Obsession and Her Trappings
(Pairing, summary, and ratings can be found in chapter one.)
*****
Chapter SixHarry 4— Just Ask Me.
Draco Malfoy stood in front of the bench with a mini-telescope clasped in his hand, a sentinel with head tilted back to stare up at the heavens. Ask for what you want, even if you know you can't have it. The bench had been cleared of snow, and on it lay instead a fresh white sheet of parchment. It seemed that Harry was not the only one who hadn't done the star chart.
Harry shrank back, hiding in the undergrowth at the side of the trail. "This is not a good thing," he told himself, although several parts of him begged to differ. "Remember who he is; remember that this is Malfoy. Remember the way he's treated you and your friends; remember that he's practically a Death Eater already." Still, he could not help the way his eyes were drawn across Draco's frame, taking in his features. The stark contrast of his black robes against the white snow behind him was especially vivid.
Draco frowned, oblivious, and twisted the knob of his shiny toy ever so gently. It was a neat little gadget, made of brass that glinted in the moonlight. An elongated, cylindrical device, probably slick with pearly drops of condensation from the cold air. Expensive, too, Harry knew that just by looking at the detailed controls at the base.
Pretty boys should definitely not be allowed to carry such things, Harry decided, and found that his hormone-soaked body concurred. His heartbeat quickened; he found himself licking his lips. Melted snow trickled onto him from the leafy undergrowth, and the branches clawed at his arms.
Concentrating on his task, Draco ran his hand up along the shaft of the instrument and slid an ivory finger down its length, deep in thought. Ask for what you want, even if you know you can't have it. Harry shivered, adjusted his robes. He squinted, and a shudder passed through him as Draco bit his lip. Oh, this wasn't fair, not at all. Who invited something straight from one of his most depraved wet dreams out tonight?
It seemed as though his telescope wasn't performing as well as Draco would have wanted it to. For all his fiddling, fretting, and manipulating, Harry saw— through glasses that were fogging over rapidly— that he was not seeing stars. Yet each attempt that he made, each time he thrust the tool heavenward, sent an electric jolt through the aroused body of his observer.
Finally, he managed to get the thing working. Harry could see the tremor that ran through Draco's entire frame as his vision shot through that long shaft and into the heavens. He gave a little cry of victory and before Harry could stop himself, he had echoed it with a throaty, aching moan of his own.
Draco heard; Draco looked up. Harry's gut dropped like a toddler down a well.
*****
"Hello?" Those grey eyes — a storm at sea — scanned the woods, passing over the thicket in which Harry was hiding. Heart raging, he pushed himself deeper into the brush. The sweaty warmth of his haven comforted him. Please let Draco go away, please let him leave, please….
"Is anyone there?"
An owl responded; Harry did not. Please let him go away, his thoughts whispered fiercely. Perhaps this was supposed to happen tonight, but all he wanted right now was to turn his back on 'supposed to.' He wanted that bench to be empty; he wanted not to have to draw this chart; he wanted everything to be normal again.
With one last sweeping glance, Draco turned away. He snapped the telescope shut, and slipped it into the folds of his robe. With purposeful strides made only slightly less efficient by the billowing piles of snow, he walked to the bench. He picked up the quill, and scribbled something on the parchment. Harry watched fine lines appear on his forehead, saw the feather weave and bob in swooping circles as Draco drew the stars. At least someone was getting his work done tonight.
Harry knew that he needed to get out into that clearing. This had been too much of a hassle for him to give up now. And hopefully, Draco would be almost finished, so that he'd leave quickly. Yes, that was what would happen. If Harry went into the clearing, Draco would leave, and he could get his work done. No strangely sexual fighting, no phallic observations. He would pick up his things and go, and Harry would be able to draw the silly chart.
Dispelling the last of his misgivings, Harry wriggled out of his damp hiding place. His eyes on Draco, he stood, and took steps toward the grove. The snow crunched beneath his feet, and a sound had never been more deafening.
Draco glanced up, and his gaze fixed on Harry. "Potter?" His eyes became narrow slices of slate. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Harry blinked; his fantasies must have slipped stealthily into the forefront of his mind for a moment. They had almost caused him to expect a different, warmer greeting— an embrace, even. Foolish. "Screw you, Malfoy. I've got as much right to be here as you do." After a moment of reflection on their last intense meeting, he added, "It's not like we're in a corridor on your turf or something."
Draco's pale features formed a smile, but it was no more than the ghost of one. "Perhaps, but it's after dark, and not even you, the great Harry Potter, are allowed to be prowling about at this hour. In fact, I'd say that Professor McGonagall would be highly displeased to know that Gryffindor's shining star and champion Seeker was gallivanting about on the outskirts of the Forest at night."
Harry snarled. He wasn't supposed to get caught; tonight didn't seem willing to let him fall into trouble. Then again, Draco wasn't supposed to be here, either. It couldn't happen. It just couldn't. He glared at Draco…
Wait a sodding second. "Shut up! If you run off and tattle like the stupid nancy boy prat that you are, she'll know that you were out of bed, too." That smile widened, and he realized that Draco had been bluffing. "Fuck-wit," Harry added, though his heart truly wasn't in the epitaph.
In fact, this entire exchanged seemed to be lacking in intensity. In better, simpler times, their words would have been harsh and biting, attacks and counterattacks as scathing as any physical battling. Now, they were tossed up lazily, like clay pigeons lofted into the air to be shot by rifles. Usually, there would be spite in their voices, and malice dancing like a black flame in the whites of their eyes. But not tonight.
Tonight, there was none of that. Though he had tried to be angry, summoning the last reserves of his hatred, Harry found that it just wasn't enough. This night wouldn't tolerate any exchange of hostilities. One didn't shout in a cathedral, or stomp and scream in an art gallery, after all.
"Forget to do your star chart, too?" So Draco felt the change as well. His tone could almost be considered civil. Harry wasn't alone in this altered state, then, which was a good thing. He'd not have relished this serenity in the face of a murderous Malfoy.
Harry nodded. They stood in silence for a moment, unsure of what to do in this new existence. How were they to fill this empty time, if not by beating each other senseless? That had always seemed to be the only option, at least where the two of them were concerned. But now what?
Harry took a step back, felt something brush up against the back of his knee. The bench. He sank down in it, thankful for something to support him. "So how did you find this spot, anyway?" he asked, the ancient wood soothing his jangled self.
Draco turned and looked at him, his brow slightly furrowed in bemusement. Harry blushed, wanting to turn away but not entirely able to. In fact, what he wanted to do was to kiss and caress those fine wrinkles away. He imagined his lips sliding over that smooth skin, brushing away the slightest wisps of perspiration that dusted Draco's forehead. Ask for what you want, even if you know you can't have it. Of course, though, such thoughts soon passed— almost. They remained at the edges of his conscious, perched like owls or ivory hawks.
Draco too sat down. "What— do you think you're the only one who goes out wandering when he should be tucked in bed like a good little boy?" Another smile. "Think again."
Harry shrugged, trying not to let the grin spread to him. "Not that I care, anyway. You and the rest of the Death Eater Cub Scout troop can prowl the premises whenever you want. Preferably within Mrs. Norris' range, but then I again I also hear that it's lovely under the Whomping Willow at night. The perfect place for all of your dark deeds, right below those beautiful branches. I bet you could even build a clubhouse there."
"Go to hell, Potter."
"With you right at my heels, Malfoy." What was this strange camaraderie; where had it come from? Some other time, Harry decided that he was going to figure out what had transpired, what had changed the tension to comfort.
All he could say for certain tonight was that they were looking at the same skies, trying impossibly to count and map the same endless stars. Perhaps that was enough of a base right now. They sat, past enemies, present acquaintances, and future mysteries, all leaning against the same primeval planks, shifting their robes in the cold. Those parts they had played, or were playing, or were yet to play, staring up into the heavens and trying very hard to be subtle a bout staring at one another every so often. Ask for what you want, even if you know you can't have it.
*****
It was a few minutes before either of them spoke again. "Imagine, believing that those stars could tell your fortune." Draco's laugh was high and tinny. "Ridiculous."
Harry shrugged. "I don't know about that. But if believing in the stars could make a person feel less alone, I wouldn't want to begrudge anyone of that."
"Always a Gryffindor," and though that comment could have made Harry bristle, he let it pass. Draco's tone wasn't mean, really, just contemplative. "Does that mean you believe in fortunes, Potter?"
Ask for what you want, even if you know you can't have it. "I-don't-know." Harry hoped he sounded at least half-convincing. Did Draco know about those fortune cookies, then? Was that was this was— a plot to humiliate him? He didn't want to believe that; this night wasn't meant for treachery. It didn't belong here, on this stage. "No. Well, yes. Maybe?"
Another laugh, but this one sounded genuine. It fit; it was harmonious where the other one had been jarring. "I have to admit, I'm not sure about it myself."
"Really?" Harry was relieved; the whirring disks of anxiety that had been slicing through him rested in his blood and disintegrated. It had been a coincidence that Draco had mentioned fortune cookies; it must have been. After all, they were both sitting out in the snow— freezing their arses off, he had to add— because of stupid Astrology. It had been an uncanny moment when the thoughts running through his mind were mirrored by the actions of others around him, but that was all it had been.
"Yeah," Draco said. "The idea of fate is comforting, and I think that there is something to be said for not feeling alone. But at the same time, I think it's incredibly simple-minded. Having everything planned takes all the life out of living." He shrugged; the gesture seemed alien on him. "I don't know what I'm saying, really. It's just always seemed to me that, well— if everything in a man's life is set in the stars, then how can he ever change them?"
"How would you change your stars if you could?" Harry hadn't really wanted to ask that question, hadn't wanted to ask anything at all. He would have much rather sat here like this, the two of them filling the night air with whatever fluffs of fancy flitted across their minds. The words had been so insistent for him, too determined to come up out of his throat. Like another set of words so prominent in his mind. Ask for what you want, even if you know you can't have it. In the end, he had to speak, and then they had spilled out like a captured insect wriggling out of his clasped hands.
"What do you mean, Potter?" Draco was closed off, his features slamming shut like a door. Damn it! Everything had gone wrong.
"I mean," he said, trying to fix his mistake, "is there anything you really want? Desperately, hungrily, with every fiber of yourself? Something you want like tomorrow, like air in a crowded room, like flowers in the snow?" He sat back, tried to calm himself down from the verbal crescendo he had just hit. Deep breaths— Draco's not going to answer the way you want him to. Inhale— he won't. Exhale— your secrets are not his. Repeat— this night means nothing.
Draco turned to him, and Harry had to remind himself again to breathe; there was a curious expression on Draco's face that was making it difficult. Something soft and sharp, something ephemeral and eternal.
"Of course I want things," he said. He appeared almost shocked that Harry would even doubt it. "Of course I do," and his eyes were soft and wonderful.
"Oh," stammered Harry, wondering when those eyes had changed. "Oh," not knowing what to say at all; was there anything to say? Perhaps, but there was no way that Harry could bring himself to say it. Not while he was barely breathing; not while the stars were watching but not telling any of their secrets, of his and Draco's secrets.
Then as if by magic, Draco had said it precisely.
"Ask for what you want, even..." Draco's voice was barely audible, more of an exhaled breath than a whisper. He trailed off, leaving the last part of the sentence stillborn. It didn't matter, though; Harry knew the words enough to hear them spill from Draco's lips, unsaid but very real. Yes, he knew those well. As, apparently, did Draco.
There was a very real part of Harry that wanted to be shocked; he could feel his fingers tingling, ready to panic and whirl out of control. That was Harry's sentence; those words were his, marked by shameful sobs and stained sheets. There was no way that Draco could even begin to comprehend their twisted meaning, to guess at the purple, swollen desires they denoted. He couldn't; he just couldn't, screamed that part of him. Run away now, before he finds out. Run from this night, from this strange companionship, run from those crimson lips forming that fateful sentence.
He knew that he couldn't, though. Instead of those frantic, frenetic emotions, for the most part, Harry felt a little light-headed. Perhaps this is what it was like to be drunk on the milk of the stars, if such a thing existed. Draco knowing that sentence— although it was so much more than the formation of thirteen words— was okay, tonight. In fact, it was probably more that okay, but Harry knew that neither of them were ready for that yet.
"What did you say?" he asked, with a glance out of the corner of his eye.
"Nothing." Draco puffed up, his shoulders held back and his head held high. "Nothing at all," he said, but his voice was hollow. He looked ridiculous, like a little boy trying to emulate his father (and from what Harry knew about the Malfoy family, maybe that wasn't so far from the truth).
That stance told Harry all he needed to know; the fact that Draco's hand was gripping the arm of the bench so tightly that the blood had drained from his fingers was only reinforcement. No need to press the issue any further.
They were silent once more. Harry realized that they were both waiting for something, a celestial clue as to their path. Eyes scouring, ears wide open, each searching for something to give them direction. Like musicians listening for the first strains of applause, they waited, lives caught in the balance. He could hear Draco's breath, could see the puffs of crystal vapor that accompanied every exhale.
Harry hoped that their sign would be a shooting star. He had only seen one once; it had happened while he was walking back to the castle from having a cup of tea with Hagrid. It had frightened him, that speck of light shooting across the sky. He had thought that it screamed as it plummeted, aware that it would die shattered into a million fragments on the ground. Harry knew that the stars weren't really alive, but it had looked so terribly sad. Maybe Draco would catch this next one for him.
The longer they waited, though, breathless and hopeful, the quieter the night became. As if everyone and everything was waiting for a sign, too. All of humanity, eyes fixed on the heavens, searching for that moment of clarity, that flash of direction. If everyone was waiting, maybe that meant that they were what it all hinged upon. Perhaps, just perhaps, he and Draco were the shooting star.
"Ask me," Harry said, with a calmness that seemed strange. It shouldn't be here, but it was. Somehow, everything seemed okay, now; this was all supposed to happen. "Ask me what you want, Draco."
"Sod off, Potter." His voice was strained, Harry noted from somewhere outside himself. Draco was frightened of this. Didn't he see that it was fine, that everything was falling into place? He was sure it was something wonderful. Ask for what you want, even if you know you can't have it. How sad that Draco couldn't see it, too.
"It's okay; don't be scared. It's all happening."
Draco lifted a finely sculpted eyebrow. "What the fuck is all this mystic rubbish, Potter? Have you gone new age batty on us?"
Harry laughed. "Just ask me." He scooted closer on the bench. Their knees brush against each other, the cloth of their robes kissing.
"You're insane."
"Do it." Harry changed tactics, laid a soft had on top of Draco's. "I'll say yes."
Draco's hand trembled, but he did not pull away. Instead, he turned his face to Harry's, eyes starry and luminous. Harry met their gaze. He wanted to be pulled into those constellations, wrapped in the cloth of the night and spinning in those irises. He closed his own eyes, knowing what was supposed to happen now. The knight in shining armor and the beauteous damsel kiss behind the magic castle. He didn't know which one each of them was, but that was alright, too. One had to make allowances when dealing with fairy tales.
Their lips met, Harry's heart careening like a bird flapping its wings against the walls of its cage. A soft kiss, strange considering whom it was between. They should have crashed, mouths meeting and fighting like everything else about them; it should have been like fire and ice. Instead, this timid brush, this gentlest of encounters.
Draco's mouth opened slightly, and Harry was afraid that it would be to protest, to pull away. But then his tongue slipped into Harry's mouth, running over his teeth, dancing along the roof of his mouth. He leaned in closer; Harry felt a warm hand cupping the back of his head. He liked it, felt wanted and close. This slippery thing, this kissing, this bantering of tongues— Harry liked that, too.
He felt Draco's lower lip against his own, pulled back to suck on it a little, just to see what it was like. The move was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath, and now Draco's other arm had snaked around his waist to pull him closer. Their bodies touched, and he wondered if he could melt into him, somehow slide through his skin and live in that pulsing hot core that seemed to exist just below the surface. They switched to pure kissing again; Harry slid his hands to Draco's face, fingers mapping the smooth surface, trying to memorize the soft sensations of his skin.
Time passed this way (though whether it was seconds, minutes, or hours, he couldn't tell), floating by in this intimate conversation of sorts. Their hands wandered, raking through hair or sliding across backs. Harry decided to try that bit with the lower lip again, this time teething the morsel of flesh a little, and that little moan that Draco gave in reply had to be one of the most wonderful sounds that he had ever heard. It sent sparks through him, rocketing down his spine.
He turned, sliding closer on the bench so that they were touching, and found out that Draco was as aroused as he was. Their cocks grazed, and this time Harry made a small noise that he would never had expected he was capable of. So needy, so completely desperate for something more.
A harsh metallic clang jolted them apart. Both jumped back, and Harry shivered in the newly cold air. He looked about, and then realized that it had only been Draco's mini telescope clattering to the ground. He sighed, and slid back closer to him. They could get back to what they had been in the middle of.
But then his eyes caught Draco's, and he stopped. They looked at one another, both shocked and eager. There were still traces of horror, though, remnants of their past that tonight was determined to destroy once and for all. Too much confusion for them to resume the silence, as enjoyable as it had been. This would have to be talked about. A line had just been crossed; there was no turning back. What had they just done?
*****
(end part six)
Note: Between ff.net's little spasm, a trip to a conference in Washington DC, and just general hang-ups, this story took longer than expected. My apologies
-E.H.