Hello all! I'm soo sorry for the prolonged absence! Thank you all for your wonderful reviews, Likes, and continuing to read, and I hope you enjoy the last few chapters!
Warning: N/A
Chapter 7- And They Know They Didn't Used to be Stupid
Harry had his back to him, sitting on the forest floor with the half eaten plate of food balanced across his lap. They'd already been out in the woods for two days, and he hadn't said anything to Draco since they'd kissed. Since Harry had kissed him, and Draco had held him, and they had just laid there instead of talking.
And now it was as if neither of them knew how to start again. It should have been easy. Draco knew Harry loved him. He knew Harry knew Draco loved him. He shouldn't have had such a hard time opening his mouth when he looked at Harry. But when he turned to Harry, and Harry was looking back at him, green eyes wide and expectant, all he could feel was shame.
It was so much easier to confess when he was holding Harry, breathing in his scent, and aching with every part of himself. Now that he no longer missed him quite as bad, he'd lost his nerve, no matter how much Harry's disappointed look hurt.
"One more night," Harry said, and if Draco didn't know any better, he would have thought he was talking to his lunch.
"What?" he asked.
"One more night of the full moon and then we'll be out of the forest," Harry answered, still not bothering to turn around.
"Oh," he said, shivering as a breeze blew through the trees. He was only dressed in a thin shirt and trousers. There was no point in getting dressed in full robes just to rip out of them when he changed that night. Besides, it was just him and Harry here, and Harry had seen him naked before. Would hopefully see him naked again. "Right."
"Right," Harry answered, and Draco really didn't know what to say to that. It was as if they were acting out some play that he hadn't been given the lines to—that he still couldn't afford to mess up. He'd never felt so scared of messing up. His parents had always been right behind him to pick up the pieces, to talk to the right people and get him out of trouble. Even with Voldemort, he'd known there was nothing he could have done to make the situation better or worse besides stay out of sight. But here now, he didn't want to lose Harry, and he was only just beginning to realize how real a possibility that was.
"I love you," he said, and Harry's shoulders tightened as if he'd said the wrong thing again.
"You can't keep saying that and expecting it to fix everything," Harry answered.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, and Harry stood abruptly, the half-eaten chicken and treacle tart falling to the forest floor in his hurry. His green eyes flashed, angry and hurt and impatient as he glared at Draco. He looked so beautiful, alive and vibrant and beautiful, as if he didn't need Draco anymore.
"I don't want you to say anything, Draco," Harry answered. "I just… I just want-," he blinked hard, lowering his eyes, and it was only then that Draco realized how close to crying he was—had been for who knew how long.
"I'm not going to leave you," he said, and he had thought it had been obvious. So obvious after what he'd said two nights ago but it must not have been if the way Harry jerked his head up in shock was anything to go by.
"What?"
"You're my mate, Harry," he said, and he didn't have any idea how the words came out so smoothly, but he could almost feel the werewolf inside of him purring at the acknowledgement. He could feel how right it was. Lupin had been right from the beginning, and Draco had known all along. He'd been scared—was still scared. But he couldn't afford to be anymore, not when Harry was looking at him with an expression somewhere between wonder and anger and shock. "There is no one else."
"You've said that before," Harry sat down hard, exhaling as if Draco had just punched him. "I didn't think you meant it."
"Why wouldn't I mean it?" Draco asked, and he tried not to sound annoyed, but he must not have succeeded if the way Harry glared up at him was anything to go by.
"I don't know. Maybe because you've been avoiding me lately. You've been acting like-."
"I told you I was scared," Draco interrupted. As if Harry didn't know how much that cost him to admit. How much he wished he could flick a switch and no longer have to worry about hurting anyone else. "I told you-."
"Yes," Harry snapped. "You said you were still scared. You were saying goodbye."
"No," Draco answered, and Harry's behavior from the past couple days suddenly made blinding sense. He had thought Draco's confession had been his way of saying goodbye, when in fact, the opposite had been true. The signs had all been there, Draco just hadn't been paying enough attention to Harry to notice.
Lucius set down the latest letter he'd received. It had been two days since Severus had asked him for help, and Lucius had delivered. Lucius always delivered. There was no way to stop the plan Scrimgeour had already set into motion, but there was a way to disrupt it, to ensure it didn't work, and Lucius had made sure that no matter what Scrimgeour did, his plan wouldn't work.
His engagement right still sat on the edge of Severus' desk; they'd both been ignoring it as if ignoring a problem between them had ever made it better. And even now, Severus had no idea what he was supposed to do with the idea that Lucius had proposed to him because he'd really just wanted to marry him. The idea seemed so foreign. Purebloods didn't get married because they wanted to. Lucius had already married someone he didn't love, and now he was sitting in Severus' office saying everything Severus had grown up knowing was true—wasn't.
"That's twenty of the Wizengamot we have on our side," Lucius said, raising one hand to run through his hair. It was falling loose around his shoulders, a few strands tangling between his shoulder blades, and Severus was surprised he'd even let it get so messy.
"I'm surprised so many have agreed to side with us," Severus answered, and Lucius turned his gaze on him. His expression was harder to read then it had been for a long time, sharp and calculating, and Severus didn't know if Lucius was frustrated or satisfied with his progress.
"It's not even half," he said. Frustrated then. "If a trial is called now, the verdict could still come out against you."
"I think you're underestimating how many people in the Ministry dislike Scrimgeour."
"They don't have to like him to hate you," Lucius answered, wrapping his hand around his cane as he stood. He turned his back on Severus, his silver hair shimmering down his back. "I should send a few more letters, see if I can't get-."
"Lucius…" Severus interrupted, his mouth opening before he even knew what he was going to say, and Lucius froze, his words cutting off. The silence hung between them for a long minute; Severus didn't know if Lucius wanted him to speak or not, didn't know if he really just wanted to be gone or not.
"If you want to give me the ring back, I won't blame you," Lucius said finally. His voice was low, careful, no emotion, and Severus didn't know he had enough of a heart left to feel as it as it plummeted to his feet.
"You want your ring back?" he asked, and he was surprised at how steady his own voice was. As if he really didn't care one way or another what Lucius did with his ring. As if he didn't care whether Lucius wanted to marry him or not. As if he hadn't been agonizing over the idea since Lucius had proposed.
"No!" Lucius snapped, turning so fast his hair was a silver smudge in the air behind him, flying and tangling over his left shoulder as he glared at Severus. "I don't want it back! I want you to want it, and not because you think you should because you think you owe me something."
"I do."
"You don't owe me anything," Lucius answered, his hand tightening on his cane, and he was already stepping closer, his hand reaching toward Severus' desk, toward the ring resting on the edge, and Severus realized almost too late that Lucius was going to snatch it back. He jerked forward, fumbling over his own desk and making as much a fool or himself as he ever did with Lily. His hand caught on the ring, and he almost dropped it before he snatched it, clasping it in his hands and clutching it to his chest. He looked up, staring up into Lucius' wide grey eyes and wondering if he looked more or less ridiculous than he felt.
"That's not what I meant," he said. "I mean, I do owe you," Lucius opened his mouth to respond but Severus talked over him. "But I meant that I do want it. I always wanted it."
Lucius stared at him for a long minute, his eyes wide and his mouth half open as if he would argue before he suddenly lunged across the space between them. Lucius was everywhere, Lucius' legs against him, Lucius's hands cupping his, Lucius fitting the ring onto finger, Lucius' lips against his, Lucius' fingers working his way down the buttons of his robes, Lucius' mouth under his chin, Lucius' tongue brushing along his pulse point, Lucius' voice raw in a way he'd never heard before.
"Why didn't you just tell me?" Lucius asked.
"I don't know," Severus answered. "In hindsight, it seems we should work on our communication." And Lucius chuckled against his throat.
"But you'll marry me, won't you?" Lucius asked.
"Yes," he answered.
"And you actually mean it this time?"
"I would have married you before," Severus said, and Lucius paused, pulling his head away to look down at him, his silver hair falling over one shoulder. Severus couldn't resist reaching out, running his hand through it, feeling the soft strands tangle along his fingers.
"But you wouldn't have been happy," Lucius answered.
"It's in the past," Severus told him. Lucius stared at him for a minute longer before he nodded, his eyes softening. He bent his neck, leaning down to kiss Severus hard on the mouth, his tongue easing its way into his mouth as if it belonged there. As if it had an inherent right to be there.
Severus tightening his grip in Lucius' hair, opening his mouth and feeling the way the fingers of Lucius' right hand lingered along their ring.
Blaise didn't understand what Luna saw in Ginny anymore. Sure, she was pretty but it was about the twentieth time she'd complained about her boyfriend to them, and he was beginning to wonder if she was just pretending to be stupid or if she really was just this dense.
"I just wish he would think about my feelings for once," Ginny finished, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed as if she'd just made the most valid point on all of history. Blaise shook his head, forcing himself to keep his mouth shut as he continued to write his Transfiguration Essay.
Neville was sitting next to him, his knee resting lightly against Blaise's, and his whole body was radiated warm. As if someone had left him out in the sun too long—maybe thinking he was one of the plants he loved so much. Unlike Blaise, he was actually focused on his work, biting his lip as he scratched something out before continuing to write. Ginny was across from Neville, her homework strewn across the table as if pretending she was going to do it when they all knew she wouldn't. Luna was next to her, the fingers of her right hand tight around her quill as she stared down at her parchment for a long minute.
Blaise didn't even know why they still bothered to all head down to the library together. Between Ginny and Dean's fighting—or if he wasn't there—Ginny complaining about Dean, and Blaise trying to flirt with Neville—who remained blissfully unaware, they never actually got anything done. Well, Neville did, but that was aside from the point. All that actually happened was that Blaise had the urge to stick his wand in Ginny's eye almost every day.
"If he makes you so mad, why don't you just break up with him?" Luna asked, and even Neville looked up at her. It wasn't that Luna couldn't be unusually honest when she wanted to be, saying exactly what you least expected, when you least expected, right when you needed it the most, it was just the way she said it—who she said it to. Blaise had never heard her sound so—annoyed.
"But-," Ginny blinked, momentary taken off guard. "It's not that simple."
"Then you should just talk to him," Luna answered, already rolling her parchment up and stuffing it into her bag. Ginny watched her as she stood, her quill still tight between her fingers.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm done," Luna said, walking away, and it wasn't unusual for Luna to leave when she was done with her homework, but the way she'd left so abruptly had been telling enough that Blaise knew the real reason she'd left.
"Did I say something?" Ginny asked, turning to face Neville and him. Neville immediately ducked his head back to look at his essay, and Blaise kicked him under the table. Neville just scribbled faster along his essay.
"You're such an idiot," Blaise told her.
"What?" she answered.
"An oblivious idiot."
"You know what," she said. "I'm leaving too." She didn't even bother to put her stuff in her bag, simply scooping into her arms as she marched away from them. Again, he wondered if she really didn't know or if she just didn't want to know.
"That's so annoying," he muttered.
"Why does it bother you so much?" Neville asked, and when he turned his head to look, Neville's eyes were curious and bright on his face.
Blaise really didn't know what it was about Neville that was so appealing to him. He was honest—not exactly a trait he would always have said was attractive. He was innocent—well, maybe that was the wrong word, but he looked at the world so different than Blaise did. He was brave—and one day he'd die because of it. And he had a light to him—something that shone in everything he did, whether he failed or succeed or loved as much as his herbology, he did it with everything he was. And Blaise liked those things about Neville more than he cared to admit.
"Doesn't unrequited love bother you?" Blaise answered, and Neville frowned, a tiny crease appearing between his eyebrows. Blaise dug his fingers into the palms of his hands, forcing himself to keep them still.
"I guess," he said slowly, his eyes locked on Blaise's face. "But how do you know it's unrequited?"
"Sometimes, you can just tell," Blaise answered, and Neville frowned as he turned back to his homework.
"Harry, no," Draco said again, and Harry just stared at him. "I was trying to tell you I wasn't going to leave—that I could never leave you."
"Then why have you been acting like you want to?" he asked, and Draco exhaled in what could only be frustration.
"I told you," Draco said, his eyes gleaming with that annoyed air Harry knew too well. If Draco was going to be angry at him, he could at least yell instead of patronizing him. "I'm scared of being a werewolf."
"And that's my fault," Harry snapped, and Draco bit his lip.
"I never said that-."
"But that's what you think," Harry interrupted. "It's why you won't look at me."
"No," Draco answered, his voice sharp now, and Harry couldn't help the surge of triumph that surged through him at getting a reaction from Draco. Any reaction. "You're wrong."
"I'm not-."
"You are," he interrupted. "I've been avoiding you because I'm scared of hurting you. Did you even listen to a word I said? Do you even know how many times I've hurt you? How badly I could hurt you if I don't keep myself under control?"
"I trust you," Harry answered, and it didn't occur to him until Draco's glare intensified that it wasn't the right thing to say.
"You shouldn't. I could kill you on accident, Harry."
"And don't you think that should be my choice?" he asked.
"To die?" Draco snapped. "That doesn't even-."
"To decide if you're worth dying for!" he interrupted, and Draco blinked at him as if the idea hadn't even occurred to him. "Haven't you thought that just maybe I should get to decide what I want with my life, not you?" he turned his face away, already feeling his face burning at the words, at what he was thinking. "I- you keep talking about how I'm your…. I'm your mate. How there's no one else for you, but I don't think you've considered the idea that I- that it goes the other way- I mean, that I- that there's no one else for me either."
The silence was so long Harry wondered if Draco had just walked away. He couldn't bring himself to look up from the ground to check, and he flinched when he felt Draco's fingers slide across his cheek, soft and affectionate before moving to lift his chin. It was harder to meet his eyes then it should have been—then it had ever been before.
"I'm sorry," Draco told him, and he bit his lip to stop himself from saying something really stupid or needy or-
"Really?" he said anyway, and Draco skimmed his fingers down his neck in answer, cupping his neck to pull him in for a kiss.
Rationally, he knew it hadn't been that long since they'd last kissed, but it had felt like too long. Especially since Draco had kissed him like this, sweet and easy, tongue and lips pressing against his. Draco's body leaning against him, into him. He didn't know how they did it, but somehow, they ended up laying across the ground, Draco looking up at him with leaves in his hair, his fingers skimming along Harry's body.
Neither of them was wearing robes, just a thin layer of T-shirt and jeans, and it would be so easy to keep going, to reach inside Draco's pants, to have Draco touch him, but Harry wasn't sure he wanted to. It wasn't that he didn't like sex. He did—with Draco—at certain times—when he felt like it.
He hesitated, resting his body against Draco, his forehead pressing into Draco's sternum, and he could feel fingers carding through his hair. He could feel Draco's length pressing against him, could feel the lust and tension coiling through Draco under him, but he wasn't even half-hard. Right then all he wanted to do was be held and feel like he mattered to Draco in a way that he didn't think sex would achieve.
"We don't have to do anything else," Draco muttered, his hand sliding through Harry's hair, moving to rest against the back of his neck.
"You want to though," he answered.
"But you don't," Draco said.
"I just…" he pressed his forehead harder against Draco, wishing he wasn't so- "I do want you."
"You don't always have to want sex, Harry," Draco answered, and Harry could feel his lips against his hair, his arms twisting around his back, his warmth wrapping around his body, and it felt so good. Familiar and good and comforting.
"Doesn't it bother you?" he asked.
"No," Draco answered, his voice firm, confident, and the way he said the word made Harry relax against him, his own hands fisting themselves in Draco's shirt as he relaxed.
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