A/n: *whew* Sorry for the wait. The pieces for this chapter were sitting around for months and one day they just all came together. Hope you like.
Many many thanks to my gracious reviewers I Am The Bunny Slayer, Peal, Jubilee, Dillon, LadyRose, Heartless Lemon Meringue (^_^ yes, i did know.), isabel, stormyfire, Ru Av Natten, Minime ( a pleasure, as always), Kiren, SuRGe BSB, coriander, Rehanna, franthephoenix, and KawaiiKowaiiKoneko.
Dedicated as always to Wyv, Bel, and Lan.
***
Morality, Harry reasoned, was a funny word. All his wizarding career people had assumed he was just, good, opposed to evil and therefore moral. But he didn't think he qualified as all that. Feeling unclean from a combination of the sweat he had worked up with Draco and the guilt uncovered by Seamus' apology, Harry felt low...absolutely and completely scummy and as far away from moral as he could get.
What had he done? He had tried to be helpful and ended up getting used and then abused by Draco. Harry had no illusions there. Draco was using him for sex- plain and simple- that and finding new ways to hurt him. Not that Harry didn't enjoy some of them...until he was overwhelmed by the horrible feeling of self-disappointment, of sinking into a pit of lowliness and depravity no one could help him out of.
What he needed was a shower. Reluctantly and bonelessly, Harry slid off his bed and to his feet, absently grabbing some clothes from his trunk before heading to the bathroom to find what was left of his dignity.
***
Draco sighed, sinking back into his armchair before the common room fire. "Explain this to me again. What's the difference between blush roses and pink ones and exactly why I should care?"
Pansy rapped Draco on the knee sharply with her planner. She tossed her head, but her well-pressed curls stayed in place. It struck him that everything about Pansy was that way. Her nail polish never chipped. Her shoes never scuffed. Her skirts never swayed. She was more of a statue of a woman than an actual woman. She had none of the aura, mystery or energy Draco had come to associate with women.
Perhaps that's why he had never been interested in her. If he had been engaged to another female, Blaise for example, he might be interested, even affectionate. In fact he admitted to having a small obsession with Blaise. Everything about that girl fascinated him- her manicured, but not painted nails, her soft dark hair, her long legs, and even longer skirts that swayed elegantly when she turned. She even smelled deliciously feminine- reminding him of ruffles and lace and boudoirs that as a child he had never been allowed to enter, glass bottles filled with enigmatic elixirs he was never to touch.
He would have gladly married Blaise and had a lifetime to unravel her little mysteries. Not that Pansy didn't have a few quirks, but he found her plain uninteresting. Blaise- intriguing. Pansy- flat. And shallow. And scheming. And downright mean. Great for a minion, bad for a wife. He had requested permission to marry Blaise, but he was flatly denied. So Draco was left to make the most of a highly unpleasant situation.
"You don't even care!" Pansy accused. "You don't care about our wedding and sometimes I think you don't care about me!" Draco looked up and was about to protest when he saw Blaise exiting the stairwell in her cloak. He narrowed his eyes. The cloak looked new and expensive. She turned and the fastening of her cloak caught the light. It looked familiar. No. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. He caught her eye. She flashed him a sympathetic look and slipped out of the common room.
"Come now, you know that's not true," Draco cooed, wondering why he even kept up this ridiculous charade. //Oh yes, because an infatuated Pansy was better than a disillusioned, vengeful Pansy.// "It's just that I don't understand why you're so particular about the roses. You'll look beautiful no matter what color they are so why does it matter?" he asked. //Liarliarliar// Lucius' son indeed. His father would've been proud at how smoothly the lies rolled off his tongue. Pansy believed each one, of course.
"Oh, Draco darling, you do want this wedding, don't you?" she asked, biting her lip. Draco rose, titling her chin up with feigned tenderness.
"Of course, love. Why would you think otherwise?" The words tasted bitter in his mouth and he nearly gagged on them. Pansy looked aside.
"Oh, well it's nothing really," she replied, hiding her eyes with her heavily lacquered lashes.
"Nothing?"
"Just that awful Finnigan. Oh, Draco, I don't understand how you can even look at that- that-"
"Yes?" Draco prompted, his eyes hardening. Anyone more perceptive then Pansy would have noticed immediately the sudden change from liquid mercury to cold steel.
"Well, he's so low born. He's practically a Muggleborn. Not to mention-"
"Not to mention?" Draco raised Pansy's chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. It must be said to Pansy's credit that she faltered, but only momentarily.
"He's nothing but a whore. I mean the way he chases after you. Not to mention he has no decency. Or discriminating taste. He's even panting over Potter." Draco abruptly let go of Pansy's face. She wrinkled her nose. "Really, Draco, what could you possibly want with Finnigan?"
"Sex," he replied absently. Pansy lowered her eyes demurely.
"You have to go to him for sex?" she asked. Draco flinched impercebtibly.
"Really, dearest, don't you think some things should be saved for the wedding? Besides, I don't have to worry about getting Finnigan pregnant." A flinty edge had crept into Draco's voice. He checked it and the vengeful accompanying urge and turned to leave.
"Oh, darling, before you go, I have something to tell you." Draco closed his eyes briefly.
"Yes?"
"The wedding date has been changed. Mother has decided that she wants to move up the wedding. She thinks an April wedding would be divine." Draco clenched his fists. "Your mother agrees."
"Alright," Draco said, sighing deeply.
"Is that a problem?" Draco flashed Pansy a thin smile.
"Of course not. Why would it be?"
***
A note was slipped into Draco in Potions. The ink was green. The handwriting was angular and unruly.
After classes, Malfoy. Same place as the first time.
It was unsigned. Draco looked up in time to catch Harry's gaze. Draco nodded curtly. Harry went back to weighing dragon scales.
***
Harry sagged against the lockers, eyes closed. It was obvious that he had reached a conclusion about something and was drawing on his already taxed reserves of strength to stay firm.
"I can't do it," Harry sighed. He stood, turning to face Draco.
"Can't do what?" Draco replied, eyebrow raised.
"This," Harry said. "You. Me." Draco rolled his eyes. //Oh, for Merlin's sake...//
"And why is that?"
"Seamus is my friend."
Draco looked down at the floor. He looked up, trademark sneer in place. His eyes sparkled with unkind amusement. "Really, Potter. You are such a sniveling little hypocrite. I'm embarrassed to think that I was using you for sex." Harry flushed, indignant.
"What do you mean?" Draco chuckled.
"You don't want to stop because it's wrong. You want to stop because you're afraid Seamus might find out."
Draco caressed Harry's cheek with the back of his hand. Harry drew back as if burnt. Draco's face hardened, his hand clamping around Harry's chin, forcing the other boy to look at him. When he spoke his voice was low, intimate, menacing.
"If I were to take you now, you'd gasp and moan and you'd beg for it. You need this, Potter. You need this because it's the only thing that penetrates that self-pitying melancholia of yours. It's the only thing that quickens you pulse and makes you feel alive. It's the only escape you've got left."
Harry gaped at Draco, stunned by the blonde's perception. Then he became horribly embarrassed when he realized that as angry s he was, he was also aroused by the fact that Draco was touching him and saying things that hurt because they were true in the voice Draco always used when he was ready to shag Harry senseless. //Damn Pavlov and damn teenage hormones,// Harry thought bitterly. He shook the feeling off vehemently and glared at Draco.
"You are mistaken, Malfoy, if you think I need you or anything you have to offer," he spat. Draco grinned.
"If not me, then who? Who else has the nerve to make the Boy Who Lived bleed? Perhaps Lupin if you find him just before a full moon."
"Shut up," Harry snapped, trembling. Draco smirked in reply, recognizing Harry's trembling as desire, not fear.
"You are truly a sorry excuse for a human being. And this violence fetish you have? Highly disturbing and hardly healthy. Tell me, Potter, were you abused as a child?"
"You black-hearted bastard!" Harry hissed. Draco blinked, then laughed darkly, leering like a villain from a cheap romance novel.
"Honestly, I think you give me too much credit."
"You're right. You haven't got a heart. You feed off the pain and misery you cause others, absorbing it all because you're a coward."
"I'm a coward?" Draco asked, arching a platinum brow.
"Yes. You're afraid of going out on a limb and feeling anything serious because if you get hurt then, you can't cure the pain with aspirin in the morning."
"And now what, Potter?" he drawled. "Are you the fucking expert on me? Next I suppose you'll tell me that this is all my mother's fault? That I was neglected by her and grew up starved for approval I could never get?" But Draco's tone lacked spite. He was too busy recovering from Harry's description of him as a sadistic leech, eerily echoing a comment from Seamus, and then from the sucker punch of being accurately diagnosed by Harry, of all people. The whole thing just wasn't sporting.
"I hate you, Draco Malfoy. I've always hated you." Draco shook his head.
"Oh really, Potter? What makes you think the feeling isn't mutual?"
It really was a shame to see such a sweet face distorted by the malice that infused every fiber of Harry's being. And Draco really did think Harry's face was sweet. It annoyed him intensely to think so, but Harry had a peace that only the righteous had, an aura of saintliness that drew Draco inexorably. It was his guilty little pleasure- the moment of serenity he stole every time he contemplated Harry's countenance right before he destroyed it, twisting it with pain and ecstasy.
"I know the feeling is mutual. I hope dearly that you get yours, and I hope God has a better imagination than I do because I can't think of a punishment suitable for you."
"Oh, go ahead. Take the high road through all this, Potter, but what happened between us was consensual. That means that we *both* wanted it. So you can drag me through the mud all you like for this as long as you remember to drag yourself right along behind me," Draco retorted. Harry's head snapped up immediately, fiery green eyes burning holes through Draco.
It was too delicious- the electricity cackling between them, the unfettered emotion. It intoxicated Draco and Harry, despite his glare of death, looked as if he were on the verge of fainting- his face deathly pale. Draco wrapped an arm around him, supporting him and taking him hostage. "Don't touch me!" Harry cried, but for all their volume, his words lacked conviction.
"Stop me then," Draco replied smoothly, barely concealing the tremors in his voice. His free hand moved to stroke Harry's jawline. "Stop me." He kissed the dark-haired boy, surprised to encounter no resistance, surprised to find Harry kissing him back and neither of them making a move to draw blood. It was the kind of kiss Draco might have bestowed upon Seamus. The motions were the same, but with Harry it felt much different- more raw, a truce of sorts, an acknowledgment of one another's pain.
"Harry? Harry, are you in here? Hermione said that-" A strangled gasp let Harry and Draco know that they had been seen. Reluctantly, they parted to face a very stunned Seamus.
***
Well...so what happens now? Feedback is always most appreciated.
Love,
J. Silver
Many many thanks to my gracious reviewers I Am The Bunny Slayer, Peal, Jubilee, Dillon, LadyRose, Heartless Lemon Meringue (^_^ yes, i did know.), isabel, stormyfire, Ru Av Natten, Minime ( a pleasure, as always), Kiren, SuRGe BSB, coriander, Rehanna, franthephoenix, and KawaiiKowaiiKoneko.
Dedicated as always to Wyv, Bel, and Lan.
***
Morality, Harry reasoned, was a funny word. All his wizarding career people had assumed he was just, good, opposed to evil and therefore moral. But he didn't think he qualified as all that. Feeling unclean from a combination of the sweat he had worked up with Draco and the guilt uncovered by Seamus' apology, Harry felt low...absolutely and completely scummy and as far away from moral as he could get.
What had he done? He had tried to be helpful and ended up getting used and then abused by Draco. Harry had no illusions there. Draco was using him for sex- plain and simple- that and finding new ways to hurt him. Not that Harry didn't enjoy some of them...until he was overwhelmed by the horrible feeling of self-disappointment, of sinking into a pit of lowliness and depravity no one could help him out of.
What he needed was a shower. Reluctantly and bonelessly, Harry slid off his bed and to his feet, absently grabbing some clothes from his trunk before heading to the bathroom to find what was left of his dignity.
***
Draco sighed, sinking back into his armchair before the common room fire. "Explain this to me again. What's the difference between blush roses and pink ones and exactly why I should care?"
Pansy rapped Draco on the knee sharply with her planner. She tossed her head, but her well-pressed curls stayed in place. It struck him that everything about Pansy was that way. Her nail polish never chipped. Her shoes never scuffed. Her skirts never swayed. She was more of a statue of a woman than an actual woman. She had none of the aura, mystery or energy Draco had come to associate with women.
Perhaps that's why he had never been interested in her. If he had been engaged to another female, Blaise for example, he might be interested, even affectionate. In fact he admitted to having a small obsession with Blaise. Everything about that girl fascinated him- her manicured, but not painted nails, her soft dark hair, her long legs, and even longer skirts that swayed elegantly when she turned. She even smelled deliciously feminine- reminding him of ruffles and lace and boudoirs that as a child he had never been allowed to enter, glass bottles filled with enigmatic elixirs he was never to touch.
He would have gladly married Blaise and had a lifetime to unravel her little mysteries. Not that Pansy didn't have a few quirks, but he found her plain uninteresting. Blaise- intriguing. Pansy- flat. And shallow. And scheming. And downright mean. Great for a minion, bad for a wife. He had requested permission to marry Blaise, but he was flatly denied. So Draco was left to make the most of a highly unpleasant situation.
"You don't even care!" Pansy accused. "You don't care about our wedding and sometimes I think you don't care about me!" Draco looked up and was about to protest when he saw Blaise exiting the stairwell in her cloak. He narrowed his eyes. The cloak looked new and expensive. She turned and the fastening of her cloak caught the light. It looked familiar. No. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. He caught her eye. She flashed him a sympathetic look and slipped out of the common room.
"Come now, you know that's not true," Draco cooed, wondering why he even kept up this ridiculous charade. //Oh yes, because an infatuated Pansy was better than a disillusioned, vengeful Pansy.// "It's just that I don't understand why you're so particular about the roses. You'll look beautiful no matter what color they are so why does it matter?" he asked. //Liarliarliar// Lucius' son indeed. His father would've been proud at how smoothly the lies rolled off his tongue. Pansy believed each one, of course.
"Oh, Draco darling, you do want this wedding, don't you?" she asked, biting her lip. Draco rose, titling her chin up with feigned tenderness.
"Of course, love. Why would you think otherwise?" The words tasted bitter in his mouth and he nearly gagged on them. Pansy looked aside.
"Oh, well it's nothing really," she replied, hiding her eyes with her heavily lacquered lashes.
"Nothing?"
"Just that awful Finnigan. Oh, Draco, I don't understand how you can even look at that- that-"
"Yes?" Draco prompted, his eyes hardening. Anyone more perceptive then Pansy would have noticed immediately the sudden change from liquid mercury to cold steel.
"Well, he's so low born. He's practically a Muggleborn. Not to mention-"
"Not to mention?" Draco raised Pansy's chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. It must be said to Pansy's credit that she faltered, but only momentarily.
"He's nothing but a whore. I mean the way he chases after you. Not to mention he has no decency. Or discriminating taste. He's even panting over Potter." Draco abruptly let go of Pansy's face. She wrinkled her nose. "Really, Draco, what could you possibly want with Finnigan?"
"Sex," he replied absently. Pansy lowered her eyes demurely.
"You have to go to him for sex?" she asked. Draco flinched impercebtibly.
"Really, dearest, don't you think some things should be saved for the wedding? Besides, I don't have to worry about getting Finnigan pregnant." A flinty edge had crept into Draco's voice. He checked it and the vengeful accompanying urge and turned to leave.
"Oh, darling, before you go, I have something to tell you." Draco closed his eyes briefly.
"Yes?"
"The wedding date has been changed. Mother has decided that she wants to move up the wedding. She thinks an April wedding would be divine." Draco clenched his fists. "Your mother agrees."
"Alright," Draco said, sighing deeply.
"Is that a problem?" Draco flashed Pansy a thin smile.
"Of course not. Why would it be?"
***
A note was slipped into Draco in Potions. The ink was green. The handwriting was angular and unruly.
After classes, Malfoy. Same place as the first time.
It was unsigned. Draco looked up in time to catch Harry's gaze. Draco nodded curtly. Harry went back to weighing dragon scales.
***
Harry sagged against the lockers, eyes closed. It was obvious that he had reached a conclusion about something and was drawing on his already taxed reserves of strength to stay firm.
"I can't do it," Harry sighed. He stood, turning to face Draco.
"Can't do what?" Draco replied, eyebrow raised.
"This," Harry said. "You. Me." Draco rolled his eyes. //Oh, for Merlin's sake...//
"And why is that?"
"Seamus is my friend."
Draco looked down at the floor. He looked up, trademark sneer in place. His eyes sparkled with unkind amusement. "Really, Potter. You are such a sniveling little hypocrite. I'm embarrassed to think that I was using you for sex." Harry flushed, indignant.
"What do you mean?" Draco chuckled.
"You don't want to stop because it's wrong. You want to stop because you're afraid Seamus might find out."
Draco caressed Harry's cheek with the back of his hand. Harry drew back as if burnt. Draco's face hardened, his hand clamping around Harry's chin, forcing the other boy to look at him. When he spoke his voice was low, intimate, menacing.
"If I were to take you now, you'd gasp and moan and you'd beg for it. You need this, Potter. You need this because it's the only thing that penetrates that self-pitying melancholia of yours. It's the only thing that quickens you pulse and makes you feel alive. It's the only escape you've got left."
Harry gaped at Draco, stunned by the blonde's perception. Then he became horribly embarrassed when he realized that as angry s he was, he was also aroused by the fact that Draco was touching him and saying things that hurt because they were true in the voice Draco always used when he was ready to shag Harry senseless. //Damn Pavlov and damn teenage hormones,// Harry thought bitterly. He shook the feeling off vehemently and glared at Draco.
"You are mistaken, Malfoy, if you think I need you or anything you have to offer," he spat. Draco grinned.
"If not me, then who? Who else has the nerve to make the Boy Who Lived bleed? Perhaps Lupin if you find him just before a full moon."
"Shut up," Harry snapped, trembling. Draco smirked in reply, recognizing Harry's trembling as desire, not fear.
"You are truly a sorry excuse for a human being. And this violence fetish you have? Highly disturbing and hardly healthy. Tell me, Potter, were you abused as a child?"
"You black-hearted bastard!" Harry hissed. Draco blinked, then laughed darkly, leering like a villain from a cheap romance novel.
"Honestly, I think you give me too much credit."
"You're right. You haven't got a heart. You feed off the pain and misery you cause others, absorbing it all because you're a coward."
"I'm a coward?" Draco asked, arching a platinum brow.
"Yes. You're afraid of going out on a limb and feeling anything serious because if you get hurt then, you can't cure the pain with aspirin in the morning."
"And now what, Potter?" he drawled. "Are you the fucking expert on me? Next I suppose you'll tell me that this is all my mother's fault? That I was neglected by her and grew up starved for approval I could never get?" But Draco's tone lacked spite. He was too busy recovering from Harry's description of him as a sadistic leech, eerily echoing a comment from Seamus, and then from the sucker punch of being accurately diagnosed by Harry, of all people. The whole thing just wasn't sporting.
"I hate you, Draco Malfoy. I've always hated you." Draco shook his head.
"Oh really, Potter? What makes you think the feeling isn't mutual?"
It really was a shame to see such a sweet face distorted by the malice that infused every fiber of Harry's being. And Draco really did think Harry's face was sweet. It annoyed him intensely to think so, but Harry had a peace that only the righteous had, an aura of saintliness that drew Draco inexorably. It was his guilty little pleasure- the moment of serenity he stole every time he contemplated Harry's countenance right before he destroyed it, twisting it with pain and ecstasy.
"I know the feeling is mutual. I hope dearly that you get yours, and I hope God has a better imagination than I do because I can't think of a punishment suitable for you."
"Oh, go ahead. Take the high road through all this, Potter, but what happened between us was consensual. That means that we *both* wanted it. So you can drag me through the mud all you like for this as long as you remember to drag yourself right along behind me," Draco retorted. Harry's head snapped up immediately, fiery green eyes burning holes through Draco.
It was too delicious- the electricity cackling between them, the unfettered emotion. It intoxicated Draco and Harry, despite his glare of death, looked as if he were on the verge of fainting- his face deathly pale. Draco wrapped an arm around him, supporting him and taking him hostage. "Don't touch me!" Harry cried, but for all their volume, his words lacked conviction.
"Stop me then," Draco replied smoothly, barely concealing the tremors in his voice. His free hand moved to stroke Harry's jawline. "Stop me." He kissed the dark-haired boy, surprised to encounter no resistance, surprised to find Harry kissing him back and neither of them making a move to draw blood. It was the kind of kiss Draco might have bestowed upon Seamus. The motions were the same, but with Harry it felt much different- more raw, a truce of sorts, an acknowledgment of one another's pain.
"Harry? Harry, are you in here? Hermione said that-" A strangled gasp let Harry and Draco know that they had been seen. Reluctantly, they parted to face a very stunned Seamus.
***
Well...so what happens now? Feedback is always most appreciated.
Love,
J. Silver