The sheer deluge of LOVE that this fic gets is staggering. And humbling. Thank you all for being so lovely.
Chapter 15 for you all. Warnings for some flangst in this one.
The days passed in a blur of activity as Harry geared up for the first game of the season. He alternated every second of his day between gruelling practice, sleeping and shoving off reporters who accosted him for exclusive stories. Wood had been adamant that he get his head in the game, considering that they actually had a chance of making it to the Finals this season. So, Harry had fallen into practice with single-minded determination intent on acquiring the coveted Cup.
This left him with almost no free time to spend with Draco who by the way was not at all happy with this sudden change of circumstances. Of course, he had his own set of problems - working almost full time for the Hogwarts Program and decimating Howlers and assorted hate mail from the concerned public. The few times that he saw Harry, he was either too tired or too put off to make conversation. In fact, most times he wouldn't say anything at all. He would sulk in a corner when Harry visited, watching his fiancé read quietly for anything between ten to forty minutes. Then he would approach him and curl up on the man's chest, resuming his pouting. Harry would stroke his hair as he read, enjoying the semi comfortable silence until he got bored. Then he would snog Draco as if he'd been starving for him, not stopping until the blond was moaning and writhing. Lucius would make an appearance by this time and promptly kick him out, much to Draco's displeasure.
All in all, it wasn't so bad.
His day dreaming made him smile and the sudden blast of a loud whistle inches from his ear was a rather rude awakening.
"Fuck!" Harry swore, rubbing his abused ear and glaring at Wood. "What was that about?"
"You're not paying attention!" he claimed, gesturing wildly. "We have to go over the strategy pitch or we're going to lose against the Puddlemere Prats first game in the season! Now when you see the Snitch, I want you to…"
"Catch it?" Harry offered dryly.
"So you were listening. Brilliant! Now everyone get out there and give me a reason to break out the good Firewhisky tonight. Go Canons!"
Harry rolled his eyes and hoisted up his broom, following his whooping teammates out to the pitch. As always, the sight of the roaring crowd spilling over the stadium and the sea of flying banners made his blood pump and his head buzz with excitement. But a tug of nostalgia tempered his happiness. His lips tugged at the memory of that ridiculous match they'd had at Hogwarts. Jack's excitement and Billy Johnson's brazen flying and… and Draco laughing and taunting him with a smile on his lips and his graceful, easy flight and his sharp eye searching for the Snitch. It was the most fun he'd had in years.
Damn, he missed it. He missed him.
"The Cup, Harry," Heidi whispered to him. "We actually have a shot at it."
Harry nodded. He couldn't explain the sudden coil of unease wrapping around his stomach.
"This is it, Harry," Heidi murmured again. "Everything we've always wanted."
Harry's eyes hardened. "Everything we've always wanted," he agreed. Heidi smiled and mounted her broom. He followed after her, trying to ignore the little voice inside his head that insisted that there was something else. Something important. And that he was in danger of losing it forever.
"Twenty minutes!" Oliver shrieked, grabbing the disgruntled Puddlemere Captain and swinging him around. "Twenty fucking minutes into the game! That's my boy! Eat your heart out, Holmes!"
"Oh, sod off!" Holmes snapped, shrugging him off and storming off the pitch. Oliver turned and flashed a billion galleon grin at Harry, who gave him a half-hearted smile. The Snitch fluttered petulantly in his fingers.
"Good game, Potter," Zabini smirked. "It's nice to have a little competition for once." He clapped Harry on the shoulder and in true sportsman spirit, congratulated the rest of the team before taking off after his sulking captain.
Harry was immediately surrounded by a whooping, victorious sea of orange. "Next time give the rest of us a chance to play," Heidi said, giving him a congratulatory hug. Harry returned the gesture, smiling and laughing with his team. They cheered and whooped and made absolute arses of themselves and Harry watched them, half amused and half embarrassed. Frankly, they were worse than the kids at Hogwarts. That thought dredged up some unwanted feelings again and he excused himself, making a break for the locker rooms.
He didn't even realize he had been running until he screeched to a halt and slumped against a bench, panting, He felt… sick. The broomstick felt heavy in his hand and he let it fall with a clatter. The Snitch was still buzzing in his fingers and in a vicious surge of emotion that he couldn't quite understand, he chucked it away. It buzzed away, glinting like a gold bird in the sky. He needed to see Draco. He had to see him…
"And the conquering hero returns with spoils of war. Marvellous game, Potter. Fabulous form if I do say so myself," a voice drawled, uncomfortably close to him.
Harry gnashed his teeth and prayed for patience. Couldn't he just catch a break? "Go away, Rita," he retorted, sounding as hollow as he felt.
"No need to be sullen, Potter. I am simply offering my congratulations," she crowed, sidling next to him. Her acid green robes made him feel like retching and her Quill poked his arm uncomfortably. She gave him a sharp grin that reminded him vividly of a vulture he had once seen on Animal Planet. "And since I know how much you hate beating around the bush, let's just get to it. A quote for our readers, perhaps?"
"Talk to the Captain," Harry growled. He was in no mood for this. "Oliver makes the press appearances for the team, not me."
"Now don't be bashful, Potter. We both know that the public would much rather hear from you," she insisted, prodding him again with that blasted quill. "Tell me about your inspiration. If I may venture a guess it wouldn't be a certain blond, silver eyed devil that inspired those daring manoeuvres, would it?"
"Get out of my way!" Harry snarled. The force of his reaction seemed to shake Rita for a nano-second. Then her lips split in a shark like grin and she was back, hovering around him like a relentless mosquito. "Well, that's certainly not the reaction I expected, but do go on. This is writer's gold. Trouble in paradise, perhaps? Is Draco Malfoy's sordid past finally catching up to the two of you? Which reminds me, how exactly did an ex Death Eater manage to snare the Coveted Saviour of All Magical Kind? Or was it you who found yourself enamoured by his charms? I suppose spoils of war can be used in a several contexts, eh Potter? Did you perhaps…"
Harry had heard enough. He was shaking with rage and every poisoned word out of her mouth about Draco was spurring him to something drastic. He didn't even spare a thought for the repercussions as he turned and pointed his wand in her face. "Don't say another word," he intoned, his tone deathly quiet. "I mean it, Skeeter. One more misplaced word about my fiancé and you'll be spending the rest of your life in a glass jar. And I don't mean as the filthy dung beetle you are."
Rita lifted her chin, but he noted her hand tightening around the Quill. "I'm merely asking a question, Potter."
"No, you're making insinuations," Harry hissed. "Draco Malfoy is not a Death Eater. He is by far, the most brilliant, intelligent and upstanding person I have ever had the privilege of knowing and I will not have him slandered by the likes of you. So crawl back in your little hole, Skeeter. And tell that rag you call a paper - Harry Potter does not stand for idle gossip about the man he loves. Now for the last time, get out of my face or I'll make you."
"Fine," she drawled, backing away. "You win, Potter. We'll do this again when you're less homicidal."
Harry's jaw was tight and he willed himself not to hex her in the back as she sauntered away. Wearily, he slumped to the ground and held his head in his hands. His words rattled in the confines of his frayed mind.
Harry Potter does not stand for idle gossip about the man he loves.
The man he loves.
"Fuck," Harry whispered.
What had he done?
He wasn't entirely aware of Flooing into Malfoy Manor in the dead of the night. Honestly, with the amount of alcohol in his system, he was surprised he hadn't ended up in France or something. But here he was, swaying and stumbling his way to Draco's room, as if it were second nature.
He felt sick to his stomach and guilty as fuck, to boot. And he half felt like he had no right to be here at all, but it was cold and lonely and he wanted to see Draco. To touch him and kiss him and to assure himself that he was still there. Like a zombie, he made his way up the staircase and to Draco's room, thankful that Lucius was nowhere in the vicinity.
To his credit, he made it to the door before stumbling. His head thunked against the wood as he fell and he was on his back, blinking blearily when Draco opened the door. The blond stared down at him, his beautiful mouth twisted in a smirk that was half amusement and half annoyance.
"Too much celebration, Potter?" he asked, kneeling down next to Harry. Harry smiled and trailed a hand through his hair. "You're so beautiful," he mumbled. He felt better. Draco was here.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Right, clearly too much. Come on then, let's get you inside before Father has an aneurism." He grabbed hold of Harry by his wrists and pulled him up, nearly stumbling as the taller man all but leaned into him. "Pretty Blondie," Harry cooed, wrapping his arms around him. Draco felt nice and warm against his chest and he didn't ever want to let go.
"Remind me to hex you for saying that in the morning," Draco drawled, tugging him inside. It was considerably difficult to shepherd Harry around, but he managed it. He pushed him gently on the bed and Harry landed with a muffled oof.
"Oh, stop fussing," Draco snipped, tugging his shoes off. "Maybe tomorrow's hangover will teach you not to drink so much."
"We won the match," Harry felt obliged to explain. "I caught th' Snitch in twenty minutes."
"And I'm very proud of you," Draco chuckled, pressing a kiss to his head. "But look at the state you're in. Honestly Harry, sometimes you act like you're still fifteen."
"I missed you," Harry mumbled. He grabbed hold of Draco's arm and tugged. The blond careened into him with a surprised gasp, tumbling into Harry's chest. He scowled at Harry who blinked back in response. Draco's eyes softened.
"I missed you too, you absolute neanderthal," he chided, brushing Harry's hair back. "But you should know better than to get completely sloshed. Now come on, lift up your arms. I'm going to take your shirt off."
"Sorry, cutie. I'm taken. Engaged, actually," Harry retorted. Draco rolled his eyes and pulled the shirt off with a swift tug.
"Roll over," he ordered. Harry pouted. He wanted to look at Draco more, maybe call him pretty again. But the blond was insistent and with a little help, he rolled over on his stomach surrendering to his tender mercies. He tensed slightly, when Draco straddled his back. His long legs brushed Harry's sides and the Gryffindor's brow furrowed in confusion. What was he… then long, capable fingers traced his spine and Harry sighed. Draco kneaded his back, working diligently to soothe the tightened muscles. His movements were smooth and practiced and Harry found himself relaxing against the gentle pressure on his abused frame.
"Feel better?" Draco murmured softly. He was working on Harry's shoulder blades, soothing away the tension in his stressed, drawn muscles.
"Perfect," Harry moaned. "Can you go a little lower? Just a… oh yeah. Right there."
Draco laughed and obliged him. Harry sighed in contentment and closed his eyes. "I figured you'd need this," the blond commented. "I read about your little standoff with Skeeter in theEvening Prophet. Did you really threaten to disembowel her if she spoke ill of me?"
Harry felt anger flare in his gut again. "She said you were spoils of war," he muttered.
Draco laughed again. "Well, that's certainly a creative way of looking at it. Can't say I'm completely opposed to the idea myself but…"
"Don't talk like that!" Harry growled, getting up abruptly. He tipped Draco over and prowled over him, glowering at the surprised blond. "Never talk like that," Harry repeated. His body was shaking and he felt like a hundred emotions were battling their way out of him right now…
"Harry?" Draco murmured tentatively, stroking his cheek.
"She can't talk about you like that," Harry declared. "No one can."
"Harry, it's okay. I don't care about…"
"It's not okay!" Harry burst out. "You're not something I acquired. You're beautiful and brilliant and you don't deserve to be spoken of that way. You deserve someone who takes care of you and puts up with your craziness and loves you! Without anycondition. Just… love."
Draco looked confused, and somewhat scared. His eyes were wide and silver and they seemed to burn a hole right through Harry. "What's wrong?" he whispered.
Harry shook his head. "Nothing's wrong," he all but whispered. "I just… I can't…"
"Tell me," Draco replied quietly. "I'm here, Harry. I'll listen."
Harry felt his throat clench and his stomach twist. Guilt, the likes of which he had never imagined threatened to surge inside and choke the very life out of him. Draco was under him, his gaze reflecting iron clad trust and conviction. And he had failed him. He had betrayed this beautiful person. Bought his way into Draco's life for a shot at a cheap trophy. Used him. Deceived him. And what was worse, he couldn't even tell him. He couldn't face up to it, because the idea of losing Draco terrified him. Harry couldn't imagine a day without him, let alone a lifetime. And if he said anything at all, Draco would leave. His pride wouldn't stand for this. How had things become so fucked up? How had he allowed this to happen? Despair washed over him. All he had was lie after lie after lie. Draco deserved so much more. He deserved better than a fucking cheat who had…
"Harry, please," Draco sounded alarmed now, almost frantic. "You're scaring me. Just… just tell me what it is. I'll help you, Harry. I'll be here. Please, I… I love you, Harry."
Harry almost sobbed out aloud. He couldn't. Those words shattered the fragile semblance of courage that he had dredged up. His guilt and his pain and everything else couldn't measure up to losing Draco. Knife twisting in his gut, he choked back his tears and smiled down at his beautiful fiancé. "I love you too," he whispered. "I love you so much, Draco."
"Are you… is that what this is all about?" Draco asked, visibly relaxing.
Harry nodded, feeling like scum. Draco huffed and smacked his chest half-heartedly. "Idiot," he snapped. "You scared the life out of me!"
"I can't lose you," Harry mumbled against his cheek. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'll never have to find out," Draco murmured, wrapping his arms around him. "I admit I wasn't entirely happy with how things started out between us. But… but you've been wonderful, Harry. You've been kind and considerate and you… you take care of me. When I'm with you, I don't want anything to change ever. I love you."
He felt better. Better than he deserved, he knew. But Draco's fervent words were a balm to his wrecked conscience and he chose to be selfish just this once. "Let me stay," he pleaded. "I want to be next to you. Please, I can't… I can't go home right now."
"Hush," Draco murmured, pressing his lips to Harry's forehead. "No one is going to make you leave, Harry. I'm right here. Right here next to you. I'm yours forever, okay?"
Harry nodded numbly and Draco smiled. "Good. Now get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning."
And as he pulled Draco closer and curled into him, Harry did just that. Things would look better in the morning. He knew they would. He had Draco.
Well, there you go. Harry has a sad. About time, I say. Reviews are love ^^