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I have no clue why Draco Malfoy is standing on my front steps. Well, the Dursley's front steps. If I owned front steps of my own, I still wouldn't expect Malfoy to grace them. Which makes this very surreal moment extremely confusing. Because he's here. All pale, sexy prat.
“Aren't you going to invite me in?” He asks, his eyebrow raised in his normal sardonic expression like he's not on my stoop in the middle of summer.
“Fuck no.” If Vernon sees him, life is going to go to shit really fucking quick. I might not look like magic, but Malfoy does. All the time. I don't think I've ever looked at him and not thought he was otherworldly. Even here in my boring as fuck neighborhood, he's a damn hunky prince, flesh beyond glowing pale, silky white-blond hair drifting sexily into his shining silver eyes, lips lush, and red, and terribly tempting. No, he is not coming into my house.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair and glancing behind him. He's got nice, broad shoulders and I can't help staring at them. “Potter, I need to talk to you and I can't do it out on the fucking street. This is important.”
Oh, I'm sure it fucking is. He's at the Dursleys, on my steps, dressed suspiciously like a muggle. I say suspiciously, because Malfoy should know how to dress like a muggle, seeing as he attends school with plenty of muggleborns. But he's managed to turn jeans and a t-shirt into something exotic. No joke. He's in tight dark jeans ripped stylishly, tucked into buttery tall black leather boots. His t-shirt is tight, with a picture of—Yup, you guessed it—fucking Merlin, name and everything written in script. He looks like some sort of rock star, or model, or just Draco Malfoy. Hot. That's his default. And prat, but that goes without saying.
I, naturally, feel like a goddamn pauper next to him. It's actually really fucking annoying to get up ridiculously early in the morning in the middle of summer to have to feel like a pauper at your own front door. He's not mentioning it, but he keeps staring at my bare chest—It's really fucking early. Like, fast asleep, worried Vernon is going to come hollering down the stairs for breakfast and work soon, early. I'm apparently under-dressed. Too fucking bad.
“Listen, Malfoy, I don't know what the hell you want but you're not coming in here. My relatives are annoying enough without bringing a wizard into the house.”
He blinks at that, his crystal gray eyes focusing behind me, taking in the wall with the family portraits I'm not included in, the tacky paintings of flowers, mail piled up to the side and Aunt Petunia's pristine floor. He huffs after a moment, meeting my eye again. “I don't see anyone else.”
“They're asleep. The thing I was doing—Do you even realize what time it is?” Dawn has only just hit the sky, turning his hair near gold in the morning light. He looks angelic, the damn bastard.
“I need to talk to you,” he repeats, staring me down like he's offering some fucking solution to our standoff.
God, he's annoying. I thought I had gotten rid of him for a summer, at least. “Wait here.” I shut the door in his face, turning and walking up the stairs to my small room.
I glare at my bureau, then at my mirror. Everything I have is going to look like shit next to him. It's like a goddamn curse. I could suddenly become the neatest, most fashion forward guy out there, but next to Malfoy I'll still look like a homeless person. Fucking prat.
I throw on jeans that actually fit, having gone shopping weeks ago once returning to the Dursleys. Fucking Merlin t-shirt... Where the hell did he find that? I want that shirt. It's not fair that he can get a damn Merlin t-shirt when he never wears t-shirts. Grumbling under my breath, I pull out a black NIN tee—because it's fucking classic, thank you very much—and pick up my sneakers. Aunt Petunia throws a hissy every time I walk in the house in shoes. Even with her asleep, I'm not risking it.
He scowls when I open the door, like he's been waiting for hours and not less than three minutes. I ignore him, locking the door behind me, clipping my keys to my belt loop and sitting on the cement stairs to pull my socks and shoes on. I run my hand down my face, trying to get the lingering sleep out of my eyes. Nightmares again. Always nightmares. Waking up to him shooting sparks at my window sure as fuck didn't help anything.
“Is anyone dead?” I look up at him, watching his face carefully. Nothing. He's gotten better at hiding shit. If I piss him off enough, he'll probably crack. But I don't know if I want to play that game so early in the morning.
I stand, starting down the stairs. He follows after hesitantly, glancing back at the Dursleys like it's the one place he wants to be. “Potter, I need to...”
Yes, yes, talk to me. “Coffee,” I grunt. “There's a place down the street. And my relatives won't throw me out on my ass for bringing unsavory characters home.”
“Unsavory?” He huffs, catching up to me, mild annoyance flashing in his eyes. “People love me, Potter. Mothers think I'm the fucking 'cat's meow.' Their words, not mine.”
It's way too early. He's also apparently a morning person. Of course. “My relatives are scared shitless of magic. That includes the people that wield it. They will not like you. They will bitch me out for you showing up. They will be reminded that I possess magic, and they will again question if I really should be under the same roof as them.” I don't bother pointing out that he's a total prat, and even if mothers like him, I find him annoying as fuck.
He falls silent, his lips taking on a tense edge. Anxiety, maybe. Anger. I really need to stop looking at his mouth.
It's less than twenty minutes to the convenience store. For whatever reason, he doesn't say anything. He's not looking around, so I don't think he's worried about being followed. I don't know. I still don't know why the fuck he's here and if I really care. The air still has that chill dew to it, and I turn my face up to the sun when I step into the patches of light through the trees. Warmth. Light. An absence of the unceasing dark and the nightmares it contains.
He stops cold when I walk up to the glass doors to the place and they slide open automatically with a ding. Holy fuck. He's never seen—There are no words. Malfoy Manor must be located under a rock.
I let him stand there figuring out if he wants to chance the electronic doors, stepping in and heading straight to the back where there's another morning person already full of caffeine to take my order for some cavity inducing donuts and coffee flavored sugar. I find him beside me after a moment staring at the menu curiously above our heads.
“Got any cash?” I ask, trying not to smirk when he shakes his head. Rich little prat doesn't have muggle money. Of course. “Pick whatever you want. I've got it.” The girl comes over with my donuts in a bag, handing an egg on a bagel with bacon—or the damn near equivalent. It never seems like the real thing in these places, like they manage to slip some plastic in there somehow.
Malfoy orders a donut and coffee. Missy behind the counter drools. Yeah, I know. It's actually kind of refreshing. If we were in the wizarding world, that look would be directed at me just because of the scar on my forehead. Out in the muggle world, I still get that look a bit, but it's not assumed. And next to Draco Malfoy, I can disappear into obscurity among the rest of the people that don't look like sex gods. It's kind of nice.
“Is there something wrong with my clothes?” He mutters when we get outside, glaring at the people coming in that are looking him up and down. I just sip my coffee, refusing to address that fucking question ever. Maybe I could get him into my clothes if I say something. Maybe I could just get him out of his clothes.
“Malfoy, what the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, feeling it's about time to address this fucking problem and send him on his way to stop tormenting me. Seriously, it's way too fucking early. Early in the morning, early in the year—I'm not prepared for him. My brain and dick are very much fighting over how I should handle this situation. Never a good sign.
He looks around, scowling as he nearly burns his mouth on his drink. What is he, a fucking idiot? I mean really, hot coffee. Blow. Fucking wizards apparently don't know shit about anything.
“Ugh, this taste like crap.”
That he can taste it at all is amazing enough after burning his tongue. We reach the park I've been eying and I put my stuff down on the merry go round. I snag his cup from him, popping the top off. It's black. Fucking noob. I hand him mine—Ridiculous sweet shit I shouldn't be drinking anyways. I sit with my food, sinking my shoes into the sand and watching him rise to the learning curve and actually blow on his coffee before trying it this time. The boy's brilliant.
I eat my plastic egg sandwich, washing it down with the murky shit he ordered. Once the caffeine hits my system, I probably won't hate him as much. Or maybe I'll hate him more. Depends what mood he's in.
He looks up at me from his donut, his lips covered in powdered sugar. Fuck. I train my features. If he sees me laughing, he's going to wipe it away. And he cannot, ever, be allowed to do that. Fucking adorable, sexy prat.
“Why are you here? What do you want?” I wave my hand encouragingly when he doesn't seem interested in answering. I fear I might have let a smirk free. But still, he hasn't wiped it away.
“I need your help.”
Ugh, seriously? “Malfoy, it's like 5 am.”
“I didn't mean right this second. Well, sort of.” He gives me a haughty sniff, which also clues him in to the fact that he's got powdered sugar on his mouth as he coughs. Sigh. I hand him a napkin, cus he can't seem to figure out life without cleaning charms. The kid is damn hopeless in the real world.
“How did you get here?”
Right, because he lives in a wizarding household, and he can use magic when supervised. Unlike me, who has to wait for Hogwarts and a dozen teachers to hold my hand. Whatever. “How'd you find out where I live?”
He shrugs, making me immediately suspicious. Because, seriously, he shouldn't be here asking me for anything. He should be here trying to get me killed. Luring me to my doom with those really gorgeous lips and cruel eyes.
“Malfoy, I'm not helping with shit until I know how you got my info.”
Looking at me bored as fuck as he wipes his mouth, he finally answers, “Snape.”
That's a puzzler. Snape hates me. But he's also a double agent working for the Order. He could have given up my info because he thinks Malfoy's going to try to take me out and the potions master wants to see what he'll do. Or he gave it up because he thinks Malfoy needs my help. Or... “Was this information given willingly?”
“Of course.” Like I'm being a crazy, paranoid person or something.
“Let me see your arm.”
“Potter, are you fucking kidding me? I'm not a fucking Death Eater.” He looks like he's going to punch me. Good fucking luck. I glare and he eventually relents, turning his inner arm outward. “There's nothing. Happy?”
Fuck, this kid is seriously pale. I bend closer, holding his wrist as I peer. I don't trust him. For all I know he's charmed it away. I rub my hand over where the mark would be, but nothing reveals itself. No feel of magic or evil. He's chilly. And he smells really nice. I probably should let him go now.
“Where'd you get your shirt?”
Bastard. It's a really cool Merlin shirt. The beard and hair have animals hidden in it, and it clings to him, showing off his tight, toned form. Right, time to let his arm go.
I run my palm over his bicep one more time, just to be on the safe side. His skin turns slightly pink from my touch and I do it again. It totally has nothing to do with me wanting to feel his muscles flex under my hand and slowly warm up from my body heat.
“Potter, I'm not a Death Eater.”
Yeah, yet. The thing is, I can't remember ever touching Malfoy beyond the occasional fistfight. It's apparently addictive. “Let me see your other arm.”
He growls in exasperation. “Potter, they only put it one place. Part of their fucked up code.”
Yeah, he'd probably know. I hold my hand out and with a loud huff, he turns and shows me his other arm. I wonder if I ask to see his ass, if he'll let me. I bet he has a fucking perfect ass.
“Are you done, or am I going to have to strip?” He's pissed. I'm considering it. He'd look good in the morning light. Fuck, he'd look good in anything, anywhere. Does he have tan lines? Like a different shade of pale under all those clothes?
I forcefully take my hands off of him, grabbing my bag of donuts to give me something to do. “Alright, you're not a Death Eater. What the hell do you want?”
Duh. “Need a bit more than that, Malfoy. Details.”
I glance over when he doesn't say anything. He's biting his lip. It's wet, and red, and caught between his teeth. God, I want to kiss him.
“I'm in trouble,” he mumbles eventually, releasing a long sigh. “I sort of... Well, you looking for the Dark Mark might have had different results, if you get my drift. But I... I ran.”
“Holy fuck!” Whoops, might have said that out loud, given his expression.
“Snape told me you have some sort of protection from You-Know-Who. That as long as I'm in the same house as you, I'd be safe until getting to school next term. After that... Well, who the fuck knows?” He shrugs, like he's not scared out of his fucking mind.
But he is. I can see it. He's shaking.
He could be lying. It's Malfoy. He lies all the fucking time. Over everything. Just to see if he can.
“Prove it.” There's no way in fuck the Dursley are going to let me have a houseguest.
Scowling, he straightens from his slump, glaring at me. “How the fuck do you want me to prove it? Would you like a written letter from the Dark Lord himself? Dear Mr. Potter, I'm unhappy to inform you that Draco Malfoy, son to my most loyalest of servants, has pussied out after learning he's to be my sex toy. Enclosed, I have sent all of his credentials, including a record of his escape, just to set your mind at ease. Fuck you, Potter. I'm not lying.”
I must have heard that wrong. Staring into my bag of donuts, I run the words through my head, slowly sifting through. Nope, pretty sure he said sex toy. Pretty damn sure. I pull out a chocolate frosted pastry of doom and take a bite so I don't have to look at him right now. Sex toy? Voldemort can actually get it up? What is he, like a hundred now? Draco Malfoy as a sex toy...
I would definitely trade the Merlin shirt for that particular sex toy.
“So, can I stay with you?”
He could be hoping to get into my house to try and tear down the wards. He could be looking to gut me in my sleep, or drag me out into the night with Voldemort waiting outside. He could be crying right now, which I'm pretty sure he is.
Red rimmed eyes. At least he's not bawling. Fuck. Fuck my life.
“When did this happen?” I hand him my other donut. Sugar's going to help this. I'm not sure how, but I know it's true.
I give him a look, then regret it. His eyes are watery and somehow fucking extra beautiful. I look out at the field. “Just tell me everything you can.”
He takes a deep breath that sounds way too shaky. “Um, so let's see. I went home knowing this was the year. Father's been hinting, trying to feel me out on it. He knew I didn't want to do it, but, well, it's not really a choice thing.”
Pretty sure it is. You either get down on your knees and pledge your loyalty to Voldemort, or you get a wand to the head. Not a great choice, but it's a choice. I wisely keep my mouth shut.
“I found out just a few days ago...” He trails off, stretching his legs. “Bellatrix started asking me all these questions. Fucked up questions. Something you really don't want your psychotic bitch aunt to ask you.”
“Get to the point.”
“Fuck you. About sex. About what I like, what I've done already. If I can suck cock. I thought she was just fucking with my head—She's a total bitch.”
Can he suck cock? With a mouth like that...
“Then I find out that my mother's off to St. Mungo's. Just that night. The group of them had a little meeting and my mother's in the hospital, my aunt is suddenly staked out in the mansion asking me questions about cock, and my father is nowhere to be found.”
He shakes his head sharply. “He came back later that night. Hurt. Scared... Never seen him scared before. He wouldn't tell me what happened, just said You-Know-Who has an 'unhealthy interest' in me.”
Fuck, I really can't blame Voldemort. The kid's a sex god.
“My aunt doesn't leave, and suddenly my father isn't allowed to be alone with me. She's like some rabid guard dog or something. But she's fucking cackling, like all the fucking time. Saying shit like how I'm going to be sucking snake dick until I'm dead, which will be soon because of what my mother did. But I don't know what my mother did, I just know that she's in the hospital and not responsive and things are getting fucking bat-shit scary and—”
“Chill. Breathe.” The kid is freaking out. “You're in a muggle park. No Death Eaters, no bitch aunt, no snake dicks. Take a breath.”
Do snakes have dicks?
He nods frantically, tearing small pieces off his chocolate donut. His fingers are a mess and I can't stop staring at them. I want to lick them. I really want to lick them. He's worried about being raped and killed by Voldemort, and I can't stop thinking about sex whenever I look at him. There's something fucked up with me. But it's early. Like morning wood, early.
He takes a huge breath, then another. His knee starts bouncing, shaking the damn merry go round and vibrating through my ass until all I can think about is him fucking me. There is no way he can stay with me. Maybe the Weasleys have a room. I'm going to do something stupid if he's around me all the time. I know it. No classmates or house fidelity to keep me thinking straight. I get fucked up in the head whenever I'm at the Dursleys as it is. He really shouldn't be around for that.
He continues, his voice empty, nearly numb. “My dad leaves me a portkey with a note to dress muggle. It dumps me in this back alley. Snape's there. He's blunt. My mother fucked up and my family will pay. You-Know-Who is going to ruin me, and it will be public. If I'm as loyal as fuck, he might let me live, but I'm still going to be screaming for years. Running will get me killed once I'm caught, and I'll probably be caught. But seriously, Potter? Much as I don't want to die, I don't want the fucker touching me.”
I wonder if Malfoy's seen Voldemort recently. I have. The dreams. The torture he inflicts. I've yet to see the guy ass rape someone, but I totally believe he'd do it. Even if he can't get it up, I'm sure he'd have something handy to do the job for him. Voldemort likes to improvise.
“Snape tells me your location. Warns me that... Well, you're going to be difficult as fuck.” He's looking at me but I refuse to rise to the bait. “Says you won't trust me. But that I'm going to have to do whatever I can, because you're the only one with a house warded against You-Know-Who. I guess it's a big fucking deal.”
It might be. I hate the Dursleys and I can't stop the dreams, even at their place, but I don't have to worry about Voldemort walking through the front door. It's something.
I look up as he stands. He moves in front of me, replacing my view of the quiet field, back lighting him in that fucking angelic light again. His eyes are still red, despair clear on his beautiful features. Seriously, fuck my life.
“So I'm here. Willing to do whatever the fuck it takes, Potter. I have nowhere else to go. Nowhere safe from him. He's probably going to kill my parents. Definitely my mother, if she's not dead already. I promise I won't be an asshole—Fuck, I won't say shit to you if that helps. I can, I don't know, clean or some shit. Whatever the fuck you want. I just really don't want to die.”
Would he fit in the cupboard? Could I hide Draco Malfoy in the cupboard under the stairs? He's taller than me now. I have the invisibility cloak. If Petunia gives me shit, I can always just hide him under the cloak... for a month. Huh.
Seriously? I'm actually considering this? I need to get in contact with Ron and find out if Narcissa Malfoy is actually in St. Mungo's. There's no way Snape will talk to me; it would jeopardize his spy status and his life. If I get an owl out now, Ron will likely answer it by, oh, ten or eleven, depending on when he wakes up. God I wish wizards would suck it up and get some fucking telephones. I think the Amish have more tech than they do.
He's still staring at me, hope and fear in his eyes. Crap. “Sit down, Malfoy.” Vernon will be off to work in less than an hour. I'd rather talk to Petunia without the blustering bastard interrupting. And if she says no, well, there's always the cloak. And the cupboard. Just don't think he'll fit.
Mothers do love Malfoy. It's bizarre as fuck. I walk in the kitchen with him in tow and Petunia, usually frosty eyed and stiff, smiles like the sun. Wow. She doesn't even say anything about him wearing boots in the house.
My goal is to play the guilt angle. Let her see his hunky face, mention the fact that he's got nowhere to go but plenty of cash to pay for room and board once we get his galleons switched over to something actually useful to muggles. I won't mention killer wizards unless things go bad. She's terrified of Voldemort. She was terrified of Lily and James, and when something bigger and badder killed them, she got even more afraid. I sometimes wonder if she had a nervous breakdown when it all happened. They don't talk about it, but she seems like the type.
“Aunt Petunia, I'd like you to meet my... friend.” Yeah, that sounds weird. “Drake.” He gives me a look I refuse to acknowledge. His name is way too wizard for the Dursleys.
Petunia actually steps around me to shake his hand. Like he's a person. I can't even imagine what the fuck that's like. Pretty people get everything, I guess. “I didn't think you had any friends.”
He smiles at me, 100 volts of snickering prat. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Petunia—Do you mind if I call you Petunia? It's a lovely name.” Gag me.
“Petunia is perfectly acceptable, dear. Have you had breakfast? I was just about to whip something up for my Dudley. I'd be more than happy to make you something as well.”
I stand back and watch the magic of Draco Malfoy charming my aunt. It's disgusting. He's amazing.
“Boy, did you want something?” Yup, I'm still 'boy.' But hey, a lot less frost than normal.
“I'm fine, Aunt Petunia. Thank you.” She gives me a look when I thank her. She knows something's up. No point drawing it out. “I have a request. A favor.”
She turns to the stove, pointedly cooking and not looking at me. Off to a great start.
“Drake needs a place to stay for a few weeks. He can pay his way, he's more than happy to, but it won't be until right before school. His mother became really ill, and his dad works all day and spends his nights at the hospital by her side.”
She turns at that, sympathy flashing in her eyes as she looks at Draco. He gives her a crooked, hanging in there smile tinged with sorrow. My god, he's good. I'm feeling totally played right now. If his eyes start watering, I'm going to know he was lying to me. I think.
“I understand it's short notice. Pot—Harry always said if I ever need a helping hand, he lives with good people with strong values. He even told me how you've been trying to help him. Straighten him out a bit. Keep him out of trouble. I daresay you have your work cut out for you.”
I should just go hang myself. My fucking rival of seven years, and angry aunt of forever talking about straightening me out. And they don't mean the gay. I don't think they mean the gay. It's not something that's really come up in conversation because I don't converse with these people. Ever.
“I'm afraid we don't have much room.” Holy hell, she's considering it.
Malfoy shoots a look my way, raising his brows like I'm supposed to jump in here. We could throw him in the bathroom. He could curl up in the bathtub and pull the shower curtain around for privacy. I'm sure it'll be fine.
“He'll bunk with me. I have that old sleeping bag.”
“Oh, but he's so delicate. He can't sleep on the floor. There's hardly any room in there to begin with.”
Seriously? She just spent five minutes with him and she's already giving him my bed. Talk about chopped liver. “I can take the floor,” I grunt, folding my arms over my chest. He flashes me a surprised look I also choose to ignore. I'm shorter—I'll be more likely to fit. And fuck, if it gets too weird, I can always try the fucking cupboard.
“Your bed's so lumpy, though.”
Fucking hell! If she buys him a new bed while I've been sleeping on that crap mattress for years—
“I'm sure it will be fine, Petunia. I'm just glad to not have to be home alone at night. I worry, and with my mother off in the hospital...” He gives another sad, surviving in pain expression that brings Aunt Petunia across the room to hug him. He shoots me a smug smile while I flip him off behind her back. Fucking deceitful little prat. Total skill.
“Oh, you're all skin and bones! How long have you been without a proper home-cooked meal? I'm going to take care of that right away.” Malfoy is not skin and bones. He's lithe, strong muscle and damn fine bone structure. She's used to fat as fuck and she better not ruin his perfection. “You go sit out in the living room. Dudley should be down any minute. I'm sure you'll be great friends.”
I wait for him to leave, then stay to talk to her so we're clear on a few things. “He's underage and won't be performing any strangeness,” Aka, magic. “He won't be bringing anyone by, not even his parents. He's on his own. He doesn't understand everything, but he's polite, and he'll be quiet.”
“He has no bags,” she points out, like that's all she cares about when letting a wizard into her house. Fuck, he has no bags. No clothes, no things.
“I'll have to take him shopping. We can take the bus.”
“Don't be silly. Dudley's been dying to go out to the new mall. We'll make a day of it.”
My god, she really likes the prat. “Vernon isn't going to have any issue with all this?”
She waves her hand at me. “I think he'll be thrilled to have some culture in the house. It's good to know you're not completely a lost cause.”
Fucking hell. I wonder how she'd feel if she knew Malfoy had been days away from getting a tattoo on his arm symbolizing his willingness to hurt, torture, and murder any and all muggles in the name of Voldemort? Hell, she'd probably commend him for wanting to kill me. Whatever. Fucking whatever.
I find him in the living room, looking around the space curiously, only the slightest of sneers on his face. Just wait till he sees where he's sleeping. “I've gotta do some things. Feel free to look around. Television.” I point, then start up the stairs. Thirty seconds later, he's at my back.
“Potter, don't just leave me alone in all this... muggleness.”
I stop, turning on him. “Not a word you're allowed to say here. My aunt knows what you are, and god help me, she likes you enough to let you stay. But my uncle and my cousin—They can't figure it out or it all goes to shit, got it? No magic, no muggles, no talking about blood in general, or charms, spells, potions...”
“I get it,” he interrupts with a growl. “I'm not stupid.” Better. I prefer him angry to charming any fucking day.
I turn back, going to push into my room, only to pause when I hear the bathroom door open. Dudley comes hulking out, stopping cold when he catches sight of the two of us. I glare, watching his bloodshot eyes assess Malfoy, stupid running across his wide face.
“Whose the poof?”
“Lay a finger on him and I'll fucking kill you.”
Malfoy looks between the two of us, eyebrow raised inquiringly. I'm not explaining Dudley to him. There are not enough words to explain Dudley. The kid's mean, brutish, and likes to punch. I give as good as I get, but I'm not letting that shit happen to the Slytherin prince that never even saw an automatic door before. Without magic, Malfoy's damn vulnerable.
“I'm Drake,” Malfoy says, holding his hand out to Dudley. Fucking ass. Dudley stares at him like he's got five heads. Considering the kid's eyes look like he's already stoned, maybe that's what he sees.
“You fucking the freak?” Dudley asks, ignoring Malfoy's hand. “Seriously, you can do better. I could point out any bloke on the street, and they'd be better than my freak cousin.”
“Um...” Malfoy looks a bit lost. He brought it on himself, trying to make friends with Dudley.
“Hell, they don't even have to be people. I think I saw a cow the other day that would be a better choice than him. Dogs. Plenty of dogs running around the neighborhood. They're loyal. Probably drool less.”
I step into my room, determined to not get involved in the bullshit that is Dudley Dursley. I pull out some parchment, writing a note to Ron asking about Malfoy's mother. By the time I'm done and rousing Hedwig, Malfoy's back, looking at me almost sympathetically.
“Let me know if he hits you. I'll deal with it.”
“He's not going to hit me.”
Yeah, he fucking is, but I'm going to deal with it when it happens. If he wants to live in fucking fantasy land, so be it.
“I like your owl.” He steps up, reaching his hand out to gently stroke Hedwig's breast. The traitorous thing coos at him. Fuck, I am never going to be loved if I have to compete with Malfoy for affection. My bird. My unconditional love. Hedwig hoots and rubs her face into his palm. Fuck my life.
I'm being a selfish ass, and I know it. He's homeless and running from Voldemort, who has all intentions of fucking him up in more ways than one. If he wants some damn companionship from my owl, it's not the end of the world.
“We'll be going out tomorrow to get you some clothes. I'll spot you the money for now... Or whatever. I have plenty, and who the hell knows what you're situation is going to be like.”
He just nods silently, gently petting my beautiful snowy bird. They look good together. They could be related.
He looks up, meeting my eyes. “Thank you.”
Sucker punch, right to the gut. That's what I get for being nice. Genuine appreciation. It's going to be a long month.
Ron's letter is pretty damning. Narcissa's in some sort of magical coma while also in excruciating pain. She's dying. Voldemort knows his shit. Malfoy's totally screwed.
I think a part of me was hoping the kid was lying. Because, really, who wants to consider that as the truth? Fucking sick fuck Voldemort. The kid didn't even do anything; his mother did. But he's going to be the one to pay. Voldemort has transference issues. Huge ones.
“Potter, is this all you do all day?” He's sitting with Hedwig on my bureau, petting her ever since she returned. Traitor.
“Sorry, Malfoy. I didn't plan an itinerary to entertain you.” I had planned on going down to the arcade today, but I really don't want to take him along.
“Why don't you own anything? You have literally three things in this room.”
Four, if I count him. “My uncle locks my trunk up during the summer. He's scared I'm going to magic them all with my terrifying quills and ink.” I stretch my arms over my head, hitting the wall. My bed is actually really lumpy, but when someone wakes you up before dawn, you make do. I think he's getting tired of watching me nap. Really don't know what to tell him.
“Your relatives are kind of messed up.”
“Where are your glasses?”
God, does he ever shut up? “Specialist spelled my eyesight.”
“Should have done something for your hair while you were being all vain.”
Fucking hell. “It wasn't vanity, it was survival. You fight enough dark wizards, you start realizing that seeing without a flimsy pair of glasses is really fucking important.”
“Still should have done something about your hair.”
I'm going to kill him. “You ever been to an arcade?”
He looks at me, like he's not sure if he's going to sound stupid if he says the wrong thing. “No.”
“How do you feel about crowds?”
He shrugs. “I'll be fine. Less likely to be spotted.”
“Exactly.” I sit up, running a hand through my perfectly fine hair while taking the time to look him over. “Any way you can pull your jeans down over you boots?”
He looks at his boots, tracing his fingertips over the leather. “But then you won't see them.”
“That would be the point. You look like money. Fashionable money. You don't want to stick out.” Last thing I need is him getting mugged or beat up.
Huffing, he fixes his jeans. “So we're going to be around poor people?”
Fucking prat. “Normal people. People that don't spend hundreds of dollars on a pair of boots.”
“Poor people,” he insists, giving Hedwig a final ruffle.
“Whatever.” Everyone is poor compared to him. He doesn't know shit. “Try not to talk too much. I have a feeling you're going to piss a lot of people off.”
He scowls but doesn't deny it. He's an ass. He knows it.
We take the trolley, me once again paying his way. It's really fucking dumb, but I kind of like being able to buy things for him. I know, really dumb. Like retarded. Even with his boots covered, everyone stares at him. He's hot. Some chick even tried to pick him up on the trolley. His look of bored disdain was priceless. He wouldn't be caught dead talking to a muggle.
I walk him into the darkly lit building full of flashing lights, loud noises, and crowds of kids of all ages. His hand keeps gripping my arm like I'm going to disappear. “What do you think?”
“It's loud as fuck.”
It is. He's very observant. I get in line for the nearest change machine, watching him glare at everything. He looks a bit like a scared cat, not sure whether to run and hide, or scratch the fuck out of someone. I hand him a cup of quarters. Then, thinking better of it, I cover my hand over the plastic cup before he can drink from it. Fucking wizards; his parents didn't teach him any life skills.
“They go in the machines. So you can play the games.”
He looks at me like I'm the idiot. He was totally going to drink the fucking quarters. I saw it on his face. Whatever. I pull him towards a game without any lines. Simple fighter game. Boring. Skimming around, I drag him to a racer. He likes brooms; he'll like cars.
“Come on, sit. Pedal gets you moving, wheel gets you steering, and buttons shoot things.” He is beyond reluctant, but he eventually sits in the overly padded seat. I point to the slots and he keeps popping quarters until the game starts up. He's a fast learner. Swears like a trucker, but he picks it up damn fast. I watch him for a while. Once I realize I'm staring more at his face as he takes tight turns and races past other players, I figure I should probably look at something else.
“Hey, Harry!” I turn, eyes skimming through the crowd until I find him waving at me. Hello, Paul. Tall, dark, with a surfer's tan and body. This was the reason I didn't want Malfoy cramping my style today. Paul's got his friends with him; Toby and Shawn. They're not bad, just always in the way.
“Malfoy, I'll be back in a few.” I don't know if he hears me; he's really into the game. I may have started an addiction. Good. He needs something to distract him from his shit life right now.
“Didn't know if you were showing up today.” Paul slings an arm around my shoulders once I reach him, pulling me up against his side. He's lean, hard muscle, and smells like sweat. He roofs with his dad, hence the tan and the strength.
“I'm with a friend.” He gives me a surprised look. Fine, I have no muggle friends. Whatever. Paul's the closest thing, and to be honest, I don't want him for a friend. He's to make out with, not talk to. I'm not racist, I just don't know how to be around normal people and still be me. Magic is a huge part of my existence and muggles aren't ever going to be able to understand that. Especially when I have crazy evil wizards looking to kill me.
“Feel like ditching him for a bit? We can go play something, just the two of us.” His hand runs over my ass, pulling me closer against his side. Hell.
Paul's not the subtlest of guys, which is fine by me. I've been unbearable horny today, likely because of being stuck in the presence of a sex god. But shit, I can't just ditch Malfoy in some muggle arcade, even for a hand job... Mmm... Maybe a blow job. Paul's mouth is on my neck, and he's doing that thing with his tongue that says he's totally in the mood to get down on his knees.
“I shouldn't... He's new to the area—Ah fuck.” Teeth scrape my throat, the sensation going straight to my dick. Fingers tangle in my hair—my hair is fucking fine, thank you—pulling my head roughly to the side so he can bite more of my neck. It makes me dizzy. Makes me hard, which he really wants to help remedy by grinding his thigh against my erection and squeezing my ass firmly. Hell... okay... maybe just a quick...
There's a loud cough behind me, and Paul, god only knows why, takes his very nice mouth away from my neck. Groaning, I glare behind me, only to find Malfoy looking pissier than a wet bee. And seriously, why the fuck is he pissed? He's not the one being cock blocked. “What? Run out of quarters?”
“Are you honestly letting some guy feel you up in a crowd of muggles? Do you not understand the gravity of this situation? Are you taking any of this seriously?”
God, give me strength.
“Paul, give me a sec here.” I don't actually wait for his reply, untangling myself from his arm and grabbing Malfoy by the shoulder so I can drag him to a secluded area. “What the fuck do you want, Malfoy? I'm sharing my house with you. I'm giving up my bed for you—My fucking bird, apparently too. My goddamn privacy. Can I please have twenty fucking minutes to myself?”
He scowls, glaring pointedly over my shoulder where I can only assume Paul is staring at us wondering why I brought a whiny bitch with me. “You weren't by yourself, were you? How well do you even know that guy? He's covered in tattoos and has two holes in his face.”
“Eyebrow rings. Shit, Malfoy, mind your own fucking business. You shouldn't judge people by how they look.”
“Well, if you want me to judge him by how he acts, I should point out that he looked about ready to shag you in front of everyone.”
Seriously, I do not need a big brother. “Sorry to disappoint you, but that's a fucking good thing to me. He knows what he wants, and he's not afraid to go after it. Now seriously, mind your own fucking business.”
Paul's trying not to laugh in my face by the time I get back. Fuck him. Fuck them both. I'm horny as fuck and I'm not getting any. Cus Malfoy's hovering over my goddamn shoulder like he needs to protect me from the guy I've been grinding on for the last three weeks. It's bad enough dealing with Shawn and Toby, who seem determined to drag Paul to every damn game there is whenever we're trying to go at it. What the fuck is it with straight guys? Don't they like sex? Do I interrupt them when they're trying to feel up their girls? No.
Paul's suddenly on my back, hot mouth moving over my ear, hand pressing into my back pocket. “Ditch your pretty-boy guard dog and let's go somewhere alone.”
I glance over at Malfoy, who's stone faced and glaring at the nearest video game while trying to ignore the guy grinding his dick against my ass. Yeah, that's not happening. “Another time.”
“Come on, Harry. You barely come around anymore.”
Another thing I can't stand; whiny guys. I take his hand out of my pocket and step away. “Sorry, Paul, got plans today. See you around.” I tilt my head at Malfoy, who seems fucking angry and ecstatic all at once to get the fuck out of the place.
“Did you want to play anything else?” I ask, feeling a bit like an ass for ruining his first time in an arcade. We're even. He ruined any fun I was going to have.
“Fuck no. It's crowded as fuck and people kept trying to talk to me the second you left.”
I glance at him sideways. “They're not contagious, Malfoy. Just muggles. Nothing scary.”
“Fuck off, I'm not an idiot. I'm just sick of being looked at.”
Well, good luck to that, hottie. Magical people have this thing where we all kind of know when we're faced with another witch or wizard. It's a small world and if you have any proper senses, you can read the magic on another person. Because of that, we tend to not stare blatantly at the very sexy people because we know that sexy person could also hex the fuck out of us. Unfortunately, this rule does not apply to me because I'm the ex-toddler that survived the curse that put Voldemort out of commission for many a happy year. I get stared at all the time in the wizarding world. Malfoy apparently doesn't.
“We can get you a pair of sunglasses.”
He looks over at me, clearly not knowing what the fuck sunglasses are. Seriously? It's the same fucking planet. Did his parents lock him up in that manor his whole life? Rolling my eyes, I change direction, walking him to a small line of stores.
Malfoy, surprise, surprise, has an eye for accessories. He finds the hottest, most expensive sunglasses they have, and dumb ass that he is, he manages to look even sexier in them than out. But they're dark, so he's happy to not be making eye contact with all the people drooling over him. I, on the other hand, am really starting to feel frustrated as fuck. The kid is at my elbow everywhere. I can't even take a leak without him hovering. It's actually starting to make my wonder.
“Have you ever been outside on your own?”
“With muggles? God no.”
Taking in his tense jaw and undoubtedly flighty eyes under those sunglasses, I add. “How about anywhere else? Diagon Alley?”
He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Holy crap. Never? Seriously?”
“My parents are very protective.”
“Right, that's why you nearly got buggered by their boss and don't know how to work a fucking cup of coffee. They're fucking brilliant there.”
Which reminds me that his mom is likely as good as dead and who the fuck knows about Lucius. I shut my mouth.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Nice. Really fucking nice. “Care to be more specific? Or would you just prefer to hurl a list of insults at me before we reach the Dursleys?” We're right down the street. He could probably fill the void.
“That guy was sleazy looking.”
“The guy with his hand on your ass, moron.”
Again, nice. “He works for a living. Try it before you judge.”
“He looked like a thug.”
“Malfoy, your father is literally a thug. Looks don't mean shit.”
He falls silent and I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally shut him up. It's short lived. “It matters when they're touching you.”
My god, he's annoying. “Here's an idea; next time don't look. If two guys together grosses you out so much, don't fucking look at them. It's not people's fault how they look. How you talk to other people and treat them though; totally on you.”
“I'm not just talking about looks—Shit, you're dense. What kind of guy just gropes someone in the middle of a crowd? How can you let someone like that just paw you in front of everyone?”
“There you go again: 'someone like that.' Paul's an OK guy. Not a thug, that's for sure.”
“But you let him touch you. In front of people. Lots of people.”
I'm actually starting to think he's more than a little naïve. I stop walking, Malfoy nearly crashing into me before he catches himself. “Haven't you ever wanted someone so much that you don't care if other people are in the room?”
“No. I'm not some sort of heathen,” he sneers, like I've just asked if he's a muggle.
“Shit.” I'm trying really hard not to laugh here. “How many girls have you kissed?”
Holy fuck. The hunky Slytherin prince hasn't been kissed. No wonder he has a fucking opinion about everything. “Here's the deal, Malfoy. I'll pretend to give a fuck about your opinion on my choice of guys once you've actually kissed someone. Till then, bugger off.”
His glare is fucking perfect. I think it's the first time I've won an argument with him. It almost makes up for the Paul fiasco.
Malfoy spoke about five sentences of something I like to refer to as Wall Street mumbo jumbo, and Uncle Vernon became his best fucking friend. It's disgusting. If I didn't know the kid wasn't allowed to do magic, I’d swear he was entrancing them or something. That said, that he can have so many people eating out of the palm of his hand, yet still infuriate the fuck out of me is rather amazing.
Dinner was oddly talkative, Vernon and Malfoy in a heated discussion about numbers that I don't care to learn a thing about. Stocks, bonds, whatever. Uncle Vernon actually pats me on the shoulder as he leaves for the living room because he's glad Malfoy's there. Bizarre. Malfoy watches TV with the family for a bit, and I escape to my room to finally get some fucking alone time.
A whole day stuck with Malfoy and not once did I get a chance to wank. Talk about torture. That he's apparently naïve as fuck doesn't help anything. Because maybe he might have been conscientious if he understood just how hot he was. But no, he was practically clinging to me half the day, like Death Eaters were going to jump us or some shit. Or maybe he's just really afraid of muggles. People seem to scare him. Like overwhelm him to the point of becoming defensive and clingy all at once. Maybe that's why he always kept Crabbe and Goyle around—A human buffer.
Whatever. I really don't want to be thinking about him while touching myself. I have to share a fucking room with him. Closet—it's a really small room. Making things any more awkward is just going to be miserable.
He has a really nice mouth. That crack about cock sucking this morning has been spinning in my head all day. He doesn't ever shut up once he starts talking, and doesn't that just solve everything if he's on his knees full of dick? Hell... Wasn't supposed to think of that... Oh, but it's a nice thought. It really is...
Messing up his perfect hair with my hands, holding his head tight and still as he opens those pouty lips of his for my cock. It could be his first kiss... Bad, Potter. Very bad... But yeah, it could be.
I wonder if he'd swallow... Mmm, maybe just let it dribble out those red lips of his, down his chin, onto his throat. The kid is smoking hot.
I buck into my hand, biting my lip to keep from crying out. Fuck. It's not the first time I've come thinking of him. But it is the first time we're sharing space. Whatever. Whatever gets me through this.
I'm actually really disappointed to discover he hasn't even kissed anyone. It ruins my fantasy of him losing his shit, throwing me down and fucking me senseless. Oh, I'm sure he'll ruin plenty of other things for me before he's back to school, but this one was sort of special to me. Whether he's gay or straight doesn't seem to matter, just as long as he knows how to use his equipment. Damn.
I clean myself up with tissues, make the bed so it doesn't look like I just jerked off on it, and then unroll the worn sleeping bag that's been tucked under the bed for ages. It smells like dust and barely clears the space between the nightstand and the door. Hopefully he won't step on me if he tries to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It's seriously cramped.
I'm stripping to my boxer briefs when he knocks, and I have one of those oh shit moments. Am I going to have to wear pajamas? No AC, middle of summer, and I need to cover myself up for his modesty? This is getting annoying.
Fuck it. I'm not doing it. He's lived in a dorm for five years. I'm sure he's seen worse. I unlock the door, turning so I don't have to see his expression and sit down on the sleeping bag. It does nothing to soften the absolute hardness of the floor. I really wasn't expecting it to, but I had hoped.
“Oh, you're seriously going to sleep on the floor? I wasn't really going to kick you out of your bed.”
Right. “I'm tired, Malfoy. I was up too early. So if you don't mind...” I lay out, wiggling down into the sleek material and fold my hands under my head. I've slept in worse for much longer, and yeah, I do mean the cupboard.
“Oh... Alright.” He carefully steps over me and sits on the bed. Closing my eyes, I hear him pulling off his boots, the sound strangely sensual to my very messed up senses.
I've never had anyone else in my room. It's intimate. Disruptive. His t-shirt is next, the sound of soft fabric moving over firm skin as he shifts on the bed. I almost expect him to sleep with his jeans on, then I hear the zipper and every nerve in my body sparks. So fucking glad I jerked off earlier or I would be standing at attention right now from that one sound. Or any of the ones that follow as he stands and pushes his tight jeans down his hips, thighs, then kicks them off the rest of the way. Then he folds them, and puts them with his shirt before settling on the bed.
“How do I make the light dim?”
And the moment is broken. He has no fucking idea how to work a light switch. Nothing sexy about that. I know he's smart, I do, but it's really hard to remember when he can't figure out simple shit. I sit up, standing to reach the switch by the door.
“Light switch. Two settings. Up is on. Down is off.” I glance at him to make sure he gets it, only to really wish I hadn't. Black briefs that cling and the rest is all pale, long muscle, eyes gleaming silver and heavy with sleep. He's sprawled on the bed like he belongs there. My bed. And hell, I really want him to belong there.
“You have to walk in the dark to get to bed? Isn't that counterproductive?”
“Amazingly enough, I manage the three steps.” I flip the switch so I don't have to look at him anymore. I regret that as well, but I leave the light off and sink back onto the sleeping bag.
“It's really dark.”
“Sorry, I'm not the night light type.”
Sigh. Is he going to talk all night? “It's a dim light you plug in. Usually for little kids. The Dursleys keep one in the kitchen so you don't hurt yourself if you get up to grab a snack in the middle of the night.” Dudley had taken a spill once years ago when sneaking food.
“Oh... Think you'd want to get one?”
I know I shouldn't say it, but I'm feeling really cranky right now, his voice hovering fairly close above my head, just the bed height away. “You afraid of the dark, Malfoy?”
“No. I'm afraid of not seeing whatever is hunting me in the dark.”
Touché. I get up, again, and slip out into the hall, padding to the kitchen. Dudley can manage to work a damn light switch at his age. I unplug the night light, ignoring the burn as I make my way back. I hesitate in the doorway, not sure if I really want to go back in there and feel suffocated in that small space with him, where his breath is right in my ear, every movement he makes on the bed almost on top of me.
I push open the door and close it behind me. There's only one wall outlet in the room and I run my hands down the side of the wall where I know it is, fingers brushing over the plastic casing. Once it's plugged in and switched on, I crawl back onto the sleeping bag, trying to ignore the way shadows have now taken over the room, rising tall and intimidating on the walls.
I grunt something to acknowledge I heard him, then turn to my side, facing away from the bed. I can still hear him, his breath too loud. Even with my eyes closed, I can see him. Long, glowingly pale, eyes heavy with more than just sleep. Floating just above me, stretched out, releasing soft sighs. It takes forever to fall asleep, and I think even longer for him.
“Shit, what is it? What's wrong?”
I fight the cold terror clawing up my chest as I watch Voldemort torture the remaining life out of what is no longer anything recognizable as human. The terror unfortunately claws back. I grab the offender, hissing when my wrist is twisted and pinned to the floor.
“Potter, snap the fuck out of it!”
“Shit—What the fuck?” I yelp, very much awake, my shoulder stinging from where Malfoy smacked me.
“You were screaming. I thought you were being murdered.” He releases my wrist to cover his face with his hands. He's crouched on the floor, feet just brushing my right hip as he sits back and slumps against the side of the bed. “Fuck, you scared the fucking life out of me. Fuck.”
Blinking at his dim features in the warm glow of the night light, I relax back to the floor, letting the fear slowly drain from my body as I try to collect my wits. “Sorry. I don't sleep much. He... he likes to pump visions into my brain when my guard is down.”
Pushing his bangs back from his face and gripping his hair, Draco sighs another weary sigh. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Snakeface. He uses my scar to feed shit into my head.” Once the words are out of my mouth, I immediately wish I could take them back. Malfoy's spent a lifetime finding out anything he can about me and twisting it to sound the worst among our peers. I really shouldn't be handing him information where it's clear I'm fucking crazy.
“You're telling me You-Know-Who tortures you in your sleep? Every night?”
Fuck, he sounds scared. “Yes. But It's not me. It's other people he's hurting.”
“Real people? Did you see... Did he show you stuff he's doing this very night?”
God, I'm like the biggest ass. “I don't know. I didn't see your mom, if that's what you're wondering. Or your dad.”
It is, and he gives another heavy sigh, rubbing his temples, his hair a perfect mess. His legs seem extra long from this angle, his calves strong, thighs muscular.
“Sorry I woke you. I'm used to having silencing spells for when I'm in the dorm.”
“Shit, don't your relatives say anything?” He fans his fingers out over his face, eyes meeting mine through the opening. “How are they not knocking down the door right now to make sure you're okay?”
Yeah, he's more than a little naïve. “They don't care, Malfoy. They all wear earplugs so they don't have to hear me. They're probably hoping one day they're going to wake up and I'll really be dead. Go to bed and stop asking so many damn questions.”
“Damn, you're a surly bastard. Are you going to be pissed off at me the whole time?”
Probably. He's hot as fuck, in my personal space, and I can't touch him. Yeah, I'm going to be fucking grumpy as hell. “Go to bed.”
Petulant prat. “What, you want to sleep on the floor?”
I open my eyes, finding him biting his lip while studying my face. “You freaked?”
He nods, another sigh escaping him. “Will you just... just talk to me for a bit? My heart is racing and the night just feels alive with terrible things right now and I keep wondering about my parents and if they're...”
I hold up my hand, my arm feeling heavy with sleep. “I get it. But let's talk about something that's going to calm you down, not freak you out more.”
“Kay... What do you want to talk about?”
“Nothing, I want to go back to sleep,” I say bluntly. “You pick.”
“Oh. Alright.” He tilts his head back on the side of the bed, closing his eyes, arms resting on his knees. I close my eyes, hoping he'll talk himself to sleep without needing me to answer. I don't get much sleep, pretty much ever, and my body fights for it when it's available.
“Tell me about your boyfriend.”
I snort sleepily. Fucking prat just won't let it die. “Paul's not my boyfriend. I don't think we've ever had a full conversation.”
“Oh... So do you do that with a lot of guys? Just, what, casually...”
“If you're asking if I'm a slut, no. I'm very selective in who I let touch me.”
“Can't really tell... Unless you like ruffians covered in tats and piercings. You probably do. You have terrible taste in lots of other things as well.”
Probably. Compared to him, I'm always a mess. “Fine. You tell me what kind of guy I should like.”
“Hmm... That's a good one. Well, for starters, someone you want to actually talk to. A wizard, naturally.”
“No? You have to date a wizard, Potter, you can't just date some clueless muggle. What the hell are they going to say when you start sparking in the middle of the night, screaming about all the blood?”
That makes me open my eyes. “I was sparking?”
He nods, blinking at me sleepily. “Green. Scared the shit out of me. You can't do that to a muggle. It's plain cruel.”
It's really difficult to look away from his face. When he's tired, his guard is down. Nearly sweet looking. “I'll sleep in a different room. Wouldn't be right to put anyone through that.”
“That's dumb. You'd have to walk all the way to the other room just to be cuddled. Or you'd make him have to walk all the way to you through the dark to check up on you.”
Like I want to be cuddled? “Not if I put up a silencing spell. He'll never know I'm—”
“You're messed up. Why the hell wouldn't you want your boyfriend to wake you up and hold you after dreaming fucking terrible things in your sleep? Why the hell do you always want to be alone all the time? I'm always alone when I come home for the summer, and I hate it. People make things better. Alive.”
The sound of his voice is lulling me to sleep, but it's a question I really can't ignore. “Life is pain... The less pain at this point, the better.”
He's quiet. I think I may have fallen asleep because when he does speak, it seems far away. “How long have you been having those nightmares?”
“Long... Three years... Four.”
“That's fucked up, Potter.”
It sucks, that's for sure.
My silent reply is completely ignored. “You need to date someone that won't let you be alone.”
I like being alone.
“Someone that can challenge you. Not just feel you up in some crowded room. You can totally do better,” he mutters.
I don't want to do better.
“Someone that can appreciate just how much you sacrifice... Really, you give too much. All the time... and you won't ever accept anything in return... I mean, the world is waiting for you to either win or die at his hands, and you sleep on a lumpy mattress. Tonight the floor, for someone you can't stand.”
I can stand him... I really can.
“You let me rip on your shitty boyfriend and your stuff and your hair... and pretty much anything that pops in my head at the time cus I just have to fucking talk so I don't think about shit. And you still sleep on the fucking floor even though you get terrible nightmares and probably can't sleep even more... You even got me that light that probably keeps you up... Hell, me talking probably keeps you up... You're fucking amazing. Seriously.”
I'm pretty sure I'm asleep. His hand on my cheek feels cool, fingers brushing lightly over my features. A thumb presses into my scar, running up the length of it and then slowly down, repeating in slow swipes.
“Sweet dreams, Harry.”
Yeah, I'm definitely dreaming.
I'm taken up jogging. Starting this morning and probably lasting until I don't have to share a room with Malfoy anymore. Waking up rock hard listening to him breathe nearly in my ear, his arm hanging over the side of the bed with fingers brushing my chest is great motivation. This is going to kill me. Being around him all the fucking time is definitely going to kill me. Running is going to be the escape I need.
It's the same time of morning as yesterday, dawn just deciding to steal the chill from the air as I step out in sweats and a t-shirt. I keep my head down as I go, fairly new sneakers already scuffed by my time spent at the gym. I renewed my membership to the place three blocks away when I returned to the Dursleys this summer. I go there about three times a week. To lift. To convince myself that a couple extra pounds of muscle might make the difference between living and dying if someone manages to hit me with another killing curse. It gives me something to do besides watch my gray hairs grow in from all the fucking stress I live with. Also gives me something to look at—Not a ton of guys go to the gym when I do, but a few are built and worth looking at.
Every time I think of turning back and getting some damn breakfast in me, the image of him sprawled on my bed hits me. I pick up speed, run till my muscles are screaming at me, heat roiling off my thighs, sweat drenching my clothes. Can't escape it. He's in my fucking head—In my bed—and I can't escape him.
I stretch on aunt Petunia's little white picket fence, trying to get the pain I've inflicted out of my tight limbs. The stretch and heat feel good. Too good. Him touching me good. Second day. Second day and I'm already a fucking mess. Sleep was supposed to help, energize me enough to see things proper. But in the same way I woke up yesterday, gasping from those damn sparks hitting my window, today I'm just fucking sparking from his warm fingers curled ever so lightly on my chest. Second day.
“You're up?” I am, but from out of Vernon's mouth it's definitely a question.
“Jogging.” I open the refrigerator, ignoring my sweat and likely funk to get some orange juice. No donuts today. I want a fucking donut but sugar is not going to help this problem. Pain and exhaustion are the only things—And a cold shower. I should go take one of those too. Hopefully he's awake now and not in my bed.
“Petunia says we're seeing the new mall today. I hope you're going to be respectful. It would be a pity to embarrass that proper friend of yours.”
“Yes, Uncle Vernon. I'll be a perfect saint.” That Vernon doesn't know my Saint Potter reputation makes it mildly amusing. Because the idea of having to be respectful for the prat sleeping in my bed is just ludicrous. Death Eater. He was going to be a Death Eater.
Sure, they would have killed him if he refused... But I really can't think like that. Desperate people do desperate fucking things. Like attempt to kill me. Repeatedly. He hasn't tried it yet, but I'm starting to wonder if this is his plan. Distract me constantly with his hotness until I die of a heart attack... or fall down an open manhole or something while looking at him. I look at him too much. I think about looking at him too much. I really need a shower.
I rinse my glass and place it upside down on the counter, walking past Vernon and his newspaper. The halls empty, but the bathroom isn't. Aunt Petunia usually doesn't take long—She's a no frills sort of woman. Except with the decorating. She likes lace. Curtains, table clothes. No ruffles, thank god.
Naturally, it's not Petunia. It's him, nearly jumping a foot when he steps out to find me standing here. Whoops. He's in yesterday's clothes. Slightly rumpled, but still damn fine.
“For someone being hunted by You-Know-Who, you sure leave the house a lot.”
Ah. Maybe that's his plan. Forcing me out of the safety of the wards with his unbearable sexiness until Voldemort just comes up to me on the street and hexes me dead. It could work.
His hair's different today. Softer looking, messy, like he wasn't able to charm it perfect. He has the slightest of kinks in one of his locks, the strand falling into his eye, nearly brushing his long lashes. For some reason it makes me hyper aware of my own hair, curling from the run, drops of sweat sliding down my neck. But I'm staring at his mouth, not his hair anymore. Yeah, I should have run more. Like another five miles. Can you run yourself blind? I need to be blind if I'm going to survive this.
I really don't feel like verbal sparring this early in the morning—hell, talking in general—and I push past him into the bathroom without another word. Then, because I'm an idiot, I turn. “If you need a change of clothes, feel free to go through my bureau. Probably not up to your standards, but...” Whatever. I close the door before he can say anything. Insults or thanks cannot be handled this early in the morning.
God, I want to do things to him. Bad, terrible, nasty things. Voldemort doesn't have anything on what I want to do to that kid.
It apparently doesn't matter how tired my legs get; my dick still works. Cold water is not a deterrent. My body makes enough fucking heat to fight it. I jerk off twice in the shower, and I'm pretty sure I can go again in about twenty. I'm totally doomed. I should just walk outside and send up a signal in the sky that looks like my scar. Voldie will know what it means. I give up. Totally losing to Draco Malfoy, and it's only the second day.
He's wearing my shirt. I didn't know my Metallica shirt was my favorite, but I know it now because he's wearing it and he looks fucking amazing in it. Same jeans as yesterday, pulled down over his boots. Hair's nearly perfect. He has a little bristle on his jaw, and I'm starting to realize just how much he depends on spells to do fucking everything for him.
It's not until Dudley's in the back seat that I realize just what hell I've gotten myself into. Dudley's massive. It's usually a tight squeeze when it's just the two of us in the back. Now Malfoy's going to be back here too. Fuck my life.
“Um, I can sit in the middle.”
“No.” No way in fuck he's sitting next to Dudley. I get in before he can say another word, glaring warningly at my cousin. “What am I going to do to you if you touch him?”
“Fuck off, freak.”
“Dudley, language! We have a guest.”
“Sorry, Mum.” He punches me in the leg, but I'm used to it. I'll be black and blue by the time the trip is over, but as long as he doesn't touch Malfoy, we're good. Draco slides in beside me and everything goes hazy by the time he shuts the car door. His entire right side is pressed up against my left. Dudley's on my right just as tight, but believe me when I say, I don't even notice.
“Do you think you could...?” Malfoy gives me a mildly pained look, wriggling his shoulder against mine. He's nearly flush against the door and it probably hurts. Dudley won't be moving, that's for sure. I pull my shoulder back, extending my arm behind his seat so he's now in the nook of my embrace and pressed tight to my chest. Fucking hell. Should have sent up that lightning bolt. Voldemort would have been way easier than this.
“Well, this is cozy.” Aunt Petunia. She's funny. Really. “It shouldn't take too long, boys. And I was thinking, since it's a special occasion we might even stop at a restaurant.” There's a round of halfhearted cheers, Dudley already turning on his handheld video game and turning the noise up obnoxiously loud.
About ten minutes into the ride, I start noticing that things are going to be going from bad to worse. Malfoy's pale. Sweating, eyes closed shut, face pinched in an expression of pain or nausea—I have a good guess which.
I duck closer to whisper in his ear even though Dudley's game will probably keep anyone from hearing. “You've never been in a car before, have you?”
He shakes his head no, a small whimper escaping him.
“You sick or just scared?”
He cracks an eye open, glaring at me in challenge. “Both.”
Of course. “Lean forward and look at your feet. It helps.” He looks like he wants to argue, but he's also turning a bit green and does as I say. “Better?”
“A little.” His shoulders are shaking, and every time the car slows down and speeds up again, he groans miserably.
“Oh dear, he's carsick.” Petunia clucks lightly. “Don't worry, Drake, it's not much longer. Harry, rub his back. That always helps.”
Dudley snickers, but I ignore him because I love my aunt and her many brilliant ideas. I'm probably an asshole for using him being sick as an excuse to touch him. Oh well. I press my palm gently to his back, then firmer when he doesn't bitch at me. I soothe small circles, then larger, trying very hard not to notice just how good his muscles feel flexing under my hand. He sighs, relaxing slowly, leaning towards my leg by the time we get to the next traffic light.
It takes everything in me not to push his shirt up and touch his flesh. Instead I cup the back of his neck, his skin warming under my palm while I rub my fingers in. He makes the softest noise of protest when I drift away from his neck, moving down over his shoulder and breaking up the tension there as well. He has amazing shoulders. Strong, hard, fucking gorgeous. By the time I get to his other shoulder, he's nearly limp, head lolled to the side, breathing much calmer. God, he's sexy.
“Can you get my neck again?” He whispers hesitantly when I start moving up and down his back again.
Fuck, yes. I move my hand up his spine, pressing down hard with my palm, feeling him shudder under my touch. Has he ever been massaged before? Touched? Hell. It's dumb, it's just a fucking back rub, but I'm going to be the fucking happiest person in the world if I'm his first.
I stroke the back of his neck carefully, kneading the tension away, letting my fingers dig in deeper as he relaxes with every touch. I slowly drift higher, moving up the side to below his ear as I press in firmly with my thumb, reveling in the sensation of his cool hair brushing the back of my hand. He stretches forward, going boneless under my hand with a loud groan. Shit, I'm getting hard.
“Just a little more,” he mumbles when I try to pull away, his body pressing into my hand.
Hell, I can't say no to that. I should, I really fucking should, but I can't. What I wouldn't give for a simple concealing charm right now.
Thankfully we arrive, pulling into the parking lot. Aunt Petunia gazes sympathetically while Vernon shuts the engine off. “Just relax and get used to the world being still for a bit, dear. It can take a little time. We'll meet back at the entrance by five, then figure out dinner from there.”
I give her a look. I'm getting this growing suspicion that my mother might have gotten carsick, having spent so many years in the wizarding world. It's not a question Petunia is going to let me ask though. Dudley lumbers out, head still stuck in his game, the car tilting from his absence. Malfoy doesn't move, just continues to rest his head against the driver's seat as I rub his neck with my thumb. It's quiet, the Dursleys' voices fading away as they walk to the mall. I should stop.
I don't. I rub down to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, digging my palm in, making him groan again. God. He should really tell me to stop. Cus I'm not going to. I don't think I can. Definitely don't want to. I move to the same spot on his other side, digging my fingers in, squeezing until he releases a shattered moan and arches his head back. God, I want him. I grab the back of his neck again, firmer, possessively. When I pull him up, he lets me, his head falling back on the seat while I hold him by the nape and stroke my fingertips slowly over his long throat.
“Any better?” I ask, my voice too low, too rough sounding as I drink in his flushed cheeks and parted lips.
“Potter... do you know wandless magic?”
“What?” I'm not fully with it, but still. Where the hell did that come from?
“Because you have fucking magical hands.” He opens his eyes, glaring at me suspiciously.
I try really hard not to grin like an ass. I fail. “If I knew wandless magic, I could have just cast an anti-nausea charm on you. Sorry. Remus said he'd teach me this year.”
He just continues to glare at me, like he doesn't believe me. I still have my hand on his neck. I cannot, for the life of me, bring myself to remove it. His lashes flutter on every down stroke of my thumb, his eyes growing darker and heavier as each minute ticks by.
“Let me know when you're ready to go.”
His eyes are drooping, and even though the backseat is devoid of Dudley, he's half in my lap. “You tired?”
He shakes his head no, bringing his face dangerously close to mine.
“Still feel sick?”
Another shake. His eyes are silver slits trained on my mouth. Dangerous, really fucking dangerous.
“You want to go?”
Another shake. God help me.
“How many people have you kissed?”
Please don't talk to me about kissing when all I want to do is kiss you. “Er, half a dozen or so.”
“Nah. Took a bit to figure that out.” He has the prettiest mouth I've ever seen.
“How'd you figure it out?”
“Kissed a boy.”
“Oh.” Again he looks at my mouth. “You had to kiss one to know for sure?”
“No, not really. I had to kiss a boy to finally prove to myself that I wasn't ever going to like girls the way I wanted to.”
“You want to want girls?”
“I want a family.”
“You can adopt.”
“Get a surrogate.”
“It's not something I'm thinking about now. You-Know-Who keeps fucking things up. If I live, years down the line... maybe.”
“There are spells.”
“For gay wizards. So they can have kids that are genetic offspring of both. You just need a surrogate.”
“Oh... you just know a bit of everything, don't you?”
His smile makes my mouth dry and head spin, his lips stretching lazily, eyes sparkling mischief. “About gay wizards? Yeah, I know a lot, actually. I never even had to kiss a boy to figure it out. Sure didn't waste any kisses on girls.”
Son of a bitch. The goddamn fucking prat with his night light, and cock blocking, and fingers on my arm for nearly a day and then on my chest for the night. Taunting, teasing bastard.
“What's the matter, Potter? Hit a nerve?”
I really need to get the fuck out of this car. I grip his neck harder, watching his face, watching his lips as they part in a soft groan. “Wasn't a waste. I learned from it. As long as I learn from my fuck ups, it's never a waste.”
“Yeah?” His eyes close for a moment, head tilting back into the touch of my hand. “Planning on learning something new?”
Shit. I really need to stop touching him. He really needs to stop saying sexy shit to me. I pull him until he's resting against my chest, hot puffs of air heating my neck. “Malfoy, what the fuck do you want from me?”
I can feel him smirk, his lips pressing to my skin sending sparks jolting through my body. “Who says I want anything? Just enjoying your magic hands. They feel very, very good, and my head hurts since someone woke me up screaming last night.”
Yeah, I'm probably going to be ash by the end of today. He's totally fucking with me, and he knows I know it. I'm a weak, weak man when it comes to Draco Malfoy. I trail my hand up, tangling my fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp and temples while he sighs into my skin.
God, maybe now. With his lips on my neck, his gasps vibrating in my chest. Burn me alive now.
I'm not sure how I got out of the car unsinged. Not sure how I did it without kissing him or tearing his clothes off and grinding him until he finally relented and admitted he likes me. Not sure how the hell I'm walking with my dick at half staff, trying very hard not to stare at his ass while his fingers again grasp lightly to my sleeve.
He's put his sunglasses on to block the interested stares sent his way. He likes shopping but the mall is tough on him. Lots of people, lots of noise and crowds. He's used to having a tailor and going to small, vastly expensive places that schedule him in on appointment so he doesn't have to fear being interrupted. I know because he keeps talking to me.
He's chatty when he's nervous. I don't mind. His mouth fights his ass for my attention. Neither are really safe options, but I'm trying my best.
“What about here?” He asks, stopping us in front of one of those preppy, overly cologned modern-men clothing stores. The outside is plastered with half dressed, probably not even legal boys with their pants hanging too low on their hips. Hey, if he wants to dress like that, I'm not going to complain. He might have to go somewhere else for a shirt, though, cus I'm not sure they sell any if I go by the pictures.
I let him drag me inside while I breathe determinedly through my mouth. It sounds like a fucking rave in the actual store. I'd hate to work in a place like this—It's like a war on all the senses. Except for the clothes. There are a lot of neutrals, the only thing really shocking about them being the price tag. Whatever. He's happy. The sales guy seems ecstatic to meet one of the models out of their own damn advertising.
“Don't forget shoes,” I remind him. I love his boots but he can't wear them around muggles. They're not even cow but some sort of dragon hide. He's such a spoiled little prat.
“What do you think?” I turn to find him holding up a shirt. They do apparently sell shirts.
“Err... nice?” I'm really not the person to be asking.
“Would you wear it?”
Ha. Button down, white base with blue and white stripes of plaid. “Even if I was able to wash the smell of this place out of it, I still wouldn't wear a collared shirt.”
He rolls his eyes and suddenly the shirt is being put on me like I didn't just say that it smells and has a collar, and yeah, it's white.
“It looks good on you.” Fine, it does when layered over my tee and not buttoned up. Still smells. Before I can say anything, he pulls it off me and throws it at the sales guy. “Three this style, different colors.”
“Malfoy...” He gives me a look like it's not my money he's spending on shit I'm never going to wear. Whatever. I'll return it later.
Fine. I'm lazy, I'll end up wearing it just to keep from doing laundry.
I slowly edge my way towards the doors of the store, hoping some fresh air might pipe its way in and he'll stop trying to dress me. I am not a project. I like my clothes. I like my jeans... Oh, but these are really cool jeans...
Malfoy is very good at spending my money. It's okay, I have plenty; still, it's impressive. I exchanged half a million to muggle money and put it in a bank because I've been thinking about getting a house eventually. Half a mil apparently doesn't scratch what's left in my parents' vault. I really don't get how rich people make so much money but they do seem good at spending it. I think my debit card smoked when the salesclerk ran it through the machine.
“Where to next?”
“Err, the car to put those packages away.”
“Ha, they're not going to fit, Potter. I'm having them delivered to your relatives' house. They'll be there before eight tonight.”
Hell, he's good. Can't work a coffee cup, but if it's rich enough, he figures it out. I check my watch. Which makes him want to buy a genuine muggle watch. One track mind, this kid. I let him drag me through the mall. He's never been here before either, but he seems to understand how things work better than I do.
While he's looking at watches, I stare blankly at the people walking by, letting my senses expand. It's important in places like this. The arcade, you can spot someone out of place pretty damn quick. In a mall, you get so many people from different walks of life, it's a lot easier to be surprised by someone magical. Shopping is not exclusive to muggles, as Malfoy's proven. I'm not expecting Death Eaters, or anything, but you never know when someone is going to recognize the 'Great Harry Potter,' say some shit to someone else, and then have it known that I go to a certain place. Now that I have to watch his back too, I'm even more antsy.
There are a few magical signatures floating around. Malfoy's a beacon to me. I've zoomed in on him so many times at school, I can spot him out of a hundred other magical kids. The other two are weak, possibly squibs, they're that unimpressive. Still, I keep my senses on them, making sure I'm not anywhere they are.
I seek him out, figuring he'll probably need some cash sooner or later. It's him, after all. He's twitchy, some guy chatting him up that he's trying really hard to ignore as he stares determinedly at the watches. It's actually kind of funny seeing him around muggles. If he was with his own, he'd have no problem telling the guy to fuck off. But he's not, he's out of his element, and he just doesn't know what's the right level of bitchy prat.
I walk up to him, hands in my pockets, trying not to smile at his look of relief and annoyance as he sees me. His sunglasses are on his forehead and he looks ridiculously hot. Can't blame the guy for trying. “Pick one yet?”
He shakes his head, glaring briefly to the right of him where the guy is still hovering, but now looking at me, sizing me up to see if I'm competition. Anyone ballsy enough to talk to a fine piece of ass like Malfoy is usually trouble.
“Why not? Nothing you like?”
Now Malfoy's glaring at me. I'm not helping him. He wants to be a big baby around the muggles, that's his problem. People are people and you got to deal with them the way you need to, or they're just going to make your life hell.
“I had some questions about a few of them. The materials they're made from. Durability. Apparently no one works in this store.”
Well the bitchy is making an appearance, but it's not at the right target just yet. “How 'bout you ask your friend? Maybe he knows something about watches.”
If Malfoy was allowed to use magic, he'd hex me for that. As it is, he might still punch me. I just smile as he glares daggers at me. “Let me go find a clerk. I'm sure someone will be able to help.” He growls as I walk away. I feel sorry for the guy that doesn't have the brains enough to leave.
It's a department store, so I go to the registers to have them call someone for assistance with the watches. By the time I get back, Malfoy's shadow is gone and he's pissed.
“Potter, that was fucking assholic of you! He was badgering me since I got here, asking me for some fucking numbers or something. Don't you ever abandon me around muggles again. I can't understand half of what they're even saying to me.”
Poor prat. It must be hard being hot, rich, and so fucking naïve. “Malfoy, you're more than capable of taking care of yourself. He was just asking you out. Next time, just tell him to fuck off.”
He pauses, blinking in surprise. “I can do that?”
“Of course you can. You're not going to be arrested for being an asshole. Everyone's an asshole around here.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You're an asshole.”
Yup, I'm still in trouble. Worth it to see him squirm. A salesclerk finally shows up and Malfoy grills the girl, taking his anger out on her instead. I step back, letting him do his magic. By the time he's through he's found the most expensive watch and he's wearing it out, my debit card threatening to melt.
“Muggles are rude.”
“Some of them are.”
“All they do is stare. It's damn annoying.”
I shrug. “Everyone stares at me because of my scar. At least here no one looks at me.”
He huffs, glancing at me from beneath his sunglasses. “They're all staring at you.”
“Only cus they're trying to figure out what a guy like me is doing walking around with a guy like you, Malfoy. Believe me, I'm glad to not be noticed for a change.”
He just grunts, suddenly standing taller, the fingers once curled on my sleeve now wrapping around my bicep firmly. It's fantastic feeling, and I turn his way. He's suddenly broad shouldered and all confidence. I didn't realize just how tall he was. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure they look at me.”
“Oh.” It must be working because I can't seem to keep my eyes off of him.
“Potter, you're going to trip.”
Right. Staring. He's really hot and in my t-shirt.
Ha, totally should have kissed him when I had the chance. Shit. How does he manage to get hotter? Is that even possible? Jerk. Really hot jerk.
I force my face forward, hyper focused on his hand on my arm. As my eyes move blindly over the storefronts, crowds of people, and sitting areas, I start imagining what it would be like to have him suddenly push me against a wall... or the side of the escalator, or down on that couch over there, and just snog me senseless. And, well, if we're already there, why stop at a snog, right? He was definitely packing something impressive in those briefs of his last night... While lying on my bed.
God, I'm losing it. Really should have kissed him. Just to know for sure. Just so I could be certain he wasn't fucking with my head about being gay. Cus god, I'm losing it.
“Are you okay? You nearly walked into a trash bin... Potter?” He stops, holding me by the arm so that I have to stop as well. His hand is cool against my flushed face, and I can't help smiling like an idiot as he pushes my hair back to see if my forehead is warm. Seriously, he's so dumb.
“Why are you all flushed? Did you eat something bad? You look just like...” He pushes his sunglasses up, glaring down at me. “Potter, are you perving out right now?”
“Err...” God, I want to climb him.
“Shit, you have issues. Seriously. Did some guy in tattoos walk by and fuck with your head? Don't go talking to anyone until you stop being so... weird.”
I bite my lip, staring up into his beautiful gray eyes. They look a little blue in here. I really want to kiss him.
“And stop looking at me like that.”
“Like you're going to eat me alive. It's weird.”
Heh. He's really adorable and absolutely frustrating as fuck. I turn and start walking again but his hand is still on my arm, keeping me from moving. “Malfoy...”
He growls, the noise making my toes curl. “Seriously, Potter. Don't talk to anyone.”
He's sure possessive for someone that refuses to show any interest in me.
Malfoy managed not to eat or drink anything that wasn't food while at the restaurant Vernon picked out. I had a brief wonder of if the ornamental fish tank was going to end up being raided by him, but he just walked by with only a curious glance. Running that morning apparently made me starving, and I ate a portion of food that actually rivaled Dudley for a change.
Then it's back to the car for Malfoy and I to endure our own very different versions of hell while he gets nauseas, and I get hard. At least it's dark. Less scenery for him to watch whizzing by, less likely anyone is going to notice just what rubbing his back does to me. We don't linger in the car this time. I seriously consider a night jog, but aunt Petunia wants me to change the sheets because Draco's a guest and deserves to be treated like one. Whatever.
After that, it's all about taking his packages in and trying to make space in my little bureau for his new clothes. After a moment of ingenuity, I go out to the tool shed in the backyard and grab a 2x2 and make him a damn clothing rack. He's happy his shit isn't wrinkled, and I don't have to listen about there not being enough space.
“You're not going to watch the television?”
Malfoy's become obsessed. Aunt Petunia actually warned me to not let him watch it during the day. I guess she's seen this before. “I'm tired. You watch.”
“Yeah, but...” He's fidgeting, like it's actually important and not just stupid TV.
“You don't need my fucking permission. Just go.”
Whatever. I'm exhausted and incredibly horny. Neither of which he can help me with. I shut the door behind him, my eyes lingering on the clothing rack. I placed it high enough so his things wouldn't hit the floor and intrude in my sleeping area. Still, my room's just getting smaller and smaller with him being here. I strip, throwing my clothes in the hamper. I hit the lights, then get down on my knees and start fucking myself on my fingers before I lose my mind.
God, I need it. So bad. Just want it inside me, stretching me, filling me, taking me. Want him. God, I want him to take me. I don't think he'd even know how. Still want it. So bad. God, why'd he have to be all hunky and possessive in the mall? He keeps fucking with my head. Every time I try and put a wall up, he knocks it down.
Hell, if I straddle him in his sleep, would he fuck me? Just start kissing him, grinding him, stroking his cock until he just has to put it in me. It was just his hand on my arm. That, and seeing his fucking shoulders. But damn, it made me want him. I always want him, but that, that was just unfair. Like he was going to protect me from people staring.
I could blow him. Get him so hard he won't care where he's putting it, just as long as he cums. God, I want him to cum in me. Deep inside while I'm on my knees. I want him to dominate me. Push me down and just take me. Not even ask. He doesn't have to. I'll let him do anything to me. Except get me killed.
Not even sure about that last one anymore.
My breath is loud in the dark, the sleeping bag under my knees rustling every time I slam down on my fingers. I avoid my prostate because I don't want to cum too fast. I want to feel it. I want to pretend that every stroke is his cock driving inside me, wanting me as much as I want him.
Just the second day. It's just the second day and I'm totally losing it.
This time he doesn't hit me when I wake him screaming. He covers my mouth with his hand. I nearly bite him before I realize what's happening. Then I melt, because fuck, he has his hand over my mouth.
I nod, my eyelids feeling heavy as I look up at him. He's hanging over the bed, brows scrunched in concern. Finally he pulls his hand away when he sees I'm done screaming.
“Sorry.” I was asleep when he came in. I hope he didn't stay up all night watching TV.
“No... Shit, Potter. You can't help it. What did you...?” He trails off, and I wonder if he's thinking about his parents again. Is that how this is going to go every night? I wake up screaming and he freaks about his parents? He should have gone to the Weasleys; they don't scream at night.
“It was a muggle man. He got too close to where You-Know-Who is camped out. Kept noticing the lights. Got himself killed... eventually.”
He sighs, his expression draining of a lot of its tension. Because at least it wasn't his father. “Hell. And you... you saw all of it?”
“Everything he did to that man. Yeah.”
He shouldn't ask about things he doesn't want to know the answers to. “Sorry I woke you. You should try and go back to sleep.”
“What's the worst thing he's shown you?”
God. “Malfoy, it's not something I like to think about.”
“You need to talk about it. You can't just bottle this stuff inside. It just makes it worse to be the only one who sees it.”
“You really think speaking it aloud is suddenly going to make it less horrible?”
He rolls back over, his head on his arm as he looks down at me. “You ever tell anyone what you've dreamed?”
I shake my head. “I tried in the beginning but Ron and Hermione kept freaking out. Then I gave up because I realized the dreams were never going to stop. Why subject others? This is his torture for me. As long as he's alive, I'm never going to get a night's rest.”
“Tell me tonight's dream. All of it.”
“Not a request. You woke me up; you owe me.”
God, this is so much worse. I should have just told him it was his parents or something. That would have shut him up. “Fine.” I fold my arms under my head, studying the shadows on the ceiling so I won't have to watch him freak out. Because it's hell. Every dream is the slow, pain wrought dissection of a living human being.
“He doesn't think they're people. Muggles. He can't figure out why they're even alive. How they talk, how they walk. He thinks they mimic us, something magical hiding inside them that turns flesh puppets into people. So he goes looking. Between the skin and the muscle. Through the brain. He has a process, a procedure. It's bloodless... in the beginning. When he's in control like he was tonight. Uses his wand to magic away pieces at a time so he can look at them in the light.” It's not a bright light, but it's bright enough.
“Once the voice box is removed, it gets quieter. But I can still see. They get tighter, their muscles tense in pain, shaking, until those are gone too. And slowly, piece by piece, he hollows them out. I can list the order, I've seen it so many times. Every piece that ends up beside them instead of inside.” I don't want to list the order. I don't want to remember it. But, for some reason, my chest doesn't feel so tight anymore.
“You see that every night?” His voice is rough, almost weak.
“No. Sometimes it's bad. Sometimes he's actually angry. It gets messy. Wet.”
He's silent except for his breathing. I can feel him staring at me, but I refuse to look. “But not tonight? Just neat and ordered pieces tonight.”
“You ever recognize them?”
I hesitate. His hand drifts down, fingers pressing to my forehead, sifting through my bangs, thumb on my scar. Maybe it hadn't been a dream. “All the time. But I don't think I know any of them. They're just faces... Could have seen them on the street. In a crowd. Maybe at the arcade. Sometimes I'm sure. Sometimes I just realize it's a rerun.”
“Muggle television. Sometimes they'll show the same episode of a show again at a different time. He sends me the same dreams once in a while. I guess he hasn't killed enough to fill in every night... but he just can't let me rest. So I'll watch the same person die. That's why I don't know if it's really happening or not. For all I know, he's never killed anyone.”
He snorts humorlessly. “Fat chance.”
“Malfoy... You're shaking.”
“Yeah, well, I have a very active imagination.”
I sigh, closing my eyes. His thumb keeps moving over my scar, but I can feel the tremor in his hand. “Don't ask me next time. I don't want to feel guilty on top of everything else.”
“Shut up. There's nothing wrong with having a perfectly healthy physical response to some fucked up shit. That you're not freaking out is more weird than anything.”
“Too tired. Seen it too many times... Hell, I probably wouldn't freak out if it was happening in front of me at this point—Hey!” He only pulls my hair harder. I open my eyes, meeting his glare.
“Potter, you were screaming your bloody head off. You can pretend all you like that you're all desensitized or whatnot, but that's bullshit. Your body sure as fuck still knows how to be afraid, even if your conscious mind blocks it out.”
“If I agree with you, will you let my hair go?”
He smirks cruelly, tugging on my hair again. Something in his eyes makes my toes curl. “Maybe.”
Damn, he's hot.
“Picking on you helps me not think about the terrible things you just described.”
I nod, my hair slipping through his fingers as he relaxes his hold. “Sorry. Feel free to beat me up if it helps.”
“Heh, don't tempt me. Your relatives watched an action movie tonight. Everyone was doing martial arts—You know we have spells for that, right? I can't wait to get back to school and learn some hand to hand combat. Maybe run up a wall. They were flipping all over the place. It was cool.”
“Why? So you can steal lunch money from first years and subdue them with only the use of your thumb?”
He smirks again and suddenly his thumb is back on my scar, pressing in and rubbing. “Oh, I dunno. Seems to work on you.”
Ah, I walked right into that one. “Yeah, well, I'm apparently easy. Got the spot marked out and everything.”
“I keep expecting it to hurt for some reason.” He turns his thumb, the nail suddenly sliding down the edge of my scar. I bite my lip, a shiver moving through my body.
“Oh. That explains it then...” He does it again and I have to close my eyes.
“I mean, you've had it forever. I'm sure it's healed by now... just...” Scraping slowly, he traces down to the very bottom of my scar, then moves over my eyebrow, the flat of his thumb teasing through the short hairs.
“Malfoy...” He really needs to stop.
“It doesn't hurt... does it?”
I exhale unsteadily as he moves down my nose. “No.” His thumb reaches my lips and I still, my breath hitching. He presses down harder until my lips part and all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears.
“You bit your tongue.”
“When you were yelling.”
His thumb moves over my lower lip, smoothing wet, his fingers curling on my cheek. “Does it hurt? Your tongue?”
It's time to go jogging. Definitely time to get the fuck away from his damn innocent flirting. I should shut him down and put him in his place for trying to mess with me. Because whatever the hell he's after, it's not the same thing I am. But that would include him taking his thumb off my lips, and I really don't want that. Not yet.
I open my eyes to find him staring at my mouth like he wants a kiss. As much as I'd like to give him one, I'm pretty sure it's a bad idea. He's going through a lot of shit with his folks, he's sleep deprived—And I know how much that alone can make bad ideas seem really brilliant.
I think he's just clinging to me, looking for the closest familiar thing to make the world seem stable now that it's all gone to shit. I can't be that, and not just because I'm pretty sure he's hated me the majority of his life. I'm just more shit, and he's been saving himself for a fucking kiss.
I close my eyes, blocking out his beautiful face. “Go to sleep, Malfoy.”
He sighs, his thumb moving down my lip, over my chin, across my jaw. He winds his way back to my scar, pushing down firmly like he's pressing a button. “You're grumpy at night, Potter.”
“Grumpy all the time.”
“Yeah, that too.”
I hit the gym this time, hoping to wreck my body enough to stop fucking thinking about him. The pain's good. Something to focus on. Something real, unlike his fucking mind games. I'm not even sure he knows what he's doing. But he's doing it. Playing boyfriend. Demanding all my attention. Touching me, looking at me, talking to me. Unsettling as fuck. Because I want him more than anything and I really can't have him.
He's pissed when I get back. It's nearly noon and apparently he thought Death Eaters had gotten me. He really needs to calm the fuck down.
“It's just the gym, Malfoy.”
“You were alone. Without wards. What if someone had caught you? You have no way to defend yourself!”
“What, like you being there would really make a difference?” I have to argue with him outside because it's Sunday and Vernon and Petunia are inside getting ready for lunch. “You try to use your wand and every auror will know where you are—Meaning minutes later, so will You-Know-Who.” He's also making it really difficult to stretch, growling and looking like he's going to hit me.
“So? Still better to survive and run back to the wards, than just outright die! What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want to die? Are you just waiting for him to find you and finish you off?”
I roll my eyes, stretching my other quad. Third day. Third day and he either thinks he's my mother or my girlfriend. I say girlfriend cus I feel like a proper boyfriend wouldn't be quite so naggy about it all. I could be wrong. He's also ridiculously hot when he's angry and it's very, very distracting.
“Are you honestly telling me the Order says it's okay to just go running about all the time? The werewolf just waves his hands and goes, 'Sure, go get yourself killed. Have a ball.' You really don't care if you live or...”
“So you don't want to go to the movies today?”
“...die like a—What?” He stops mid-sentence, blinking at me.
“Well, if you're so concerned about my safety and all, you'll probably not want to go, right? Too dangerous.” I release my leg, stretching my shoulder. “I mean, it's just a muggle building with lots of people to hide among. Very dim lighting, a dozen films to choose from. Think they even have a few good action flicks playing.”
“Oh... okay.” He glances away like he's not sure where he is right now. “Um, so, now? With them?” He nods his head towards the house.
“No, I don't really feel like bringing them to the fucking movies.”
He brightens, smiling right at me. My stomach plummets somewhere around my shoes and I clutch at my arm, hoping that won't fall as well. “Alright. Let's do that then.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile at his 180. “You're not worried about Death Eaters killing us?”
“Shut up.” He shoves me playfully. “You said it yourself. It's not like they're going to be hanging around a bunch of muggles. How far away is the place? Do we have to take the trolley again? Oh, I should get those sunnyglasses.”
God help me, the boy can talk. “I need a shower first. You do whatever the hell you want, just give me twenty minutes of peace.”
He glares, shoving me again. Only a little less playful. “Stop being a surly ass, Potter.”
Yeah, well stop being a teenage girl. I keep my lips firmly sealed, walking into the house after kicking my sneakers off. Don't care what he does, I just really need some time alone in that shower.
He's waiting on my bed when I come out of the bathroom. I don't see him at first, trying not to trip over the sleeping bag. Nearly have my towel off before he finally makes a noise, making me jump in surprise. “Shit!”
He just raises a brow like I'm overreacting. Maybe I am, but I'm not getting naked in front of him. Not when he's dressed like sex in his perfect fitting new muggle clothes. I gotta say, there is nothing sexy about robes. It's like everyone is in a damn choir at school. Seeing him dressed in jeans though—that definitely does something for me. Things I thought I had taken care of in the shower until he's in the same room as me while I've got nothing but a towel and drops of water between us.
“Malfoy, get lost. I'll be down in a couple of minutes.”
“Seriously? You sleep in your underwear.”
God, what the hell does he want from me? Am I supposed to just strip down in front of him because we're both guys? It doesn't help that he's totally checking me out right now. More mind games with him. It's really staring to piss me off.
“Your cousin's down there with a friend. He's creepy. Can I just turn my head or something?”
Ugh. “Piers is here?”
“Yes, and he's beyond terrible. Was he dropped on his head as a child? Just how do you get that fucked up?”
“Drugs, I think.” I have no interest in leaving Malfoy with Dudley and Piers unsupervised. “Fine, turn around.”
He does, Indian style on the bed while I go rustling through my bureau. He unfortunately feels the need to talk. Like I'm not allowed to think that I could be alone, no, he has to make sure I know he's there. Pain in the ass.
“So what's the movies like? I thought maybe it would be like the television but it would be difficult...”
I tune him out because, seriously, he's going to find out soon enough. It's a movie theater; nothing fucking special. I only mentioned it because I wanted to shut him up and, well, I think he'll probably really like it. It'll be dark, so he won't have to worry about people staring at him. And he's totally in love with TV, so better to introduce him to something a bit more quality than whatever the Dursleys consider watching at night. And yeah, he'll have to be quiet for a good two hours straight.
I've just thrown the towel to the floor and am stepping into my underwear when I realize he's stopped talking. I refuse to look at him although I know damn well he's looking at me.
This isn't going to work. I mean, seriously.
“Malfoy.” I hear him jump, the bed squeaking. “You have to stop this.”
I ignore his totally innocent sounding response, stepping into my jeans and fastening them closed. “I'm not a gay dress rehearsal. You want to play at chasing boys, go do it with someone else. I'm just trying to live my damn life here, and I don't like being messed around with.” I pull my shirt over my head, tugging it down roughly.
I go over to the hamper to pull my belt from yesterday's pants and thread it through the ones I'm wearing.
“Potter, I'm not—”
“Zip it.” I look up, meeting his frown. “Stop fucking with me. Just because I think you're hot doesn't mean you get to mess with my head. You can rip on me about my home life, You-Know-Who, my nightmares, my appearance—Whatever. Just don't fuck with me on this one thing. I need some sort of boundary. We're going to be stuck in this little room for a month, and I'd like to not be insane by the end of it.”
He's quiet as I put my socks on, grab my wallet, and give Hedwig a few treats. By the time I'm at the door and he's finally standing, I turn his way again. He's got his mask on, all cool confidence. “We good?”
“Fine.” Frosty, but not bitter. He'll survive. Hopefully, I will too.
“Don't forget your sunglasses.”
So I'm worried I've completely ruined the movies for Malfoy. He's been quiet ever since I set the one rule down—I don't think he even understands how many rules I've been placing on myself while I just asked this one thing of him.
No more touching him if he gets carsick. No staring at his ass, or any other part of him. No fantasizing about him doing anything to me—very much the hardest one cus he's been masturbation fodder for years. But I'm sticking to it because he's fucking naïve, and hot, sleeps in my bed in his underwear, and if I touch him while he's still crying over his parents, I'm no better than Voldemort.
He doesn't touch my sleeve on the trolley. He actually stands a few feet away from me, staring out the windows. Hasn't said much of anything to me since, and I'm wondering if he's more fucked up about this than I first thought. But I'm a guy so I'm going to ignore it until he gets his shit together again.
Seriously, he's running from a psycho looking to rape him dead. Does he really want to play house with me? Is that really the solution to his fucking problems? No. He needs a fucking shrink. He needs to hear that his parents aren't dead—Or even that they are so he can mourn properly and deal with his shit. He needs to feel like he's not going to be kidnapped and killed every waking moment of the day. That's why he's freaking out about me being off alone—because he's certain that's his fate. Alone and dead.
It's Sunday so the theater is bursting. We haven't hit the late crowd yet, still a bunch of screaming kids running around hopped up on sugar while their parents seek shelter in the air-conditioning. I ask him what he wants to see and he has no opinion. Doesn't care. Fuck. I try to feel him out on what he might like but he's completely shutting me out. Fine. Whatever. I pick the one with marital arts, fast cars, and muscular men, and hope he gets over it sooner rather than later.
While I'm in line, he's looking at the arcade games. I get some quarters from the cashier, just in case he feels like playing. By the time I'm done, he's gone. I find him eventually, the crowd of people making things difficult. Being chatted up by some guy. Which would be fine—everyone wants to chat him up—but Malfoy's actually smiling back, pushing his sunglasses up for the full effect of his dazzling eyes. I've been seeing that particular smile a lot the last three days directed solely at me. Seeing it turned towards this random punk is decidedly upsetting on more than one level.
I know what he's doing. He's pissed I turned him down so he's trying to make me jealous. It's childish, petty, and right up his alley. The only problem is, it's really fucking working.
I take a few deep breaths before I walk over to him. No way in fuck he's going to see he's getting to me. It'll only make it worse. I smile at the fucking loser that thinks he stands an actual chance with Draco Malfoy, and hand the blond his ticket. “Starts in fifteen. I'll be at the games if you're looking for me.” And then I walk away without looking back while he glares because there's no way in fuck he's going to win this. A month of this shit if he wins today. Not fucking happening.
I've apparently underestimated just how fucking angry he is. The next time I send a stealthy look his way, he's gone again along with his new friend. Fuck. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him? Is everything a fucking game? He's not getting food, he's not playing games, not in the photo booth, not out on the stairs. Which leaves me with this sinking, fucking sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and I head to the bathroom nearest to where he was standing last.
Fuck my motherfucking life.
The place is almost empty. Almost. Two pairs of shoes, the stall door just about to close. I'm going to fucking kill him. But first, the goddamn loser.
He's got a whole head on me and some muscle but it's ornamental at best. I drag him out of the stall by his shirt collar and throw him against the sinks. He gapes at me. Like he couldn't figure out that Malfoy was trouble the second he let someone as mundane as him speak two words all while glaring at me the whole time? There's no fixing stupid.
“You can fuck off or I'm going to beat the shit out of you.”
“Not a fucking word.” I don't take my eyes off of the fucktard. The guy's sizing me up, trying to figure out if I can back up my threat. I can. I'm more than happy to get bloody and bruised to do it. I'm furious and I dying to feel some pain. He must see it in my face because he raises his hands in surrender and walks out quiet as can be.
“Potter, why the fuck did you have to—”
I turn on him, growling. “What the fuck were you thinking? A fucking bathroom? Do you know what people do in these places? You don't know a fucking thing about that guy and you were going to let him take you to a movie theater bathroom!”
He winces but his jaw's pointed and he's trying to stare me down. “It's no different than what you did in the arcade.”
“Oh, you really fucking think so?” I step forward and he takes one back warily. “You think the guy I've been seeing for three weeks is the same as the absolute stranger that thought he could get in your pants after five fucking seconds of talking to you?”
“He wasn't going to—”
“What? You think he was going to hold your fucking hand and give you your first kiss in here?” The motherfucking idiot.
“Fuck you, Potter! You're not my fucking mother.” He tries to shove me, but I step into his push and he falls back against the stalls.
I slam my hands down on either side of him, glaring him in the eye. “No, I'm not. But I've been trying to fucking think about your mother every goddamn time I deal with you, Malfoy. You are fucked up right now. If you want to ruin your life, don't do it in front of me. I will stop you at every goddamn turn.”
His face goes red and he's beyond angry. Mentioning his mother was not the way to go. “Fucking son of a—What the fuck do you care!”
“I don't. But you're in my face, under my roof, and I'm not going to let shit happen to you. You don't think a muggle won't fuck you up? You don't think they won't shoot you up with something or hurt you bad enough to make you do anything they want? You think magic is the only fucking way to get something from someone?”
“Just back the fuck off!” He tries to shove me again, but I grab his arms. “Damn it—I don't need your fucking Saint Potter bullshit! You're so much worse than me. So what if I wanted to—”
“What? What the fuck did you really think you were doing in here?” He flinches from my venomous tone. “You were going to let an absolute fucking stranger kiss you. You waited till you had a fight with me to decide you just had to go get your first goddamn kiss with the first loser that showed an interest. You're fucked up.”
“Not the first—Fucking ass! You could have! You were definitely the only fucking loser I was looking at! I've been looking at you for fucking years! But you didn't want to so why the fuck should I wait? I'm probably going to be dead before the summer is through. God, you're an arrogant ass—Let me the fuck go!”
I don't let him go. I slam him back again, watching him growl in frustration. I shouldn't do this. I'm pissed and he's pissed, and I really shouldn't do a goddamn thing but walk away. I release his arms and grab him by the face, pulling him down and kissing him hard. He gasps, tries to shove me again, except his hands cling to my collar, pulling me closer.
Damn it... Damn it to hell, he tastes amazing. Really fucking amazing. I let my fingers tangle into his hair, pulling sharply until he opens to my tongue with a groan. I push him back harder, grinding my body against his, wrapping an arm around his back. His hands are suddenly tearing at my shoulders and before I realize what's happening, the world spins and I'm crashing through the stall door and he's throwing me against the wall. Well, fuck.
“Shut up.” He grabs me by the collar again, crushing my lips with his. He's all hard muscle and angry mouth, and when he pushes flush against me I grab him by the belt and pull him closer, grinding our erections together. He groans into my mouth, grabbing my hip and wrenching me harder against him. God... God, he's fucking tight.
I bite his lower lip and he hisses and grabs me hard by the neck, holding me still so he can do the same to me. It's hot, wet, and sends shudders through me every time his teeth scrape my lip. He's too rough, too angry, but it's so perfect and I can't seem to stop moaning.
He presses his leg between my thighs and grabs my ass hard, and the world goes dark for a second. Hell. Holy hell. I tear at his shirt, running my hands up his back the moment I get underneath and reach his skin. He's hot, flushed with sweat, and when I grip hard enough, he growls and slams me back. Oh fuck. God, yes.
“Oh, harder, just... Yeah, like that.” I cling to him as he kisses down my neck, his teeth sinking in, sucking mean, desperate welts into my skin. It's maddening, and I don't think I'm going to be able to stand much longer, my knees trembling under his assault. “Malfoy... God, just... Oh hell...” I trail off with a loud groan, his hand sliding down my ass, squeezing tight, pulling me harder against his strong form.
“That's it... God you're fucking sexy—Hell, don't fall.”
I grin dazedly as he wraps both his hands under my ass and pulls me tight against him. He's fucking sexy. Everything about him. I kiss him again, slower this time, my lips wet and swollen and aching with every touch of his. When I run my tongue against his lips, he meets it, then plunges into my open mouth, determined to taste and explore every inch of me as we gasp for air. I'm unbearably hard, only getting more so with every rock of his body as he grinds his bulge against my hip. Before I can let my brain think and ruin this perfect fucking moment, I grab for his belt again, working on the buckle as fast as I can.
“Fuck... oh fuck.” He buries his face into my hair, groaning as I wrap my fingers around his cock and stroke. He's big, feels silky hot, and I wish I was tasting him right now. But I shouldn't even be doing this, shouldn't be jerking him off in some dirty bathroom when a dozen men could just walk in the second a movie gets out. But I just want to feel him cum. That's it. Then I'll be good. Then I'll leave him alone. Just so long as I get this one, really fucking perfect moment.
“God, don't stop... So damn good... Hell.” He kisses my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair and pulling hard. I moan, trying to focus on my hand but so fucking lost in his mouth. He keeps thrusting his hips, keeps fucking my palm while rubbing his hot body against my dick.
“You close?” I ask, feeling so dizzy, so lost as he raises his head and meets my eyes. He cups my face, pressing his forehead to mine while he rubs his thumb over my lip.
“You're beautiful... Crazy, fucked up beautiful.” He holds my face and kisses me softly, slowly. Small grunts escape him as he draws out his thrusts, his motions heady and growing more tense with every pump. I know he's going to come, can feel it in every nerve ending, every muffled gasp. He's going to come for me.
I press harder into his kiss, running my thumb over the head of his cock and feeling the slickness dripping there. He groans, his fingers digging into me as he crushes my lips hard and bucks in my hand. His seed is hot and slick in my palm, every spurt making me dizzy and more wild. For me. For this one heated moment he's mine. Just mine.
“God, Potter... God, that was...” He's lost, mouth trailing down my neck. He grabs my hand, pulling it up, growling as he finds his cum still wet there. Then he's pushes it to my face and I can only whimper dizzily, opening my mouth, licking out when he presses my hand hard against my lips.
“Yeah...” his breath is hot against my cheek as he watches me clean his cum off my hand. “Get it all... Don't waste it. Just like that.”
God. I can't look away from his eyes. He's staring at me like he's never seen me before. Like he doesn't know who he is, or where he is, just that he needs to look at me if he's going to survive. I slide my tongue between my fingers and he groans, dipping close to run his tongue out across my knuckles, touching across my tongue when I lick again.
Kissing my fingertips slowly, he pins me in his gaze again. “Take your pants off.”
My hands are moving before my brain can tell me just what a bad idea this is. It's a bad idea. Not just because it's a movie theater bathroom. Not just because he's definitely fucked up and transferring his issues into thinking he likes me. No, mostly because I really want him to tell me to do things, and the worse the idea sounds, the more I want to do it for him.
I unbuckle my belt, letting it hang loose as I get the button to my jeans. When I unzip, he pulls back, watching me push them down my thighs.
“Underwear too.” He raises his gaze to mine and I'm pretty sure I'm going to cum just from his expression. “Come on, Harry. Take them off.”
Aw, hell. Just hell. This is a bad idea. So bad. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my boxer briefs and pull them down. He's on his knees before I can feel the breeze of air on my flushed erection. He grabs me by the hips, holding me back against the stall wall of the bathroom while he looks me over.
I'm not the biggest but I'm thick, flush dark, keep things tidy. He's not complaining, his fingers digging into my hips, his breath running heat over my length, my balls, between my thighs. One of his hands slides slowly over my ass, squeezing my cheek, feeling my tight muscle and smooth flesh while I gasp and buck.
I should stop this. Already stole his first fucking kiss. Probably ruined it for him, being as angry as I was. Took his first hand job... Pretty sure he liked that though. He looks up at me, his eyes intense and burning fire, and I lose my breath. God. I try to swallow, but my throat's way too tight. He presses closer, his nose brushing against my heavy dick, breathing me in, sighing into my flesh. God, please.
He's the hottest, sexiest fucking guy I've ever wanted. The rudest, meanest, most annoying ass too. But his parents were Death Eaters and he had to be one too, so it was okay that he was a total prat because nothing was ever going to happen. Except, somehow, his lips are pressing to the tip of my cock and the world just doesn't make any fucking sense anymore.
I should stop him. He presses harder, his lips parting, tongue tentatively flicking out across my slit. Oh fuck. Staring at his face, I wrap my hands in his silky blond hair and pull him down. He opens to me with a groan, intense wet heat surrounding my cock. I can't stop, pushing in until I'm grinding his tonsils and he's trying not to gag. God. God, that's it. Draco Malfoy, on his knees, choking on my cock.
Both his hands grab my ass, squeezing me hard while I struggle to keep from crying out. I relax my grip on his hair and he pulls back, sucking air in just to quickly swallow me again, his tongue running all over my shaft as he slams me into him. “Fuck.”
I'm starting to get a little aware of the fact that although he says he's never kissed anyone, he's very good at not getting his teeth on me, isn't gagging no matter how deep he takes me—and it's deep. The boy has a fucking perfect, hot, nasty mouth. He's lying about something but I really can't care right at this moment.
He's wet, loud—Really eager. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips are this fucking perfect swollen mess as he holds tight and drags down to my head, tonging my throbbing tip with a slow, sensual swirl. God. I hold onto his hair, fingers combing weakly, my head falling back against the stall heavily. I sound like a whimpering whore even though I'm trying to stay quiet, but god, he's so hot, so tight. I can't last. He's working hard to make me come and he's good. Too good. He's been lying to me and I'm going to figure out why.
A thick finger presses against my hole and my knees give out the same second I shout. He doesn't miss a beat. Suddenly my leg is over his shoulder and he's holding me against the wall one handed while he drives into my entrance. I lose it. I'm a fucking slut for something in my hole to begin with, and it's him, sucking me down, forcing a finger in and out with perfect, rough strokes.
“God, oh god... Malfoy, yes... harder... Oh fuck, yes...” I claw at his neck, tears in my eyes, pretty sure I'm going to die if he doesn't let me come. He keeps building me up, bringing me to the edge, then letting me down again. He's going to make me mad, going to make me fucking insane.
He pushes another finger inside me and I see stars, my head slamming back against the wall as my body jerks fitfully. “Fuck! God, do it... Oh... Oh god... I'm gonna...” I should warn him, so close. So fucking close. He drives his fingers deeper inside, stretching me, filling me so good, so right. I come with a cry, clutching his head hard, trying to choke him deep with my cum while he grinds his fingers into me.
Fuck. Holy fuck.
I force my eyes open, finding him with my dick still in his mouth, cum dripping down his wet lips while he tries to swallow around me. God. I press my palm across his bangs, letting my fingers drift down to caress the side of his cheek. He pulls his fingers out of me, my hole clenching at the loss and I moan weakly.
God. I'm not going to recover from this. What the fuck was I thinking? I have to share a fucking room with him.
He carefully extracts my thigh from his shoulder, his palm gripping my muscles and rubbing. God, everything he does is fucking me up. He grabs my ass again, like he doesn't want to let it go for too long. And fuck, he shouldn't. He should hold it all the time. Fuck me deep and hold it hard. God, I'm a fucking shaking mess.
While he gets to his feet, I try to get my trembling hands to pull my pants up. I can't. I'm that fucked up right now, I can't grip a fucking thing. So I lean against the wall doing my best to stop the world from spinning while my dick hangs out. He doesn't seem to mind, wrapping his arms around me, holding me close, running his hand down between my thighs while caressing my sac and teasing fingers into my crack. God, he has to stop or I'm going to be begging him to fuck me.
“You lied to me,” I manage to rasp out, feeling damn near boneless in his embrace.
“I did?” He's smiling into my neck and I have a feeling it's smug. “I don't remember lying.”
“Said... you never kissed anyone.”
His smile grows and it's totally smug. “No. I said I didn't need to kiss a boy to know I was gay. Didn't mean I never kissed a boy.”
“Fucking prat.” I push at his gorgeous shoulders, but he doesn't budge. My arms are still too weak. “You intentionally led me to believe you were some fucking virginal, innocent—Why? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He stiffens, pushing me back against the wall, his body keeping me trapped as he glares at me. “Why? Because you're a surly, suspicious fucker, Potter. Bad enough I had to come to you for help on your own territory. But coming in, liking cock when you do too? Snape told me to keep my fucking hands to myself, that showing any interest in you would get me kicked out on my ass faster than anything else. But I honestly don't give a fuck what he thinks. I like you. A lot. I want to...” He trails off, growling at my expression.
Dread is worming in my gut and this time when I push him back, my arms work. Shit. Fucking shit. I pull my pants up while focusing on my magical senses, trying to take in the entire complex. Anything? Any fucking thing to suggest he set me up to be killed while he had his fingers up my ass minutes ago?
“Potter, you're overreacting. Again.”
I slam out of the stall, washing my hands quickly, patting my hair down so I don't look like a complete fucking deviant. He grabs my arm before I can leave.
“Shit, just talk to me.”
“I'm going back. Stay for the movie if you want.” I hand him a crumpled wad of cash from my pocket and slip from his grip and disappear into the crowd.
I knew he was fucking with me. I just hadn't realized how much he could have been fucking with me. Fuck. Fucking hell!
No magical signatures. No one but him. But now I can't stop thinking about it. Yesterday in the Dursleys' car. I didn't even think to fucking look around, just so caught up in him. I could have been swarmed by every Death Eater out there in the mall parking lot and I wouldn't have realized what was happening because I was too busy thinking with my dick. Fuck!
Had Snape warned him off me? Or was that just another fucking cover? Maybe Snape was all 'go fucking get him,' and Malfoy's bullshiting even having an interest in me. I could see Snape setting me up to fall. Malfoy came in here talking about being raped by Voldemort, and fuck me, I immediately start thinking about his cock. Intentional? Has everything been some fucking ploy to get me into him? Is it some deal with Voldemort? Bring me Potter and I'll let your parents live?
I stop cold, my sneakers scraping on the sidewalk. He's a real-world noob. His parents are everything to him. Of course he'd sell me out if it would save his parents. He would get me killed just to keep Voldemort from killing him. That's what being a Death Eater is all about.
Shit, I'm so stupid. So fucking stupid.
I need to talk to Remus. Now. If anyone knows how to deal with this bullshit, it's him. He knows betrayal firsthand.
I look behind me. Malfoy's not there. I open my senses, seeking him out. He's out of range. He either stayed at the theater, or he went to grab the trolley. I'm pretty sure he'll be okay. Especially if he's playing double agent for Voldemort to get me killed. Yeah, he'll be fucking fine.
It's nighttime before Malfoy drags his ass back. I hate that a part of me was worried. He's so fucking dumb about the world. I don't say a word to him when he walks up the drive while I wait on the front steps. He eats dinner with the Dursleys. I lock myself in my room and wait for Hedwig to get back. It's Remus; he's got a lot of shit to juggle right now but hopefully he'll be able to pen a damn letter and help me figure this hell out.
I never should have taken the kid in. I'm too nice, too trusting. I just have to save the whole fucking world while opening myself up to getting stabbed in the back. He said it himself that first night; he could see how much I gave while fucking myself over. And who the fuck is Draco Malfoy to not take advantage of such an obvious character flaw?
Stupid. I'm so fucking stupid.
There's a knock on my door and I freeze, glaring from my bed. I get up slowly, hating him with every bone in my body. But it's only Aunt Petunia.
“I saved you some dinner if you're hungry.”
What? When the hell does she ever bother to do that? “Err, thanks. I'm not really in an eating mood right now.”
She doesn't leave and I really don't know how to tell her to get lost. So I just kind of stare at her, my eyebrows raise inquiringly.
“The two of you are fighting.”
Ugh. “It's nothing. Just a...” I don't know what the fuck it is. Misunderstanding? Is that what you call finding out that you're being set up to be seduced and thrown into the clutches of the one and only Dark Lord Voldemort?
“You know how you get when you're upset. You blow things up. The family can't handle that. Not with two of your kind in the house.”
Fuck my life. “I'm in control, Aunt Petunia, I promise. No shaking the house, no blowing up things or people. I haven't had a slip like that in years and you know it.”
“He's very upset.”
“Yeah, well we fight all the time and he's never exploded anything ever. You don't have to be afraid of him.”
She gives me a look like I'm an idiot. Maybe I am. “He's upset. He's your friend. He's obviously here for some terrible reason because one of his caliber doesn't mingle with the muggles. I'm amazed he knows how to get his shoes on without a wand. Your father was just like him—Completely hopeless without magic. Couldn't work a door handle half the time. Saw him try to eat a toad until he realized it wasn't candy. The things that man tried to eat...”
“Err... Okay.” Aunt Petunia's been, well, different lately. I thought it was because I'm getting close to the age where she expects me to move out and finally leave her family alone. But now I'm wondering if she just doesn't know how to talk to kids and I'm not really a kid anymore. “Was there a point to all this?”
“Yes. His type are complete emotional imbeciles, and if you want to preserve any friendship you have, you need to be the one to repair it. He's going to be here a while and I don't want the two of you fighting.”
Petunia doesn't seem to realize just how much bigger of an emotional imbecile I am. “No offense, Aunt Petunia, but I really don't get why you care.”
Another look that says I'm an idiot. Whatever. “He's a good boy. I don't like to see him upset.”
I have to blink at that. He is? Aunt Petunia thinks the sun shines out of Dudley's ass and now Draco Malfoy is a 'good boy?'
She holds the door before I can shut it. “You're a good boy too, Harry. Especially now that you're not blowing up my house every five seconds. It's okay to have a little happiness. He's clearly smitten with you and it's sad to see you two fighting.”
Holy fuck. I just stare dumbfounded as she shuts the door and leaves me with that fucking insanity. Either I'm now as bad as Dudley and Malfoy, or she actually doesn't hate me. And never mind that, she thinks he's my boyfriend. Aunt Petunia not only knows I'm gay, but let a boy into the house that she's thinks I'm dating.
Did I hit my head recently?
It's early but I can't seem to think of anything better than falling asleep and forgetting this entire fucking day. I strip, tear the stupid night light out of the wall, and lie in my own fucking bed for a change. He knows where the sleeping bag is. I'm done playing nice.
I'm woken quite rudely this time. Confusing because Voldemort was only just warming up, prepping his altar and taunting his muggle when I'm pulled abruptly from sleep by a knee on my hand.
“Shit—Potter! Here I was worried I was going to trip on you, and you're on the fucking bed!” If the angry hissing wasn't bad enough, he hits me too. I think. He might have slipped. It's pitch black and he's heavy as fuck as he tries not to fall.
He's also just in his underwear, and as angry and suspicious as I am with him, I can't help but notice as I try to throw him off the bed. “Fuck off. You can sleep on the floor for a change.”
“You angry, assholic, mistrustful fucking psycho.” He hits me again, this time on purpose, his hands finding my wrists in the dark and pinning them down. I bite back a gasp, not used to being overpowered. It's doing something to me though, especially in the dark where I don't have to worry about him seeing me. “So what, you think I'm a Death Eater sent here to kill you but the worst you're going to do is let me sleep on the fucking floor? Do you even realize how insane you are! Kick me out if you really think I'm here to get you killed. Hurt me—Do something besides freeze me out!”
“Get lost, Malfoy,” I say as calmly and apathetically as possible. He's got his chest pressing down on mine, his knees on either side of me, and his breath is fucking molten on my cheek while he holds me down. There is no way I'm going to be able to keep my shit together if he doesn't get the fuck off me. Now.
“No. You're going to fucking talk to me. You're going to fucking listen for a goddamn change and stop being so paranoid and stupid.”
“Uh, no, I'm not.” I roll, but he's got more leverage, stopping me halfway when he realizes what I'm doing and forcing me back. Fuck—That feels way too good. “Seriously, get the fuck off me.”
He's quiet. It's too dark to see what the hell he's thinking. I figure it out quick though when his hips press down against mine and he rubs against my hard dick. “Shit, Potter. Does everything get you hard?”
Fuck him. I try to roll us again, but that only makes him press his entire body down to keep me still. Fuck. Oh fuck, he's so nearly naked, all long limbs and hard muscle and sweet smelling sweat.
“Leave me alone, Malfoy. I just want to sleep.” God, I want him. Fucking hate him, but god, I want him.
I can feel him hardening against me, feel the change in the tension of his body when he grips my wrists hard and pushes me firmer into the mattress. “I'm not here to kill you.”
“Let go.” I can barely speak, I'm panting so much. He feels so good. Want him so bad.
“I could have stabbed you in your sleep. Could have smothered you with a pillow. Could have hexed you dead. I don't want to hurt you, Potter.” His lips brush my neck and I shudder. “I need your help.” His mouth is hot, wet as he laps a small swatch of my skin. “You're the only one that gives a fuck about me enough to help. I've always known it. Always wanted it but couldn't have it. Not until it all went to shit and then the world got small and huge all at once.”
I can't talk anymore. My throat is tight and I want to listen to every fucking lie he's saying cus they sound so good in the dark. His lips are wet, trailing over my neck, moving up my throat as he kisses his words into my skin.
“I asked Snape about you. He wanted to send me to Grimmauld Place. Guess the Order took over my cousin's house and I could be watched by the best of the best. I tried to convince him it was about the wards. He saw right through me. He knows I'm fucked up over you, Potter. Hates me for it. Hates you even more for it because you're definitely trouble. People die around you, and he doesn't want me dead.”
“Not my fault,” I whisper, shivering as his lips tickle my convulsing throat.
“I know. You've had a really bad run of luck. Everything goes to shit around you and you just keep standing. You're stubborn.” His teeth sink in, clamping on my jaw, and I gasp, whimpering. His tongue slowly soothes over the bite, my body melting with it. “Well, my luck just got a fuck ton worse overnight and I figured it was time to find the only guy that could possibly have it worse off than me. And kiss him because all I've wanted to do since third fucking year is kiss you.”
His nose brushes mine and I tilt my head up to reach him, finding his lips in the dark. He's slow, languid, his tongue teasing over my lips, drawing mine to touch and taste and tangle. His hands loosen and I raise my arms so I can grab his hair and pull him closer. He groans, pushing me harder into the mattress, sliding a palm down my side, to my hip where he slips beneath my underwear so he can grab my ass. I moan, arching into him, my body so hot where he's pressed to me, everything so dizzy and wild with the sound of our strained breathing, wet kisses, and the rustle of sheets.
He pulls away, his mouth out of reach, hands sliding up my body before leaving as well. I grab his nearest wrist, tugging him closer, finding his lips.
“I want to see you.” He again tries to pull away, but only after kissing me so deep that I'm dizzy. His words sink in and I hold his wrist tighter. “Potter?”
God, he just fucking ruins everything. “It's late. Just...” Just let it fucking be and stop trying to make it more. But he's stupid like that. Stubborn and dumb as fuck, and pulling from the bed to get the light.
I keep my eyes shut tight, wincing when the light hits the back of my eyelids. I'm not doing this. Not playing this fucked up game where he wants to make me crazy for him. I'm already fucking crazy for him. I don't need him knowing it too.
He stumbles and against my better judgment and smarting eyes, I open, glaring at him. It's a mistake. He's practically naked, hard, hair mussed like a fucking human being and not even remotely a Malfoy. God, why is he here? Why is he here tormenting me in the middle of fucking summer among a sea of muggles with no magic, no fantasy to wrap myself in to protect me from him? Draco Malfoy does not belong in my cramped little room in this ordinary, boring-ass town in the middle of suburbia. I'm no one here no matter how sexy his is when he looks at me. I can't defend myself.
“Potter, stop glaring.”
I glare harder, a frustrated sigh escaping him. Because he's an idiot for thinking a few fucking words in the dark were going to make me trust him. There's a fucking mountain between us, all centered around his parents and the monster they serve that killed my parents. Nothing is going to make that just disappear. Not even magic,
“I'm not here to fuck up your life.” He stands over the bed, fingers combing through his hair agitatedly.
Malfoy keeps glancing down at me but I refuse to avert my eyes for a second to see what he's looking at. I know I'm hard, probably a fucking mess. I won't let myself feel weak with him towering over. Fuck that.
“Damn it, Harry.” Brows furrowing, he actually fucking kneels next to me, eyes wide and full of something I refuse to acknowledge without a fucking school of wizards and witches to hide within. “I like you, you idiot. I just want to be with you—Why do you have to make this so fucking difficult? I know you like me.”
It has been a fucking crazy, shit day and this is the most I can take of it. My anger is stronger than my exhaustion, propelling me from the bed before he's even back on his feet and stumbling away. “You think this is fucking easy for me, Malfoy? You think it's easy to ignore every fucking insane thing my body is fucking screaming for with you being in the same fucking room as me?”
“Don't ignore it—”
I hold my hand up, cutting him off, my teeth grit tight. “Do you understand what it's like knowing I can have you? Knowing that even if you're fucking lying, I can still have...” I shake my head, hating how my body is reacting even now to the thought. “I can't trust you! I'm never going to be able to trust you. I'd have to be an absolute suicidal dumb ass to trust you.”
His eyes narrow. Draco is fucking gorgeous when he's angry and I just hate him even more for it. “You're doing this on purpose, Potter. You're just looking for any reason you can to push me away. What the fuck can I actually do to prove to you that I'm not here to sell you out? Do you want me to tattoo your fucking scar on my arm? Will that finally do it for you?”
It's a punch to the gut, heat rising over my skin in a sick wave at the thought of me asking that of anyone. Bad enough Voldemort's in my head. Bad enough he's trying to fuck me up every night until I'm as lifeless and monstrous as him...
“I didn't mean it,” Draco whispers, grabbing for my arm when I sway backwards. “You're nothing like him. Harry, please, I didn't—”
“Go away,” I croak out, wrenching my arm free and nearly falling on the bed. I never should have let him in here. Never should have let him get to me when I'm defenseless and alone and a goddamn mess.
“No.” He grabs my arm again, trying to get me to turn. His hand is like fire on my flesh and I go to pull away but he won't give. “I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me. I'm sorry I—”
I duck around him, pulling from his grasp again. “Fine, I'll go. Whatever—What the fuck does it matter, right? You fit so much better with the Dursleys anyways.” He does. They fucking love him and I'm nothing besides an echo of what Voldemort feeds into my dreams, and I should have fucking left years ago. I step around the sleeping bag and tear at the doorknob, growling when the fucking thing won't budge.
“Let go!” I hiss, pulling at the door again, his other hand slamming down next to his first and boxing me in.
I'm suddenly hyper-aware of him hot against my back, his bare flesh brushing my shoulders, breath tickling the nape of my neck. I close my eyes, my entire body tensing with want. Hate him. Fucking hate him for being here and doing this to me.
“Why are you doing this?” He sounds confused, maybe even hurt—If a lying bastard like him could ever feel, that is. “Really, Potter. Why the fuck are you doing this to yourself?”
God, he's so fucking annoying. Hot, sexy, and so annoying. I grab his wrist, pulling it from the door, grasping it tight. Then, because I can't stop myself no matter how much the voice in my head tells me to, I push his palm against my stomach, holding him against me, making his hand press lower as he growls in my ear.
“For fuck sake—You're fucked. So fucked.” But he's touching me, his fingers spreading, teasing lower with each huff of exasperation in my ear. “Potter...”
“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up already.” I push his hand lower until he's pressing into my erection, gasping as I buck into his palm. Snarling, he slams me forward into the door. “God, yes.” His body covers my back completely, his dick grinding between my cheeks with only our underwear between us. It's so good, my head spinning as I push back, rubbing up and down on his hard cock and urging him to hump against me.
“Do it... Do me,” I demand huskily, my head dropping back against his shoulder as I grind on his dick. I need him so bad. Don't want to but I do and I just can't think straight anymore.
His angry rumble sends fire tingling through me, my body tensing as he slams me forward against the door again. “No way in fuck. If you're going to hate me, it might as well be on my terms.”
Fucking hell, he just can't do anything right. Growling, I reach my hands behind and grab his hips, pulling him against me as I push back, wiggling until his dick is digging into my crack. “You want me.”
“So?” He grunts, his hips thrusting forward. I can't stop my moan and I spread my legs wider as I push back. But he's not giving in, his arm tight around my waist as he tries to hold me still. “Potter, you think I'm here to seduce you or some retarded shit like that so I can hand you over to the Dark Lord. I'd have to be a fucking idiot to touch you right now. I have no interest ending up out on the street without your protection.”
“You mean the wards.”
He's still, his breath steamy puffs against my neck. “Don't be naïve. You can't be a crazy, paranoid psycho bastard and also be naïve, Potter. It's one or the other.”
Hate him. Fucking hate him so much. He knows I want him. Knows I want to be the one he runs to—not the stupid house but to me. He knows it and he's using it against me so fucking good.
His hands rise to my shoulders and he tries to turn me. I resist, not budging. “Just go to bed, Malfoy.”
“Look at me,” he whispers. “You can't face the fucking Dark Lord and then be unable to face me.”
“You're such an asshole!”
“I'm aware. Now stop being a coward.”
Hate him, hate him, hate him... I turn when he pushes at my shoulders, my eyes resolutely closed. “Just let it go.” I feel exposed knowing he's looking at me, but I can't bring myself to face him. He shouldn't be here. It's summer and I shouldn't have to be doing this right now.
“If I could, I would have already. I'm not a fan of making an ass of myself in my underwear, Potter.” His lips press to mine and I suppress a sigh, keeping myself still. His lips slide to the corner of my mouth, brushing over my cheek as he talks lowly. “I get it. You don't trust me. You don't trust anyone. You can't even accept a fucking meal from your aunt without wondering if she's about to stab you in the back. That doesn't mean I'm not trustworthy, Potter, it just means all you can see is the world the way you built it in your head. Fucked up. A world where someone gets murdered every night while you rest and you can't do a thing to stop it.”
His lips tease my ear, fingers curling around my biceps. “I get it, Harry.”
He does. He really fucking does and it just makes him all the more dangerous. “Go to bed.”
“Look at me.”
I take a deep breath to brace myself, knowing he won't back down until he feels like I've heard him. I immediately regret it, his face inches from mine, beautiful eyes glaring so intense and full of something I can hardly bear to see. It makes my knees weak, my chest tight and I manage to find a little more hate to build up between us to keep him from getting to me.
His fingers are firm as they thread through my hair, combing slowly while he stares at me like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. Maybe he does. Maybe his father taught him Legilimency. It doesn't matter; I can't ever let him close enough to hurt me.
“Take the bed.” He pulls away, his voice a low murmur. “You need to sleep a lot more than I do.”
I shake my head wearily. There's no way I can stay in here with him tonight. I'm so hard, so wound up, my body and head a fucking mess. “I gotta go. Jog.” I turn to leave but he's on me in an instant, holding the door shut again, body hot against my back.
“It's not safe.”
I huff, trying not to laugh at the idea of him worried about me. “I don't fucking care.”
“You're in your fucking underwear.”
Damn him. “I can't do this with you! This room is too small and hearing you breathe is driving me fucking crazy and I need to—Oh.” His arms wrap tight around me, a hand boldly cupping my dick through my underwear. “Fuck.” I sink against the door, his strong body keeping me from falling as he wraps closer, lips kissing up my neck, cock pressing against my ass. God, just once more. Need him to touch me so bad.
I fumble for the light switch, whimpering when his hand catches my wrist. I'm too tired for all this. Just too fucking tired. “Please.”
Sighing in frustration, he unwinds his fingers. I flick the light off, darkness descending, my eyes opening, senses expanding. I'm panting, his breath calm against my neck, lips wet on my ear.
“Not enough tattoos and holes in my head?”
What an idiot. If he only fucking knew. He's always in the dark with me, behind my eyelids when I touch myself. Somehow this feels more real than him being in the light. Safer.
I turn, his body bumping mine, my back against the door. My hands find his arms and follow them up, over his shoulders, down his chest, past his abs and pausing at the top of his underwear. I pull them down, his breath hitching, body pushing up against mine as he steps out of the last of his clothes. His dick is bare and hot against my stomach, his hands grasping my ass, holding me tight against him.
“You're fucking infuriating,” he growls against my jaw. I shift my hips, lining his dick up with mine. I try to push my underwear down but he grabs my hands, pulling them back to his body. “Insane. I haven't been here a week and you're driving me insane.”
I kiss him if only to shut him up already. I miss, my mouth getting most of his bottom lip and a bit of his chin. He's got more of that bristle—the idiot still not daring to use a razor—and I rub my face into the rough texture. He growls, pulling me off the door and walking me toward the bed.
“Potter, I'm serious. There is nothing healthy about this—Fuck.” He's found the bed, hissing when his leg slams into it. I push him down, straddling him with my thighs on either side before he can start bitching, seeking his mouth and kissing him deep. I reach between us, stroking his thick, hard cock, groaning when the silken flesh jumps in my hand. He's breathing hard, small grunts escaping him with every rock of our hips.
Fuck, I need him inside me. So bad. His hand is on my hip and I grab it, moving it down to my ass. He slides beneath the leg of my briefs and squeezes hard, my hips grinding forward as I gasp.
“Fuck, do it,” I find myself practically begging when he slides a finger down my crack. It'll stop if he fucks me. It has to. This fucking crazy need in me that makes me want the worst and fucking chase after it against my better judgment will finally stop if I just have this one thing.
I still my hips when I feel his fingertips at my rim, my face tight against his neck. “Come on, Malfoy... God, just fuck me.”
“Why, so you'll finally have your proof that I'm here to get you killed?” Draco whispers hot against my forehead, his thumb teasing around my entrance, the tip slowly stretching me open. “Give me some fucking credit.”
Whimpering lowly as his thumb breaches me, I can only clutch him desperately. “More,” I gasp, moaning when he pushes into me deeper. I clench around the digit, his breath a low hiss as his other arm wrenches me up against his body, pushing my underwear beneath the swell of my ass, fingers finding my entrance and probing where his thumb is already buried. I half expect him to draw it out but he's still angry, still determined to make me pay for using him like he's just a pretty face and hard dick after all our years of dancing around each other.
“Oh... Oh fuck.” My voice is a low rasp when two fingers plunge into me, my flesh sore and slowly opening to him. It's so good, the right mix of pain and pleasure, the perfect overwhelm as my passage stretches too wide, too fast to take in his driving thrusts. “Yes... Fuck, yes.” I slam back, grinning breathlessly when he growls and pulls me tighter to him, his dick smearing sticky precum against my inner thigh. He feels so good. Draco Malfoy finger fucking me in the dark while kissing down my neck; I might be in some sort of delusional coma right now.
Sweat drips down my face, my gasps so loud with every pump of his fingers inside me. I need his cock—need him to be fucking me. Releasing a groan, I fumble down his body, my hands shaking like crazy as I seek out his dick. “Please... Please. I want you so bad.” It's dark. I can say it in the dark. “Draco, I want to feel you inside me.”
“Goddammit, Harry,” he hisses, his hips jolting up and rocking me so good. “I refuse to feed your fucked up delusions.” He's a mix of bitterness, anger, and lust but all I care about is how his fingers are spreading, opening me wider, finding my prostate and stroking.
“Fuck—Yes... Again,” I sob, wrapping my arms tight around his shoulders, hooking my ankles around his back and moaning against his throat. He gives a warning growl when I try to position his dick between my spread cheek. “Come on... Need it,” I grunt back, nipping at the hollow of his throat.
“Not until you trust me,” he says hoarsely.
The fucking stubborn pain. Damn him, I refuse to fucking beg. Just... God, I need him. “Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?”
“Because you're fucking difficult,” he mutters, his hips rocking up again, our dicks rubbing such perfect friction that I tighten, certain I'm going to come any moment now.
“You want me,” I breathe out, grinding on his fingers, needing it bigger and deeper. “Just fuck me already.”
“Damn, you're out of your fucking mind.” Ducking his head, he growls in my ear while his fingers rhythmically thrust into me in slow, deep strokes. “You're worried I'm trying to get you killed but you're more than willing to let me fuck you raw. Is that what you want, Potter?” He hits my prostate again, my breath lost, thighs and ass tightening, my head spinning with heat. “Do you want me to use you? Take you however I want... get off ruining you... and then just throw you away when I'm done?”
I can't stop my aching moans. I can't help it—I want him to ruin me. To give in and fuck me so hard, fill me with his cum. I want him to use me so bad. However he wants just as long as it's me. After? I don't fucking care, I just want him inside me now. “Malfoy, just...”
“Not a fucking word, Potter,” he snarls, nipping my ear in punishment. The pain is a jolt of electricity, quickly followed by bruising bites as he moves down my throat angrily. “I'm not that kid of guy... And you, you deserve fucking better, you absolute tosser.” He ignores my whine of protest when he pulls his fingers out of me, my hole clenching on nothing and feeling so empty.
Sweat drips down my chest and our flesh slides together when he rolls me roughly, pushing me back on the bed. I can't see his face but I'm pretty sure he's angry as fuck, his fingers gripping painfully tight to my hips after he pulls my underwear down and off my legs and he lowers his body on top of mine. I don't have it in me to care and I lift a knee up to feel him between my legs, groaning when his dick finally presses hot to mine again. I want him inside me so bad, my hips angling for just that until he pins me down with another angry growl.
There's a familiar sound of sheets and springs shifting, my eyes flying open when the blunt, cool tip of a dildo pushes between my cheeks. “Oh, fuck.”
“Just so we're clear, I wasn't searching your fucking room for ways to get you killed. Your bed is just fucking lumpy and clearly this was part of the reason,” he taunts, pushing my knee up higher until I'm spread wide beneath him. Fuck, please. Please, please, please put it in me.
“Quiet.” I hear his thumb click the cap open on the bottle of lube I keep wedged under my mattress with the dildo and I sink back, gasping beneath him in anticipation. He could do anything to me right now and I wouldn't complain. Just as long as he puts something in me thick and hard and long. Maybe it is my fault—Maybe I'm a paranoid fuck because I know damn well just how easy it is for me to fall for him. Maybe having him actually inside me would be the stupidest fucking mistake I could ever make.
Fingers slick with oil push beneath my balls and I moan, arching eagerly. Fuck yes. Fuck, fuck, fuck...
“Damn, listen to you moan,” Draco whispers, his mouth fastening to my throat, coated fingers working into me, getting me ready, driving me wild. “You really want it... Like crazy, want it.”
It's been three days and I'm ready to let him fuck me. Yeah... that seems about right. Usually fight with him the first two days of school because he's always running me down like a rabid puppy with a mean bark and dull teeth. By the third to fourth day I have to avoid him to keep from jumping him and trying to get his pants off. This feels about on par to that. Considering he's been in my face the last three days, I've done damn well to resist.
My hands are again a fucking uncoordinated mess but I manage to grab his hips and pull him tighter to me. I find his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip harshly and tugging at the firm flesh with my teeth. “Hurry... Want it so bad.”
“You're still so tight.”
“I can take it... God, just...” My back arches when he brushes my prostate. I grip him harder, moaning lowly on my exhale. “Need you.”
He stiffens in my hold and I immediately regret my stupid, horny mouth. I really shouldn't be allowed to talk when he's touching me. Dumb. Really dumb. It's a relief when he pushes the silicone against my hole, my gasp breaking the growing silence. It doesn't stop him from biting my shoulder, his teeth digging in punishingly while he slowly penetrates me with the thick dildo.
I'm so close. Unbearably close. He barely gets two inches into my clenching passage when I can't take any more, my body jerking. Crying out, I throw my head back, coming in a sudden blaze of heat and need.
His free hand runs between us, slicking over the streams of seed wet on my navel. Malfoy groans when he finds it but he doesn't stop what he's doing, the dildo wedging in deeper into my sensitive channel. I whimper when he gets as deep as he can, the base stretching me so wide as he fills me.
“Fuck... Fuck, it's so...”
Leaning down, he wraps one of my legs around his hips, pulling and pushing the thick rod in and out of my aching hole. I can't stop my cries. He's relentless, filling me again and again and, by his breathing, he's so close to losing it.
“Say it again,” he rasps in my ear, teeth nipping on my lobe.
“Fuck... I need you,” I gasp out, sliding an arm to his waist and wrapping fingers around his hard cock. “Just you,” I admit dazedly.
“God, Harry... You're so fucked.”
I know. It's the only way I'm ever going to be when it comes to him.
His movements slow, growing more erratic as he thrusts into my hand while trying to fuck me senseless with the dildo at the same time. It's so good and all I want is for it to be his dick inside me, swelling, getting ready to fill me. I grab him by the shoulders, pushing him back, groaning from how deep the dildo is wedged inside me as I move. Sliding down his body, my gasps break free with every aching jolt to my clenching hole until his dick is hot on my lips. Tongue tracing out hungrily, I lap over his head, my ass high in the air and legs spread for balance as I lean down to take him deep into my mouth.
“Fuck... God, Harry... God.” His fingers grip my hair, twisting tight while he bucks up towards my tonsils and threatens to suffocate me. I relax my jaw, opening as far as I can while being as malleable as possible. He won't stay still enough for me to properly deep throat him, but I can take his desperate thrusts and let him fuck my mouth how he wants.
He's close, grunting softly, the underside of his large dick singing on my tongue as I feel him swell. I moan as he comes, holding his hips and dripping saliva down my swollen lips while I try to keep from choking on his sperm. Dizziness hits me, my ass clenching from just how hot it is to have him get off in my mouth.
I barely have a chance to swallow before he's sitting up and pulling me towards him, his tongue plunging roughly into my mouth while I groan in agony from the dildo. It's too big to be stretching me for so long without moving, my body clenching in attempt to push it out to no avail. I reach for it while he kisses me but he grabs my wrists, keeping me in place.
“Say it again,” he demands against my lips, holding me so I'm still leaning over the bed, body bent and aching as I rock my hips.
I don't even consider refusing. “Need you.” My voice is low, rough from the friction of his dick and the absolute need I have for him. When he pulls me down beside him, I barely catch myself, just stopping from jarring on the mattress as I breathe heavily. He slides behind me, his hip pressed against the swell of my ass, fingers probing at the dildo filling me so deep.
“Again,” he growls, his mouth against my ear as he pulls the dildo out only to immediately slam it back in.
I sob, clutching the sheets, pushing back on shaking legs to get it deeper. “N-Need... you...”
“Fuck, Harry.” His voice a raw growl, he starts fucking me hard on the slick rod. My cries only spur him on as he drives into me unceasingly. I bury my face into the bed, gasping until the sheet grows wet under my mouth and teeth. I don't know if he wants to get me off or just drive me insane for admitting I like him in such a way. All I know is I'm going to lose my mind if he stops.
“That's it... You're so close. Get there, beautiful.” Grabbing me by my hair, he kisses me hard, swallowing my cries down greedily while grinding the thick plastic into me so deep, so hard. My eyes squeezed shut, for a dizzying moment it's like he's actually inside me, his hot flesh melded with mine, filling me completely. Bucking desperately, I come the instant his hand touches my dick, surge after surge streaming from me as I moan against his lips.
He won't stop kissing me, even when I collapse forward, groaning weakly when he finally pulls the dildo from my aching hole. Rolling me on my side, his mouth covers mine, tongue determined to memorize every part of my mouth as his large hands move over my sweat drenched, shaking form.
I'm so worn out, it takes forever for me to actually understand what he's doing when he twists us on the bed, pulling me into his arms and kissing my throat and shoulders. I go to roll away and sleep on the floor, but he just growls and wraps an arm around my waist to keep me in place.
“Bed’s too small,” I mumble, not actually able to find the strength to move at the moment. But he's cuddling me like I'm his fucking boyfriend or some shit, so I really need to get away before he gets the wrong...
His knee sliding between my thighs, he pins me down with his hot body before I can break from his hold. Resourceful little prat. Teeth nip my neck and I moan, relaxing back against the mattress. I'll move when he's asleep. Totally. Just, right now I'm going to let him keep running his hand over my chest while he kisses and sucks on my neck lazily.
“Say it again,” he whispers, mouth wide and wet as he scrapes his teeth over my flesh.
Fucked up. He's either luring me to my death or retarded enough to think I'm worth having. Either way, I'm not feeding his psychosis.
Teeth clamp on the side of my neck and I gasp, groaning weakly as fire rushes through my exhausted body. It's dark. I can say it in the dark. “F-Fine... I need you.”
His tongue immediately soothes over the bite, fingers again tracing my form reverently. He sighs contently and I close my eyes again, trying to ignore just how comforting and secure I feel with him weighing me down and wrapped around me.
Sleep is determined to claim me and I don't fight it. It's better than thinking about what the fuck I just did.
He has the most beautiful hands. Long, strong fingers that taper to glowing pink flesh and short manicured nails. Usually perfectly clean and immaculate, but this morning he's got a bit of dirt under a nail and I can't stop staring at it. It's day four and I'm dirtying him. Tarnishing him. He's more human today than I've ever seen him and I hate myself for it.
He doesn't belong here. He doesn't belong and once he leaves, he'll never come back. It is amazing just how cruel Draco Malfoy can be by telling me he likes me.
I think I woke up to jog. My body is ready to run. I slept—I can't even remember the last time I fucking slept like this—and now I'm awake, and hard, and sweating under his hot flesh and solid, strong form. There's no darkness to hide away in and he is so fucking beautiful when he sleeps.
I want to touch him. His skin is a pale, golden cream in the morning light bouncing through the window, his hair a glittering gold as it tickles my cheek. I can touch him. God, I am touching him, his slowly moving chest half covering mine, his leg still pressed between my thighs and likely getting sticky with just how fucking hard he makes me. He has amazing shoulders and such a smooth, sculpted ass. Hell, Malfoy nude is fucking art. I'm sleeping with art.
Holy fuck, I'm sleeping with Draco Malfoy.
I have to be losing my mind. Like, full blown hallucinations combined with schizophrenic delusions. How long has he been here? Did I end up spelled by something? Am I in a fucking coma right now? I don't know if I believe in parallel universes but I'm questioning it now.
Except, he is so quick to point out just how fucked up I am, and I am still just so totally fucked.
I didn't even really realize just how fucked I was until he said it. Do I not see the world right? Have the nightmares from Voldemort fucked me up that much that I can't even tell the difference between what's real and me being a paranoid fuck?
It doesn't mean I wrong. It doesn't mean Voldemort wouldn't kill me in a second. Or Malfoy's parents. Or even fucking Malfoy.
I lick my lips, trying to glare at his gorgeous face, but I can't find the anger when he's asleep. I need him to open his mouth and say something stupid first.
It doesn't mean I'm wrong.
I don't live a fucking normal life no matter how mundane it might seem during the summer. It is so fucking insane for me to come back to the Dursley's every summer break and live in this world. Playing muggle. Playing teenager. It's all make believe here.
I once thought magic was freedom from this boring place. Whimsical. Really fucking cool. But that all changed when I realized how my parents had died, why I was going to die, and why every fucking person I'm around or dare to care about is going to die. Little Whinging is a fucking illusion and every time something magical strays in, it cracks the facade a little more, breaking me with it.
I am a fucking crazy person. Ask any muggle that wants to know my opinion on magic. Oh, so you think it would be super cool to just do things? Fly or become invisible or turn back time? Sure, except it's not just you. It would be lots of people doing those same really cool things but they use it to control people like slaves and murder the ones they can't control. If magic were real, you'd need to learn as much as you could as quickly as you could, otherwise someone with more power might come around and kill you.
Why? Fuck, because they can. They can do magic; what did you think they were going to do with it? Make the world a better place? How many fucking people do you personally know are bothering to put their own selfish needs aside to help a stranger? Why would a person with magic be any different? They can just do all the things they want with no one to stop them or tell them they're wrong.
Oh, you're sure that if you had magical powers, you'd be the next Jesus? Pretty sure that guy died in the end. The normal people killed him because he was trying to make their lives better. I know, what a dick. Who's to even say that guy was real? You know who was definitely real? Hitler. Pol Pot. Kim Jong Il. Stalin. Mussolini. Genghis Khan. The Crusades. Genocides from 100 million Native Americans to the Holocaust to Nigeria—Name a fucking continent and I can name a genocide committed by people that didn't need magic to do horrible things.
How many times do you hear about people joining together to feed the homeless or welcome them into their country after a natural disaster? Most of the time they're too busy bitching about not having enough for themselves. You really think magic is going to help this world? People are fucked and there's no helping them.
They tend to stop talking to me after that. Apparently I'm a depressing asshole. Whatever.
Having magic and knowing Voldemort forces you to think about this shit. Most people are in the middle of the selfish meter. They'll help a little until it gets to be too much of a hassle for themselves. You get a few that will give up their homes for a stranger but they never outnumber the monsters that would destroy and take everything they can.
Destruction is so easy. So satisfying. Primal. And fuck, when you try to help, it never really solves a problem, it only ever seems to pick away at it for a bit. Destruction succeeds where healing just puts off the inevitable death of the decaying all around us.
Magic is real, I am fucking crazy, and it doesn't mean I'm wrong in thinking Voldemort would send Draco to kill me.
It doesn't mean I'm wrong, but god, I really want to be wrong.
I'm never going to be able to have anything I want until Voldemort is dead. This man—No, monster. This monster has decided my life just by existing. He took my parents away and every other good thing I could ever hope for in life by his constant threat to destroy me. I think I finally understand Sirius in some ways. The seemingly arrogant death wish he had walked around with. But it wasn't arrogance, it was fucking desperation. The last straw in a life stolen from him. He wanted to live the second his life was handed back to him. He wanted to finally have a choice.
Yeah, I fucking get it. But he's dead and I'm the one that lived to see the lesson of trying to take control of your life. You just end up fucked. It doesn't matter what you do, you're just fucked. Nothing matters.
I want to go back to sleep. I am a depressing fucker. That he's just lying on top of me, completely oblivious to how fucking miserable a person I am is beyond surreal. He's only going to get worse around me. Cynical, angry, bitter. I'm fucked in the head and he's a fucking idiot for looking twice at me. Maybe it's the scar. Maybe he really is just another stupid fanboy underneath it all.
He smells amazing. His lips are gorgeous, and he smells like sex. Looks like sex. I wonder if he's ever bottomed. He has a fucking smooth, tight ass and I would totally fuck him if I didn't want him to be inside me every time I think about his dick. But if he wanted to bottom, I would totally do that for him.
His breathing doesn't change when I slide my arm out from under his body, carefully cupping his ass cheek. My fingers fan out and I give him a small squeeze. He really has a nice ass. Firm. Fit. He is fucking tight all around. Fuck, the things I would do with him. Nasty shit. Really, really nasty shit.
But he's a naïve idiot. An enemy. His parents could also be dead and I'm a total selfish fuck for bringing him into my shit of a life. Should have pawned him off on the Order the second he showed up. Should have kept my hands to myself and slept on the downstairs couch and just stayed the fuck away. Should have never ever ever fucking told him I need him.
God, I need him.
I give his ass a final squeeze and shift my hips so I'm not humping his leg. Sleep has not helped my head. Nothing is going to fix the life I'm living in. I tilt my head on the pillow, my eyelids heavy as I take in his sleeping face. He really is beautiful. I could get used to waking up beside him in this cramped bed. I could get used to a lot of things when it comes to him. All the more reason he needs to go.
I feel when he wakes, the bed shifting, his breathing changing as he yawns shamelessly right next to my ear. I keep my eyes closed even when his fingers brush my face, his lips quickly following to press against mine.
“You are the lumpiest bed I've ever slept on,” he whispers hoarsely against my mouth like he's afraid to wake me. “Sexiest, too. My god, you are one sexy psycho.” He kisses my jaw, his lips brushing softly over my bristle.
Idiot. He is such a naïve idiot and if I wasn't pretending to be asleep I'd be kissing his stupid mouth raw.
“Try not to wake up an angry fuck today, scarhead.” He pushes himself out of bed before I can growl at him and reveal I'm very much awake and already angry and fucked up. God, but he fucks me up.
I keep my eyes closed and listen to him grab some clothes and a towel. My bedroom door clicks shut and the bathroom fan goes on a moment later. The tension leaves my body and I sink down into the bed, not having realized how tight I had been.
I don't want to get up today. I don't want to see him at breakfast or listen to him bitch about muggle things. I don't want to see him because if I see him, I'm going to remember all those fucking crazy things he said to me yesterday about him wanting me and my resolve is going to fucking break. I gotta let him go. For my sanity. For his own fucking good.
I roll over onto my side, staring blankly at my dingy bedroom wall. It feels very real today. I think the sleep must have done something to me because I feel a little more solid than I usually do, a little more aware of gravity and just how real the wall looks. I might actually be here today in the Dursley's house and not in some in between dream before school starts.
My sheets smell like Malfoy and sex. My ass is sore, a dull throb that makes the rest of me feel kind of warm and fuzzy and a whole lot of stupid. God, I already miss him. Miss the feel of his arms, the weight of his body. I never should have let this happen.
It's not the doorbell but Petunia's tense voice that catches my attention. It's after noon. I managed to fall asleep—It's amazing how much sleep I can get when I'm feeling fucking pathetic about my life. I dressed after a needed shower and was heading for the kitchen to throw a sandwich together when I hear my aunt choke on her words. Warning bells ring in my head and I'm heading for the front door without even pausing.
“Harry, I got your owl.” Remus looks at Petunia with an exasperated nod as if my beaming smile is proof enough he's allowed to be here. But I can see her expression now. She's stiff, her face pale with thin lips set in a flat line.
Aunt Petunia is fucking terrified of wizards. She might have learned to tolerate me but she is freaking out to be faced with a full grown one on her front steps. For the first time, I feel a wave of guilt for not having thought of her when contacting Remus. I hadn't expected him to come down but still, she's really freaking and it is her fucking house.
I finish crossing to the door and nod my head in the direction of the street. “Aunt Petunia, Remus and I are going to go for a walk. I'll let you know when I'm back.” Thank god Vernon isn't here. The last thing I need is him taking one look at a freaked out Petunia and feeling the need to play angry guard dog against a werewolf.
I close the door behind us, Remus giving me a quizzical look I don't feel like answering until I'm out of sight of Petunia's glare through the curtains. I feel like I'm fucking everything up today. She lost her only sister to one of the evilest wizards around and I'm just parading wizards through her front door. Stupid, Potter, really fucking stupid.
Once I'm down the street and out of sight of the house, I relax and finally take a good look at Remus. He's worn, his hair touched with gray, warm eyes looking tired. Losing Sirius—Fuck, getting Sirius back and then losing him was hard on Remus. The most on him. He's the last one left of his friends to carry on. I sometimes think he's putting the whole Wormtail thing on his shoulders, like he needs to set it all right.
“Should I be worried that you're here?” I finally ask, seeing as he hasn't offered to tell me yet if we should be checking the street for Death Eaters or shit.
“I had a moment. I just...” He sighs, his arm coming up to rest on my shoulder. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay in person. That's all. I spoke to Snape and he pretty much backs up Malfoy's story. He got a message from Lucius after the thing with Narcissa happened. Draco ended up portkeying in to their arranged meet up, confused and afraid. It doesn't mean someone didn't get to him before Snape.”
No, it didn't. “He asked to stay with me?”
“Snape's still pissed,” Remus says with a wry grin. “He's been arguing with the Order, demanding Shacklebolt be stationed here until your summer break is over.”
I raise my eyebrows, Remus just shaking his head. Yeah, wasn't really expecting an armed wizard escort around here. There's too many people that don't have wards against Voldemort to worry about.
“Is his mother going to be alright?”
His expression goes grim and I sigh internally. Great, Draco's mom is as good as dead and I just totally molested him last night. And at the movies. In the bathroom at that. Fucking great. I don't believe in hell but I'll probably end up there anyways.
“There are rumors that Lucius is in hiding,” Remus says softly. “He hasn't shown up at the Ministry since Draco left. They're talking about him possibly being dead, but Snape is certain he's just holed up somewhere. Then again, Snape's been wrong before, so I can't say for certain.”
Fuck. Dear fuck, how the hell can I tell Draco any of this? “Remus, I need to ask you something and you gotta just answer me flat out, okay? No bullshit.”
Remus' eyes sharpen and I know he's wondering if I'm going to ask something secret oriented. But it's not a secret, it's just one of those really fucking shitty things that people love to soften the blow of.
“Fine,” he finally says, his face guarded.
“Is Voldemort really looking to rape him?”
His eyes widen before he immediately looks away. “Damn it, Harry.”
“You promised. I need to know.”
“Why? Why the hell do you need to know something like that?” His growl is so low, I'm wondering if the full moon is soon. “The last thing you should be thinking about is the kind of fucked up shit You-Know-Who is into.”
“Remi, fucking tell me!” I grab him by the arm, his eyes flashing warningly at me. I don't fucking care anymore. “What is Voldemort going to do to him? If I make him leave here with you today and the Order fucks up and he gets captured, what the hell is going to happen to him?”
His jaw is grit so tight, it's a wonder he can speak. “Harry, it's not your responsibility to take on every—”
“Fuck that! Fuck! Say it, and stop trying to protect me!” I snarl, going to push him back only to have him grab my fist with impossible speed. “He came to me. Crying, Remus. Fucking crying. Tell me the truth.”
Exhaling angrily, he abruptly lets me go. “I can't say for certain.”
“Do not bullshit me, Remus Lupin. Do you think I'm so dumb that I don't know why you're here?” I hate him for pulling this shit right now, hate him for having to give an actual fuck about me when I just want to know how bad I'm fucking up Draco's life. “Yes or no? Is Voldemort going to rape the fucking kid until he's dead?”
Growling loudly, Remus ducks his head and glares right into my eyes. “Yes, but that doesn't mean it's your responsibility to save him. This isn't your fault, Harry. There are plenty of fully grown adults that can watch over him and they don't have to fear being set up and handed over to Voldemort if it turns out the kid's a spy. Let me take him to Grimmauld Place.”
I shake my head before the words are fully out of his mouth. God. Dear, god, I am the worst kind of fucking person. Maybe I will be telling people to get my fucking scar tattooed on their arm by the time Voldemort is through fucking with my head. The Dark Lord is going to rape the kid and I keep trying to get into his pants.
“Remus, thanks for answering my owl.”
I hold my hand up, shaking my head again. “Make sure no one fucking knows he's here. The Order might not turn on me, but everyone hates the Malfoys. I don't want to have to worry about someone thinking they're doing me a fucking favor by getting rid of him.” I give him a hard look, one he readily returns.
“Sirius told me, Harry. I'm not blind.” His gaze moves over the red marks on my neck. “You're not thinking clearly—”
“I know right from wrong,” I snap back flatly. “Having a fucking crush doesn't mean I don't know when bailing on him is as monstrous as it sounds. His mother's dying.”
Sighing, Remus eventually nods, his expression closed off. “Within the week, very likely. Her life force is draining fast. And no, I wouldn't recommend him visiting. I wouldn't tell him at all, just in case he's the type to run off to try and say goodbye.”
God, I don't want this. I turn and start walking towards the house, my head stuck on having to hide the condition of his mother from Draco. The kid still has hope while I'm once again crushed by the reality of the world.
Remus makes a sound behind me and I force myself to turn back. He's got his wand out, ready to disappear and today I'm just feeling all the 'what if's' that could happen. I quickly run back, Remus pulling me into a one-armed hug, my hair ruffled into a flying mess.
“Be careful, Harry. Don't be reckless like him. You're too alike. Too much like your father, too, and your mother was nearly as bad.”
Fucking Sirius. Selfish, bullheaded Sirius Black.
“I'll be fine, Remus. I'm always fine. I live, remember? It's kinda my thing.” I give him a cheeky smile he doesn't return, his eyes full of such impossible sorrow. He knows I'm fucked up. Everyone fucking knows. It's not like I've been hiding it.
I give him a small wave, watching as he disappears, the sound dull to my ears.
Left alone, I'm stuck with just my messed up head and the memory of everything I've been fucking up the last four days. Damn.
Need him. Never should have fucking told him I need him.