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Chapter 18: Someone Unknown
"Since, my friend, you have revealed your deepest fear, I sentence you to be exposed by before your peers. Tear down the wall!"
- Pink Floyd, The Judge
Harry tried to talk to Draco several times that day, and the next, but the blonde steadfastly avoided him. He stayed away from the trio and the Great Hall, only to ignore Harry during potions and DADA (which the dark haired boy only attended to get the opportunity to stare regretfully and then try, and fail, to get Draco to talk to him). And Pansy was shooting him such menacing glares that he couldn't help but think that she would be the reason he would regret his decision; but, in truth, he was already regretting his decision. No one could make him feel the way Draco could - even now, the guilt and love he felt with regards to the other boy were sharper than any emotions he had ever felt towards anyone else - and now he was giving it up. He almost couldn't believe it, and yet he felt as though he had no other choice. It was fate, and Harry would know, he had been its bitch for long enough, but it didn't make him any less helpless before it: he knew what he had to do, and do it he would.
On Wednesday night, Gryffindor had a party for its departing member - there was much drinking and rowdiness, as was to be expected (Gryffindor parties were exceeded by none, save perhaps those held by Slytherin), but the Golden Trio was not feeling particularly festive and spent most of the evening looking miserable. Harry's mind was occupied by Draco, who had been crying in his room since his last class, dedicating that night and no other to suffering on Harry's behalf. Harry went to bed early (by the party's standards) simply to escape the continuing stinging unpleasantness of the day, the day whose occurrence he was already cursing.
On Thursday evening, after being shunned one last time by Draco, Harry bid loving farewells to Hermione and Ron (as well as Seamus, Dean, Ginny, Cho, Luna, and the few other friends that had survived the war) and apparated away with Dumbledore. In the New Ministry (established in London's BT tower, which maintained its name for commercial reasons), the Minister debriefed him on the situation in the United States, which was so full of conspiracies that Harry was having a difficult time figuring out who knew what. And, to his shock and unease, he ran into Percy Weasley, who had managed to ass kiss his way into a position of relative power: he was the secretary and aide to Vice Minister Cornelius Fudge (who, needless to say, was less than thrilled about his demotion and loss of face).
The exchange between Percy and Harry was awkward and strained, leaving Harry with the unsettling impression that Percy knew more than he did. But the matter was pushed from his thoughts when, around midnight (and six pm east coast time), he portkeyed to Washington, DC.
Around the same time (midnight, in England), now that Harry was safely gone, Draco finally brought himself to unroll the scroll that Harry had sent earlier that day. He sat on his bed, knees curled defensively under his arms, and read.
Draco, forever my love even if no longer mine,
I had to write. As much as you don't want me to do this, I want this no more than you. The difference is that you hate me for it and I cannot hate myself for it. However much I love and adore you, and would give my life for you, it is still the right thing to do. I would die a million times for you and for your happiness, but I can't sacrifice the lives of others for you, not when I can save them. My conscience will let me choose no other way, and for this I am truly sorry. If I could be selfish, I would be, in an instant. For I love you like I have never loved anyone - you let me feel like I have never felt. I can't say that you have allowed me to feel, for I have felt before, but no one has allowed me to feel as strongly, or as alive I have never wanted anything like I want you. I know you don't understand, but this is just something I have to do. I already regret my actions, more than you can imagine, but that doesn't stop me from acting as I must. Please believe that I love you completely and this is not something that will change. I hope, in time, you that you will be able to understand and to forgive. . . and, even though now you loathe me, to once again let me back into you heart and life. I love you, more than you'll ever know. I am so sorry for doing this during what should have been our long deserved retirement into a life of peace, and simplicity, and love. Would you believe that this the fourth time I have written this? Please find it in yourself to forgive me, who will always love you like no other.
Yours forever,
Harry
Draco crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it away, acknowledging the pain in his soul, but maintaining the ever faithful numbness that protected him. He had abandoned it once - Harry (that siren) had tempted him away from a path long tried and approved, offering him love and comfort in exchange for strength and independence. Well, fuck Harry, he'd learned his lesson. He had been taking care of himself for most of his life, and he could do it again; indifference could take you a Hell of a long way.
*
In the beginning, Harry wrote ever couple of days, though as the weeks progressed, they became fewer and less detailed - Hermione and Ron read his letters eagerly, but Draco threw them away unopened. His first letter read as follows:
Ron, Hermione:
Guess what! I'm going to learn how to apparate, because here you only have to sixteen! It's so cool and I going to be quite as bad as Fred and George when they first learned. =^) I'm seeing lots of new things and meeting lots of new people - everyone is really loud and friendly, though I can't tell yet if this for real or if most people are just fake. The Secretary of Magic Affairs, this woman named Lillah Spelling, met me, then assigned this really hot chick to show me around and get me acquainted with things. Her name is Raven and she's very friendly. I haven't really been told what it is exactly that they want me to do, but several hints have been dropped that I'll be travelling a lot (hence the whole apparating thing). I think there'll be lots of speeches and hopefully some action too.
I've only been gone two days, and I already miss you both so much. I feel like there isn't anyone here I can trust. . . and I am miserable without Draco. I think about him all the time, even when I need to focus on other things. I don't think he will ever write to me: will you let me know how he's doing? I just need to know that he's alright.
I feel that there is something here that I must do, but this place could never be home. I'll be back as soon as I can. Your friend,
Harry
Harry was right, Draco never wrote back, but then again, Ron and Hermione didn't see much of him either. He was civil to them when they (though usually just Hermione) approached him, but quickly turned defensive if any attempt was made show support or to broach any personal topics, and then would usually turn his back and walk away. In Draco's mind, Hermione and Ron were Harry's friends and could not exist in any other capacity - they could never be his friends. He told himself he didn't care, and he didn't really, not that much. But it would have been nice.
So he stayed away, preferring Pansy's company and, more frequently, merely his own. The highlight of his days was working with the Slytherin team in training. He worked them hard, but he was patient and it was obvious that he knew Quidditch like the back of his hand. Over the weeks, the younger Slytherins came to both admire and trust Draco, but he let none of them close. He was actually finding the peace in his solitude that he had had before he had ever met Harry - he was letting go of the fear that had been his companion for so long, and he was letting go of his newfound hurt. Now that he didn't have to pretend to be someone he wasn't, his behaviour began to reflect his disposition - numb and indifferent. Hermoine was concerned, but Draco found it a relief.
However, three weeks after Harry's departure, the shoe finally dropped. Indeed, it had taken so long that Draco had actually allowed himself to hope (fool that he was) that he was going to be okay - if one can define his lack of feeling as 'okay'. Still, even the relief provided by that was to end with the arrival of Percy Weasely, on the orders of Acting Minister Fudge, who had taken over for the fading Dumbledore (who was dying of old age, not foul play).
Percy interrupted DADA class, barging in and 'requesting' that Draco be excused from class, by order of Cornelius Fudge. There was little McGonagall could do to prevent him from being taken from Hogwarts and into custody.
*
Harry was miserable in. . . where was he today? Indianapolis? They moved from place to place so often that it was difficult to remember where they were at any given time. But it didn't matter where they were or what he was doing - giving speeches, advising operations, going on raids - he was profoundly unhappy. He hated the speeches the most, because he had to be motivating and inspirational when all he wanted to do was to leave the whole mess behind; the raids, however, were not quite as unbearable, providing a welcome outlet for his dissatisfaction and frustration. The situation he found himself was one that truly sucked. On one hand, the rebels were irrational, judgemental, close minded fanatics who would rather destroy the nation and kill everyone in it than see it continue in the hands of the present administration. On the other hand, the government was hardly the picture of virtue and righteousness. Indeed, Harry found their moral flexibility quite unnerving, though he was certain that it was better than the alternative.
He wanted to go home. He had not received a single letter from any of his friends at Hogwarts - not Ron or Hermione and certainly not Draco - and was worried about them; and he was hurt by their failure to write. He had thought that Ron and Hermione had at least accepted his need to do this; but then why hadn't they written? He had made only one friend in the New World: Raven Nalla, the hot chick that had been assigned to keep him out of trouble. She was beautiful and friendly, but even her motives were rapidly becoming questionable.
Just the other day she had tried to kiss him, rather persistently in fact. Harry had to practically fight her off, despite the fact that her actions had been completely unpredicted. He had asked her why she was suddenly interested, to which she had responded by saying that she simply wanted him to be happy. After that he had felt obliged to tell her about Draco (though obviously not everything), and, indeed, it had been both a cathartic and comforting experience and he was glad he told her. But he still couldn't understand why she had thrown herself at him, having shown no previous indications of being interested in him.
So here he was in Indianapolis (possibly), lying in a guarded hotel room and feeling both homesick and sorry for himself. He was brooding and staring up at the ceiling when a knock sounded on his door; he figured that it had to be Raven, as she was the only person who made unexpected visits at night. He really wanted to be alone, but, without even sitting up, he yelled, "Come in!"
Harry listened as the door openned tentatively then shut again. Finally, he tiled his head to look at Raven.
He shot up from his bed to his feet. "Draco!"
The blonde figure gave a strange, nervous smile, but neither made any other move towards each other. Harry was stunned and confused. "How, how did you get here?," he stammered.
"The American government requested my presence. They said you weren't happy, and they want you to be happy," Draco purred seductively, altering suddenly and slinking towards Harry. When he was but a hairbreadth away, his body heat tangible along Harry's height, he whispered, "Don't you want me to be here?"
Harry trembled with desire: he hadn't had sex in three weeks now and Draco had been on his mind continuously (plus, he was a sixteen year old boy). "Merlin, yes," he gushed, taking the thin figure in his arms and kissing him. He had meant it to be a loving kiss, but Draco responded immediately and passionately, parting his lips to suck in his tongue. Then everything was moving so quickly that Harry's mind was given hardly enough to register anything. Draco's hands were under his shirt, on his skin, in his pants, gripping him, turning him on so much that he couldn't help be go with it. He grabbed the firm ass and kneaded it forcefully, his tongue down the blonde's throat. Then shirts and pants were being ripped off and Draco was rubbing their erections together so desperately that it almost hurt. "I want you," Harry gasped deliriously. "I want to be inside you."
Draco bit down on his earlobe, before slowly drawing away and crawling onto the bed, deliberately giving Harry a most appetizing view. He stopped in the middle of the bed, lowering his back so that his ass stuck up in the air and lazily pumping his own erection. "Come on," he purred. "Fuck me."
Harry needed no second invitation and was almost instantly positioned behind the supple globes. He reached for his wand, but his companion said, "Don't bother, I'm already prepared."
Harry groaned in desire, then parted the cheeks and slid in, encountering surprisingly less resistance than usual; but the thought was quickly driven from his mind as the body bucked into him, creating that fantastic friction. Gripping pale hips, Harry tried to establish the smooth rhythm that he knew Draco preferred, but Draco was growling at him to go harder and faster, until Harry was furiously pounding into the body, releasing all restraints on his passion. Draco came, and with a final few rough, erratic thrusts, Harry followed, then collapsed next to the limp figure.
*
He fuzzily returned to consciousness, a feeling of contentment welcoming him. The blonde lay peacefully in his arms and Harry allowed himself to smile, thinking back on what had happened. It had been strange, unexpected, out of character, but welcome. Draco had never been one to have sex before resolving a fight, and Harry was grateful that they hadn't had a drama last night over the fact that Harry had left in the first place. The sex had been. . . fantastic: quite different from their usual encounters, but amazing none the less.
Then he frowned, remembering something - before last night, he and Draco had only tried to have sex from behind once, and it had been disastrous. Harry had wanted to try and Draco had reluctantly agreed. Harry had entered him (Draco had steadfastly refused to do it to him), and gone slowly, Draco whimpering with every gentle thrust; but when Harry had reached around to turn Draco's profile towards him, he had seen the tears escaping from tightly shut eyes and blood dripping from where his teeth were biting into his lip. Of course, Harry had immediately stopped, cursing himself for hurting his lover, for asking him to relive horrible experiences that he obviously associated with that position; and he had held the crying boy protectively all night, through nightmares far worse than any Harry had ever witnessed. Now Draco's own words echoed through his mind. "Like a woman, not like an animal."
So how was it that last night they had been able to do it like that? And there were more mysteries: Draco never called it 'fucking' unless he was intentionally demeaning the act, and he never, never wanted rough sex like he had demanded it last night. He obliged when Harry wanted to be taken roughly, but it was never something he had wanted. What with his past and how tight he was, Harry couldn't blame him.
Harry's frown was deepening and he felt a horrible feeling gnawing at his stomach. The actions, the words, the mannerisms - all of it had very much out of character. He apprehensively reached out to stroke the pale cheek, then jerked his hand away upon realizing that the skin was not a smooth as he remembered. He bent his head to smell the pale neck, then jerked his whole body away at registering that it was unfamiliar.
"Hunh?," the doppelganger grunted, blinking awake, and propping himself up on his elbows to look at Harry, who was now glaring at him from where he stood beside the bed. "Who are you?," he growled, peering into blue eyes that were supposed to be stunning, but instead looked dull and lifeless.
The blonde looked a little frightened, but had the balls to ask, "What do you mean, Harry?"
Harry pointed his wand at the look alike, who suddenly looked terrified. "I know you're not Draco, you don't smell like him, you don't act like him, you don't talk like him, and you certainly aren't like him in bed."
Despite his fear, the doppelganger sneered bitterly (an expression that did look very much like Draco's). "You certainly didn't seem to care last night. The great love of your life and you knowing betrayed him for a screw with a bad copy."
"Shut up! I didn't realize until right now," Harry yelled, quite upset by the thing's words. "Now tell me who the fuck you are and why the fuck you're here! What do you want?!"
The thing abruptly looked tired. "Agent Nalla hired me to make you happy, and this face and body was supposed to do that I guess, give you what you want. The government sometimes uses me for this kind of stuff."
"This kind of stuff?! You mean tricking people or the prostitution?!," Harry had to fight back the hysteria and was urging him to do something extreme.
The doppelganger winced, then transformed into an extremely gaunt and gangly boy, who could've been any older than Harry, and yet bore numerous scars on his face and naked torso. His eyes were grey and his hair dirty blond. "I'm a metamorphmagus," he whispered shamefully.
Now Harry was concerned, horrified, and confused, as well as profoundly upset. "So?," he replied painfully. "That's no reason to resort to this."
"Isn't it, Mr. I don't come from around here? I'm a freak, an outcast in both the magical and muggle communities! The muggles would kill me if they discovered me, but I can only live as scum amongst you lot! You even refuse to teach us magic and sell us wands, and then you dare to scorn and hate me for doing all I can to survive!" The wispy boy looked halfway between despair and rage, and his voice dripped with both.
His words and emotions struck a chord of sympathy and loneliness in Harry, who stood silently watching the pitiful figure for a moment. "I'm sorry," he whispered, sitting next to the boy and tentatively putting his arms around him. When the boy began to cry, he tightened his embrace, and began to soothingly stroke his hair.
"I'm gonna get into so much trouble for fucking this operation up," the boy moaned, but Harry had no reply to that. However, by the time the tears had faded to sniffles, Harry had formed a plan. "You know, in England, metamorphmagi are treated just like other wizards and witches. I even have a friend who's one. If you want. . . you could come back with me."
The scarred face warily looked up into his. "How?"
"You continue to pretend to be Draco until I have finished here, then I'll make sure you're there to portkey back with me when I go."
"I don't know," the unhealthy looking boy replied uncertainly and distrustfully.
"Then decide later," Harry hurried on, trying to sound convincing. "For now, we'll pretend that I don't know, and that way Agent Nalla will think you are successful at your mission and you can get some good food and sleep in the meantime."
Chapped lips suddenly smiled shyly at him. "Really?"
Harry nodded and smiled encouragingly. After an awkward pause, in which they both became conscious of their nudity, Harry finally asked, "What's your real name then?"
"Brennan. No last name."
Harry held out his hand and they shook. "Nice to meet you, Brennan."
XXXXX
If anyone is still reading this, I apologize for taking longer to get each chapter out. I have become discouraged and uninspired by the fact that I get no reviews. So, if anyone is still interested in what is to come, please review and bring motivation to a lonesome writer. I would also be curious about any guesses with regards to where you think this story is going.
Reviewers: Please review. Forfeiting my dignity, I beg.
Chapter 18: Someone Unknown
"Since, my friend, you have revealed your deepest fear, I sentence you to be exposed by before your peers. Tear down the wall!"
- Pink Floyd, The Judge
Harry tried to talk to Draco several times that day, and the next, but the blonde steadfastly avoided him. He stayed away from the trio and the Great Hall, only to ignore Harry during potions and DADA (which the dark haired boy only attended to get the opportunity to stare regretfully and then try, and fail, to get Draco to talk to him). And Pansy was shooting him such menacing glares that he couldn't help but think that she would be the reason he would regret his decision; but, in truth, he was already regretting his decision. No one could make him feel the way Draco could - even now, the guilt and love he felt with regards to the other boy were sharper than any emotions he had ever felt towards anyone else - and now he was giving it up. He almost couldn't believe it, and yet he felt as though he had no other choice. It was fate, and Harry would know, he had been its bitch for long enough, but it didn't make him any less helpless before it: he knew what he had to do, and do it he would.
On Wednesday night, Gryffindor had a party for its departing member - there was much drinking and rowdiness, as was to be expected (Gryffindor parties were exceeded by none, save perhaps those held by Slytherin), but the Golden Trio was not feeling particularly festive and spent most of the evening looking miserable. Harry's mind was occupied by Draco, who had been crying in his room since his last class, dedicating that night and no other to suffering on Harry's behalf. Harry went to bed early (by the party's standards) simply to escape the continuing stinging unpleasantness of the day, the day whose occurrence he was already cursing.
On Thursday evening, after being shunned one last time by Draco, Harry bid loving farewells to Hermione and Ron (as well as Seamus, Dean, Ginny, Cho, Luna, and the few other friends that had survived the war) and apparated away with Dumbledore. In the New Ministry (established in London's BT tower, which maintained its name for commercial reasons), the Minister debriefed him on the situation in the United States, which was so full of conspiracies that Harry was having a difficult time figuring out who knew what. And, to his shock and unease, he ran into Percy Weasley, who had managed to ass kiss his way into a position of relative power: he was the secretary and aide to Vice Minister Cornelius Fudge (who, needless to say, was less than thrilled about his demotion and loss of face).
The exchange between Percy and Harry was awkward and strained, leaving Harry with the unsettling impression that Percy knew more than he did. But the matter was pushed from his thoughts when, around midnight (and six pm east coast time), he portkeyed to Washington, DC.
Around the same time (midnight, in England), now that Harry was safely gone, Draco finally brought himself to unroll the scroll that Harry had sent earlier that day. He sat on his bed, knees curled defensively under his arms, and read.
Draco, forever my love even if no longer mine,
I had to write. As much as you don't want me to do this, I want this no more than you. The difference is that you hate me for it and I cannot hate myself for it. However much I love and adore you, and would give my life for you, it is still the right thing to do. I would die a million times for you and for your happiness, but I can't sacrifice the lives of others for you, not when I can save them. My conscience will let me choose no other way, and for this I am truly sorry. If I could be selfish, I would be, in an instant. For I love you like I have never loved anyone - you let me feel like I have never felt. I can't say that you have allowed me to feel, for I have felt before, but no one has allowed me to feel as strongly, or as alive I have never wanted anything like I want you. I know you don't understand, but this is just something I have to do. I already regret my actions, more than you can imagine, but that doesn't stop me from acting as I must. Please believe that I love you completely and this is not something that will change. I hope, in time, you that you will be able to understand and to forgive. . . and, even though now you loathe me, to once again let me back into you heart and life. I love you, more than you'll ever know. I am so sorry for doing this during what should have been our long deserved retirement into a life of peace, and simplicity, and love. Would you believe that this the fourth time I have written this? Please find it in yourself to forgive me, who will always love you like no other.
Yours forever,
Harry
Draco crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it away, acknowledging the pain in his soul, but maintaining the ever faithful numbness that protected him. He had abandoned it once - Harry (that siren) had tempted him away from a path long tried and approved, offering him love and comfort in exchange for strength and independence. Well, fuck Harry, he'd learned his lesson. He had been taking care of himself for most of his life, and he could do it again; indifference could take you a Hell of a long way.
*
In the beginning, Harry wrote ever couple of days, though as the weeks progressed, they became fewer and less detailed - Hermione and Ron read his letters eagerly, but Draco threw them away unopened. His first letter read as follows:
Ron, Hermione:
Guess what! I'm going to learn how to apparate, because here you only have to sixteen! It's so cool and I going to be quite as bad as Fred and George when they first learned. =^) I'm seeing lots of new things and meeting lots of new people - everyone is really loud and friendly, though I can't tell yet if this for real or if most people are just fake. The Secretary of Magic Affairs, this woman named Lillah Spelling, met me, then assigned this really hot chick to show me around and get me acquainted with things. Her name is Raven and she's very friendly. I haven't really been told what it is exactly that they want me to do, but several hints have been dropped that I'll be travelling a lot (hence the whole apparating thing). I think there'll be lots of speeches and hopefully some action too.
I've only been gone two days, and I already miss you both so much. I feel like there isn't anyone here I can trust. . . and I am miserable without Draco. I think about him all the time, even when I need to focus on other things. I don't think he will ever write to me: will you let me know how he's doing? I just need to know that he's alright.
I feel that there is something here that I must do, but this place could never be home. I'll be back as soon as I can. Your friend,
Harry
Harry was right, Draco never wrote back, but then again, Ron and Hermione didn't see much of him either. He was civil to them when they (though usually just Hermione) approached him, but quickly turned defensive if any attempt was made show support or to broach any personal topics, and then would usually turn his back and walk away. In Draco's mind, Hermione and Ron were Harry's friends and could not exist in any other capacity - they could never be his friends. He told himself he didn't care, and he didn't really, not that much. But it would have been nice.
So he stayed away, preferring Pansy's company and, more frequently, merely his own. The highlight of his days was working with the Slytherin team in training. He worked them hard, but he was patient and it was obvious that he knew Quidditch like the back of his hand. Over the weeks, the younger Slytherins came to both admire and trust Draco, but he let none of them close. He was actually finding the peace in his solitude that he had had before he had ever met Harry - he was letting go of the fear that had been his companion for so long, and he was letting go of his newfound hurt. Now that he didn't have to pretend to be someone he wasn't, his behaviour began to reflect his disposition - numb and indifferent. Hermoine was concerned, but Draco found it a relief.
However, three weeks after Harry's departure, the shoe finally dropped. Indeed, it had taken so long that Draco had actually allowed himself to hope (fool that he was) that he was going to be okay - if one can define his lack of feeling as 'okay'. Still, even the relief provided by that was to end with the arrival of Percy Weasely, on the orders of Acting Minister Fudge, who had taken over for the fading Dumbledore (who was dying of old age, not foul play).
Percy interrupted DADA class, barging in and 'requesting' that Draco be excused from class, by order of Cornelius Fudge. There was little McGonagall could do to prevent him from being taken from Hogwarts and into custody.
*
Harry was miserable in. . . where was he today? Indianapolis? They moved from place to place so often that it was difficult to remember where they were at any given time. But it didn't matter where they were or what he was doing - giving speeches, advising operations, going on raids - he was profoundly unhappy. He hated the speeches the most, because he had to be motivating and inspirational when all he wanted to do was to leave the whole mess behind; the raids, however, were not quite as unbearable, providing a welcome outlet for his dissatisfaction and frustration. The situation he found himself was one that truly sucked. On one hand, the rebels were irrational, judgemental, close minded fanatics who would rather destroy the nation and kill everyone in it than see it continue in the hands of the present administration. On the other hand, the government was hardly the picture of virtue and righteousness. Indeed, Harry found their moral flexibility quite unnerving, though he was certain that it was better than the alternative.
He wanted to go home. He had not received a single letter from any of his friends at Hogwarts - not Ron or Hermione and certainly not Draco - and was worried about them; and he was hurt by their failure to write. He had thought that Ron and Hermione had at least accepted his need to do this; but then why hadn't they written? He had made only one friend in the New World: Raven Nalla, the hot chick that had been assigned to keep him out of trouble. She was beautiful and friendly, but even her motives were rapidly becoming questionable.
Just the other day she had tried to kiss him, rather persistently in fact. Harry had to practically fight her off, despite the fact that her actions had been completely unpredicted. He had asked her why she was suddenly interested, to which she had responded by saying that she simply wanted him to be happy. After that he had felt obliged to tell her about Draco (though obviously not everything), and, indeed, it had been both a cathartic and comforting experience and he was glad he told her. But he still couldn't understand why she had thrown herself at him, having shown no previous indications of being interested in him.
So here he was in Indianapolis (possibly), lying in a guarded hotel room and feeling both homesick and sorry for himself. He was brooding and staring up at the ceiling when a knock sounded on his door; he figured that it had to be Raven, as she was the only person who made unexpected visits at night. He really wanted to be alone, but, without even sitting up, he yelled, "Come in!"
Harry listened as the door openned tentatively then shut again. Finally, he tiled his head to look at Raven.
He shot up from his bed to his feet. "Draco!"
The blonde figure gave a strange, nervous smile, but neither made any other move towards each other. Harry was stunned and confused. "How, how did you get here?," he stammered.
"The American government requested my presence. They said you weren't happy, and they want you to be happy," Draco purred seductively, altering suddenly and slinking towards Harry. When he was but a hairbreadth away, his body heat tangible along Harry's height, he whispered, "Don't you want me to be here?"
Harry trembled with desire: he hadn't had sex in three weeks now and Draco had been on his mind continuously (plus, he was a sixteen year old boy). "Merlin, yes," he gushed, taking the thin figure in his arms and kissing him. He had meant it to be a loving kiss, but Draco responded immediately and passionately, parting his lips to suck in his tongue. Then everything was moving so quickly that Harry's mind was given hardly enough to register anything. Draco's hands were under his shirt, on his skin, in his pants, gripping him, turning him on so much that he couldn't help be go with it. He grabbed the firm ass and kneaded it forcefully, his tongue down the blonde's throat. Then shirts and pants were being ripped off and Draco was rubbing their erections together so desperately that it almost hurt. "I want you," Harry gasped deliriously. "I want to be inside you."
Draco bit down on his earlobe, before slowly drawing away and crawling onto the bed, deliberately giving Harry a most appetizing view. He stopped in the middle of the bed, lowering his back so that his ass stuck up in the air and lazily pumping his own erection. "Come on," he purred. "Fuck me."
Harry needed no second invitation and was almost instantly positioned behind the supple globes. He reached for his wand, but his companion said, "Don't bother, I'm already prepared."
Harry groaned in desire, then parted the cheeks and slid in, encountering surprisingly less resistance than usual; but the thought was quickly driven from his mind as the body bucked into him, creating that fantastic friction. Gripping pale hips, Harry tried to establish the smooth rhythm that he knew Draco preferred, but Draco was growling at him to go harder and faster, until Harry was furiously pounding into the body, releasing all restraints on his passion. Draco came, and with a final few rough, erratic thrusts, Harry followed, then collapsed next to the limp figure.
*
He fuzzily returned to consciousness, a feeling of contentment welcoming him. The blonde lay peacefully in his arms and Harry allowed himself to smile, thinking back on what had happened. It had been strange, unexpected, out of character, but welcome. Draco had never been one to have sex before resolving a fight, and Harry was grateful that they hadn't had a drama last night over the fact that Harry had left in the first place. The sex had been. . . fantastic: quite different from their usual encounters, but amazing none the less.
Then he frowned, remembering something - before last night, he and Draco had only tried to have sex from behind once, and it had been disastrous. Harry had wanted to try and Draco had reluctantly agreed. Harry had entered him (Draco had steadfastly refused to do it to him), and gone slowly, Draco whimpering with every gentle thrust; but when Harry had reached around to turn Draco's profile towards him, he had seen the tears escaping from tightly shut eyes and blood dripping from where his teeth were biting into his lip. Of course, Harry had immediately stopped, cursing himself for hurting his lover, for asking him to relive horrible experiences that he obviously associated with that position; and he had held the crying boy protectively all night, through nightmares far worse than any Harry had ever witnessed. Now Draco's own words echoed through his mind. "Like a woman, not like an animal."
So how was it that last night they had been able to do it like that? And there were more mysteries: Draco never called it 'fucking' unless he was intentionally demeaning the act, and he never, never wanted rough sex like he had demanded it last night. He obliged when Harry wanted to be taken roughly, but it was never something he had wanted. What with his past and how tight he was, Harry couldn't blame him.
Harry's frown was deepening and he felt a horrible feeling gnawing at his stomach. The actions, the words, the mannerisms - all of it had very much out of character. He apprehensively reached out to stroke the pale cheek, then jerked his hand away upon realizing that the skin was not a smooth as he remembered. He bent his head to smell the pale neck, then jerked his whole body away at registering that it was unfamiliar.
"Hunh?," the doppelganger grunted, blinking awake, and propping himself up on his elbows to look at Harry, who was now glaring at him from where he stood beside the bed. "Who are you?," he growled, peering into blue eyes that were supposed to be stunning, but instead looked dull and lifeless.
The blonde looked a little frightened, but had the balls to ask, "What do you mean, Harry?"
Harry pointed his wand at the look alike, who suddenly looked terrified. "I know you're not Draco, you don't smell like him, you don't act like him, you don't talk like him, and you certainly aren't like him in bed."
Despite his fear, the doppelganger sneered bitterly (an expression that did look very much like Draco's). "You certainly didn't seem to care last night. The great love of your life and you knowing betrayed him for a screw with a bad copy."
"Shut up! I didn't realize until right now," Harry yelled, quite upset by the thing's words. "Now tell me who the fuck you are and why the fuck you're here! What do you want?!"
The thing abruptly looked tired. "Agent Nalla hired me to make you happy, and this face and body was supposed to do that I guess, give you what you want. The government sometimes uses me for this kind of stuff."
"This kind of stuff?! You mean tricking people or the prostitution?!," Harry had to fight back the hysteria and was urging him to do something extreme.
The doppelganger winced, then transformed into an extremely gaunt and gangly boy, who could've been any older than Harry, and yet bore numerous scars on his face and naked torso. His eyes were grey and his hair dirty blond. "I'm a metamorphmagus," he whispered shamefully.
Now Harry was concerned, horrified, and confused, as well as profoundly upset. "So?," he replied painfully. "That's no reason to resort to this."
"Isn't it, Mr. I don't come from around here? I'm a freak, an outcast in both the magical and muggle communities! The muggles would kill me if they discovered me, but I can only live as scum amongst you lot! You even refuse to teach us magic and sell us wands, and then you dare to scorn and hate me for doing all I can to survive!" The wispy boy looked halfway between despair and rage, and his voice dripped with both.
His words and emotions struck a chord of sympathy and loneliness in Harry, who stood silently watching the pitiful figure for a moment. "I'm sorry," he whispered, sitting next to the boy and tentatively putting his arms around him. When the boy began to cry, he tightened his embrace, and began to soothingly stroke his hair.
"I'm gonna get into so much trouble for fucking this operation up," the boy moaned, but Harry had no reply to that. However, by the time the tears had faded to sniffles, Harry had formed a plan. "You know, in England, metamorphmagi are treated just like other wizards and witches. I even have a friend who's one. If you want. . . you could come back with me."
The scarred face warily looked up into his. "How?"
"You continue to pretend to be Draco until I have finished here, then I'll make sure you're there to portkey back with me when I go."
"I don't know," the unhealthy looking boy replied uncertainly and distrustfully.
"Then decide later," Harry hurried on, trying to sound convincing. "For now, we'll pretend that I don't know, and that way Agent Nalla will think you are successful at your mission and you can get some good food and sleep in the meantime."
Chapped lips suddenly smiled shyly at him. "Really?"
Harry nodded and smiled encouragingly. After an awkward pause, in which they both became conscious of their nudity, Harry finally asked, "What's your real name then?"
"Brennan. No last name."
Harry held out his hand and they shook. "Nice to meet you, Brennan."
XXXXX
If anyone is still reading this, I apologize for taking longer to get each chapter out. I have become discouraged and uninspired by the fact that I get no reviews. So, if anyone is still interested in what is to come, please review and bring motivation to a lonesome writer. I would also be curious about any guesses with regards to where you think this story is going.