*The best word is employed this chapter
Harry took the chain and placed it around his neck. Thankfully, the threats of Mad-Eye were severe enough to allow Harry to keep his wizarding things open and accessible, if not out in the open. He moved his Firebolt from the closet to a strategic location: the crack between his bed and the wall, under the covers.
The snores from the Dursleys and the nice cloudy sky rendered this night perfect for the escapade. Glancing at the clock, it read 11:34, Harry moved over to Hedwig and opened her cage. She flew out and hooted softly.
"Shh, Hedwig. You might wake them." He brushed off her anger with a stroke of her feathers. The window was soon opened and Hedwig glided out, soaring around the house. Harry quickly grabbed his Firebolt and stuffed some clothes between the sheets, a rather lumpy representation of himself sleeping. But the Dursleys would never notice, they didn't pay that much attention to him; it was just a precaution. In the wardrobe was also his invisibility cloak, which he wore as a preventive measure.
Harry moved to the window and checked around the grounds for any sign of a waking or strolling Muggle. To luck, there was none, and he mounted his broomstick, zooming off into the clouds.
Hedwig followed her master through the fog and hooted her approval at his speed. He wouldn't slow her down.
"Lead the way."
* * * * *
It was nearing midnight and there was still no sign that Harry was coming. Draco paced a bit in front of his couch, hands slightly sweaty. It wasn't like him to be nervous, but then this wasn't a normal circumstance.
The candles were glowing throughout the flat, low and soft, casting quixotic shadows. The radiating heat caused a grin to flicker across his face. Draco looked like his rather sexy self: gray button-up cotton shirt, black slacks and socks. His strides were relatively large, stretching the pant material tight across his callipygous form.
He could have come ages ago… what if he couldn't find a way to get here … what if he didn't want to …what if…
Draco plopped on the couch, nearing hopelessness when a knock sounded in front of him. He jumped up and rushed to the door, quickly counter-charming and unlocking. Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob and cleared the entrance.
* * * * *
Hedwig led him to Draco's kitchen window where Harry watched him striding about his couch. He smiled; it looked like Draco was nervous. He flew to the front of the building, and realized that he couldn't just take off his cloak and appear here when Muggles might be all about, watching. He decided to wait a while, for another Muggle to go in and follow on his broom.
Through careful observation skills, Harry ascertained that Draco's rooms were on the fifth floor, in the eastern corner. Thank goodness for astronomy, or else he never would have found the flat.
Tonight was just a lucky night, for just then a Muggle came walking up with her boyfriend, Harry assumed since the two were kissing and holding hands. This affected him in some way, making his stomach flutter and anticipation rise. The girl opened the door to the building and held it ajar while she lengthily snogged the man. Harry and Hedwig were able to swoop in undetected.
Even better were the open stairwells near the elevators—for how would an open elevator, holding no one, close and move up the flights? Harry flew up the winding steps to the fifth level. He pulled out his wand and recalled a spell from the Tournament.
"Point Me."
The wand swirled and pointed north. Harry moved right, all the length of the corridor to the last door. A sign posted there stated "Open House next Friday." It must be on the other corner. The corridor did not go to the other end, so Harry went back to the staircase and down the left side passage, turned left, flew down that hallway, made another left and arrived at the last door in the corridor with two brass numbers, 24.
Checking the hallway, and finding it empty and quiet, Harry dismounted his Firebolt and pulled off the invisibility cloak. He draped the garment on the handle to hide the broom and rapped on the door.
A slight pause and then some mutterings could be heard, finally terminating with the clunk of the Muggle lock. Harry held his breath as the door slowly parted with the jamb. Framed in the golden light was Draco, a fetching Draco in sleek clothes that accentuated his already handsome body and sprawling hair defining his intense silver eyes. Harry was in awe; Draco was deiform in a halo of his magnificence.
Staring at Harry, absorbing his appearance, Draco was breathless. The windswept raven hair and sparkling emerald eyes lit up his striking features just as his loose t-shirt and slightly baggy jeans highlighted his muscled person. Draco noticed his arm sort of bulged out strangely, like Harry was holding something.
"Come in, come in." Draco stepped back and allowed Harry access to the flat.
Harry flittingly smiled and followed Hedwig inside, uncovering his Firebolt and invisibility cloak to rest them against the wall. Draco closed the door behind him and the clunk followed by more mutterings ensued. Harry took a seat on the couch.
"You came."
Looking up, surprise exuded from his features.
"Of course I came. You asked me to."
"Is that the only reason?" There was a guarded look in Draco's eyes.
Harry considered, he didn't know how much he should reveal. Was it worth a rejection? A pitiful stare? A laugh?
"No…" softly spoken, Harry kept his watch on silver.
A smile spilled over Draco's mouth and he captured the seat next to him, Harry following with his gaze. Draco scooted closer, until their legs pressured together, and leaned in.
"I hoped not."
Their lips met in a searing kiss that stole the breath from them both. Draco's hands flew to Harry's jaw as Harry's grasped his neck and thigh.
A thousand things came crashing in Harry's mind even as pleasure steeped his body. The juxtaposed sensations, mind and body, battled in a quixotic field and Harry could not think.
Draco brushed his thumb along Harry's jaw and it brought a piece of balance to his thoughts. Indecision embraced him—was this a joke? Is Draco just displaying his power over me? Can this be real?
Sensing his hesitation, Draco began mentally to pull back and slowly released the physical pressure. Confusion seared him as he tried to fold his mask in place and a sinking heart fell to his stomach.
…Yours…
This has to be real. There is no other reason Draco would do this, especially after the Parting Kiss. It is true there exists something between them, something better than anything he's felt before.
A withdrawing of pleasure broke Harry's idleness and he pushed forward, retaining the force and began to slide his hand along Draco's thigh, the soft fabric of his pants caressing his palms.
Relief and something more flooded Draco's being and his spirit lifted, singing in happiness. His hands drifted down, grazing Harry's torso and resting on his hips. Fingertips made contact with heated skin and Harry's throat vibrated with delight.
Draco twitched his fingers and dragged Harry's shirt up, exposing flat, muscled stomach. Up, revealing the hard plane of chest. Harry gasped and pulled back, giving Draco access to yank his top off. The necklace glinted in the half-light.
Pale hands met locked muscle and Draco sighed in content. Harry could not stand much more of that sweet agony without giving in return. His hands slid ceremoniously up Draco's solid length to the highest button of his top and magically worked the clasps open. Reaching the bottom, Harry splayed his palms across Draco's abdomen, eliciting a guttural moan.
Harry smiled at his power and slipped his hands up, spreading the panels and exposing creamy flesh for fingertip enjoyment. He pushed the shirt past shoulders, forcing Draco to move his arms and strip the garment from him. Scooting nearer, Harry pulled Draco closer, bodies only centimeters apart. Heat radiated between them, sending each higher into the plane of desire.
Lips came and met, breaking for harsh breath and conjoining once more in a golden spiral; each new contact brought more to their mutual pleasure. Draco pressed Harry back, mouths still touching until they lay flat on the couch. Harry's hands roved the planes of Draco's flesh as he wrapped his jean-clad legs around narrow hips. Harry was overwhelmed with the sensation of Draco on him, around him. The heat inundated his senses and tunneled to include solely Draco and this moment.
Draco deepened the kiss and explored the hardened muscles of Harry's chest and arms. Such power always restrained, only released during the exertions of Quidditch… Draco needed to know how those muscles would perform under a different sort of exertion.
The passion drowned all images and most thought as both ran on instinct. Hands moved and caressed, groans echoed through the flat and kisses appeared over all bare skin.
Harry dragged his fingers down the rigid planes of Draco's font and tucked them into the waistband of shifting pants. So near contact with the throbbing desire, a long deep groan escaped Draco's occupied lips. Harry flexed his extensions against Draco and the kiss broke. Harshly drawing breath, Draco delved into passion saturated emerald eyes. He wanted to tell those eyes something, but fingers contracted again and the words were lost. He dropped his mouth onto Harry's and kissed with a fervor that brought Harry near the edge.
"Let me, Draco."
The breathless words, dripping with need, barely registered in Draco's conscious. He kissed his assent and rolled on the couch to place Harry on top, the chain swinging and catching the small rays of light from the candle flames. Those tormenting fingers moved quickly at the clasp and soon his slacks were completely discarded, leaving Draco proud and erect and solid.
Leaning forward, Harry captured Draco's lips in a searing kiss as the tip brushed his stomach. Draco writhed at the contact and hissed in pleasure or pain, Harry couldn't tell.
Moving down, Harry took the shaft in his grasp and squeezed slightly. Painstakingly slow, his fingers whispered across the velvet flesh encasing steel. Touches spread feather light from base to tip. Draco gasped and attempted in vain to teach Harry's hands how to stroke him.
"No, no. Just wait…"
He continued with the less than satisfying ministrations until Draco nearly screamed in frustration and pleasure.
"Bloody hell, Harry, please." Malfoy never thought he would break and beg Harry Potter.
A lopsided grin spread fetchingly across Harry's face, and he acquiesced, increasing the pressure and gripping him fully. He was completely entranced by the contrast of the soft skin and iron strength of Draco and his eyes grew wide as he pleasured his Dragon.
A double change in weight and pace had Draco panting and moaning as the estrus built higher and higher. The dry friction, though painful, added to the intense sensation so acute and strong. It felt like all blood from every place in his body had rushed to a focus at his member, pulsing and burning in Harry's hand. A tidal wave blocked by glass creating a force so strong and powerful that within a matter of moments, he exploded. The river of desire hurried forth and poured over Harry's hand, easing the pain and slicking the movement.
Harry pumped until the last stream of seed erupted from Draco's heaving body. Leaning forward, Harry stole Draco's breath with a long searing tongue battle. Pulling back Harry closed his eyes and sat on his heels, moaning.
"Help me." Harry fumbled with the button on his jeans as Draco eagerly lifted up and reached for him.
Knocking hands away, Draco managed to liberate him and push the jeans to his knees. Without any signal, Draco took Harry in one hand and weighed him with the other. Harry gasped in shock at the relief and strain that filled him.
"Only a bit more…"
Harry grasped Draco's reviving form as he held back a bit longer. Both moved swiftly, excitement building and pooling when together they came, fulminating as one. The room filled with the mutual scent of love, though neither male could recognize the emotion for its truth. They collapsed together on the couch and Draco wrapped his arms around Harry.
Recovering a bit faster than his partner, Draco wiggled from beneath Harry and stood. Gazing down at Harry in his rest, Draco could feel a tug at his heart. He took Harry's arms and draped them about his neck and lifted him to the bedroom. Stripping Harry of his jeans, he pulled back the sheets and joined him on the bed.
They slept engulfed in each other's arms until sunrise.
* * * * *
SCREECH!
Draco awoke with a jolt to discover Hedwig flying and screaming incessantly around the bedroom. He noticed the half stirring sun and then the sleeping form beside him; he smiled. Another high shriek focused his mind and he realized what time it was.
"Harry… Harry, wake up."
Draco stroked his back as Harry began assembling his wits. Virid eyes flashed open and Harry hummed as he rolled over. He arched and sat up.
"Good morning…" realization dawned and the eyes widened. Draco smiled sympathetically.
"You better get back."
"Before they notice I'm gone."
Harry removed himself from the bed and pulled on his jeans. Something bounced on his collarbone and he remembered the necklace. Moving to the stretching Draco, Harry leaned in and kissed him tenderly. He unclasped the chain and replaced it around Draco's succulent neck.
"Shouldn't forget that now," He winked and walked to the door, following an unfamiliar path back to the entry room. A few moments later, he had his shirt on and his Firebolt and invisibility cloak together, and Draco strayed to the doorway, watching him.
"Come back tomorrow?"
Harry stopped and stared at the lithesome figure that was Draco. He grinned impishly and picked up his things.
"Of course."
Hedwig flew into the room and landed on the back of the couch. She shifted around impatiently and Harry stroked her head. Draco glided over and planted a last kiss on his— Harry pressed close before the kiss broke, both flushed and glowing.
"Until later."
Harry grinned and put on the invisibility cloak as Draco opened the kitchen window. Mounting the broom Harry called to Hedwig and the two flew out of the flat and away home. Harry watched behind him as the image of Draco minimized with distance while Draco stared after the only person who had given him happiness in last ten years.
* * * * *
Harry just managed to crash into his bedroom, conceal his magic items, and change for bed before Uncle Vernon was once again upon him.
"Your Aunt has several chores for you. Go and see her." His purple face seemed to get purpler by the day.
Getting dressed again, Harry made his way downstairs where he was told to paint the garden bench, weed the flowerbeds, cut the grass and wash all the dishes.
"And I don't want to have to tell you to do it again. Make sure you do it right the first time."
"Like I ever don't the first time." Harry mumbled as he set about cleaning the plates. At least here, he wouldn't be disturbed, and his thoughts could have sovereignty. The first set of images that came to mind was that of last night, and Draco.
Harry blushed as he remembered his forwardness, and then the pleasure afterward. Shouldn't wanting a man for a lover be weird? Most boys his age liked girls and were sort of taught to be homophobic. There was tolerance for the homosexuals in the community, but it was definitely not encouraged.
No, Harry didn't feel weird. It was just like waking up and in a sense, seeing the world from another perspective, the right perspective. Besides, weren't the same-sex relationships much more romantic and involved than the heterosexual types? Harry recalled the few couples he'd seen in his life: Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, not the best example as they didn't seem to ever really touch each other in a more than friendly manner. There was also the crush-type relationship, where Ginny came to mind. That was not a very promising relationship either, as he didn't return her feelings.
And then there was Draco. His heart skipped a beat. There seemed another facet to this relationship than the others, something he liked very much and made him smile though his hands were pruney from so much washing. Sure the first was a bit awkward, but Harry evoked the memory of Draco in Madam Malkin's robe shop, and though he was rude and a bit snotty, there were other feelings he hadn't recognized until now.
Yes, with Draco, it was different, better, happier. A twinge startled Harry from his reverie, another something he couldn't quite see, but certain it was good and deep. It had been uncovered recently, for it was novel, and yet it was ancient, like he'd had it forever. A grin plastered over his face at the thought—something antique to be treasured…
On that note, Harry completed all his chores without complaint, perfect the first time, and with wonderful films of Draco playing in his mind. Time passed rapidly, for it was nearly seven as Harry wearily climbed the steps. Aunt Petunia had come to speak with him about something in the garden, but he hadn't paid much attention—a particularly exceptional moment was passing—and he missed what she'd told him.
Moving to his bedroom door, Harry dragged his feet. He was hot, sticky and in definite need of a shower. Behind the door Harry grabbed his towel and crossed the hall. It was eerily quiet, no Vernon bellowing over the television, no Dudley screaming for more ice cream, no high-pitched fake Petunia laugh.
Harry tossed the cloth onto the countertop and leaned down the stair rail. The hallway was unusually empty. With much regret, he walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. The knobs on the stove were gone, the cupboards locked, glass removed…
They left. Oh my bloody Lord, they left! Of course, they wouldn't trust me with any of the necessities of the house. Shaking his head, Harry followed the call of the shower up the stairs and to the bathroom. He could take as long as he needed, wanted, no stupid Dursley commanding him out.
Within minutes, Harry was completely naked, drenched in hot water and easing his muscles. He lathered himself, rinsed, repeated… it seemed there was no end to the dirt encrusted on him. Soon, after emerging from the stall, he dried off and toweled his hair. As he wrapped the cloth around him, he heard a laugh, not really loud, or like anything of the Dursleys'. Could it be--? But the magic…
Cautiously Harry slithered across the hall and into his room where he jumped in shock.
"My, Potter, you take forever in there. Are you that slow or do you," Malfoy raised his brow, "do a bit more?"
Harry blushed indignant and red. "No. What are you doing here? I thought I was coming to see you tomorrow."
"Oh, you will." Malfoy scavenged Harry's body with his eyes, and smiled elfishly.
"I will; that's a bit cocky, Draco."
Malfoy started at the use of his first name.
"What's the matter? Are you all right?" Confusion was foremost in Harry's mind. He didn't expect Draco to change, but he at least thought the irate banter would cease. In truth, Draco wouldn't be Draco if not for the banter in general, however the disdain could be eliminated, Malfoy could go.
Malfoy shook his body. "Yeah, yes, I'm fine." Draco stood and moved fluvially to Harry. "May I get you dressed?" He tugged at the towel; it began to slip and Harry caught it deftly.
"Sure." Forehead crinkled in slight mystification, Harry followed Draco's gesticulated orders to sit on the bed.
Draco moved to the wardrobe and drew a drawer out. He scrutinized the contents and sighed. Removing an old yellowing t-shirt, he turned to Harry.
"You wear this?" Malfoy wrinkled his nose at the garment. Returning to the wardrobe, he didn't notice Harry scowl.
"Really, you don't have anything, do you?"
"You don't have to remind me. I know the Dursleys won't—only Dudley's old things," Harry growled moving over to him, "Move." He pushed Malfoy from the front of the drawer and pulled out some worn blue-striped bottoms.
Malfoy switched to the bed and leaned on his elbow, watching as Harry drew the pants on under his towel. A smile crept across Draco's face. "What did you do today?"
"A whole lot of nothing—you?"
He looked toward the ceiling and shrugged with his lips. "The usual. Gosh, this is a nice place you've got here…" Malfoy stated with disgust.
"What's gotten into you?" The complete insincerity of Draco's company shocked Harry. It was almost as if—as if last night never happened…He didn't understand. Why would it hurt so much? Like a slab of steel on his chest…
It should be different. Two people couldn't share something like that and then go back to the exact same routine. Something had to change… why was Draco fighting it? The change should be wonderful, something for the better.
Malfoy visibly shook again. "Nothing, nothing." Thoughts flew through Draco's mind. What was wrong with him? He knew he was acting horribly to Harry, but there wasn't a reason for it. When did I ever need a reason for it? The whole situation seemed awkward and out of place. For the two of them to meet and not have some sort of confrontation was just wrong—incomplete.
"It's not nothing. You're being a jerk."
"When am I not?"
"Come on, Draco."
"What?" Blissful ignorance spread across his features.
Harry made a grunting noise and threw his towel on the back of the desk chair. "Fine, go on and be just like you were before: an arrogant git."
"An arrogant—is that what you thought of me?"
"You never noticed?"
"At least I'm not a Saint."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Come off it, Potter, you are a Saint: Hero Potter, Star Seeker, Never Kissed Before," a somewhat dramatic pause, "The Boy Who Lived."
He may never have been kissed before, but he sure knew what he was doing under that tree… Draco felt like two people. Inside, the Angry Harry was turning him on and the episodes together kept creeping into mind, outside, he was his old self, bantering and teasing Harry to no end.
"You know I'm not like that." Resentment permeated every syllable of that declaration.
"Yes, I do."
This was one of the most confusing exchanges Harry had ever engaged in. He couldn't quite grasp the tact Draco flew and that made it difficult to paddle one of his own. "Then why did you say it?"
Malfoy shrugged.
Harry threw his hands in fury. "You—you just—you are such a—a …" the frustration welled and he couldn't even speak. Draco stood from the bed and glided in front of Harry. Taking his hands in his, Draco drew Harry close and kissed him.
Silence stole reign as two mouths were conquered with searing passion. The action befuddled Harry's mind and he barely had time to react before Draco broke the contact.
"Forgive me." His lips captured Harry's and the kiss lengthened fervently as their fingers entwined. Strange it had only been fourteen hours and yet Draco felt starved for Harry's lips. Soft, muffled vices caught Draco's attention and he slowly, reluctantly pulled away from those luscious lips.
His hands rested on Harry's hips and he tugged, bringing him closer. To identical iron rods pressed between them.
"They're home."
Draco leaned his forehead against Harry's. "Please come," tilting back, he pierced emerald eyes with silver. "Please."
With one last kiss, Draco apparated out of the circle of Harry's arms.
* * * * *
He paced in front of the coffee table, oblivious to the screaming pot on the stove, and the incessant popping of corn in the, what did the Muggles call it, microwave? The people on the box, though frozen like ice, looked to be having fun. He smiled; it took hours of disguised observation, but he managed to understand how Muggle money worked.
It was nearing midnight and candles lit the place to a soft glow. He waited for Harry to tap at his window, anxious again. Yesterday he'd gone shopping for more ingredients to make another necklace, well actually two.
One was a spare, to be kept in the house for the rare occasion that he lost it again. The second was for Harry, that he could come undetected any time of day or night. Picking the piece to place the charm on took careful calculation and intuition. The witch in the Shoppe wanted to help him, asked him several times who the lucky lady was, and insisted on informing him the history of every piece.
After perusing the place for an hour, Draco caught sight of the perfect chain. Inquiring after it, the witch appeared huffed. She almost wouldn't sell it to him. The story behind that chain, she said, is despicable. Draco requested the tale, which she relayed to him in an air of reluctance; but he saw the eagerness in her eyes.
Supposedly the necklace belonged to a grand lady, a pureblood of her time. She was engaged to a rather ill favored gentleman with wealth and power, though he was a pleasant sort of man. As soon as her parents had informed her of the betrothal, an unhappy atmosphere settled upon the household. For the Lady loved another, an inferior in her parent's eyes, and she wanted to be with this man more than life itself.
The man gave her the necklace as a form of his undying love to her and continued about his daily business. She snuck out with him several times in the weeks before her wedding and came to the conclusion that she would rather spite her parents and throw off the gentleman to live in complete happiness without the promises of wealth.
Three evenings before the day, the Lady educated her family of her intended elopement and apparated to her lover's side. They married and lived together until the end of their days.
"Why is that story so despicable?" He'd asked. The witch was stunned. The Lady had betrayed her family and her duty to indulge herself in a nobody. The woman was obviously a pureblood that believed solely in the ties of family and blood.
Draco bought the ornate silver chain and took it to the flat with the other he purchased. The apprehensive gleam in his features appeared again as he thought of the risk Harry was taking, not only with the Dursleys, but his father as well.
Relief came minutes later with a resonating knock on glass. He rushed to the window and pulled it open for an invisible Harry to fly through. Shutting the pane, he barely had enough time to turn back before Harry was upon him, kissing his breath away.
Draco laughed. "Well, hello."
"Hello." Harry resumed kissing him.
"I have something for you, Harry." His name was a whisper and sent shivers down two spines.
Harry pulled back and let Draco lead him to the entry room, where he was presented with a green-velvet encased box. Surprised, Harry glanced at Draco with sparkling emerald eyes. Draco smiled as he opened the box.
An intake of breath sounding from both, each for different reasons, spiraled with affection.
"Oh my god, Draco," he looked up at him, and then back, "it's beautiful."
Draco finally exhaled and took the necklace from the box, and proceeded to place it around Harry's throat. It gleamed along with Harry's smile.
"Thank you." Harry reached for him and wrapped his arms around Draco, more emotion dripping from the embrace than anything he'd felt before.
When Harry at length released him, tears overflowed the rims of those emerald eyes. Within their depths was expressed a gratitude and an amazement of many years past. Harry hadn't ever received such a gift…one for no specific reason. There were the beautiful gifts from Hagrid and Hermione, the fabulous presents from Mrs. Weasley, and the Firebolt from his Godfather—but nothing like this. Nothing like the phenomenon witnessed inside the hoary silver eyes before him. A bond fashioned of unbreakable sensation formed just that moment, as Draco stood behind him, fingers sighing across his skin, fastening the chain about him.
"It will protect you, keep you concealed from unwanted notice."
Harry's hands reached up and smoothed the string along his collar, to contact Draco's. He turned in the hold and pressed himself to Draco. A deep pounding pressured his body, and Draco felt it, felt more as the emotion exuded from the person compelled to his. How such affection could be real, Draco did not understand, only that he shared in the emission and clung to Harry in his own need. It seemed to rain within the flat as two faces became wet with salty tears.
Words withheld via breath as it escaped through the kiss. Their lips connected as they hadn't done before. A new discovery, how deep affection ran, how it had always been there, elicited by a single act of sincerity. Proof of the affliction existed in Harry as Harry, no longer 'Potter.'
His name permeated his thoughts and waking moments, his dreams and half-wakings. The enemy hatred had disillusioned the crush for too long, and it grew to fruition within the last few days, for it was allowed free reign. The swell expanded within Draco's heart and he finally recognized the emotion for what it was—love. Yes, love, for no other reason would have compelled Draco to concern himself over Harry. The safety of this person far exceeded the desire for his own; Harry became his sole interest.
The epiphany frightened him a little: what if Harry didn't reciprocate? What if he couldn't keep him safe? The control was out of his hands, and that lack unseated him. He was unable to—to do much. Harry was his own person, knew how to care for himself, and had survived You-Know—well, Voldemort, five times at least.
But that didn't matter. The road could always have an unsuspected twist or object hidden by a shadow, and with time handling the horses, he could not be certain of the course.
However, all that had significance lay within the ring of his arms right now. He reveled in the drop of influence he owned here, and kissed Harry ardently. The four streams remained as their tongues dueled and their hands roved the skin revealed by forgotten clothing. Slowly, Draco progressed their bodies to his room where they tumbled onto the bed engulfed in emotion.
Harry grasped Draco and smoothed his thumb across his tip, "Make love to me, Draco."
The question rang in silver orbs as his fingers raked down Harry's heaving chest.
"Please."
A deep prolonged kiss answered any doubts for either mind as Draco clumsily prepared Harry's body. As neither of them had done this before, each only had a vague idea of what to do. But soon enough, Draco was buried to the hilt between his legs and within the estrus of Harry's body. It was tight, oh so tight, and satisfying.
With such tenderness, Draco pumped slowly, ensuring the least amount of pain to his lover. Harry never felt anything quite like this: the ache of the first, and the pleasure of Draco. He relaxed and gave rise to expansion as the strokes became less painful. With the expertise of Draco, the enjoyment soon overtook all else, and Harry became warped in the plane of desire.
Draco felt the easing of Harry's body and increased his tempo. He could touch the rising desire of Harry between them as he moved within the slick embrace. It deliberately brushed his abdomen as he repeated the action. The sensation was powerful, acute and built like the sound barrier as he thrust faster and firmer. The moment procrastinated, forcing anticipation and excitement forth as the swell waxed to fruition. And suddenly it crashed around them both, filling each other so absolutely with the sheen of emotion it glowed as a halo around the bed.
Draco moved until the last of his seed burst from his body, and fell exhausted next to Harry. Panting he draped his arm over the abdomen next to him. This is the epitome of glory, happiness… Draco couldn't believe the sated sensation about him, or the completeness of his soul that infused his body. Balance encased his senses, everything was right with the world and he had the one person that perfected nature, humans and him. Harry Potter, arch-nemesis, saint, lover, and love…the flawlessness of the moment, of Harry—the emotion welled too great to contain and Draco felt water streak his pale cheeks. He smiled through his tears and rolled into Harry's side, pulling him close, needing him close.
Harry eased at the pressure around his body, the heat pervading his senses. So ecstatically unaware of the turmoil passing beside him, floating in the aftermath of bliss, many minutes passed before he registered the cool wetness on his shoulder. The peace about him almost refused his senses admittance of that pain; but something now attached his heart to something, no someone, and he happened to be nuzzled close to him, weeping.
The surreal sight of Draco Malfoy lamenting silently, as if he were afraid to break something, closed a vise around Harry's heart and it wrung painfully severe. It was all he could do to wrap his arms around him and hold on tight. With the last of his strength, Harry placed a kiss at the crown of silky white-blond hair before both drifted into dreamless sleep.
Within a bustling city full of promise and affection, opportunity and hope, screaming teapots and cold popcorn, Harry and Draco shared a moment of epiphany and something akin to defeat.
* * * * *
It was three days. Three days since his discovery of happiness. Harry Potter burst into his life and in three days later, here he was: sated, happy, joyous, elated and fearful. Could what he be feeling true? Such a deep passionate love contrive in three days' time? In any normal circumstance he would most heartily disagree. But, this, this wasn't normal; he was dealing with Harry Potter.
Seconds like these, a holograph of Harry presented itself before him and Draco would reach out his hand, caress imaginary cheeks, stroke a pretend jaw line. Positioned alone on the couch, Harry's image would appear, sitting near him, and he would lean in close and then closer…
Eventually, the cool air would break his quixotic trance and he would be left with his aching torso and breathlessness. He would remember three days and imagine Harry only induced through the mists of fervor to care anything for him.
Did they move too fast? Would Harry come back? Should Harry come back? Certainly Draco loved him, knew it from his violent reaction to Harry's mere memory, but was it worth risking his love's life to be with him? His father… there was definitely a space in the future for a slip and Harry's subsequent injury. Could he chance it? If he did accept such an endangerment, could he handle the responsibility if Harry-if Harry… No, he couldn't even imagine. The meager thought brought a gush of fluid to his eyes and his chest—
But Draco couldn't keep away from him either. Whichever choice seemed like death, in the same way. It was possible to wait; his instincts were quite sharp.
* * * * *
Tuesday dawned bright and splendid, sunshine trickling through the rips and tears in the bedroom curtain. Today is a special day; the Dursleys had their family programs this evening and would be leaving Harry to himself. So, he could slip away without alarming his non-interested 'family'.
This, of course, was why he'd arranged to meet Draco after dusk today. One of the lampposts on the street had burnt out yesterday, and the repairman wasn't due until later in the week.
But the hours between rising and dusk were numerous and Aunt Petunia again had a load-full of chores for him to complete. Dusting, vacuuming, washing the list went on throughout the house. If Harry was to be sure to make it on time, he better get a move on.
Most of the work wasn't that terrible, he didn't mind vacuuming or washing floors, but dusting—of all things he loathed most it was dusting. But he was smart and got those chores done first. An hour before sunset Harry finally finished everything on the list. At least he had some time to clean himself up…
* * * * *
Malfoy awaited his partner underneath the small tree next to the broken light, whistling to himself softly. His black cloak covered his jean and t-shirt clad form as he leaned back against the frail trunk.
Soft footfalls called his attention behind him, and within the shadows, another figure appeared. Harry.
"Good evening, Potter." He sneered.
"Hello, Malfoy." Diverted by his tone, Harry shot it back.
"Your, if you could call it a family, kick you out?" A smug air flowed within his words.
"No. And it's none of your business." Harry mocked his timbre.
"Could it be your lover, Potter? As if you'd have one." That sneer never seemed to fade.
"Oh, but I do, Malfoy," Harry replied silkily, stepping closer. "I have an incredible lover."
"And who would be with you?" His words owned a slight breathless tint as Harry progressed toward him.
"He is standing right in front of me." Harry was now centimeters away from him. "Draco." He leaned in, quantum by quantum, breath by breath.
"I love the way you say that." The anticipation got to him and Draco closed the fraction between them, pressing his lips to Harry. This kiss was short, but promising, and Harry led the path to the park.
"Do you, Draco?" He smirked.
"Yes," Harry tripped suddenly, but was deftly caught. "Clumsy as always, ay, Potter?"
"Well, if it were you, Malfoy, you'd have fallen and broken your nose." Harry taunted back.
"But I have perfect eyesight, and would have seen the root, unlike someone I know." He pushed the glasses perched on Harry's nose with a leer.
"And yet you lack coordination, and have tripped anyway." Was the countering remark.
"Do I? It seems to me I have better coordination than that, if I remember Saturday correctly." Draco observed the blush that crept across Harry's face and grinned.
"I hate to admit it, but you do remember Saturday correctly."
"Of course, I have picture perfect memory."
"So you recall everything? Even the feeling?" At this, it was Draco's turn to color.
Reaching the sand, the two made their way to the swings again, rocking side by side. This night was cool and the air brushed their faces as each came forward and their necks as they flew back. From an observer, the pair looked like scissors swooping open and closed.
The pressure wind as they passed each other mingled their scents. Draco knew the slithering oranges and mint while Harry reached the furtive sandalwood. It tickled his senses and suddenly he felt Draco all over. He knew his aura, his mood, where he was, could perceive his muscles working—he was completely aware of his every move.
Draco became intoxicated by Harry's clean scent. If he remained on the swing any longer, he feared he might just fall over. With fluvial movement, he swung forward, shifted his weight to the front, and flipped himself off and to the ground, landing with a thump on his feet.
Harry watched with a drooping mouth.
"Come on." Widened green eyes and a ghostly sheen flashed for a moment. "What's the matter Potter? A bit beyond your talent?"
Determination replaced pale cheeks and Harry swung backward, placing his mass in his lower back, and pulled his legs over his head. He back-flipped off the swing and landed crouched forward with bent knees. Straightening, he observed a look of approval on his lover's features.
"Not at all." He smirked.
Draco walked to Harry and brought his arms around the other boy's waist. "Are you sure it wasn't a fluke?" Another soft kiss passed in a moment. Smiling, he drew back and traced his fingers along the light chain around Harry's neck.
"And where did this come from, Potter?" His voice lacked its usual haughtiness but was laced with breathlessness.
"Someone exceedingly unique gave it to me."
"Really? Was it your dreadfully handsome boyfriend?" Harry laughed and rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Malfoy, my dreadfully handsome one." A hand floated up to caress Draco's cheek. "I wear it all the time." The fingers lingered there.
"How appalling, to wear one piece of jewelry every day…" The touch was expanding something in his chest, and it was becoming very difficult to speak.
"Not when it's something like this." Smiling, Harry drew Draco's mouth to his. The moon appeared from behind the clouds, illuminating the park in soft white light, which danced around the lovers like a parade.
He paced along the elegant azure rug in the marble office. Frustration leaked off his body in waves to crystallize in the walls about him. Never had anyone escaped him for so long: a succinct sighting and then nothing for days.
He flashed his teeth in a snarl, and coming upon his desk, proceeded to tap his fingers casually. Even the second object managed to evade his detection. But the second was much more accessible than the first…and could be employed to his advantage. A strategy planted itself in Lucius Malfoy's mind, and he convened with parchment and quill behind his writing table.
* * * * *
"When can you come again?" Draco whispered as he undulated next to Harry.
"Mmmm, next Saturday, but… I'm free on Tuesday…" Harry replied sleepily and breathlessly, due mostly to the writhing body next to him.
"Yes, like the last two weeks." The silver satin sheets about them slithered in harmony with their bodies as Draco moved closer to Harry. Watching those emerald eyes darken with passion tugged the threads of Draco's center and he smiled. The grin caused two limbs to draw his lips to Harry's where sparks danced and blinding sensation spread throughout his body.
As he pulled away, Harry's eyes remained closed and his arms drooped to the mattress. Draco gazed on at him in repose. Harry looked like an angel without the weight of the world resting on his brow, almost carefree. The invisible chain connecting him to Harry seemed to wax stronger as fear gripped him.
Lucius never allowed attachment within the family—as a child, his father burned his blanket while he watched on, wailing. Narcissa couldn't hold her son, or barely see him as he grew older. Draco never had pets, and his possessions—the items that were not heirlooms or still latest in technology—were purged at least once a month. He learned never to grow accustomed to anything in his surroundings; for within the next hour, they could be gone forever.
Draco's hand moved unbidden to the crook in Harry's waist. Unconsciously his fingers curved in circles and dragged his palms over the exposed skin. It was as if his fingertips were attempting to memorize the feel of Harry, the curves of his body, the silk of his flesh, the contours of his muscles. Silver orbs rose to beatific features and provided the virid shade of his eyes behind those lids. Eyes that gave an impression of something akin to affection just hours ago.
But he could be wrong. Lucius accounted for that—never giving Draco a chance to see love or fatherly pride. He was able to see pride in events or success through those crystal eyes his father owned, and shame and loathing, but nothing else. The memory of Draco's portrait flew to mind. Months had passed before Draco had completed his first painting: it was of his father, taken from remembered images. It wasn't perfect, and there were several places for improvement, but he took pride in it. Near a still photograph it was, and he presented it to Lucius a few days following completion. His father looked at it, frowned with disgust, and then tossed it in the fire.
His hands continued their perusal and memorization—Harry's right bicep was slightly larger than his left. Draco gazed at his lips; they knew how to pleasure him in more ways than one. Fingers fluttered to there and traced the bow, the corner, their moisture. Harry must have felt it, because those lips automatically kissed his fingers while he remained resting. The extensions smiled at such treatment and traveled to raven hair, to sweep and caress. A sigh escaped Draco as the silky mass slithered by his palm. His hands brushed down and fell away into the crevice between them. A loss came over Harry and he subconsciously groped for Draco's hand. Finding his object, his fingers tugged Draco's palms back to his flesh. His mind then quieted and he was peaceful once more.
Such perfection, someone like Harry—could he really risk this? Risk him? Ample spells surrounded him and his dearest, his Harry, but Lucius was so very skillful at taking everything from him.
Suddenly his hands clutched Harry desperately, afraid to let go. They caressed with a possessive air as he moved so close that his forehead contacted Harry's brow and his bottom hand snaked under Harry's waist. The other pulled Harry's arm across his torso before resting at his neck. Draco drifted into an uneasy sleep, though blanketed in security.
* * * * *
Harry woke to a slit of sunlight across his face, and entangled in Draco's arms. A smile bloomed on his features as he gazed at the beautiful man in his grasp. Draco was nothing but magnificence, pale skin smoother than satin, snow-blond hair softer than silk and silver eyes brighter than the sun. He was so undisturbed in slumber, something he hadn't seen on him since, well, ever.
But, he had to leave, before the Dursleys awoke to find him gone. Not that they would be worried, only upset that he couldn't clean today. With near-silent commands, he magicked over a quill and parchment, scribbling as inaudibly as possible a short note to Draco. Quietly and delicately, Harry unraveled from Draco's arms and slipped from the bed. The rustle of his jeans as he pulled them over his bare legs covered the whimper emitted from Draco's lips. Turning back, Harry placed a gentle kiss on his love's brow before making a soundless exit to Privet Drive.
The wind whipped through his ebony hair as his Firebolt took him homeward. A smile, one greater than that American wonder, the Grand Canyon, spread across his face. Balance seemed to finally situate itself into his life. Draco would always be there, no one would take him or convince him to leave.
The two had climbed a mountain, a mountain of impulsive emotion and a roller coaster of events to come out triumphant at its peak. Voldemort himself could not even break the chain that bonded them together. Everything was perfect—especially Draco.
His heart fluttered shamelessly at the thought. Emblazoned in his mind were the moments they spent together. Each caress, every sensation, all passion forever within a seconds reach. Harry could recall every inch of Draco's body. Most people didn't know, but Draco had a tiny indentation on his right-hand index-finger knuckle.
No one knew how fascinating it was to take Draco's hand and rest his appendage in the web between the thumb and forefinger. It was a perfect pocket for Harry's thumb. The feeling that infused his body every time he brushed Draco was unlike anything he'd ever known. No one looked at him the way Draco did, and it sent shivers down his spine at the meager memory.
He wondered if his own eyes did the same, gave Draco something to tighten his abdomen with secret pleasure. He wondered if the same emotion overcame Draco whenever he thought about him. As Harry passed over a small stand of houses, he began to analyze that emotion, and what it meant.
It was a hot, sinewy male body reaching urgently for another. It was penetrating kisses and worshipful caresses and sensations that shook the soul. It was stunning, bright pleasures and sultry, stirring murmurs of passion that set fire to nerves and stripped away all the should of's in life. It was more than a passing glance.
It was Harry's primal response to Draco's desire. It was breath. It was heart. It was spirit. It was Harry. He was in love. Smiling to himself, content and safe in the world, Harry flew the last mileage to number four.
* * * * *
Harry didn't come. And to Draco it meant only one thing: his father had done something. Sheer panic rose in his stomach and he ran through his apartment gathering anything and everything to get him back.
He opened the door to the Manor and rushed to the torture room he knew was below, but had never seen. The scene that greeted him stilled his heart: Harry crumpled on the floor in a lake of blood. Absolute terror, anguish and defeat permeated his marrow as he looked at his love. His scream rattled the carved stone supports—
Draco sprang up in bed, panting audibly and maniacally. He moved his hand to his sleeping lover—who wasn't there. A black void, complete with nothing but emptiness, endeavored to engulf him. The suction started with his chest and pulled, harder and harder. Lucius took him! He stole him away! That panic from his dream commanded his control and he jumped from the bed. He barely noticed the letter with his name on it. Rationale began to push away the alarm as the parchment touched his fingers, and he calmed enough to shakily open it.
I'll see you on Tuesday. I am impatient already.
Harry
Guilt bubbled in his stomach as he read the message thrice more. It could happen, threatened to happen every moment they were together. Harry wasn't safe with him, never could be. His father, even so far away, still managed to manipulate his life. Though the ache to defy that manipulation, he couldn't escape it and Harry was not someone he could even consider endangering.
The menace was real, tangible, and volatile. Draco crouched on the floor, a flood of tears sweeping down his face. There was only one thing he could do. One thing to keep his Harry safe, even though it would tear Draco apart.
* * * * *
Malfoy leaned against the sapling and went over the plan in his mind. Ears strained for even the slightest sound from Harry. He fought frantically to keep his façade in place. Years of training from his father aided him greatly, though the emotion he had to hide here was more than anything he'd ever dealt with before.
The soft footsteps echoed behind him and he straightened. Performance time. Harry grinned broadly as he came closer, and Draco inwardly whimpered. This is going to be so difficult. Malfoy turned to face his nemesis once again.
Harry joined him in the soft light of the street lamp and put his arms around Draco. Malfoy silently pushed him away to arms length. The contact sent frissons up his limbs.
"We need to talk." It was nearly impossible to keep the deadened tone from his voice, but he managed.
A slightly alarmed look painted over Harry's features. "Alright." He reached for the other boy's hand, but Malfoy snatched it away.
"I don't want you anymore." A sneer appeared at these words. Training did have its advantages—Harry didn't even detect the crumbling spirit within Malfoy's shell.
"What do you mean?" A tortured expression broke the alarm.
"Are you too much of a slug, Potter? I mean, I don't want you." His features were cast in stone, but the manifestation of death in Harry's eyes nearly sent it to dust.
A small snort, "I don't believe it." He took a step forward, moving to capture his hand.
Malfoy took a step backward, like the attempt burned him. Disgust crossed his lips. "Well believe it, Potter," he spat, "whatever you think, it never was," the quick deep breath nearly killed him, "and NEVER will be." Inside, his chest exploded into a million shattered pieces of glass embedding itself in his lungs and ribcage. His breathing nearly stopped.
Draco watched as Harry's face fractured and flooded down to raw angst and disbelief. His spirit died as Harry sank to his knees.
The constancy and joy of Draco pulled from beneath his feet caused Harry to stumble at the peak of the mountain. He stared knowingly down into the depths below where expectation swam before his eyes. He was foolish to believe this would last forever. Sirius was stolen from him, so why not Draco as well? He was destined to be alone, lost and desolate.
Harry's mouth worked and emerald eyes pleaded as Harry struggled to say something, something that seemed so very important, but he couldn't find the words.
He had to end this, this torture. "Good bye, Potter, eternally." With a last sneer, Malfoy turned away and took six steps. His mask finally slipped, and just as he apparated away, the tears spilled soundlessly down his face.
Harry couldn't accept the last minute at truth. But the ground flew to meet him as his body fell from that peak. He crashed into reality and the anguish was unbearable. It was like one thousand daggers had loosely lodged themselves in his chest while he drowned in a vat of lemon juice.
The moon poured light down on his figure from above. And as he looked up to stare at the blue-white globe, his eyes were hollow—like he had just received the Dementor's Kiss.
* * * * *
Harry floated mechanically through the next three days. As the sun set on the fourth, the Saturday he was supposed to meet Draco, the void in his bosom opened to consume him. Every moment he memorized replayed in his mind's eye as he fell to the hardwood floor. Sirius wasn't even there to comfort him, talk to him, give advice to him. There was no one, no one—
Lupin. Lupin had picked up Sirius' reins, though not to take over his role, just help. Harry could speak with Lupin; at least, sharing is supposed to aid the healing process. Dashing to his room, tears blinding him so he moved on memory, he passed the shadows plastered throughout the space. Quill grazed parchment as Harry scrawled his letter.
Dear Remus,
I need your advice. I just had a relationship end, but I don't think I can accept it. I mean, I think about this person all the time, and I remember everything we spoke about…
…I even think this person more than liked me, it was in their eyes, every moment implied, but never declared…
If you have anything to help, please send it back soon.
Love,
Harry
He watched as Hedwig flew off into the darkening sky, her white feathers just a dot, and he stood there, vacantly fighting off the tears that threatened to engulf him. Harry could no longer see her when a cool black encased hand calmly gripped his shoulder, rendering him immobile.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter," the arctic drawl of Lucius Malfoy reverberated behind him.