He avoided the Torchlight all weekend. He had no interest in hearing Pansy gossip about Potter and Ginny's date should she have chosen to go through with it after all. Come to think of it, he wondered if he should owl in ill on Monday so he wouldn't have to hear Ginny gossip about it either, despite having told her he was not interested. He knew he wouldn't have to endure Potter saying anything to him, as he was away on his research trip. Not that Draco wanted to presume Ron would like his company whilst Potter was gone, but should they meet for drinks after work, Ron was a safer bet than the women. He had little to no interest in anything beyond Quidditch and the upcoming birth of his second child.
Knowing it would be irresponsible not to show up in his office, Draco decided against feigning sickness. He regretted it the moment Ginny arrived, glowing and looking like the Kneazle that ate the canary. He sighed, bracing himself for an earful of how her date with Potter had gone.
"Well, it worked, just as you said." She grinned.
"I take it you showed up after all, then? And you had a good time?" he asked, hoping to get it out of the way so they could move on to more professional—and thus safer—subjects.
"Quite," she said, grinning. "I've promised to owl him every day whilst he's gone."
"I hope you can manage that on your own," Draco replied. He knew he sounded irritable, but he wasn't interested in continuing their charade now that she had taken up the letter-writing business herself.
She shrugged. "I'm not sure I can write as well as you did."
He snorted. "Not judging by your poetry. I do hope you told him the truth—that you had help."
"No, but he'll figure it out when he reads what I send him." She laughed. "It doesn't matter anyway. I doubt I'll keep my promise to owl so often—you know how I am with letters. I'll just send him something telling him what I'm looking forwards to when he returns." She winked and retreated from Draco's office before he could respond.
Draco blew out his breath and leaned back in his desk chair. An idea struck him which he tried to banish, but it wouldn't let him go. Why she hadn't told Potter the truth was beyond him, but Ginny had inadvertently provided him with exactly what he needed. He could write to Potter, acting as though he were Ginny. She'd already as good as told him she wasn't going to owl Potter much herself, which left Draco the freedom to do it for her. Neither she nor Potter would ever be the wiser, and he could use their weeks apart to work this whole thing out of his system. In the meantime, he could always ask Pansy to set him up with someone else. Perhaps her husband knew some nice Muggle men who wouldn't be offended by his ugly tattoo.
The freedom in writing as Ginny was bliss. He could say whatever he wanted, and no-one would ever know those were his words. He started sending letters on a daily basis and waiting eagerly for the replies. He duplicated Ginny's writing as he'd done before and left off the signature; Harry would never know the difference. A pang of guilt niggled, but he banished it, telling himself he wasn't hurting anyone and perhaps might even be helping them.
At first, the letters were simple exchanges. Draco sent an initial letter telling Potter how much he missed his company.
Harry—
I find myself missing you. I do wish you were here instead of there. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I lie awake in bed and I imagine the sound of your voice. It surrounds me and fills me, and I feel so content, so complete. Only then can I finally close my eyes and drift off, but my dreams are still flooded with the warm tones.
The shimmering moon
and the brilliant star-lit skies
are dimmed by your love.
—Your only
After sending it, Draco panicked briefly. He'd sent the letter as though he were Ginny, which meant she was likely to receive Potter's replies. As soon as she received it she would know what he was doing. He berated himself for his foolishness and vowed not to send any more letters. The sooner he talked Pansy into finding him someone else with whom to cool his need for connection, the better.
Two mornings later, the owl that woke him up just before sunrise provided something which sorely tested his resolve. It was a letter addressed to My Only, and it had come directly to Draco's flat. At first he thought he should probably tell Ginny he had sent a letter on his own; after all, this was technically intended for her. In the end, he rationalised it by telling himself what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. He tore open the envelope and sat back down on the edge of the bed, eager to read what Potter had to say.
My Only—
I wish I were there with you, too. The first part of my trip has been attending a conference on wandmaking in the Middle Ages. It's dreadfully boring. At least I have your words to keep me company. I would rather have you here than thirty old men.
—Harry
The last part caught Draco by surprise, and he laughed out loud. The owl, still waiting patiently on the window sill, hooted indignantly and ruffled its feathers. Draco glanced over, still chuckling.
"Hang on, friend. I'll give you both a treat and a letter to return with."
He rose from the bed and rummaged in his desk for supplies then sat down to write.
Dear Harry—
I am truly sorry about the miserable old men with whom you've been forced to share space. Perhaps imagining them in just their pants will suffice to take your mind off the dull lectures. Do write back and tell me more about your adventures.
—Your Only
The next reply came to Draco's office. He was relieved to have already sent Ginny to take care of filing her report on an incident on the Tube the previous afternoon. Potter's reply had his face flaming and his stomach in knots, despite knowing Potter wasn't truly writing to him.
My Only—
I'd rather picture you in just your pants. I'm leaving Amsterdam for Beijing this afternoon. Should you reply to this letter, don't worry if I can't answer right away due to the time difference and portkey lag. I'll write back as soon as I can.
—Harry
Draco waited until he was home to respond. He was afraid someone would catch him at it, and he didn't want to take the risk given how he wanted to reply to Potter's—no, Harry's—suggestive letter. The quill shook in his hand, and he had to take several breaths before he could write.
Dearest Harry—
I'm certain you could easily imagine me in just my pants. I shall be doing the same with you, of course. I suggest you wait until you're quite alone to do so. Unlike you, I possess enough self-control to wait until I am not at work.
—Your Only
My Only—
Perhaps unlike you, I have the self-control to keep my thoughts well enough hidden at work. I've taken your advice, though, and waited until I'm in the privacy of the Muggle hotel where I'm staying. I can't help thinking about how good it will be to see you when I return, provided you're still willing to talk face to face. Some of us attended the symphony tonight, and there was a piece on the programme that reminded me of you. It's been a long time since I've seen a Wizarding performance. I'd forgotten how magic enhances the music of love.
—Harry
Harry, my love—
I wish I were there to hear was it about the piece that reminded you of me?
—Your Only
My Only—
Something in the way the music was both beautiful and sad, dark yet ending on a note of triumph. When I return, I'll find a Muggle device called a CD player for you, and you can listen to the music for yourself. It makes me want to stop holding myself back when I'm with you.
—Harry
Sweet Harry—
That sounds exquisite. When I think about seeing you again, every part of me burns with the heat of a thousand fiendfires. You are like cool water, washing over me. I long for you to hold me and bring me the relief we both crave.
Your mouth on my flesh
and your arms holding me close
make my heart feel free.
Loving embraces—
fleeting moments that feel like
A wild eternity.
—Your Only
My Only—
Gods, what you do to me. I read that, and I couldn't help the way I reacted to it. I hope that doesn't make you feel uncomfortable. It's been too long, I think, since I've had that connection with anyone. I went for a walk to clear my mind, but it didn't help. So I wrote you a letter instead, which also didn't help. I'll need to take care of it as soon as I send this.
—Harry
Harry—
No, I don't feel uncomfortable. I want you just as much. You said that magic enhances the music of love. I think it must be more than that. It's as though something bigger has taken hold in my soul, and it swells and swells until I am utterly full of it. It spills over and I am left breathless but a little empty, too, because I want us to know that joy together.
I smell sandalwood;
I press my nose to your hair.
I want to taste you.
—Your Only
My Only—
That sounds so damn good. I'm imagining the way your tongue would feel on me…on my lips, my nipples, my cock. Is that too forward? If I can't have you here with me, and I can't be there with you, then at least we can share this.
—Harry
Harry—
Not too forward. I'm breathless thinking about it. You are fortunate I wasn't at my desk when I opened the letter. If loving you in person is even half as good as what's in my mind, we may have a most difficult time leaving the bedroom long enough to work. I, at least, need to keep my employment.
Hot breath on my neck
Your body writhes against mine
I'm gasping for air.
Feverish kisses
melt everything on contact.
The breeze cools our skin.
—Your Only
My Only—
Just reading that has me on the edge. Remaining in bed with you sounds like the best plan I've heard in a while. Far more interesting than some of what I'm currently researching. We should take some time away when I return. In the meanwhile, you could tell me what you plan to do with me whilst avoiding our jobs.
—Harry
Over the course of the next two weeks, they continued to exchange letters. Sometimes light-hearted and playful, sometimes sensual and dark, Draco always looked forward to the soft tap of the owl's beak at daybreak, wondering what each letter would bring. Harry had begun including small tokens with each letter, rare gifts he procured on his travels. In his guilt, Draco set them aside in a small collection, uncertain what to do with them. He couldn't bring himself to use them, but he couldn't give them to Ginny, either—that would mean admitting what he was doing.
By this point, Draco didn't even care that their letters were becoming increasingly sensual. He could barely finish a letter without being aroused beyond the point of thinking clearly. He couldn't have stopped writing if his very life depended on it. While he mostly kept his notes to poetic references, Harry's replies grew much more vividly erotic. Each one was steamier than the previous. By the time Draco received the one in which Potter described the way he wanted to take him from behind with his hot mouth on Draco's neck and his hand stroking until Draco came, Draco knew he was absolutely gone. Instead of purging himself of his irrational crush, he'd only stoked the fire.
He re-read the letter until he was aching to the point of nearly coming in his pants then locked himself in the bath. He tried to convince himself a shower would calm him down, but instead, he took the opportunity to grip his cock with one hand while fingering himself with the other until he was grunting with a combination of relief and self-loathing. When he had painted the walls of the shower with his release, he sank down and buried his head in his arms. The water could wash away the physical evidence, but it couldn't cleanse him of the shame weighing heavily on his soul.
Somehow, Draco managed to work in between reading the letters. Unable to face Ginny properly, especially after a few of the more recent letters, he set her tasks that kept her out of his office for the better part of the day. He took different junior members of his team when called to take care of a situation and passed it off as an opportunity for more thorough training. He even managed to suffer through two evenings alone with Ron, who wasn't as unpleasant as Draco had expected. Even Draco had to admit the photographs of his older child were charming enough to keep his mind off his own troubles.
Ginny, for the most part, seemed content to do her job. She didn't press until the third week, at which point she appeared in his office first thing one morning, a thick file in hand.
"Brought you this. I'm done duplicating the plan for every member of the team we're taking to Grimm—mmph!" She stamped her foot in consternation. Draco calmly loosed her tongue, and as soon as her mouth was free, she said, "Damn it! Sorry, and thank you."
Draco waved his hand dismissively. "You're welcome." He picked up the file and began to thumb through it, waiting for her to leave.
For a few seconds, she hovered, and then she stepped in and closed the door. "Are you all right?"
He looked up. "Yes, of course." He used the file to hide the tremor in his hand.
"Right. Because you seem…I don't know. Off, I suppose. You've been a bit snappish this week." She frowned. "And last week, too, and the week before. Care to explain?"
"Not really."
She moved farther into the room and pulled out a chair. "You helped me, so it's only fair if I do the same. Is it this case? I know we have to be ready as soon as Harry's back. You don't have to take this all on yourself. I can help, you know."
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I know. This isn't your problem. Don't trouble yourself."
"If you change your mind, you know where to find me." Sighing, she stood up. With one last worried glance, she retreated from his office.