I know what you're thinking. You're thinking 'HFS- you're one dirty bitch. You write boy-butt-sex like it's going out of fashion. You write some of the kinkiest shit around in the Twilight fandom, seriously, woman, what the hell is going on? Where is our Harry/ Draco man- love?' Well. It's coming. *ahem*.
It's fair to say that the warnings start here. If you are in any way a) related to me or b) under 18, please PM me and I'll give you an idea of how this story ends, DO NOT read on. ("They all drank lemonade, the end." (If you get that reference, please do let me know.))
I'm starting to think that good Harry/ Charlie Weasley slash might not exist. Would you read it if I wrote it?
And finally, I'm not a review h00r by any stretch of the imagination. I hardly ever do this. But I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions. Thank you! Enjoy!
Chapter 6- Left and Rights
Harry made Thursday afternoons his afternoon to do the trip to the supermarket; every time he mentioned it to Draco he was met with fierce resistance. It was a good excuse to get Bear out of the house for a couple of hours and into some fresh air, even if Harry was slightly paranoid about making sure no one got close enough to see the baby's changing eye colour. It seemed, to Harry, that Bear was starting to learn how to control his gift, although he couldn't be sure.
There was something to be said about being a single man with a baby in a predominantly female environment. He was stopped at least four times by various women as he made his way around the supermarket, all wanting to know more about Bear, assuming that Harry was his father. The news that the baby was an orphan drew sighs of sadness and compassion and a gentle hand on Harry's arm. If he had any desire towards getting a girlfriend, Bear was certainly the right way to try and achieve this.
When he was done with the shopping he spelled the bags to be feather- light and Apparated back to the kitchen of Grimmauld Place with Bear securely strapped to his chest. It was only mid afternoon. Harry had no desire to be by himself for the rest of the day and decided to pass the time with a long walk around the park.
In London, the changing of the seasons wasn't felt nearly as extremely as in the countryside. Still, there was a defining chill in the air and the crunch of leaves underfoot and the smell… it was reassuring. He stopped when he got to the park and turned Bear around in the harness so he faced outwards, so he could look around. It was a move that garnered yet more unwanted female attention.
Dusk was starting to creep in by the time Harry returned home, both he and the baby red cheeked from the cold. After setting a roaring fire in the grate Harry made a cup of tea and settled in one of his arm chairs to warm up, Bear cradled protectively in the crook of his arm with a bottle in his mouth.
The walk had done its job and Bear fell asleep quickly, although Harry kept the baby with him for company, he would nap happily in his Moses basket for a few hours. Bear slept soundlessly, leaving the house quiet. Too quiet. He set a pizza in the oven and hummed to himself to try and make the imposing house feel warmer but it was no use. The place just didn't feel full unless Draco was home.
There was half a pizza cooling on the coffee table when the flames in the grate turned green and roared with life, and one Draco unfolded himself onto the hearth rug.
"Leftovers, there, if you want some," Harry said without looking up from his book.
The silence that greeted him made him frown as he slowly lifted his eyes to the other man. Draco was… fuck. Draco was fucked.
"What's wrong?" Harry demanded. Draco just shook his head. He hadn't moved to take off his grey wool coat, or moved at all, as far as Harry could tell. His hair was ragged and his eyes were sunken and rimmed with red. "Okay, stay there, I'm going to put Bear down."
Harry Apparated to the nursery, quickly putting the baby in his crib and pulling a blanket over him, then racing back to the living room. Draco had finally taken off his coat and shoes, sending them back to the hallway closet, Harry guessed, because they weren't anywhere he could see. He was now pacing the living room in his socks, his fists in his hair.
"What's up, mate?" Harry said softly.
Draco looked up with haunted eyes. "Don't. Please don't be nice to me. I don't think I can handle that."
"You want me to be horrible to you instead?"
"I can't… I can't do this any more, I just…"
"Draco," Harry demanded, grabbing the other man's arms and holding him still, tugging slightly to pull long fingers away from pale skin.
His eyes, those poor, haunted slate grey eyes that had seen too much too young just begged Harry to do something, to reach out and save him once again because, fuck it, no one else was going to do it.
"I'm so sorry, Draco," Harry said. He slid his fingers through surprisingly heavy blonde hair in a gesture that seemed to stun both men into a loaded silence.
"Don't touch me," Draco said in a haunted whisper, making no attempt to move away.
"I think, "Harry said slowly, "That some of the problem is because no one touches you at all."
"You sound just like her."
Harry didn't have time to ask who she was, whoever Draco was referring to, because he jerked back as if he'd been shocked and went to storm from the room in the dramatic fashion he was prone to.
"Wait, Draco," Harry said, snatching for Draco's wrist.
"Let me go," Draco said tensely. He stopped but didn't pull away.
"No."
"Don't be a stubborn bloody prick, let me go."
"No, Draco," Harry said, not entirely sure why he was arguing.
"Harry."
Something heavy was zinging through the air, tension or something similar causing Harry's heart to race in an unnatural rhythm. He thought, for a moment, that Draco was giving in; his head sagged and shoulders slumped in defeat, then out of nowhere a fist flew around and landed squarely on H's jaw.
Harry clutched at his throbbing face in shock, then a red haze of anger slowly descended over his eyes and he shouted at the retreating form of a much thinner, albeit taller man who apparently had no problem with hitting him in the face and then buggering the hell off.
As Draco turned Harry hit him right back, forgetting completely that he was a wizard with prodigious skill, that he could hex or curse or spell in some way… D was obviously battling with the same problem as he fought back, not with magic but with kicking, biting, punching fury.
He had spent years of his childhood dodging the ham- like fists of his cousin and his beefy friends; Draco, apparently, had not. For a moment Harry almost felt guilty that he was so clearly more capable in a bare knuckle fistfight, that was until Draco kneed him in the groin and he doubled over, gasping for breath.
"Motherfuck," Harry gasped and rolled on to the floor, sweeping his legs out to knock Draco off his feet.
They fell together and without really knowing how it happened, Harry found himself straddling the other man, pinning his arms to the floor and trapping legs that were ready to kick beneath his thighs.
Harry was panting hard for breath, unaware of how to get out of this particular position without backing down. He'd won something but it was a victory without any clear prize.
The grey eyes that Harry had thought haunted now looked… pissed off, for lack of a better expression. Spitting mad, Harry thought as Draco scowled at him, something that would have been undoubtedly more effective if he hadn't spent six years at school giving Harry nearly the exact same expression.
"Get the fuck off me, Potter," Draco demanded in a low voice.
"Back to 'Potter' again now, are we?" Harry taunted.
"Get. The fuck. Off me."
"Or what?"
Grey eyes met green in unspoken challenge, then Draco wrenched one of his hands free and Harry prepared himself for another smack in the face. It didn't come. Instead, cool fingers wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled him down into an intense, heated kiss.
It took moments of pure shock before adrenaline and arousal kicked in and Harry returned the kiss with bruising force, forgetting the wrist he had pinned to the floor and forgetting everything else outside a hot tongue that tasted of mint and smoke and sweet and… Draco.
He gasped, freaking out about this, not ready to be kissed with such intent, this passion. He tried to pull away but found himself being flipped over with a strength he didn't know Draco possessed, so much more than what his slim body looked like it could hold.
The breath was knocked out of him as his back landed flat on the floor and he sucked in his next lungful of air, breathing in at the same time that smell... that he'd smelled before somewhere... the memory of disdainfully violet hair...
Then those deceptively soft lips were back on his, more insistent this time, gently prising his lips apart; then Draco's tongue sliding into his mouth and his hands weren't pinned down but one of them was contained with a fistful of soft navy blue shirt and he had no idea how that had happened.
There was a pressing hardness against his groin and it wasn't disturbing at all, it felt... right, somehow, and then there was another pressing hardness, within his own jeans this time, straining upwards for more contact or more friction or more something, whatever he could get.
Draco groaned, or whimpered, and Harry was struck with how different it was to kissing a girl. Not that he'd had a huge amount of experience in kissing girls, but there was something about the rough slide of one unshaven jaw against another, the feel of even power, even strength, giving and taking in equal amounts that was a new thrill. A better thrill.
He didn't think about what was undoubtedly Draco's cock, fully hard and pressing against his. Couldn't think of that, as pristine white teeth nipped at his bottom lip, because if he did he was sure to go back to freaking out, and the kissing was much, much better than the freaking out.
Without warning, the other man was scrambling back, the kiss broken and wide, frantic grey eyes locked on his. Only vaguely aware of their being knocked off, Harry grabbed his glasses and shoved them back on his face.
"Draco..." he started, but he was already gone.
xXx
Harry thought that Draco was hiding in his room, and despite all his misgivings about the best kissing he'd ever done, he decided he had to track the bastard down. Bear was still sleeping. But Draco wasn't in his room.
Or his basement, when Harry checked there. Or in the kitchen. Exasperated, Harry cast Homono Revellium and discovered what he'd already suspected. Draco had gone.
xXx
There was no way of knowing where Draco was, and it was late, and, Harry remembered guiltily, he'd come home in such a terrible mood anyway. He could be off getting drunk, or sulking in some alley somewhere, or getting beat up by people who didn't like the way he scowled at them. Draco did scowl, frequently.
Harry went to bed with a raging erection and a sick feeling in his stomach which was almost enough to negate the first. But not quite. He turned the volume on his conspectus charm right up and warded the house against any person entering except Draco. Not that he expected Draco to come home in the night.
And he didn't.
Over breakfast the next morning Harry wrote the a letter and sent it off with one of Draco's owls, demanding then pleading for him to come back. Bear sat in a high chair for breakfast now, slapping his hands on the moulded plastic as Harry attempted to feed him mango and banana purée with varying levels of success. His response, when it came, was short and to the point.
Fuck off, Potter.
Harry grit his teeth in grim resignation and put quill to parchment once again.
Draco, I can't do this without you. You can't leave Bear like this. Come the fuck home.
The owl brought a reply, not quickly enough for Harry to believe Draco was still in London. The time in between sending the owl and receiving a reply was mostly spent pacing. Pacing and cursing the miserable Slytherin bastard.
Your place is not my home.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Harry growled, crumpling the note and throwing it at the wall.
He snatched another piece of parchment and scrawled a reply.
This isn't about you, you insufferable bastard. Look- I know your movements are being tracked by the Ministry. I have a friend who works for the Ministry. It's not particularly difficult for me to figure out where you are anyway, but you do not want me coming to get you and drag your ass back here.
He used a different owl this time, not wanting to exhaust the same bird by sending it back and forth to Wiltshire. It was undoubtedly where Draco was hiding out- in his childhood home.
By early evening he'd still not received a reply. The remains of his solo, uneaten dinner were going cold in the middle of the table and he was starting to seriously contemplate packing up Bear and going to search for him, but the crack of Apparation signalled that Draco was back.
"I hate you," Draco said.
Harry jumped from his seat and turned to where the blond man was stood, hair tousled by the wind and covered against the cold in a worn leather jacket. He brought the smell of fresh air with him.
"No, you don't," Harry said, sounding more confident than he felt and just as weary.
"You... you don't know that. You had no right..."
"Both of us," Harry interrupted him. "It was not a one way thing. If you want to play the blame game then you get to take half of the responsibility."
"That was low. Using Bear to emotionally blackmail me into coming back. I really hate you."
Harry took an unsteady step forward. "No, you don't," he repeated. "You don't kiss someone like that if you hate them."
Draco shut his eyes and shook his head, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Harry noticed a soft, mauve bruise starting to bruise on the other man's jaw, only slightly hidden by the day old scruff of not shaving.
Draco's next words were whispered: "It's not how I imagined kissing you would be."
His eyes burst open in shock when he realised what he'd said, his hand flying to his mouth.
He didn't have a reputation for being the quickest to catch on to things, but Draco's words hit Harry immediately.
"You imagined kissing me?"
"Oh, fuck," Draco sighed, sliding into the chair he clearly considered to be his and covering his face with his hands, wearily rubbing his eyes.
"You... you..."
George's words came back to him from his dinner at The Burrow; I reckon he fancies you, and too many pieces of the puzzle clunked into place at the same time, a whooshing feeling that made the entire of the sixth year suddenly make sense, and the reason why Draco never turned him over to the Death Eaters in March, and, and...
"Oh fuck," Harry whispered.
"Yeah. Potter. Fuck."
Draco's voice had lost nearly all of its bite and again, Harry was struck with just how different, how much older and wiser and desperately sad this man was. Not the spoiled, mighty child with the world at his feet and his father at his back. One who had lived through wars and devastation and acute, painful loss.
Two strides across the cold tiles on the kitchen floor and he pulled Draco into a hug. Not a sexual hug; one where their bodies aligned at shoulder and hip, heads tilting slightly to fit together. Strong arms with long, lean muscles wrapping around solid torsos to cling, almost desperately to each other, to hold and be held.
Harry inhaled deeply and sighed, shifting slightly and pulling Draco closer to him. Draco let out a hoarse, dry sob and sagged slightly, pressing his face against the bare skin of Harry's neck.
"It's okay," Harry murmured. Not really sure what he was reassuring Draco of, or why, but knowing it was important.
"I can't... I can't do this any more," Draco said. "I can't keep on like this."
"Tell me," Harry said, pulling back slightly.
Draco nodded, his hold on Harry's arms tightening as he pulled him into the familiar twist of Apparation. They landed on Draco's bed, and Harry hadn't expected that but let it happen nonetheless. He didn't want to break whatever precious understanding they had come to.
"I don't know where to start," Draco said as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it in the wardrobe. Harry couldn't help but smirk at his fastidiousness.
"When did you know you were gay?" Harry asked. He had no idea where the question had come from, it just escaped from his mouth, bypassing his brain completely.
"When did you know you were straight?" Draco bit back.
"Alright, calm down. There's no need to be like that."
"When I was about thirteen, I suppose," Draco said with a long sigh. He sat down on the high backed chair Harry had used before. None of his laundry was draped over it this time, though. "I sort of realised I didn't like girls at all. And that all of my wet dreams happened when I was thinking of boys."
Harry snorted with laughter. "Nice."
"Don't start that with me. You're not exactly straight as an arrow yourself."
"I haven't got any stories to tell you," Harry said honestly. "Some girls are pretty. Some boys are pretty. I've never known any gay boys before, so it's hard for me to come to any conclusions one way or another."
"I've apparently known enough for the both of us," Draco muttered. He picked at a nonexistent thread in the knee of his jeans.
"Tell me."
Another long, suffering sigh. "Alright. I'll start at the beginning, okay?" Harry nodded silently. "Okay. The first guy I was with was when I was on holiday in France, um, summer before fifth year, so I was fifteen. Just. His name was Jacques."
"Go on," Harry said.
"Not a lot to tell," Draco said and shrugged. "A lot of snogging. Couple of blowjobs. I didn't fuck him until the next summer." He paused as if waiting for a reaction. Harry didn't give him one. "Of course, by that time I'd been letting other people fuck me for a while."
That did draw a reaction out of Harry. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah. First time was in a field. Christmas break, with one of my parent's friend's son. He was huge. God, I felt that for days. He came back for more a few times, then married some Bulgarian witch with a pureblood line going back about a thousand years. Bastard." His words were even, emotionless, even as he described the pain of losing his virginity.
"Was there ever anyone at school?" Harry asked.
"No. Although, that wasn't for a lack of me trying. There was one guy who I knew was openly gay, a couple of years older than us in Ravenclaw. I was desperate for him but he wouldn't fuck me. I don't know if it was because of who I am or if he really didn't fancy me.
"My mother kept giving me lectures about my 'promiscuity'," he made air quotes, "she never mentioned anything about sexuality, but I never bothered to hide the fact that I was sneaking out for sex all the time. She was more bothered about the Muggles than the men."
"You had sex with a Muggle?" Harry repeated, shocked.
"Yeah. A few of them. Teenage rebellion." Draco shrugged again. "I did a lot of stupid things in the name of teenage rebellion. Surely it's your turn now. Did you really get a tattoo?"
Harry smirked, oddly delighted that Ginny's rumour had travelled wide enough for Draco to have heard it. "No. No tattoo. Where did you go? Last night, I mean."
"Home. The Manor. How the hell did you inherit this place?"
They'd fallen into an unspoken agreement; you go, I go. It seemed to Harry that this was the best form of communication with the other man, any attempts to formalise or vocalise an agreement ended in bickering. They agreed surprisingly often when no one mentioned the fact that they were agreeing.
"Sirius did it," Harry said with a shrug. "I didn't even know he'd made a will until after he died. Dumbledore was worried for a while that it had passed into Bellatrix' possession but whatever it was that Sirius did it worked, because it's mine, now.
"Why don't you ever where short sleeved shirts? Even in the house?"
Draco rolled his eyes and pulled the sleeves of his light sweater up to his elbows. "Why do you think, you bloody idiot?"
Harry leaned over from the bed and grabbed the proffered arm, pulling Draco from the chair and on to the bed next to him. Harry ran his fingertips back and forth against the ugly mark on Draco's forearm and looked up to meet unreadable grey eyes.
"Did it hurt?" he asked without thinking.
Then the words were out there and he had no way of taking him back, however much he wanted to. And he did want to, a lot.
"Yeah," Draco said after an extended silence.
"How do they-"
The look in Draco's eyes stopped the question before it was fully formed.
"The Dark Lord is the one who does it," Draco said, looking anywhere but at Harry. For what it was worth, Harry kept his fingers right on the scar, determined not to be intimidated by it, or what it represented. "It'll fade in a few years."
Draco pushed his sleeves back down again, forcing Harry to move his hand.
"Can you not get it removed? I think Muggles have this treatment, with lasers or something..."
"Yeah, I know," Draco said with a sigh. "I asked... I asked someone about it and they said they're looking into whether it would work. It's not a normal tattoo. Everyone knows I've got it anyway, so it doesn't make much difference really. I just don't like having to look at it.
"What are you nightmares about?"
"That it's not over," Harry said honestly. "Sometimes it's just... so real... and I forget. That it's all over. That he's dead, and he's not coming back, and that I don't have to worry about it any more."
"I've sort of developed this... fearofthedark," Draco mumbled, blushing.
"Why?"
Draco sighed and looked like he severely regretted his latest admission. His back was arched, bowed over with his hands in his lap, looking for all the world like he was praying for strength.
"During the day, it was all about keeping up appearances," Draco started. "My mother still hosted her society lunches and charity meetings in her conservatory while people were locked in the cellars underneath them. You know, we were all required to attend breakfast every morning at eight, then lunch at twelve thirty, dinner at six. It was only after dark that things got..."
Harry watched as Draco shuddered, composed himself, and continued: "They would wake me up in the middle of the night to attend those meetings. Most of the time it was people reporting back to the Dark Lord of what had happened during the day, but sometimes they'd torture people right there, and I had to watch all of it. It was when they'd punish anyone who seemed like they might want to defect.
"I could never really sleep because I never knew when someone would sneak into my room and Crucio me, just for the fun of it. That sort of fear just lingers, you know? Fuck, Harry."
As Draco started to shake Harry pulled him into his arms again, the same way he would with Ron or Hermione without a second thought. It was too early to go to sleep, really, but Harry kicked off his trainers and shifted back on the bed to crawl under the covers. After a moment's hesitation, Draco followed him.
Although they were fully clothed, Harry was still startled when Draco curled up into his chest when they settled down side by side.
"Therapy," Draco said without any prompting. Harry couldn't see his face, it was buried in his chest somewhere.
"Hmm?" Harry asked.
"Thursday afternoons. As part of my parole, I have to go to a counselling or therapy or psychiatry, whatever you want to call it. My therapist is called Miranda. She has to make sure I'm not involved in any Dark activity. But in normal therapy sessions everything is confidential. Everything I tell Miranda is reported back to the Ministry."
"That doesn't sound very... ethical," Harry said, wondering why his hand was rubbing slow, comforting circles between Draco's shoulder blades, the same way he did with the baby.
Draco snorted. "No such thing as ethics when it comes to Death Eaters."
"Ex- Death Eaters," Harry corrected him.
"No such thing as ex- Death Eaters, either."
Harry imagined Draco could hear his heartbeat, with the way his face was pressed up to Harry's chest. The thought of this made him take long, slow breaths in an attempt to calm the frantic thudding that he too could feel.
"How did you imagine it would be?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse and scared and strangely deep.
Neither man needed to clarify what he was talking about. Draco pulled back; his face was all angles in the light spilling through the doorway from the hall and the streetlight outside his window, Harry could see the little line between his eyebrows as he frowned thrown into harsh relief.
"Like this," Draco whispered.
If their last kiss was a bruising battle for dominance, this one was a sweet chance for exploration. Harry's eyelids fluttered closed as Draco cupped his cheek in his hand and leaned in, brushing lips over lips once, then again, then leaning in further to press mouths together.
Harry's tongue crept out to wet his lips and it brushed against Draco's in the process. It felt right, natural for Harry to gently roll Draco on to his back so he was half lying on the other man, his knee between Draco's legs. Draco's hand slid round to tangle in the hair at the base of Harry's neck, too long, as it always was, but silky smooth between long fingers.
It didn't progress into anything more, just two men, one desperately in love, the other fearfully confused, gently kissing each other, fully clothed in bed.