HP [And Yet…]
*I've had numerous problems with formatting on this fic, so please forgive me. Hopefully it is now there in its entirety and is readable. Please let me know if there's still a problem, 'cause Draco's thoughtstream is very important to the actual fic. Many thanks, Tiger
Oh.
Fuck.
Fuck.
In the moment betwixt and between shock and aggravation, there was the soft susurration of what was undeniably hurt.
Earlier, Potter had punched him. Not so hard that Malfoy lost his breath completely or felt nauseous, not so softly it was mere 'love tap' either. The blow itself was immaterial. The one Malfoy returned, fast as a serpent's strike, was equally so.
In the confusion of bending forward and gagging and slamming his own fist out, the deafening whirl of entangled robes and the damning rustle of falling bags and sliding books and murmuring people, a grimly determined and bloody-knuckled Potter managed to deftly insert a tiny scrap of torn parchment into a gibbering Malfoy's prim vest pocket. Malfoy, having already healed his bruises (minor) and black eye (painful) and telling the scrap over and over again later in the privacy of his curtained bed, found the afternoon's grievous and unlooked-for Potter assault to have been quite worthwhile: he, at least, had a date tonight and therefore something far more exciting to look forward to than the majority of his fellow Slytherins did on this dull, rainy November evening.
/Warm. Warmwarmwarm-likethescentedheatofbathwater-coveringhimup-drowninghim-until-he-couldn't-breathe-and-didn'twant-to-couldonlyfeelwarm/
However, Malfoy fretted, shifting around to curl on his side, the written-over piece of parchment pressed against his pattering chest, a better method of communication needed to be instituted post-haste between Potter and himself. First, he had no interest in wasting additional precious study time thinking up puerile insults and First Year hexes, and certainly not with the dubious and contradictory intent of casting them in the direction of his crush. Secondly, he certainly didn't care for Potter to be winging words like 'toady' and 'coward' and 'git' his way, and hitting him, especially if…
/Unexpected. Hehadn'tbelievedinthis-oh-longagomaybe-instoriesMothertoldhim-butforreal-notlies-children'struth-andlovebetweenhishands-abirdcaughtandfluttering-andHarry-watchingwatching-withthoseeyes-alwayswarm/
Especially if they were dating. In a purely technical sense, of course. But, yes, dating. That was exactly the proper term for the circumstances within which they'd found themselves: planned meetings; constant intimacy; special code words meant to be understood only by the two of them – whale, for the hidden passageway behind it and the Humpback Witch who guarded it; pillow, for the dusty wreck of the Shrieking Shack and Whomping Willow that deterred any unwanted visitors; Skewt for 'now' and Wrackspurt for 'half after curfew'; and those small favors to one another, such as tirades and passing insults that only seemed to be hateful, heated glances that only appeared to be glares, trading chopping slugs for facing Boggarts, inches for broom rides, silence for silence; and lastly but not the least, not least at all, an amorphous 'protection' of sorts: Charms, one could call them, each doling doses out furtively and slyly and often and everywhere – the Pitch, the halls, in Potions, in front of overly interested Slytherins and Gryffindors, under the very noses of professors and fathers and gaping spectators. Near misses instead of mid-air collisions, steadying hands when one least expected them, raised brows that signified careful warnings across classrooms, across Halls, carelessly left about parchments and maps and parental missives providing scant glimpses of each other's best-guarded 'secrets'. "Stay" and "Don't!" and "I wouldn't" instead of passive, stagnant silence; "Let's" and "Please" and "Instead" offered up tenderly in its place.
Oh, yes. They were indeed dating.
/The way he felt. Soalive-sohere-eveysecondcounting-neverlongenough-neverenough-totouchhim-takehim-makehim-buryhimself-a-ghost-in-Harry's-skin-Harry'sskin-softandhard-allelbowsknees-scrapesandscars-fooltoletthemhurthim-he-would-not-let-it-happen-again/
And when the memory of the day's cryptic hurt still hovered uncomfortably, a rusty crowbar wedge gouging roughly scalloped bites out of Malfoy's composed consideration of his current somewhat unusual circumstances, Draco, being a Malfoy, resisted any further unplanned emoting for all his worth, immediately reaching to blanket any tendrils of incoherent unease with the downy comforters of reason. Like this:
Of course they were dating, just as many of their fellow students did and had and would, starting from Fifth Year (when it was generally acknowledged that amatory contact with others was no longer something to be avoided at all costs) and lasting all the way through the last two years of their terms at Hogwarts. This was only natural, considering that Hogwarts was co-ed and a decent percentage of the students were of age to be excessively interested in sex – opposite, identical; having some, getting some; and the 'normal' activities and 'odd' proclivities of others participating in same.
Malfoy sneered inwardly. Some of the more ridiculously sappy students even married their 'steadies' right after graduation, never bothering to look around them for better or different candidates from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Various others slept around indiscriminately, like that light-skirt Brown girl or Draco's overly charming friend Blaise, and never stayed with anyone for more than a fortnight. Most of the rest were in the middle of the pack, as expected, and an unfortunate few never entered the swim of things at all: Longbottom, Nott, Creavey, Bulstrode.
/A mask. Didn'twantHarrytosee-but-Harry-saw-him-clear-as-day-nightandHarryburned-andwarm-hewaswarmagain-alwaysheld-achild-Drakeebaby-notmarryingPans-lovePans-can'tcan'tcan't-sickup-sorryMum'slittlebrat-notgoodenough-couldn'tgetthere-wantedsomuch-wantedtobeamanforHarry-notamemory-wantedtitobe/
Potter was an oddity, of course, but that was also to be expected. He didn't fit in the regular mould, Potter. He was always the rebel, Malfoy knew, and it only added to his potent allure. In point, despite Potter's obvious physical appeal and his status as a 'keeper' per the social parlance, his dating history was curiously bare: one known and admittedly life-threatening crush, one anxious, overly possessive and all too 'terrible tweeny' non-girlfriend and no decent boyfriends at all – well, that Diggory boy might have been, had he lived, poor sod – to sum, not at all what one might have expected from the Hogwarts Golden Boy.
Not that he, Draco Malfoy, was bothered. Oh, no. Discrimination on Potter's part in face of all the rampant adulation paid to him as the Dark Lord's ultimate foe was by no means a fault. Indeed, Potter's aloofness merely made their mutual… desire all that much more delicious, and the steely determination Potter exercised to keep their relationship a deathly secret, hidden from their Houses, their very closest friends and especially the general excitement-seeking public – well ,that was downright exhilarating. Nothing like being someone's 'guilty pleasure' to make one feel desirable, sexy and even more sought-after than he already was.
/Fuck. Couldn'ttakewaiting-killinghim-dyinghere-Harry'safuckingtease-cocksuckerwanker-alwaysmakinghimpay-alwaysmakinghimwait-wait-hewantedinHarry-thesmelltastewarm-Harry-openthighs-arsetighterthantwat-heavycockinhismouth-palethroatneck-allspreadout-thatlook-Harrythatlook-sofuckingsublime/
And of course he, Draco Malfoy, had the good sense and good taste to be agreeable to and compliant with Potter's more than reasonable request for silence. After all, he had his reasons, too.
His reasons were many, and all – with not a single exception – were reasonable. To wit:
He was not indulging in purely mindless fornication, solely because he was an adolescent male. If he'd wanted that, any number of his fellow Slytherins – not to mention certain of the more acceptable Ravenclaws - would be ecstatic to provide their dubious favors wholeheartedly and were much simpler to manipulate into eventually going away when Draco was bored with them. Besides, Father had given him virtual carte blanche at the beginning of Sixth Year to pursue as many 'suitable' companions as he so wished, with an eye to the future of the succession. It was implied that there would be 'unsuitable' companions as well, but Father was wise and all-knowing when it came to the habits of sixteen-year old boys.
/A bed. Whyafuckingbedtoomuchtoask-kneeswouldn'thurtsomuch-assnotfreeze-coldclassrooms-dirtydirty-cleanwarmsafe-sheetsonhisface-Harryinhim-inhim-onlyhim-tillhecoulddie-intheirownbed-theirownbed/
No, there was much more to this than that. Draco felt something for Potter – for Harry – something that went much deeper than mere…well, lust. It had to do with satisfaction but Draco found it exceptionally hard to define, even now. Potter, he knew, did not bother with words; he simply felt.
So somehow, perhaps due to the above, it logically followed that Malfoy was not simply Potter's fucktoy, nor was Potter his. Each of them was actively receiving an incalculably deep and meaningful degree of satisfaction (surely there was a better word?) from this current very physical arrangement, though of course Draco could wish for more finesse and consideration on Potter's part and, quite honestly, more opportunity overall. He, for one, was not shy about his earthly desires but, alas, the medieval atmosphere of Hogwarts did not lend itself to free-and-easy, post-modern, no-harm-nor-foul relationships such as his and Potter's. Though it did lend itself to endless possibilities, providing one could stomach such indignities as dust, cobwebs, insects and cramped spaces.
It was true as well that he was absolutely not shagging Potter for the sheer illicit thrill of it, though he had to admit that effervescent emotion had intrigued him for all the fifteen minutes he'd first wasted entertaining it, silly boy that he had been. No, skiving around was not in the typical Malfoy style and certainly not an action he, Draco, would've chosen voluntarily. There were Appearances, an important term in the Malfoy lexicon. For example, in the normal course of events he would've been more than pleased to court Potter properly – or be courted - in full view of his fellow classmates, the professors and the wizarding world. He would've been quite proud of having capturing the elusive Potter's interest and been even more delighted to flaunt their successful relationship before the admiring public, especially as they'd been known to have had more than their fair share of earlier…difficulties. Potter was – and Draco was first to admit it - a catch, best-of-show, A-one, and tip-top. Prime meat, to be exact, even sloppily groomed and perpetually poorly mannered. Of course, Father might or might not be as pleased as Draco was with Draco's choice of the Chosen One as a close companion, but that was largely immaterial as the entanglement was assuredly destined to be short-lived. He, Potter or the Dark Lord would see to that. If nothing else, they'd eventually (hopefully?) graduate from Hogwarts and the spectre of 'adult life' would put paid to these ephemeral teenage pleasures.
/Father. Fatherwasscary-fuckingterrifying-dieoldman-pleaseorchangeback-Harrydidn'tchange-alwayskind-so-stupid-to-let-him-he'dscrewupalwaysdid-wantedFatherMumnotready-HarryHarryHarry-please/
Malfoy was not being indulgent of Potter with this business, either. Potter was on the receiving end of entirely too many favors and indulgences as it was, from Dumbledore and the professors to his First Year Fan Club; Draco was in no way interested in providing the twink with any further reason to think even a modicum more highly of himself than he already did. Not that Potter had ever admitted he felt superior to the average Hogwarts specimen, but then again Draco himself was not normally driven to trotting out his own formidable pedigree unless he was forced to. Indeed, he felt that he very seldom had any cause to rely on his antecedents to impress: those that mattered already knew, those that didn't, didn't matter. Potter, it seemed, didn't care, other than to periodically make use of the proud Malfoy heritage as fodder for pointless insults.
To return to the matter at hand, Malfoy was merely keeping mum about their relationship because Potter was entirely correct: focusing the public eye upon it would be awkward in the extreme. The odds that Father would not be pleased with Draco's current choice of bedmate were in actuality astronomically high; further, the Headmaster and the Gryffindor House-Head would also doubtless have poor opinions of it, citing any number of potential opportunities for Potter's betrayal at the hands of his unfortunate Slytherin lover. Draco's godfather and mentor Severus Snape would be livid that it was the Boy He Despised and Draco's very own sycophant Slytherins might very well cause some sort of uncomfortable fuss. Potter would doubtless also be subject to endless torment from those ill-mannered Gryffindor thugs; likely, too, his escaped convict of a godfather would not best be pleased with Potter for getting dangerously close to the son of an unofficially acknowledged high-ranking Death Eater. And as for Potter's two 'bestest' friends, the Weasel and the Mudblood, well…Draco would be a fool to think he would ever gain acceptance from them – nor wish for it.
No, involving anyone other than themselves in what was a purely private matter was tantamount to wasting valuable energy and effort, something Malfoys inherently abhorred. Further, such prurient public notice would be an anathema. It was disrespectful to Draco's family and Potter's mentor as well, to practically egg on rumor and envy and allow their good names to be bandied about when this was essentially a personal connection that would surely be severed sooner rather than later. And (wonder of all wonders!) it had been Potter himself who'd been decent enough to bring this matter immediately to Malfoy's attention, in the very first breath taken after he'd brushed his lips so softly across Draco's, on that long-ago afternoon in the fall of Fifth Year. One could hardly fault a right-thinking Malfoy for seeing the sense of Potter's words.
/Thinking. Couldn'tstopthewordsonthepage-thewaystokill-couldn'tturnhiseyesaway-stupidLibrarystuckthere-Scarybastard-takinghishome-spoiling-rotting-acanker-darkinsidehim-didHarrysee/
Ergo, by allowing this strict privacy to continue Malfoy was not in any sense bending the tried-and-true Rules of Proper Malfoy Courting Conduct for Potter's sake and that really had to be made clear, to the point of restating it several times, perhaps even daily. After all, Potter himself was manifestly not concerned particularly much by actual Hogwarts regulations re dating, much less the ill-defined social rules that their daft peers used to describe 'boyfriends' or 'girlfriends' or 'significant others'… and neither was Draco, of course. He was practically an adult now and these sorts of things truly didn't bother a forward-thinking pureblood. In the larger picture – and again, this really needed to be emphasized - they were both here at Hogwarts simply to gain an education that would befit their future positions in life and no more and no less than that. The bonds they made, while important here, were not going to define them forever socially; the roles they played whilst here in these hallowed halls were by no means the be-all and end-all of their separate existences. Their relationship, such as it was, did not describe them. And if Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter chose to, well, privately 'play with fire' as it were, then that was entirely their own concern. No one who knew them to any significant degree would seriously expect either of them to allow a mere physical relationship affect their future plans or chances…or the plans others – those well-established intelligent adults and persons holding power – had made for them.
/Harry. HarryHarryHarry-needyoucallmetakeme-please-HarryHarryHarry-hearme-coldhere-needyou-needyou-wantyou-HarryHarryHarry-don'tmakemewait-HarryHarry-Ican't/
Within those parameters, then, Father's excessively strict expectations and opinions did not matter. The Dark Lord was defanged and powerless. Severus's, Dumbledore's and McGonagall's lack of sanguinity was of no consequence. Pans, Blaise, the Weasel and the Mudblood could essentially all sod off, as they were not the first-string players in this particular game. It was he and Potter that were of importance here and – this paramount point should ranked at the top of the list – Draco had to keep that pertinent fact in mind at all times.
/Stone and earth. Darkdankwarmunderground-Harrywarminside-filledupwithhim-tastehim-saltskin-warmagain-Harry-safewalls-safeinsidehim-allme-allIwanttobe-Harry-withyoumine/
Really, these salient self- reminders were most satisfactory, almost as good as a Pepper-Up Potion, Draco decided, once again comforted by the fact that he'd managed to remove any unpleasant traces of unpredictability from his relationship with Potter. To wit: it had begun, it was currently continuing and later, more or less as either desired, it would ultimately end.
In the interim, Malfoy would practice hard at his Occlumency and Potter would continue to variously ignore him, seduce him or bait him and all would be well until it was not. In the interim, he would strive not to appear overly needy or greedy or - or hurt by circumstances that were not primarily in his control.
In the interim, Draco would hold on to Harry as hard as he could, for as long as he could, never budging, never leaving, never speaking overtly of the 'future' or 'the Dark Lord' or any of the many deadly pitfalls that littered their path. Always available, always willing, always eager, just like any real 'lover' should be.
/Can't see. Nobodycansee-HarryHarryHarrymine/