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Ha ha ha! Fic! Yes, I finished it!
Previous parts:
Inquisitorial!Draco part1
Inquisitorial!Draco part 2
Inquisitorial!Draco part 3
And finally:
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: Inquisitorial!Draco part 4, or Time for a Decision
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Why ask the boys if it's real? They would be the last to know.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. The companies that make a lot of money off of them own them, obviously.
Author's notes: Angst ahead. This is the ending I've had stuck in my mind since the very beginning and finally, after at least a year, it is done. I hope you enjoy it.
Feedback: I am a junkie, feed my addiction. I especially like constructive criticism. If you can find something wrong with one of my stories, tell me so I can fix it. Just let me know anything you think.
E-mail: Moriavis@hotmail.com
~*~
The sky should have been gray.
Harry shoved his hands into his robes and stared sightlessly at the cloudless blue sky.
Sirius was dead, and it was all his fault.
He couldn't remember how to even feel—everything was numb. He didn't understand how it had gotten so insane. He'd been doing a good thing. How had everything gotten so messed up?
He wanted—
Harry didn't know what he wanted.
Perhaps he hadn't been very close to Sirius, but Sirius was the only person who'd ever really wanted him, who was happy to be with him, and Harry had just started to know him and he was already gone. It was like a nightmare, and he wanted to wake up—he wanted Sirius to be waiting at Grimmauld Place, prancing around like an overeager puppy; he wanted to practice Occulmency, even if he had to suffer Snape again; to play Quidditch again, as he'd been prevented the entire year. But he was awake, Sirius was gone for good, and nothing else mattered.
And, god, the expression on Malfoy's face. "I'll have you, Potter, " he'd said. Not that Harry really cared, of course—it was the principle of the thing, and the frightening urge he'd felt to say, "Where do you want me?" That would have been unforgivable. He blamed it on his failed relationship with Cho, and the stupid hormones that Malfoy had been able to manipulate so easily all year.
He wished he could explain this to Ron and Hermione, the restlessness and numbness and anger. But he just had the feelings, and no words to express them. He caught sight of Ron and Hermione from the corner of his eye and wanted to hit at them, to tell them to stop being so careful around him, to stop not blaming him.
He felt he was going mad.
He found himself going back inside the castle, the sunlight feeling too cruel, too bright for his current state of mind, and he wandered through the cooler corridors, walking past the flickering torches and over the uneven stones of the floor.
They were going to be a family.
Sirius shouldn't be dead.
He turned the corner and slammed into someone, automatically grabbing for an elbow to keep the other person upright.
"I'm so--" he began to say, but then recognized the smooth blond hair, the hands currently brushing dust off robes, and, as Malfoy looked up at him, the angry gray eyes that he would never admit to thinking about. "You."
Malfoy scoffed. "How eloquent, Potter." He shook Harry's hand off of his arm.
Harry scowled, embracing the rush of anger that accompanied Malfoy's words. "Are you going to waste more of my time talking about how your poor father didn't deserve what happened to him?"
Malfoy shook his head, and took a deliberate step to Harry's right. "I'm through talking to you, Potter."
"Ah, right, I remember. 'I'll have you', isn't that what you told me? D'you think you'll actually have the guts?"
Malfoy shot him a cold look. A Ravenclaw turned the corner, blinked at them, and apparently thought it wiser to turn back the way he'd came and find another path to his destination.
Malfoy just shook his head and continued down the hallway.
Harry felt his anger flush his cheeks. It was good to feel something besides his grief. "Fight me, damn you!" he shouted at Malfoy's back. "Are you such a coward you can only threaten me when your cronies are around?"
Malfoy froze, his hands clenching into fists. Harry felt a thrill of victory at the reaction.
"That's it," Harry taunted, a smirk twisting his mouth into an unfamiliar shape. "You're afraid to face me alone."
Malfoy turned around slowly and stalked back toward Harry. "Don't call me a coward." He reached out and shoved Harry, hard.
Harry staggered back a couple of steps in surprise before he caught himself.
"You are a coward," Harry shot back, shoving Malfoy hard enough that Malfoy lost his balance and fell. "Why should I lie?"
Malfoy pulled himself to his feet. "I hate you, Potter," he said calmly, as though it had just occurred to him for the first time, but his eyes were shining with something that made Harry's chest ache. "I hate you."
Harry laughed, flexing his hands into fists. "It's mutual, Malfoy."
There was an explosion of pain, and Harry staggered back, tasting blood from a split lip. His glasses had fallen somewhere, but all he could do was stare at Malfoy in surprise. "You hit me!"
Malfoy smirked, his eyes narrowing as he shook his hand. "You're a bit slow, aren't you?"
Harry snarled, grabbing Malfoy by his robes and slamming him against the wall. Malfoy's head bounced hard on the stone and he grimaced, hooking his hands onto Harry's arms and kicking with all of his strength. A couple of those kicks connected, and Harry hissed out his pain, slamming Malfoy against the wall again as hard as he could.
Harry punched Malfoy in the stomach, pressing his advantage as Malfoy doubled over by hitting him over the head with his fist. Malfoy sank down to his knees and snarled something unintelligible, springing forward to knock Harry off of his feet.
Harry heard a crunch as he landed on his spectacles, but he spared them only a passing thought as he fended off Malfoy's attack, flailing his arms in an attempt to give him enough space to push Malfoy off and--
--and then Malfoy was close, so close Harry could see him clearly, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to uncurl his fist, slide his arm around Malfoy's neck, and pull him in.
Malfoy's mouth was warm and stung Harry's cut lip, but Harry didn't even think of letting go, opening his mouth and sliding his tongue along Malfoy's bottom lip instead. Malfoy made a strange, throaty sound and trembled. In the next moment, he'd moved off of Harry completely.
Harry let his head rest against the floor and blinked up at the ceiling as the sound of Malfoy's footsteps grew softer and softer. What just happened? he asked himself as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat up. He gathered the remains of his spectacles, smoothed down his rumpled clothes and was half way to Gryffindor tower before he admitted to himself that he didn't have an answer.
*
Harry tried to distract himself by playing Wizard's Chess with Ron, but after he made the same mistake in four different games, Ron snorted and said he was better off making up phony Divination prophecies than playing a game that required actual concentration. He tried to study Herbology with Neville, but it was only when Neville gave him a weird look that Harry realized the O.W.L.'s had already passed and there really was no reason to study anymore. When he sat down to read Quidditch Through the Ages for the eighth time and found himself reading the same line over and over again, he gave an exasperated sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face.
"Harry," Hermione said, taking a seat on the couch across from him. "You're distracted tonight."
"Really?" Harry snorted and looked up at the ceiling, working the kinks out of his neck. "I hadn't noticed."
Hermione's mouth twitched into a brief smile, and she took a deep breath. "Anything you want to talk about?"
Harry shrugged. "Not really." He glanced over at her. "Anything you want to talk about?"
Hermione squared her shoulders. "Yes, actually. Why were your glasses broken when you came to the tower earlier?"
"Oh, that." Harry picked up his book again and leafed through the pages. "Malfoy punched me."
Hermione raised a hand to her mouth. "Did you inform a professor?"
Harry laughed. "Hermione, don't you think I've got bigger things to worry about than Malfoy?"
"Yes," Hermione said simply. "I do."
Harry looked at Hermione, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.
Hermione stared back without a word.
"I'm glad we agree, then," Harry said, his skin prickling just a little in discomfort.
"Harry," Hermione said, a little reproachfully.
"What?"
Hermione stared at him for a moment longer, and then breathed out a long sigh. "It's nothing."
"Okay," Harry got out of his chair and stretched. "I'm going for a walk, then. I can't concentrate."
Harry felt her eyes on him until the Fat Lady's portrait closed behind him, and couldn't help wondering what it was she thought she knew.
*
He wasted a lot of time going nowhere.
There was still an air of celebration around the castle: the end of N.E.W.T's for the seventh years, the O.W.L.'s for the fifth years, the removal of Umbridge for the whole school. He wanted to avoid it all. Who cared about Hogwarts when Voldemort was out there planning a million ways to kill him, his godfather was dead, and he'd actually kissed Draco Malfoy?
Oh god, what was wrong with him?
He sighed, turning and letting his forehead meet the wall. This entire year had been absolutely mad, and now he was too.
A portrait to his left had dogs that were trying to sniff him curiously, and he felt such a painful longing for Sirius that his head swam.
There was the sound of quick footsteps, and Harry raised his eyes to see Draco Malfoy striding toward him, his hair slightly disheveled, two spots of pink burning high on his cheeks. For a moment, Harry thought he was going to walk right past him, but Malfoy crossed his arms and stomped to Harry's side.
Harry didn't say anything.
Malfoy fidgeted in place.
Slowly, the anger seemed to seep away; Malfoy's shoulders relaxed, his breathing slowed, his flushed cheeks returned to their normal color.
"What do you want?" Harry finally asked.
"My father is in Azkaban because of you," Malfoy answered, his voice soft and strained.
"Death Eaters—your family—killed my godfather!" Harry spat, flushing so suddenly with anger that it felt as though he had drained all of Malfoy's rage into himself. He was lightheaded, trembling with the immensity of it.
"Potter," Malfoy snarled. His arms were still crossed over his chest, but his fingertips were white where they pressed into his robes.
"Malfoy," Harry ground out.
And then one of them moved, or perhaps both of them, Harry couldn't tell—his head was spinning as Malfoy kissed him, as he pressed Malfoy roughly against the stone wall of the corridor, as they grasped robes in their fists so tightly the seams began to tear. Malfoy snagged a hand in Harry's hair, yanking his head back to bite at his throat. Harry yanked at Malfoy's shirt, freeing it from his trousers so that he could slide his hands up Malfoy's side. He dusted kisses everywhere he could reach—over Malfoy's hair and cheek and ear, and Malfoy keened, sucking at the hollow of Harry's throat, grazing his teeth over the juncture of his collarbone. Harry clutched at Malfoy; thrusting his erection (how was it possible to be so hard so fast?) against Malfoy's hip.
Malfoy gave a small grunt, keeping one hand in Harry's hair as the other tugged on the length of Harry's tie and dragged his teeth against Harry's jaw, making him stumble as his knees suddenly went weak. Malfoy continued to force Harry back, one centimeter at a time, but Harry ignored the movement, thinking that it would be much better to feel Malfoy's skin and pluck at Malfoy's mouth with his teeth and force Malfoy to make more of those strained sounds that he had made the last time they were together than to fight it.
"The door, Potter," Malfoy growled against Harry's tie, "The door!"
Harry groped at the door behind him, the knob slipping in his sweaty palm, but then Malfoy was biting at him, and the door was finally moving. Malfoy's weight made him stumble, but Harry couldn't help but snake his hands around Malfoy to feel the pull of his muscles underneath his shirt, to kiss him again and again; it seemed the best idea in the world to fall, if catching himself meant letting go.
He hit the ground with a grunt, narrowly missing biting Malfoy's tongue off. Harry could feel a growl rumbling through Malfoy before he was up, yanking Harry up by his robes, and he'd barely found his footing when Malfoy's hands were beneath his robes, shoving at Harry's sweater and the shirt beneath it. Harry felt the buttons of his shirt give way and clatter to the floor as Malfoy's cold palm pressed against his chest, nails digging painfully into flesh as Harry was spun around into the wall.
Harry grunted in surprise, trainers scuffing against the floor, and he tasted blood from where his lip had torn against the stone. Malfoy was pressed against Harry's back, warm and solid, and he was doing something to the nape of Harry's neck that made his stomach squirm in anticipation; Harry couldn't resist the urge to rub back against Malfoy, just for the sensation.
Malfoy stepped away to remove his robes, and Harry shoved away from the wall, only for Malfoy to slam him back into place. "Now, Potter," Draco said, his voice gone rough and cold, and Harry shuddered, exhaling a hiss of air as he shrugged his own robes off his shoulders. In a moment of strange lucidity, Harry realized he had lost his glasses, but then one of Malfoy's hands stroked beneath his shirt again and the other was unzipping his trousers, slipping inside to squeeze him, and all he could think about was Malfoy and the way his pulse was jumping in Malfoy's grasp. He struggled to reach back, to hold on, to press him as close as he possibly could and not think of anything but the desperate desire to touch.
Malfoy's hand was petting at Harry's chest, and Harry pulled at it, guiding Malfoy's fingers to his mouth instead so that he could suck at them, drag them against his tongue so he could feel the swirl of every fingerprint, and Malfoy breathed a low moan that Harry couldn't help but answer.
"Please," Harry whimpered around Malfoy's fingers as he pushed feverishly at his trousers, fighting a shiver as they puddled around his ankles. "Please. I want—"
Malfoy laughed against the side of Harry's neck, and Harry rubbed back against him, pre-come dripping over Malfoy's fist; he knew that he was already prepared to go over the edge, that all he needed was one more squeeze, and Malfoy wasn't moving. He was going to kill the ponce once he got off. If he ever got off. Malfoy'd better let him get off, or there would be issues to discuss after Harry had pummeled Malfoy's skull in.
Malfoy pulled his fingers from Harry's mouth with a wet pop, and he released his hold on Harry's erection, sliding a hand over his hip to keep him firmly anchored to the castle wall. Malfoy dropped his wet fingers to the curve of Harry's arse, and Harry froze.
"What're you—" Harry began, but Malfoy bit him hard on the shoulder.
"Not a word, Potter," Malfoy growled, and pressed his fingers—gently, gently, and so careful—inside. Harry inhaled sharply, brought his arm up to muffle a wince, choked out a surprised wail at the second thrust of Malfoy's fingers inside of him and came, semen jetting ropey lines over the wall and his sweater.
"Malfoy—" Harry inhaled, feeling his pulse pound in his temples, in his wrists, feeling his blood throbbing downward with each ragged breath. He wanted to lay down right there and just breathe; he couldn't imagine feeling any better than he did right then.
Later, Harry would remember that Malfoy's hand was shaking as it covered Harry's on the wall, and the way Malfoy breathed against the back of his neck, unsteady and warm; right then, however, all he thought about was how the cuff at Malfoy's wrist was still pristine, how he himself was an absolute mess, how Malfoy was going to taunt him for how quickly he'd lost control. Then Malfoy removed his fingers in an achingly slow, smooth movement, and Harry couldn't control the grunt that escaped him as Malfoy moved against him.
Cheeks burning with embarrassment, Harry spread his legs as far as he could with his trousers trapping him into position, and reached behind to grasp at Malfoy's hip and pull him in. Malfoy gasped, and Harry clenched his eyes against the pain, focusing on the hold Malfoy had on his hip, their hands against the wall, anything to stop from thinking about what he was letting Malfoy do--
Malfoy rested his head against Harry's shoulder, each thrust forcing a tiny, broken sound from his throat. Once, twice more, and it was over as Malfoy clutched Harry's hand and sobbed, the tension bleeding out of him as he rested his weight against Harry's back and eased out.
They slid slowly down the wall to the floor, hands still clasped together tightly. Malfoy made a wet, rattling sound of misery and Harry carefully, thoughtlessly, drew Malfoy's arms around him. He reached back and stroked Malfoy's hair, which was damp with sweat.
"Draco," Harry said.
Draco's arms tightened around him for one long, tantalizing moment, and he could feel it becoming clear, why he—and then Harry was shoved forward, and he hit the wall with a pained sound. Harry tried to scramble backward, but was hindered by his damned trousers, and his lip was beginning to swell, he could feel it, but more importantly—
By the time Harry managed to maneuver himself about, Draco was perfectly immaculate but for the tears dangling from his eyelashes. "You're nothing but a whore to me, Potter," Draco spat, his eyes glittering like ice, and then he was gone.
Something in Harry's chest clenched, hard and solid as though he'd swallowed a rock, and he found his hands trembling as he tried to yank up his trousers, fingers fumbling at the zipper, but he couldn't get the stupid little metal thing to do its job. Harry's stomach heaved, and he hit the floor with his fist, over and over again, gasping air as though he couldn't get enough, fighting back the urge to be sick.
There was a crunch under his hand, and he opened his eyes to find his spectacles in a mangled heap. He huffed a bemused laugh, gently wrapped his fingers around them and curled up, sucking in long, slow breaths until he no longer felt the need to cry.
*
Harry couldn't remember a time when he wanted to be away from Hogwarts so badly; the thought of going to the Dursleys' wasn't as threatening. He couldn't wait to get back—it was going to be awful, but at least it would be simple, give him time to clear his head. In a way, he was actually looking forward to the Dursleys' straightforward neglect.
And then Malfoy cornered him on the train, Crabbe and Goyle taking their normal positions behind him.
"What do you want?" Harry was too hurt, too numb to care anymore; the only thing he could think was how pathetic it was that they had to get him by himself to even pose a threat.
Draco brandished his wand, eyes glittering as he pressed the tip against Harry's throat. "I want revenge."
"Haven't you already gotten that?" Harry asked him quietly, soft enough that Crabbe and Goyle didn't pick it up. There was a flicker of something in Draco's eyes, but before another word could be spoken, the DA spilled out of compartments all around them, spells flaring.
It took less than a minute for Malfoy and his thugs to go down.
Harry blinked in the aftermath.
"No one messes with Harry, mate!" Ron announced, looking down at Malfoy with a grin as he clapped Harry on the shoulder.
Harry looked around at all of his friends and nudged Malfoy with the toe of his trainer. Malfoy began to ooze out of his robes.
Harry smiled.
*fin*
Inquisitorial!Draco part1
Inquisitorial!Draco part 2
Inquisitorial!Draco part 3
And finally:
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: Inquisitorial!Draco part 4, or Time for a Decision
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Why ask the boys if it's real? They would be the last to know.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. The companies that make a lot of money off of them own them, obviously.
Author's notes: Angst ahead. This is the ending I've had stuck in my mind since the very beginning and finally, after at least a year, it is done. I hope you enjoy it.
Feedback: I am a junkie, feed my addiction. I especially like constructive criticism. If you can find something wrong with one of my stories, tell me so I can fix it. Just let me know anything you think.
E-mail: Moriavis@hotmail.com
~*~
The sky should have been gray.
Harry shoved his hands into his robes and stared sightlessly at the cloudless blue sky.
Sirius was dead, and it was all his fault.
He couldn't remember how to even feel—everything was numb. He didn't understand how it had gotten so insane. He'd been doing a good thing. How had everything gotten so messed up?
He wanted—
Harry didn't know what he wanted.
Perhaps he hadn't been very close to Sirius, but Sirius was the only person who'd ever really wanted him, who was happy to be with him, and Harry had just started to know him and he was already gone. It was like a nightmare, and he wanted to wake up—he wanted Sirius to be waiting at Grimmauld Place, prancing around like an overeager puppy; he wanted to practice Occulmency, even if he had to suffer Snape again; to play Quidditch again, as he'd been prevented the entire year. But he was awake, Sirius was gone for good, and nothing else mattered.
And, god, the expression on Malfoy's face. "I'll have you, Potter, " he'd said. Not that Harry really cared, of course—it was the principle of the thing, and the frightening urge he'd felt to say, "Where do you want me?" That would have been unforgivable. He blamed it on his failed relationship with Cho, and the stupid hormones that Malfoy had been able to manipulate so easily all year.
He wished he could explain this to Ron and Hermione, the restlessness and numbness and anger. But he just had the feelings, and no words to express them. He caught sight of Ron and Hermione from the corner of his eye and wanted to hit at them, to tell them to stop being so careful around him, to stop not blaming him.
He felt he was going mad.
He found himself going back inside the castle, the sunlight feeling too cruel, too bright for his current state of mind, and he wandered through the cooler corridors, walking past the flickering torches and over the uneven stones of the floor.
They were going to be a family.
Sirius shouldn't be dead.
He turned the corner and slammed into someone, automatically grabbing for an elbow to keep the other person upright.
"I'm so--" he began to say, but then recognized the smooth blond hair, the hands currently brushing dust off robes, and, as Malfoy looked up at him, the angry gray eyes that he would never admit to thinking about. "You."
Malfoy scoffed. "How eloquent, Potter." He shook Harry's hand off of his arm.
Harry scowled, embracing the rush of anger that accompanied Malfoy's words. "Are you going to waste more of my time talking about how your poor father didn't deserve what happened to him?"
Malfoy shook his head, and took a deliberate step to Harry's right. "I'm through talking to you, Potter."
"Ah, right, I remember. 'I'll have you', isn't that what you told me? D'you think you'll actually have the guts?"
Malfoy shot him a cold look. A Ravenclaw turned the corner, blinked at them, and apparently thought it wiser to turn back the way he'd came and find another path to his destination.
Malfoy just shook his head and continued down the hallway.
Harry felt his anger flush his cheeks. It was good to feel something besides his grief. "Fight me, damn you!" he shouted at Malfoy's back. "Are you such a coward you can only threaten me when your cronies are around?"
Malfoy froze, his hands clenching into fists. Harry felt a thrill of victory at the reaction.
"That's it," Harry taunted, a smirk twisting his mouth into an unfamiliar shape. "You're afraid to face me alone."
Malfoy turned around slowly and stalked back toward Harry. "Don't call me a coward." He reached out and shoved Harry, hard.
Harry staggered back a couple of steps in surprise before he caught himself.
"You are a coward," Harry shot back, shoving Malfoy hard enough that Malfoy lost his balance and fell. "Why should I lie?"
Malfoy pulled himself to his feet. "I hate you, Potter," he said calmly, as though it had just occurred to him for the first time, but his eyes were shining with something that made Harry's chest ache. "I hate you."
Harry laughed, flexing his hands into fists. "It's mutual, Malfoy."
There was an explosion of pain, and Harry staggered back, tasting blood from a split lip. His glasses had fallen somewhere, but all he could do was stare at Malfoy in surprise. "You hit me!"
Malfoy smirked, his eyes narrowing as he shook his hand. "You're a bit slow, aren't you?"
Harry snarled, grabbing Malfoy by his robes and slamming him against the wall. Malfoy's head bounced hard on the stone and he grimaced, hooking his hands onto Harry's arms and kicking with all of his strength. A couple of those kicks connected, and Harry hissed out his pain, slamming Malfoy against the wall again as hard as he could.
Harry punched Malfoy in the stomach, pressing his advantage as Malfoy doubled over by hitting him over the head with his fist. Malfoy sank down to his knees and snarled something unintelligible, springing forward to knock Harry off of his feet.
Harry heard a crunch as he landed on his spectacles, but he spared them only a passing thought as he fended off Malfoy's attack, flailing his arms in an attempt to give him enough space to push Malfoy off and--
--and then Malfoy was close, so close Harry could see him clearly, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to uncurl his fist, slide his arm around Malfoy's neck, and pull him in.
Malfoy's mouth was warm and stung Harry's cut lip, but Harry didn't even think of letting go, opening his mouth and sliding his tongue along Malfoy's bottom lip instead. Malfoy made a strange, throaty sound and trembled. In the next moment, he'd moved off of Harry completely.
Harry let his head rest against the floor and blinked up at the ceiling as the sound of Malfoy's footsteps grew softer and softer. What just happened? he asked himself as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat up. He gathered the remains of his spectacles, smoothed down his rumpled clothes and was half way to Gryffindor tower before he admitted to himself that he didn't have an answer.
*
Harry tried to distract himself by playing Wizard's Chess with Ron, but after he made the same mistake in four different games, Ron snorted and said he was better off making up phony Divination prophecies than playing a game that required actual concentration. He tried to study Herbology with Neville, but it was only when Neville gave him a weird look that Harry realized the O.W.L.'s had already passed and there really was no reason to study anymore. When he sat down to read Quidditch Through the Ages for the eighth time and found himself reading the same line over and over again, he gave an exasperated sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face.
"Harry," Hermione said, taking a seat on the couch across from him. "You're distracted tonight."
"Really?" Harry snorted and looked up at the ceiling, working the kinks out of his neck. "I hadn't noticed."
Hermione's mouth twitched into a brief smile, and she took a deep breath. "Anything you want to talk about?"
Harry shrugged. "Not really." He glanced over at her. "Anything you want to talk about?"
Hermione squared her shoulders. "Yes, actually. Why were your glasses broken when you came to the tower earlier?"
"Oh, that." Harry picked up his book again and leafed through the pages. "Malfoy punched me."
Hermione raised a hand to her mouth. "Did you inform a professor?"
Harry laughed. "Hermione, don't you think I've got bigger things to worry about than Malfoy?"
"Yes," Hermione said simply. "I do."
Harry looked at Hermione, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.
Hermione stared back without a word.
"I'm glad we agree, then," Harry said, his skin prickling just a little in discomfort.
"Harry," Hermione said, a little reproachfully.
"What?"
Hermione stared at him for a moment longer, and then breathed out a long sigh. "It's nothing."
"Okay," Harry got out of his chair and stretched. "I'm going for a walk, then. I can't concentrate."
Harry felt her eyes on him until the Fat Lady's portrait closed behind him, and couldn't help wondering what it was she thought she knew.
*
He wasted a lot of time going nowhere.
There was still an air of celebration around the castle: the end of N.E.W.T's for the seventh years, the O.W.L.'s for the fifth years, the removal of Umbridge for the whole school. He wanted to avoid it all. Who cared about Hogwarts when Voldemort was out there planning a million ways to kill him, his godfather was dead, and he'd actually kissed Draco Malfoy?
Oh god, what was wrong with him?
He sighed, turning and letting his forehead meet the wall. This entire year had been absolutely mad, and now he was too.
A portrait to his left had dogs that were trying to sniff him curiously, and he felt such a painful longing for Sirius that his head swam.
There was the sound of quick footsteps, and Harry raised his eyes to see Draco Malfoy striding toward him, his hair slightly disheveled, two spots of pink burning high on his cheeks. For a moment, Harry thought he was going to walk right past him, but Malfoy crossed his arms and stomped to Harry's side.
Harry didn't say anything.
Malfoy fidgeted in place.
Slowly, the anger seemed to seep away; Malfoy's shoulders relaxed, his breathing slowed, his flushed cheeks returned to their normal color.
"What do you want?" Harry finally asked.
"My father is in Azkaban because of you," Malfoy answered, his voice soft and strained.
"Death Eaters—your family—killed my godfather!" Harry spat, flushing so suddenly with anger that it felt as though he had drained all of Malfoy's rage into himself. He was lightheaded, trembling with the immensity of it.
"Potter," Malfoy snarled. His arms were still crossed over his chest, but his fingertips were white where they pressed into his robes.
"Malfoy," Harry ground out.
And then one of them moved, or perhaps both of them, Harry couldn't tell—his head was spinning as Malfoy kissed him, as he pressed Malfoy roughly against the stone wall of the corridor, as they grasped robes in their fists so tightly the seams began to tear. Malfoy snagged a hand in Harry's hair, yanking his head back to bite at his throat. Harry yanked at Malfoy's shirt, freeing it from his trousers so that he could slide his hands up Malfoy's side. He dusted kisses everywhere he could reach—over Malfoy's hair and cheek and ear, and Malfoy keened, sucking at the hollow of Harry's throat, grazing his teeth over the juncture of his collarbone. Harry clutched at Malfoy; thrusting his erection (how was it possible to be so hard so fast?) against Malfoy's hip.
Malfoy gave a small grunt, keeping one hand in Harry's hair as the other tugged on the length of Harry's tie and dragged his teeth against Harry's jaw, making him stumble as his knees suddenly went weak. Malfoy continued to force Harry back, one centimeter at a time, but Harry ignored the movement, thinking that it would be much better to feel Malfoy's skin and pluck at Malfoy's mouth with his teeth and force Malfoy to make more of those strained sounds that he had made the last time they were together than to fight it.
"The door, Potter," Malfoy growled against Harry's tie, "The door!"
Harry groped at the door behind him, the knob slipping in his sweaty palm, but then Malfoy was biting at him, and the door was finally moving. Malfoy's weight made him stumble, but Harry couldn't help but snake his hands around Malfoy to feel the pull of his muscles underneath his shirt, to kiss him again and again; it seemed the best idea in the world to fall, if catching himself meant letting go.
He hit the ground with a grunt, narrowly missing biting Malfoy's tongue off. Harry could feel a growl rumbling through Malfoy before he was up, yanking Harry up by his robes, and he'd barely found his footing when Malfoy's hands were beneath his robes, shoving at Harry's sweater and the shirt beneath it. Harry felt the buttons of his shirt give way and clatter to the floor as Malfoy's cold palm pressed against his chest, nails digging painfully into flesh as Harry was spun around into the wall.
Harry grunted in surprise, trainers scuffing against the floor, and he tasted blood from where his lip had torn against the stone. Malfoy was pressed against Harry's back, warm and solid, and he was doing something to the nape of Harry's neck that made his stomach squirm in anticipation; Harry couldn't resist the urge to rub back against Malfoy, just for the sensation.
Malfoy stepped away to remove his robes, and Harry shoved away from the wall, only for Malfoy to slam him back into place. "Now, Potter," Draco said, his voice gone rough and cold, and Harry shuddered, exhaling a hiss of air as he shrugged his own robes off his shoulders. In a moment of strange lucidity, Harry realized he had lost his glasses, but then one of Malfoy's hands stroked beneath his shirt again and the other was unzipping his trousers, slipping inside to squeeze him, and all he could think about was Malfoy and the way his pulse was jumping in Malfoy's grasp. He struggled to reach back, to hold on, to press him as close as he possibly could and not think of anything but the desperate desire to touch.
Malfoy's hand was petting at Harry's chest, and Harry pulled at it, guiding Malfoy's fingers to his mouth instead so that he could suck at them, drag them against his tongue so he could feel the swirl of every fingerprint, and Malfoy breathed a low moan that Harry couldn't help but answer.
"Please," Harry whimpered around Malfoy's fingers as he pushed feverishly at his trousers, fighting a shiver as they puddled around his ankles. "Please. I want—"
Malfoy laughed against the side of Harry's neck, and Harry rubbed back against him, pre-come dripping over Malfoy's fist; he knew that he was already prepared to go over the edge, that all he needed was one more squeeze, and Malfoy wasn't moving. He was going to kill the ponce once he got off. If he ever got off. Malfoy'd better let him get off, or there would be issues to discuss after Harry had pummeled Malfoy's skull in.
Malfoy pulled his fingers from Harry's mouth with a wet pop, and he released his hold on Harry's erection, sliding a hand over his hip to keep him firmly anchored to the castle wall. Malfoy dropped his wet fingers to the curve of Harry's arse, and Harry froze.
"What're you—" Harry began, but Malfoy bit him hard on the shoulder.
"Not a word, Potter," Malfoy growled, and pressed his fingers—gently, gently, and so careful—inside. Harry inhaled sharply, brought his arm up to muffle a wince, choked out a surprised wail at the second thrust of Malfoy's fingers inside of him and came, semen jetting ropey lines over the wall and his sweater.
"Malfoy—" Harry inhaled, feeling his pulse pound in his temples, in his wrists, feeling his blood throbbing downward with each ragged breath. He wanted to lay down right there and just breathe; he couldn't imagine feeling any better than he did right then.
Later, Harry would remember that Malfoy's hand was shaking as it covered Harry's on the wall, and the way Malfoy breathed against the back of his neck, unsteady and warm; right then, however, all he thought about was how the cuff at Malfoy's wrist was still pristine, how he himself was an absolute mess, how Malfoy was going to taunt him for how quickly he'd lost control. Then Malfoy removed his fingers in an achingly slow, smooth movement, and Harry couldn't control the grunt that escaped him as Malfoy moved against him.
Cheeks burning with embarrassment, Harry spread his legs as far as he could with his trousers trapping him into position, and reached behind to grasp at Malfoy's hip and pull him in. Malfoy gasped, and Harry clenched his eyes against the pain, focusing on the hold Malfoy had on his hip, their hands against the wall, anything to stop from thinking about what he was letting Malfoy do--
Malfoy rested his head against Harry's shoulder, each thrust forcing a tiny, broken sound from his throat. Once, twice more, and it was over as Malfoy clutched Harry's hand and sobbed, the tension bleeding out of him as he rested his weight against Harry's back and eased out.
They slid slowly down the wall to the floor, hands still clasped together tightly. Malfoy made a wet, rattling sound of misery and Harry carefully, thoughtlessly, drew Malfoy's arms around him. He reached back and stroked Malfoy's hair, which was damp with sweat.
"Draco," Harry said.
Draco's arms tightened around him for one long, tantalizing moment, and he could feel it becoming clear, why he—and then Harry was shoved forward, and he hit the wall with a pained sound. Harry tried to scramble backward, but was hindered by his damned trousers, and his lip was beginning to swell, he could feel it, but more importantly—
By the time Harry managed to maneuver himself about, Draco was perfectly immaculate but for the tears dangling from his eyelashes. "You're nothing but a whore to me, Potter," Draco spat, his eyes glittering like ice, and then he was gone.
Something in Harry's chest clenched, hard and solid as though he'd swallowed a rock, and he found his hands trembling as he tried to yank up his trousers, fingers fumbling at the zipper, but he couldn't get the stupid little metal thing to do its job. Harry's stomach heaved, and he hit the floor with his fist, over and over again, gasping air as though he couldn't get enough, fighting back the urge to be sick.
There was a crunch under his hand, and he opened his eyes to find his spectacles in a mangled heap. He huffed a bemused laugh, gently wrapped his fingers around them and curled up, sucking in long, slow breaths until he no longer felt the need to cry.
*
Harry couldn't remember a time when he wanted to be away from Hogwarts so badly; the thought of going to the Dursleys' wasn't as threatening. He couldn't wait to get back—it was going to be awful, but at least it would be simple, give him time to clear his head. In a way, he was actually looking forward to the Dursleys' straightforward neglect.
And then Malfoy cornered him on the train, Crabbe and Goyle taking their normal positions behind him.
"What do you want?" Harry was too hurt, too numb to care anymore; the only thing he could think was how pathetic it was that they had to get him by himself to even pose a threat.
Draco brandished his wand, eyes glittering as he pressed the tip against Harry's throat. "I want revenge."
"Haven't you already gotten that?" Harry asked him quietly, soft enough that Crabbe and Goyle didn't pick it up. There was a flicker of something in Draco's eyes, but before another word could be spoken, the DA spilled out of compartments all around them, spells flaring.
It took less than a minute for Malfoy and his thugs to go down.
Harry blinked in the aftermath.
"No one messes with Harry, mate!" Ron announced, looking down at Malfoy with a grin as he clapped Harry on the shoulder.
Harry looked around at all of his friends and nudged Malfoy with the toe of his trainer. Malfoy began to ooze out of his robes.
Harry smiled.
*fin*
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You know, when I originally began this, it was only supposed to be one part. But then I had a flash of that moment, the exact moment when Harry almost realizes that he might possibly love him, and spent the next like, two years trying to get there. -.- I suck on actually finishing fic, because seriously. Two years? Guh.
Normally, I'm not that big a fan of OOtP, mostly because it was so unwieldy and at times really badly written. And it wasn't until writing this (and watching the movie, the movie was great) that I realized how much I liked what happened in it, how it changed everyone so much. And Draco, oh, Draco. When I originally fell into fandom, I liked the more mature look at him, where he inevitably discovers which side was right, and that he would, of course, join Harry in his fight against Voldemort, blah blah blah. But the longer that I write and read him, the fonder I get of the scared, boisterous boy whose feelings were hurt on that train in his first year. The one who can never seem to do anything right. The one that lets his power go to his head-- and I don't think it necessarily negates my original view of him, just makes him more nuanced. I just love him! *squishes Draco*
I had issues about the whore line, too, but my Draco!muse was all like, 'He let me fuck him up against the wall!!!' and wouldn't let me convince or substitute anything.
All the same, I'm really glad you liked it. I've been nervous about posting it, mostly because I'm a neurotic freak and think it could probably be better.
Wow, this is a long flail of love. *headdesk*
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LDKFJS OH DRACO INDEED. I do love him so terribly.
Also, as fond as I am of scrawny spidery pale sort of awkwardly pointy Draco, I loved when Harry was all helplessly like, "When did you get so hot?" :)) Hooray fic.
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I'm so happy you're back around! I'm all like, "it's
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