'm going to head off." Stooping, he hefted his trunk to standing. "Harry, I'll probably drop by to see you some time after Christmas, yeah?"
Harry nodded. "Sure. Sirius says you're always welcome. Are you going to be in England for most of the break?"
Neville returned the nod, though with an accompanying grimace. "Yeah, Gran wanted me to come back and stay with her for Christmas. Says she wanted to make sure I'm not getting 'brainwashed by those stuck-up French pillocks'." He glanced hastily towards Tali. "Her words, I swear. No offence from me intended, Tali."
Offering a consoling pat to Neville's shoulder, Tali seemed to struggle around a smirk before she replied. "None taken, Neville. Still, at least you'll get to see all your old friends again."
"Yeah, that'll be good." The thought seemed to brighten Neville's outlook once more. His grin returned. "I think I'll probably be able to convince Gran to let me stay with Ron for most of the time. He's a respectable pureblood, you know."
Tali snorted at that, rolling her eyes and muttering something about the stupidity of those that clung to the old ways. There followed a brief exchange of farewells before Neville, manhandling his trunk with excessive awkwardness, Apparated from the spot.
"Come on then, my little kittens, we also have places to be." Tali, grinning, looped her arm through Harry's and scrunched her nose at him in a grin. He stared at her flatly – ever since she'd overheard Sirius' reference to him as 'kitten', his friend had been taken with the term of endearment – but conceded and Apparated them both from the sidelines of the Pegasus bay with a crack.
The Parisian International Portkey Terminal was remarkably similar to its English counterpart. A wide room, grand yet paradoxically unassuming, it held nothing save a long receptionist's desk and the seemingly random potplants placed either side of the doors. Polished floors varied only in their checkerboard pattern in contrast to the gleaming white of those in London. The primary difference appeared to be the significant discrepancy in individuals queuing to get their tickets stamped and directed to their departure room. Harry had grown somewhat familiar with the building, enough that he nodded at two of the three receptionists in greeting; he knew their faces at least, if not their names.
"What time is your portkey set to leave?" Harry asked, urging Tali out of the thoroughfare of the double doorway and dragging their trunks behind them. As they pulled to a standing station alongside the wall, Lyssy dutifully clambered atop his trunk tail twitching and eyes narrowing as she dutifully observed each figure that passed by.
"Ah, not for another twenty minutes, or thereabouts."
"Did you want to check in?"
Tali gave him a cryptic smile. "Not just yet. I think I'll stick around for a bit longer."
Harry frowned. "I still don't understand why you didn't just take one of the carriages straight to Spain rather than coming through Paris. You're spending Christmas with Viviette in Spain, aren't you? You know there was nearly as many carriages going to Madrid as to Paris."
"Yes, but Kitten," Tali dropped her chin, raising her eyebrows pointedly, "I'm not going to be seeing you all Christmas. This is the only chance I'll get."
"Chance for what?" Harry replied, frowning confusedly and with just a hint of foreboding. But Tali only shook her head and turned her attention to scanning her surroundings, as though searching for something. At the sight of his friend's hawk-like gaze, Harry felt his own attention shift, questions dying. And his thoughts fell into familiar territory.
Draco. Draco was coming, would arrive at any moment. Harry's partner had already been on holidays for a week, but had remained with Narcissa throughout that time as a compromise for spending the rest of his break with Harry. In France.
Draco wsa going to spend Harry's whole holidays with him. In France. The thought sent a jitter of excitement through him that had him nearly starting excitedly with every witch or wizard that entered the entrance hall from the doors leading the departure rooms.
So it was with little surprise, despite how uncharacteristic Harry knew it to be, that when the tall, slender blonde stepped through the swinging doors that Harry nearly flew as he launched himself across the room. Draco barely had a moment to raise his arms before Harry crashed into him, arms wrapping tightly around his waist in a crushing embrace. Barely a moment later he felt arms envelope him in turn and was pressed even more closely to Draco's chest.
Warm. So warm. And comfortable. Harry pressed his eyes closed and drew in a deep breath, the smell of the cologne Draco had taken to wearing curling into his nostrils. He knew for a fact that a the musky scent cost more than Harry spent on shampoo in an entire year. They'd discussed its necessity at length, though a myriad of giggles and affronted exclamations. At that moment, Harry didn't care for the expense. It was familiar.
And it's only been a week since I saw him. I'm acting so desperate. And yet, even recognising it as a truth, the thought didn't cause Harry to loosen his arms even a fraction.
They probably would have stayed as such, wrapped in each other's embrace indefinitely had a traveler not nearly barrelledd into them in his haste to depart the building. They exchanged a sheepish grin before Draco drew Harry from the direct line of passage
Out of the way once more, Draco drew him into a one-armed hug. "Happy Holidays. It's about time you finished up."
Harry snorted, gently prodding him in the ribs. It barely elicited a grunt. "Don't criticise my educational institution, Draco. Envy is petty."
"It's hardly envy. Tiresome as it is to admit, Hogwarts is more than satisfactory. If anything, the very fact that you finish studies a full year later is indication enough. Although, I have to admit," Draco leaned away from him slightly, peering down at Harry in appreciative assessment, "it does have it's perks."
Feeling a flush rise in his cheeks, Harry dropped his chin. Draco had never made any attempt to hide his approval of Beauxbatons' uniform. The first time the students of Hogwarts had surprised their friends with a visit to Paris – all thoroughly prepared and approved with the Hogwarts Headmistress by a meticulous Hermione – Ron had nearly fallen from his chair. He and Blaise had taken great delight in prodding at a blushingly embarrased Neville as they exclaimed over what a splendid fop he made. Neville had cursed long and fluently, swearing that he would never leave the Academy grounds in his uniform again.
In an attempt to divert the attention from himself – for really, Ron and Blaise were being exceptionally long-winded in their expressions of gloating amusement – Neville had jerked his thumb at Harry. With a sardonic smile, he exclaimed, "Well, I may look like an idiot, but we have our resident French student here who actually wears it properly. See, you're supposed to look like a little doll. Ressemble à une poupée, non?" He smirked self-satisfyingly, the attention diverted from himself. "I'm just far too English to pull it off."
After that, the name had stuck. Ron and Blaise had called Harry nothing but a 'poupée' for the rest of the weekend; his diminutive height did nothing to help the matter, even when Neville assured him he was a 'nice' doll, unlike those creepy bisque figurines that lined the windows of the pâtisserie in Rivierie Ville. He was only mollified when Draco had wrapped him in a hug and tugged idly on his beret, whispering, "I happen to quite like it, you know. There's no reason to feel bashful about looking good. Neville's just jealous he can't quite pull it off." And dubious as Harry was to his claim, he had felt somewhat mollified.
Hence, Draco had encouraged him to wear his uniform at any given opportunity. More than that, as though he'd undergone an epiphany of sorts, Draco seemed to take it upon himself to re-outfit Harry with a new wardrobe. Harry couldn't really complain, though he did find it excessive and unnecessary. He'd never had much by way of fashion sense and couldn't profess a sudden interest particularly. But it seemed to make Draco happy to wear that which he'd bought – or requested Harry buy, as he would resolutely refuse to be showered in gifts willy-nilly – so he could hardly refuse.
As it was, Draco was tugging idly at his beret, a fond smile on his face that Harry was fairly certain he didn't realise he wore – he wouldn't be caught dead wearing it in public otherwise – when Tali wandered towards them. Harry could pinpoint the exact moment Draco noticed her presence for the aloof, slightly derogatory mask that slipped like a glove upon his face.
Harry took a step away from Draco, glancing between his two friends. It was the first time they had met, all of Draco's previous visits occurring off-campus. Though he had spoken to both of them about each other at length, he felt an unexpected nervousness well up within him.
"Um… Tali, this is Draco. Draco, Tali. I'm sure I've told you enough about each other to…" He trailed off, taking another small step away from Draco. It was impossible not to; the tension in the air was thick enough to be sliced and diced. Tali's golden eyes, though on a markedly lower level due to her shorter height, were locked with Draco's grey in what appeared to be a battle of sorts. Harry would not have been unsurprised to see sparks fly. Literally, given the inclusion of magic.
"Um, what's…?"
Neither Draco nor Tali indicated they heard Harry's half-formed query. It was morbidly fascinating to watch, though a little intimidating. Harry felt as though he watched two wild animals having a face off of sorts. He couldn't fathom exactly what it was about, but felt too nervous to attempt another question.
Draco was the first to break the silence. With deliberate slowness, he held out his hand and spoke in clipped English. "Draco Malfoy, Eldest Son and Heir of the Malfoy Family, currently a seventh year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Harry stared blankly at his partner, struggling not to gape. What was all that about? Why was he acting so formal and -?
"Nataliha Jarvour, Second Eldest of the Jarvour Family, fourth generation Half-Blood and proud to be. At present a fifth form student of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic." She spoke in her usual quiet, lilting tone, an innocent, as she slipped her little fingers into Draco's. There was nothing innocent about the grin that flashed her faintly crooked teeth however; it looked more predatory than friendly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Malfoy."
Naturally, she spoke entirely in French.
Harry had to bite back a sigh. Of course neither Draco nor Tali would back down to a potential confrontation, Draco for his pride and Tali for the sheer thrill of the challenge. Conceding to use the other's first language was asking too much, it would seem. Harry couldn't quite hide a cringe at the exchange, though it went unnoticed by the pair as they finished their hand shake and settled back to staring at one another. The tense silence ensued once more. Harry could have sworn a silent conversation passed between the two who were, effectively, little more than stangers.
This is awkward. God, this is so awkward, I think I'm going to melt into the ground. I should have seen this coming… Of course that's why Tali stuck around instead of booking in at the check-in. She always said she was looking forward to meeting Draco. So awkward, so awkward…
It was Draco who finally broke the staring battle. Surprising, that. Harry would have assumed him too proud to offer any leniency. Yet even more surprising was that when he spoke it all in French. Not quite fluid, but certainly understandable. "It's a pleasure to meet you finally, Madamoiselle Jarvour. I've heard so much about you. Harry claims you are an absolute delight." If there was an edge to the words… well, that was simply Draco.
The battle seemed to reach its conclusion at that point. A slow smile spread across Tali's face; not that predatory smirk but a genuine smile that crinkled her nose. More noteworthy was the fact that she replied – mostly – in English. "S'il te plait, call me Tali. And ze pleasure is all mine, Mr Malfoy. I've similarly been most eager to meet you. My dear friend 'Arry frequently assaults me with favourable anecdotes regarding yourself. I feel as zough I know you already."
Her own words were markedly less stilted than Draco's despite the thickness of her accent, and the broadening smile said she knew it. Harry had to cover his face with a hand, hiding his flush. He had a moment to regret his long-lost ability to appear unaffected by his emotions before embarrassment nearly overwhelmed him. Of course, everything has to be a competition.
"I assure you, I feel the same, Tali. And similarly, call me Draco. I feel that such formality would be rather uncouth given the circumstances."
As one, Draco and Tali turned towards Harry. Peering between his fingers, Harry flickered his gaze between the two of them warily. "What?"
In eerie synchrony, the pair adopted twin smirks. It was disconcerting to behold an expression so similar on such different faces. He hadn't considered them to be all that alike until that moment. Maybe that's why I like them both so much. And find them both so frustrating at the moment!
But the worst appeared to be over. After a short exchange of words – in English, thankfully, for Draco's sake – Tali made a show of casting a Tempus Charm and huffed her regret that she was to leave.
"Vivi will be very upset with me if I'm late," she sighed, approaching Harry. He barely got a chance to glimpse the teasing glint in her eye before she leaned in and gave him a sequence of cheek kisses. "À bientôt, Kitten. I doubt I'll be seeing you before school starts back again. Be sure to write me, now." And after dropping briefly into a crouch to scratch Lyssy's head as Harry's familiar coiled around his ankles, she spelled her trunk with a Follow Me Charm and lined up with her fellow travellers at the reception desk.
Draco slipped an arm around Harry as they watched her leave, returning her bright wave as she passed through the doors to the inner building. As soon as she disappeared from sight, Harry tipped his head up towards Draco and gave him a pointed stare. "Exactly what was that all about?" Draco only smirked, dropping a kiss to his forehead. Harry scowled. "Draco…"
"Nothing to worry about, Harry, nothing at all." He dropped his arm from his half-hug and spelled Harry's trunk with its own Follow Me Charm. Slipping his hand into Harry's, he gave him an amused smile as they began to head towards the exit. "You know, though, I think I may just like this Tali."
"Oh really? So glad you approve." Harry rolled his eyes, ensuring that Draco didn't miss the sarcasm.
"Thank you." Draco's smile became quizzical for a moment. "And correct me if I'm wrong, but did she just call you kitten?"
Harry could only managed to half smother his groan. He suddenly realised he probably should have been more worried about his two friends' meeting than he had been. It could have gone worse, but it surely could have gone much better.
Draco sighed blissfully as he slumped back onto the duvet, propping his head up on the pillow. "Well, it might have been different to last Christmas, but I still quite enjoyed myself. Even with Sirius around."
Harry smiled, noting the use of his godfather's first name in one of countless instances that night. Draco had conceded – finally – to drop the formality of calling Sirius 'Black' and with it had dropped some of their mutual wariness around each other. Some, though admittedly not all. Slipping his shoes off at the end of the bed, Harry crawled up the length of the mattress. Draco spread his legs in a cradle and he slipped himself in between them, nestling with his arms folded across Draco's chest. "I'm glad. Though are you sure you didn't want to go and see you mother? If you wanted, tomorrow we could…"
Draco waved his hand lazily. "No, it's fine. She assured me that she was spending most of of the Christmas break between social gatherings anyway." He smirked, lips curling sardonically. "Besides, Severus assured me he'd be her escort for just about all of them."
"Escort?" Harry felt his own smile widen. "Am I to assume then?" Draco wriggled more comfortably into the thick duvet and stack of far too many pillows. Harry had to wonder at their excess; like everything else in the modest yet open bedroom Sirius had afforded him, the surplus seemed to be driven by a constant fear that any want that should tickle Harry's fancy would not be met. Harry had accepted it gratefully, but had to say something when Sirius had wanted to install surround sound to accompany an already far too large entertainment system in the bedroom. Not that he didn't appreciate the sentiment, but it really was unnecessary. "I think it would be fairly safe to assume as much. Severus spends more time with her than I do."
"I'm happy for her, then. If that's what Narcissa wants." "From what I've seen, it seems to be." Draco's faded slightly, becoming thoughtful. "I like this Anouk that Sirius has set himself up with, too. She seems to have a decent head on her shoulders."
Harry hummed his agreement into Draco's chest. "I'll let Sirius know your thoughts. I'm sure he'd be relieved to hear she meets your approval."
"Yes, you do that," his partner replied, grin spreading widely once more.
Anouk was a kindly young woman – Draco said too young for Sirius, but Harry didn't altogether think so – and seemed to be about as besotted with Sirius as he was with her. A golden haired daughter of a Ministry official, she seemed to live life to the fullest in much the same way that Sirius did. Free, enjoying life, living in the moment with no strings attached. Except that, in this instance, there appeared to be quite a few strings attaching and knotting rather firmly. It was an indication of just how well they cleaved together that their relationship had spanned for a solid two months now, nearly twice as long as Harry had known Sirius to embroil himself in before. Yes, besotted was quite an accurate description; every letter Harry received from his godfather was another proclamation of his adoration for the witch.
Yet even aside from the fact that Anouk so obviously made Sirius happy, Harry found that he quite liked the woman too. She was friendly, had a bubbly sense of humour, and seemed able to tame Sirius' wildness without smothering it completely. Of course, such an approach would be counter productive as she seemed to stray towards the wild side herself quite distinctly, if Sirius' words were any indication.
"I like her too," he murmured quietly, head turning to rest his ear on Draco's chest. The steady thump of a heartbeat, the warmth pervading even through his jumper, was just so comfortable. Whatever uneasiness had arisen between them briefly those months ago from Harry's first revisit to Hogsmeade had long since passed, leaving only something stronger in its wake. As the proverb said, that which wasn't killed would only be made stronger. He felt his eyes droop closed as fingers grazed through his hair, stroking lightly through the ever-present tangles. They tugged idly on his ear lobe and Draco's chest rose briefly in a sigh of contentment.
"You know, I think I like these ones more than the other ones I got you." He tugged lightly on the apatite earring hooped through Harry's ear. "They match your eyes better."
Harry turned his head so his chin propped instead in the centre of Draco's chest. "Is that so?"
"Yes. And I take full credit for just how perfectly matching they are, too."
Harry felt his smile widen once more, and didn't bother reprimanding the assumption. Draco had been so content with his gift that Harry could only love it, even had it not filled him with joy at the prospect of being able to converse with Lyssy once more. It had made his own gift seem somewhat inadequate, though Draco had exclaimed nostalgically that the simple chain of interwoven white gold links was exactly the same as the one he'd pointed out a year ago in Rue de Mervilles. As if Harry didn't remember exactly.
"You know," Harry murmured, pondering and tilting his head to gaze up at Draco, "you still need to form that bond with your mother."
"Bond?" Draco peered down his chest towards Harry, running his fingers through his hair once more. "The Bond of Eternity?"
"Mmm."
A small but delighted smile settled upon Draco's face. "That I do. It takes a good few months to set everything up, though, so I was considering doing it after my N.E. . I'd like to get my apprenticeship sorted before everything… I still don't know what's going to happen in terms of living quarters next year, if I get an English master."
Harry nodded his understanding. He hid it well, his tone free of worry, but Harry could tell Draco was positively bursting for want of a response from one of the Masters he'd sent applications to in hopes to apprentice under them in the coming year. He knew Draco desperately wanted to work under Dorrick, even more so than the elusive yet starkly unique French Master, Calvinn Burisque. He didn't say anything, however. There was no need to point out the obvious. "Have you asked her yet?"
Draco shook his head. "No. I will, just not yet. I mean…" He paused, thumbing the side of his nose awkwardly. "We've gotten somewhat fonder of one another these past few months, but I'm still unsure as to how she'd respond to such a request."
Harry felt a smirk straining at his lips. "Somewhat fonder?"
"Quiet, you."
They both shook in muted laughter before subsiding into an easy silence. It was calming to simply revel in one another's presence.
It was quiet and comfortable, warm and lulling, to be wrapped both in one another and in the warmth of the room. Sirius had suggested to Harry that they sleep in separate bedrooms at first. Well, it was more of a plea than a suggestion. He had subsided, however, beneath Harry's hesitant request for otherwise and Draco's point-blank refusal. Harry was grateful for the speed of his godfather's acceptance. He hadn't really expected him to cave to fast; Sirius was so protective, almost aggressively so at times, and his relationship with Draco was tenuous at best. Draco maintained it was due to the discord that still stank pungently between their families, but Sirius rebutted with the belief that it was simply a matter of him disliking the 'snooty little arse'. But at least in this instance, the sole remaining member of the Black family alleviated his pride for once and bowed to the request of his godchild. Harry felt it had been almost painful to watch.
Still, he couldn't regret forcing Sirius to make the decision. He'd grown used to sleeping without Draco, but that didn't mean he simply liked it. It was necessary, that was all. Any chance to share a bed was grasped desperately with both hands.
Draco had asked, at first, if Harry really wanted to continue such a sleeping arrangement. Harry had been mortified nearly to tears. Draco had to, at great length and with gushing backtracking, reassured him that it wasn't that he didn't want to sleep with Harry as such but that he thought that Harry would prefer some distancing. Draco had been persistently careful, almost to the point of frustrating. Any contact between them was strictly platonic save for short chaste kisses. Or it had been until Harry had finally, with great exasperation, told Draco to stop being a twit.
"But I… I just don't want to hurt you."
Harry could still remember the slight crack in his voice, the sadness, almost fear, in his eyes. I've caused this. It's my fault. Yet Harry struggled against spilling forth such an exclamation, fought against apologising profusely. Socorro had reassured him time and time again that no, it wasn't his 'fault'. That no one, Draco least of all people, would blame him for any hesitancy he would have with intimacy. That it was natural after trauma to experience reluctance to tread near potential triggers.
That was one area of Harry's sessions with his psychologist that, when he had finally been able to voice it in the open, he'd been adamant about pursuing. He made it as clear as possible that the primary goal, that which he wished to work towards in his recovery most ardently, was to be able to reciprocate, to nurture and grow in his relationship with Draco. It had been frightfully embarrassing to confess as much – Harry always felt himself flush upon remembering his ardent confession – but that made it no less true.
Socorro hadn't been sceptical. She hadn't been condescending – of course she hadn't – but neither had she encouraged him to shy away from contact for fear of provoking a nervous response. She said that habituating, of a sorts, was one of the most common approaches to overcoming any kind of trauma or phobia. And if intimacy was what Harry truly wanted, then she saw it as a great approach to confronting his past and progressing from it.
It had been a strange reversal of roles after Harry had made his decision. He was firmly grounded in it after discussing it bashfully with Socorro; if he wanted to share a physical relationship with Draco, then to hell with tiptoeing around his traumas. He'd bloody well have it. It was Draco that was the hesitant one. He seemed to treat Harry as though he was made of glass, and though Harry was constantly reassured by the love he saw in his partner's eyes, Draco so rarely acted upon it save for a gentle kiss, a tender embrace or soft touches that barely grazed the skin. It had been odd, yet somehow… enthralling, to be the one to initiate further intimacy.
Harry found that in such instances, somehow, he rarely felt the looming panic, the flooding cascade of memories. The fear. It was the upwelling of love, of adoration towards Draco, that bubbled to the surface rather than gut-clenching aversion.
Contemplating the thought as he dozed on Draco's chest, Harry revisited the thought that had been developing hesitantly in mind for weeks now. And once the faint niggling of consideration took hold, he couldn't seem to shake it. Turning his head so that his chin rested on Draco's chest once more, Harry blinked up into the half-closed eyes of the boy beneath him.
"Draco?"
"Yes, love?"
Harry felt a rush of warmth suffuse him at the term; Draco had just started using it and he couldn't be happier for the fact. "I was wondering…" He paused. How exactly did one go about something like this? "If I were to suggest something, how likely do you think you'd be to agree to it?"
Draco blinked slowly before wedging an elbow behind him to prop himself up higher on the pillows. He frowed. "What are you talking about?"
Which, of course, made the situation that much more awkward. Harry thrust aside any misgivings he might have and reaffirmed his stance. Why not just… go for it?
Pushing himself up onto his knees, Harry slid forwards so that he was face to face with Draco. He paused for only a second before he leant forward and gently pressed their lips together. Draco was unresponsive for a moment, still puzzled, but rapidly fell into the familiarity of the motions. Harry felt hands slip around his back, gently cradling his hips as they worked to draw themselves closer together, mouths opening and tongues sliding in languid caresses. Harry let his own hands slip up into Draco's hair, fingers entwining in soft, white-blonde locks and holding them firmly together.
When they broke apart for breath, panting slightly, Draco huffed in faint laughter. "What did you want to ask? I think we may have gotten a little distracted."
Harry didn't answer. In a mechanical flick of his fingers, he slipped his glasses from his face, tossed them onto the bedside table, and in a single sliding motion slipped backwards off of Draco's lap. "I was just wondering…" His fingers dropped to the top of Draco's trousers, looping behind the band and stroked the pale skin beneath. He glanced up at Draco through blurred sights but even his weakened vision couldn't obscure the surprise that was rapidly spreading across Draco's face.
"W…what?"
Harry uttered no answer once more. The surprise only grew into shock on Draco's face, but he didn't pull away when Harry began unzipping his trousers, nor when he tugged them down slightly. Despite the shock on his face – he looked almost scared, in a stupefied sort of way – he more helped than hindered the attempt to remove his garments.
And when Harry slipped off the boxers beneath, dropping down onto his elbows between his legs, Draco let out a choked"'H-harry, what are you…? You don't have to –"
"Draco, my question?" For some reason, Harry felt relaxed, only a hint of nervousness, a glimmer of faint embarrassment that was easily smothered. "Would you let me?"
At any other time, Harry would have been struggling to suppress laughter at Draco's expression. Not now. The blonde swallowed convulsively, seemed to fight an internal battle with himself, before he gave a very small tilt to his head in a nod.
And that was all Harry needed.
He knew what he was doing. Deny the reality as he may have done for so long, there was no overlooking where Harry did know what he was doing. Stephen had experimented, of course, and Stephen wanted it exactly how he liked it. Harry would be overlooking the blatant truth if he said he hadn't learnt just what felt good, what elicited the most dramatic responses.
So Harry knew where to begin, knew how to position himself and just the right amount of prssure to apply in just the right places. And surprisingly, surprising even to himself, he found that the use of such knowledge, even coloured by the memory of where it came from, didn't distress him. Or more correctly, it didn't distract him from the present. Nor did it pull him into a spinning vortex of dark, muddled memories.
No, Harry didn't think anything could distract him at that moment, for when he first dropped his chin, fingers curling gently around Draco's budding arousal and lowered his mouth onto the tip, the groan, almost a whimper, that choked from the blonde boy was far too fascinating to turn away from.
Slowly, with forced care and just the right amount of slowness, Harry lost himself in the motions of provoking those moans. Kissing and licking gently at the sensitive tip, running his tongue down the underside of the steadily hardening member. He closed his eyes to revel in the Draco's groan, stroking his length with tongue and hands, curling fingers in the wiry curls of the golden hair between his legs and gently fondling him with his palm.
'H… Harry…'
Glancing up from the cradle of Draco's legs, one hand resting on a pale thigh, tongue and fingers of the other still working slowly, Harry felt a smile of delight draw tug at his lips. Draco's face was creased in lines that could have been pained had his eyes not spoken an entirely different story. Lust blown pupils were affixed upon Harry as one hand hesitantly stroked and then locked into Harry's hair. His thighs trembled slightly, as though he was physically straining himself to remain immobile. Still holding Draco's eyes, Harry paused for a moment, then with exaggerated care ran his tongue over the tip of his hard length once more. The groan that sprung forth was even more broken than those preceding it.
It was intoxicating. Harry had never seen the likes of it before, the face of his lover twisted in pleasure because of what he was doing for him. And even as the wayward thought of 'just like Stephen' flickered through his mind, he was thrusting it aside as irrelevant. No, Stephen hadn't been like this. Harry had never felt that upwelling of warmth in his own gut, his own response kindled, at affording such pleasure. And this was something that Harry did because he wanted to. Because he chose to. And seeing Draco struggle to smother his pleasured moan only enhanced the desire to do more.
In a single motion, Harry took the hard length in his mouth, wrapping his lips around soft, warm skin and sunk down in one swift motion. Draco was larger than he'd expected, and the stiffened arousal made him even more so, but Harry managed to swallow him nearly whole. The hand in his hair tightened, but he didn't pause, and, fingers still working, he sucked in his cheeks and drew off before deep throating once more. The frazzled words, the broken moans his motions elicited only spurred his further. Down, and up, a stroke of his tongue and down once more.
Draco didn't last long. His immobility lasted even less time, and not a handful of minutes had passed before he was bucking and writhing, struggling in a battle between his desire to thrust into Harry's mouth and that to hold perfectly still. Harry didn't care, either way, the moans of Draco's pleasure, choked and breathless, music to his ears. I'm doing this... He wants me to do this, and I'm choosing to because I really, actually, want to. The knowledge was empowering, causing him to hum, satisfied, as he drew slowly off Draco's throbbing length once more, sucking tightly. He should have known it would be too much, anyway.
Draco came in a strangled groan, both hands locking into Harry's hair tightly and grasping for dear life. Harry sucked for a moment longer, the salty bitterness lathering his tongue, momentarily choking before he swallowed it. A faint reprimand – well, I probably could have timed that a little better – was lost as his eyes flickered upwards.
Draco was half slumped into the pillows behind him, panting as though from exertion. His mouth opened and closed, struggling to find words, and Harry felt a moment of satisfaction that he was able to so completely discard the Malfoy mask.
"That was… are you…? I mean, that…"
Sitting himself up on his knees, Harry wiped a hand across his chin, his lips, ridding them of the slight wetness. "Did you like it?"
Draco didn't answer with words. He simply stared, stunned for a moment, before in a darting motion that nearly started Harry from the bed he reached forwards and dragged him back into his lap. Harry settled himself comfortably across his bare hips, legs straddling Draco's thighs. Long, slender fingers cupped his chin, his jaw, stroked thumbs across his cheeks. It should have been surprising when Draco crushed their lips together – Harry had never received a kiss after doing that, had never wanted one – but it wasn't. And it felt utterly perfect to just sink into his warmth, his embrace.
Was he happy? Yes… yes he should think so.
It felt like a remarkable step in the right direction. Harry thought with a half-hearted reprimand at his own eroticism that he simply couldn't wait just to try more.
A/N: Comments greatly appreciated. As always, a massive, massive thank you to everyone who has done so. Thank you, wonderful people!
