July 18th, 2011
|12:29 am - [FIC] Two's Company, Three's a Crowd (Part 3/4)|
Title: Two’s Company, Three’s a Crowd
Author: Kira O’Hara (kiraohara)
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Draco/OMC, Harry/Draco/OMC
Word Count: 26,501
Warnings: Threesome, slash, swearing, minor scar!kink, mature sexual content.
Summary: It has been four years since the War, and Draco and Hans have been together for a little over a year now. Out of the blue, Hans suggests a threesome with a famous Muggle that he rather admires. Draco reluctantly agrees. Little did he know that it was simply the strings of fate falling into place.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Harry blushed at Hans, but he had insisted. After a moment, he bit his lip and turned his head to narrow his eyes at Draco. “My turn.”
“Oh really?” he teased back, circling his hips, causing a ‘ngh’ sound in Harry’s throat.
Harry’s nails dug into the back of his neck in response. “Yes, really,” he grit out through his teeth. “Now get down there.”
Draco growled back at him, biting his shoulder hard enough that it would definitely leave a mark. “Make me.”
With a snarl, Harry managed to pull his hips forward enough to remove Draco’s erection, then twisted his torso to grab Draco. He attempted to flip him over his hip, but Draco was a bit stronger than he thought. It might have worried Hans, if they hadn’t started laughing as they struggled. Eventually, Harry managed to dig his fingers into Draco’s ribs, causing him to yelp and loosen his grip. He flipped him over and pinned him against the pillows, a self-satisfied grin gracing his features. Draco spluttered up at him for a moment.
“You-! You tickled me!” he screeched indignantly.
“Yup,” was the gloating response.
“You absolute prat!”
“Well, ‘all’s fair’ and all,” Harry said with a grin, not wholly sure why he felt awkward completing the worn saying.
“I hate you.” Draco scowled at him in what he probably thought was a threatening manner.
“No you don’t,” Harry responded, and then bent to place a chaste kiss on the tip of Draco’s nose. Draco squawked in outrage, but Harry sealed their mouths together before he could add further comment. The kiss was sweeter than any of the ones that had been shared before – even though Draco was apparently still trying to argue into Harry’s mouth and Harry was laughing. They broke apart to breathe properly, still laughing quietly. “Now, are you going to make me have to maneuver you the whole way, or are you going to give a little?”
“I should make you work for it,” Draco quipped conversationally, though he was already moving to position himself better under Harry.
“Oh, hush.” Harry was rolling his eyes as he leaned down to bite along Draco’s neck, eliciting a small ‘mmm’ of contentment.
“Berk,” was the muttered reply, but it was obvious by Draco’s failed attempt to smother a grin that it was only token grumpiness. “Don’t even think about it,” was the next reply, as Harry’s hand closed around one of the pillows he’d used to prop Hans up.
Harry pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “It’ll make it easier.”
“If you think I’m just going to lay back here and take it like some girl-” he cut off the growl when Harry started laughing.
“Oh, I know quite well that you’re not a girl. I just had this inside me, after all.” He gripped at Draco’s cock, eliciting a small moan. “And I don’t think a girl could handle what I’m about to do to you,” he growled hotly in Draco’s ear.
Draco moaned loudly, his legs spreading wider. Harry took his chance to slide into the ‘V’ and grind down, rubbing them together roughly. Grabbing under one of Draco’s knees, he pushed it up. Draco lifted his other leg helpfully, exposing himself. Harry pressed his mouth to Draco’s as he deftly guided himself in. It was Draco’s turn to grunt as his muscles were forced to stretch again to accommodate Harry. Harry let go of the knee, and Draco braced that leg to help him move. His other leg he wrapped around Harry’s flank, rubbing against him as he urged him closer.
“You good?” Harry asked. Exuberant nodding and a breathless ‘yeah’ was the response. He slowly pulled out halfway, then slammed back in, forcing a cry from Draco. He repeated the action several times over, just watching the reactions on Draco’s face. He could tell Draco was getting impatient, but he wanted to make sure he was ready first.
“Damnit, Harry, just fuck me already,” Draco finally growled out loudly. Harry took this as his cue and pulled nearly all the way out, then snapped his hips back toward Draco. His thrusts sped up, yet didn’t diminish in force. Draco was crying out loudly, not even making an attempt to muffle himself as he normally did. Using his own legs, he pulled Harry to him and bucked back up against him in time with the thrusts.
It turned out that having Harry between his legs was not at all awkward. Their long frames melded well together with their faces almost level, and long legs simply wrapped together in harmony. And, dear Merlin, the way he was thrusting… Draco had always liked it a bit hard, though he welcomed sweetness on occasion. Hans had always felt badly about being rough, thinking that he would hurt Draco – despite Draco’s insistence that he was not, in fact, made of porcelain and would not break so easily. His exes had all either been too gawky about it or – in two cases – gone a bit too far because they ignored Draco’s actual responses. But this…this was perfect. He arched his back so he could feel the slide of their sweat-slicked chests against one another, Harry’s scars running over his own.
Harry had long since devolved into harsh grunts, but moaned loudly and curved himself to Draco when he arched. Rolling his hips, he made sure to rub hard against that spot that had Draco practically crying. Blinking his eyes open so that he wouldn’t miss a moment of the wonderful faces the other man was making, Harry had to bite his lip to hold himself back. Draco was beautiful, with his hair all mussed and his skin flushed and his head thrown back to cry out. Instinctively, Harry bit his way down the bared neck and across an elegant shoulder, not caring that he would definitely be leaving marks behind. He wanted to, and a part of him wished he could see his handiwork later when they were well and purple. Shifting his angle slightly so he could pull his torso back, he bowed himself so he could kiss his way down Draco’s chest. After kissing and biting his way down his abs to his navel, Harry ran his tongue all the way up – to catch his tongue piercing on one of the rings in Draco’s nipples.
Draco had squirmed a bit at the attentions until that point, but when he felt the metal catch on Harry’s tongue and pull, he writhed. He vaguely registered calling out the other man’s name, one hand gripping the hair at the back of Harry’s head and the other digging nails into his shoulder. Harry teased him to the point that he knew that he was sobbing some continuous combination of ‘Harry,’ ‘please,’ ‘yes,’ and ‘more.’
Harry could feel himself growing closer, and if the tremors in Draco’s legs were any hint, he was as well. He finally pulled away from Draco’s chest to look him in the face, lust-darkened green locking with reverent grey-blue. It would be hard to classify the look on Draco’s face as anything short of adoration.
He caressed a hand up the arm that had been gripping his hair, the fingers loosening their grasp. A small part of him mind registered that it was Draco’s left arm, and his eyes were drawn to it with burning curiosity. He leaned up enough so that he could see his forearm – though never ceasing the motion of his hips – Draco’s eyes watching him the whole time. What he found there was not the Dark Mark. Instead, there was another scar, too circular to be natural, that looked suspiciously like a burn. Harry had known that the Marks had lost all of their power the instant Voldemort had died, but they didn’t just disappear. That circle… He was struck with wonder at what Draco must have done to rid himself of that horrible reminder of his childhood terror.
He brushed his thumb softly over it, his eyes sliding back to Draco’s. They were half-guarded, as if he expected Harry to reject him all over again for simply having borne the Mark. Harry knew words wouldn’t do at that moment, and had a feeling that talking in this room about such things was a bad idea. Instead, keeping his eyes on Draco’s, he closed his mouth over the shiny circle of skin and sucked. He kneaded at it with his teeth as well, determined to make his own mark there. He didn’t know why exactly he’d done it. Draco wasn’t his to mark, to own, to claim – and he knew that, somewhere in the back of his mind. But the fire he found in those stormy eyes as he did it, all masks and guardedness falling away…was more than enough to tell him he’d done the right thing. After removing his mouth with gentle suction, he swooped down to capture Draco’s lips.
The kiss was both slow and urgent. They couldn’t taste each other enough, even as they moaned into each other’s mouths. One of Harry’s arms wrapped under Draco’s shoulder to grip there, pulling him closer as he thrust forward with his hips. Draco’s arms had wrapped about Harry’s neck, hands gripping shoulders as if for dear life.
Harry’s other hand had wormed its way between them to take hold of Draco’s weeping prick. He stroked as best he could in time with his thrusts, twisting his hand to add even more friction. “Come for me,” he scarcely managed to pant out against Draco’s mouth. It took only a few more thrusts until he felt Draco’s muscles clench around him, his name screamed from that beautiful mouth as he threw his head back. It was enough for Harry. His eyes squeezed shut as the shudders wracked through him, exploding out to finally fill Draco with his seed. Harry curled around the other man with his torso, feeling every muscle in his body tense from his jaw down to his tightly curling toes. He knew he must have shouted Draco’s name as well, but he wasn’t listening.
They collapsed together, Harry’s hand sliding out from between them to caress along Draco’s side. He let his head rest on Draco’s chest, not caring about the small amount of slickness he could feel under his chin. Managing to remain inside Draco, Harry did his best to cuddle up in their position. He could feel Draco tracing languid circles over his back as their breathing returned to normal. He would have been hard pressed to think of a moment in his life when he was as content and relaxed as he was right then. With a goofy smile at the sentiment he twisted his head to place a few chaste kisses along Draco’s neck and jaw.
Draco was reeling, both physically and mentally. He’d never felt like this before, but he’d also never let himself go quite as much either. He had barely held back at all, and the thought came to him of what it would feel like if he held back nothing, forcing a shiver to radiate along the length of his body. He knew there were reasons he always held back, but he couldn’t think of them at that moment. The only thing his mind seemed capable of telling him to do was hold the man in his arms – to hold Harry – as tightly as he could and not let go.
Harry knew the exact moment he had to pull back. It was the moment he remembered where he was and what exactly that night had entailed. Draco wasn’t his. Not his lover, not his anything – not his. Draco’s boyfriend was sitting not five feet away, probably getting off on watching them. As soon as Draco came back to his senses, it would all be over. Harry would leave that night, and Draco would go back to living happily with the man he loved. He could feel something breaking inside of him as he forced his limbs to move, to let Draco go, to slide himself back and out and away.
Draco was confused at first when he felt the warmth leaving his chest, trying to clutch at it absentmindedly. A spark of panic lit when he felt Harry slip out of him. What was wrong? What was-?
His frantic glance around had caught him a glimpse of Hans, sitting in the armchair next to their bed, looking tired. Panic shot through him again, but of a different sort. What was he thinking? How could he have been so far gone that he…? He managed to keep his features schooled, lazily grinning at both of the others. He could do this. He could pretend that he hadn’t been thinking…
Harry let out a small bark of a laugh. “I, uh, think I got a bit carried away.” He flashed an amused smile at them both, as if he were laughing at himself. Which wasn’t entirely untrue, but it was a completely different kind of laughter than he wanted them to know.
Hans joked with them quietly, looking like he was exhausted. He got them some towels to clean themselves off with, not feeling like bothering with magic at the moment.
Harry was quiet as he redressed, sighing in annoyance when he had a spot of trouble finding one of his socks. He laughed and politely responded to Hans’s weak attempts at conversation, but couldn’t bring himself to do more than that.
Draco donned his trousers and slid into his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. He feigned lassitude as he leaned against a bedpost and watched the two men converse. He felt something twist in his stomach when he noticed how mussed both men’s mops of hair were. He ignored it for the time being, storing it with all of the other little things that had bothered him that night. He was having a hard enough time pretending that everything was okay and he wasn’t confused as Hell. He really was rather worn out, to boot, which was making it harder.
Hans walked Harry to the door with Draco trailing behind. He could hear the echo of the words Hans had spoken to him just the night before in that same living room. ‘He will be gone…why would I ever give you up for something like that? And it’s not like he’s going to stick around, being a star…and all.’ Draco felt like banging his head against the wall again. How could he even be thinking such a thing? Hans had been nothing but wonderful to him and – as much fun as Harry had been that night – he sincerely doubted that Potter would even think about him again once he walked out that door. He felt the throb of the bruise left on his left arm as he tried to cross them over his chest, and had to swear at himself for thinking it could mean anything real.
Hans thanked Harry for the night, and Harry felt he needed to say something. “I…thank you, too.” He cupped Hans’s cheek and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Tonight was…wonderful, really. I doubt I’ll try it again, but I’m glad I did. You were amazing.” He meant it all. He didn’t think he could muster the ability to lie any more than he would need to when he walked out that door acting as if he wouldn’t be fighting the urge to look back.
Turning to Draco, he had a bit of a harder time. “I’m…glad this happened. So much. I…” He worked his mouth for a moment before giving up. “I’m just as bad with words as I used to be when I can’t write them in advance.” He grinned a bit, laughing at himself again. He was too scared to let himself babble – too scared of what would come out. Instead, he took Draco’s face in both of his hands and pressed a closed-mouthed kiss to his lips, allowing himself one more taste. He felt Draco’s fingers gingerly rest at his hips as he pressed his lips back gently, and Harry knew he needed to pull away.
His eyes were shuttered as he smiled at them both and walked out of the door. As soon as it was shut behind him, he looked back and forth and Apparated back to his hotel room. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand taking the Muggle route.
Fate just was not on his side.
Two hours later, Hans could be found sitting on the couch dazing out at the telly. He didn’t really want to go back to bed just yet. What he’d witnessed there earlier that evening… It would be awhile before he felt comfortable lying in that bed with Draco again. Part of him felt slightly badly for it. It was all his idea, wasn’t it? He should have the grace to not be so upset.
He could hear Draco listlessly walking through the apartment, thumbing through books or pushing things around in the fridge. Draco was still there. Hans was distracted from thinking on what that meant when the program changed to one he had been waiting on before and had forgotten about.
Draco sighed at the contents of the icebox again. He wasn’t really hungry, but he just felt like he should be doing something and food had seemed like a good idea when he’d wandered into the kitchen. And ice cream was always good – except for perhaps right this instant. None of his books had held any interest for him either when he’d walked a few circles around the library.
Finally, he sighed and leaned against the counter, letting himself think.
Hans had seemed upset. Superficially, Draco couldn’t see why. He’d gotten what he’d wanted, right? The threesome and the romp with the famous faux-Muggle he admired. But Draco knew it was more than that. He wanted to think that maybe Hans was just upset that he’d finished early and had to sit out for part of the fun, but he was ready to quit lying to himself. Something had happened in there between him and Harry, and Hans had seen it.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, tugging at it gently. Harry. Somehow, the most poignant moments in his life all traced back to Potter. The very first refusal of his hand by anyone. Being beaten at Quidditch. Making him rethink his family’s values. Cursing and scarring him. Saving him from the Fiendfyre. Taking his wand to kill the Dark Lord, which ultimately left him free to live his life. …And now this. He bit his lip and tried hard to push away the thought that this might be the most memorable of them all.
It’s not fair! Potter just waltzes in and…and…messes up everything! Everything changes because of him. Why? Why this? Why now? Why did he have to come stumbling in and make me… He growled softly, and asked himself for an honest answer about what Harry had made him do. Feel incredible. Wanted. Comfortable in my own skin, scars and all. Lo-
No, he would not think that.
Potter was gone now. It was just one night. Not even that – only a few hours. The night would be over in a few more. Life would continue on, as it always had. And it would be with Hans. Hans, who was still there, even if Draco knew he’d fucked up somehow. Hans, who would smile at him tomorrow and be good to him, who wanted him and loved him.
But not the forever kind of love.
He swore quietly at himself. He shouldn’t be feeling pain. Or sadness. Or loss. Or dread when he thought about waking up tomorrow to stare into cerulean eyes.
He couldn’t feel any of those things.
He could feel his eyes start to itch in that annoying way they did when he was upset. He scrubbed his hands over his face again and absently thought of what his mother would say about his bad habit. He usually kept it in check, but right now he didn’t have the strength.
With a sigh, he went to find Hans, hoping to talk through this. Hoping that maybe he, at least, would understand what was wrong with him.
He walked into the living room, not entirely surprised to find him watching the telly again. Drawing the breath to clear his throat so he wouldn’t sneak up on the other man, he felt it catch in his throat when he noticed what Hans’s attention was focused on.
He remembered then that Hans had said that Harry’s band had been in town for an interview on one of those late night talkshows before continuing on their tour. He hadn’t given the idea much thought. Then again, he hadn’t known that it would be Potter. And once he knew, things had just gotten confusing enough that he hadn’t had the brain power to think about anything else.
But there he was, sitting on a tacky couch that some Muggle likely thought was fashionable, in the very same outfit he’d been wearing earlier but with the addition of square, black-rimmed glasses resting on his face. He looked impeccable, and was full of smiles and laughs. There were four other men there with him – presumably his bandmates – and they were all laughing and joking with the host. He must have done the interview only a short time before he had come home with Hans.
Draco swallowed heavily and darted his eyes to Hans. His eyes were trained on the telly and it was likely he had not noticed Draco behind him. Leaning against the doorframe as quietly as he could, Draco crossed his arms over his chest and chose to watch.
Despite being the lead, Harry was more than willing to let the others talk more, piping in only occasionally and answering any questions directed at him. They all took turns giving a brief history of themselves and how they had all been orphans at one point, then moved on to talk about their cause. They wanted to help other children who had been unfortunate enough to lose or never have parents. They all enjoyed music, and when they heard Harry singing quietly to himself at one benefit they had all been attending they practically badgered him into singing for the band they were putting together for a small fundraiser. They had gotten such an overwhelming response that they stuck together and performed at more benefits and fundraisers, and were eventually noticed and offered a recording contract. Now, most of their proceeds went to various charities and movements that had to do with their cause.
They were obviously very good friends, cracking jokes at one another and telling embarrassing stories to amuse the audience. Draco couldn’t help but crack a grin every time Harry got teased, whether he rolled his eyes or got mock-indignant over it. Whenever Harry would get a rather wicked glint in his eyes and shoot a sly comment back at them, Draco had to try to contain a few snorts of amusement.
He wondered, idly, if that was what Harry had always been like with his other friends – wicked, funny, sly, full of smiles, and not afraid to trade insults. He thought back to some of the insults that he and Potter had hurled at one another in their younger days, and had to wince slightly. Those were a bit more barbed and nothing at all like the pleasant back-and-forth going on before him.
They talked about many of the more mundane aspects of their lives, such as how Harry usually wore his glasses, but would switch them out with those things called ‘contacts’ when he feared they might get knocked off his face – such as when he was on stage or going clubbing. Like he had been that night, which was why he hadn’t had them. Draco realized that he’d never gotten to ask if he’d gotten his eyes fixed – though it was now quite apparent that he hadn’t. He hadn’t gotten to ask him a lot of things – but he was observing and not thinking right now, so he ignored that thought. He managed to tune back in just in time to hear Harry being teased about the glasses being a reminder of his father. Draco shook his head and chuckled silently. Ridiculous, sentimental pillock.
The host was asking questions again, and Draco felt his heart seize up in his chest when he asked about their love-lives. Draco knew that it was a typical question asked of celebrities and had often rolled his eyes at the public’s fascination with such things. Right now, though… He actually wondered how Potter would react, as he’d always been snappish toward any Wizarding reporter who had asked him such questions.
The others all went on and on about current significant others (or how they were still looking) and how they viewed love. It seemed to take them forever, and Draco was certain Fate was mocking him right now. He didn’t give two shits about their relationships or one-night-stands, but they wouldn’t shut up. Finally, though, it was Harry’s turn, and he let out a small laugh as he blushed. Draco could feel himself leaning forward to see the expression on his face better, more curious than he’d care to admit.
“Oh, um, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. I haven’t been for a few months now. I much prefer relationships, though I’ll admit I’ve hand a couple of one-offs. I just can’t seem to keep the relationships, though,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. The host pressed on, though, saying that Harry seemed to think there was a reason he couldn’t keep a relationship going. “Well, I guess, eventually they don’t measure up.”
“Well…” Harry bit his lip and looked nervous, clacking his lip piercings against his teeth in thought. He looked like he was deciding if he wanted to tell or not more than thinking about the answer.
Draco silently urged him to spill.
He shifted and sighed, seeming to give in. “Okay, so, I’m openly bi, so I hope no one’s too surprised by this story. Anyway, when I was younger, there was this one bloke I sort of fell for. Nowadays, I can think back and tell you I had fallen for him long before I had even figured out I swung that way, and I was completely oblivious of the fact for several years.
“He was one of those people that I wanted to save from everything – but he was always such a berk!” He laughed. “Honestly. I think I used to get frustrated with him most of the time because I knew how intelligent he was and yet he was constantly acting like an idiot. I swear, if there was a wrong path to walk, he’d at least stumbled down it a few steps – unless it was something that might mar his family’s reputation.
“I had a bit of an inflated reputation in the school because of my own family – my parents, that is – but he was one of the few people that treated me like I was any other normal human being. Not like I was something great that needed to be either coddled or revered. Oh, but he made sure I was quite aware of his opinion, too.” He grinned. “He’d make fun of me like there was no tomorrow.
“It wasn’t that I really liked that so much, but… When I’d get fed up with everyone else mocking me up into this almost super-hero, I’d find him. I’d make it look accidental, of course, since we weren’t friends and I thought no one would really understand it. Anyway, he’d mock me, and I’d scream at him, and he’d scream back, and maybe we’d fight or throw things at one another. …And I always felt so much better afterward, because it was okay to yell and scream when it came to him. Everybody else…” He waved a hand to indicate the masses of people. “Well, people always got so upset if I got angry or was even slightly mean, and it was so. Bloody. Frustrating.
“I think I was a bit of an outlet for him, too. He had a tonne of pressure on him – from his parents and his peers and, Hell, the world in general. I was someone that he could openly get mad at and yell at and mock and blame for everything that went wrong. I’m rather certain I saw things in his eyes and face and gestures and body language that he’d never willingly show the rest of the world. I don’t think he realized that, but he couldn’t really hide it when he was so focused on me.
“I’m both somewhat thankful and somewhat sad I hadn’t figured myself out back then. Perhaps I would have understood my fervent wish to shove him up against a wall a bit better,” he said cheekily. “Who knows? Maybe snogging him mid-fight would have changed my life! …Or possibly given him reason to kill me, but that’s not the point, really.” He chuckled again, the audience laughing along with him.
“Beyond that, even, he was hilariously funny. Well, if you didn’t take the things he said personally, at least. And, dear Merlin,” – Draco could tell he’d said ‘Merlin,’ but had to suppress a snort since Harry had muffled it by running a hand over his face, likely used to trying to hide his Wizarding habits and oddities – “the snark. If he hadn’t been actually insulting me and my friends so much, I probably could have listened to him lay into the whole school and been naught but a puddle of weeping laughter. He was…very creative with his insults.
“I heard him joke about normal things, too, sometimes. I had to try not to laugh, because the rest of the school likely wouldn’t have understood that I actually found him funny.” He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “And he was usually talking to his friends at those points, and I had only happened to overhear as I walked by.
“He was gorgeous, too. More than hot. Hell was likely jealous – and of the one deemed the ‘Ice Prince’ of the school, no less.” He snickered at his joke. “Tall and lean and muscled just enough to be athletic without being bulky. Graceful as a cat, too, which was incredibly annoying at times since we played the same position in our inter-House sports games. He had this white-blond hair that he used to keep gelled back; it looked so soft though when he finally started letting it hang loose, and I always was struck with the strange urge to touch it. Piercing grey-blue eyes, too, that I was never sure if they looked more like ice or storm clouds or slate.
“We were rivals from start to finish. It sort of started, I think, when he offered to be my friend on the first day of school and I rather rudely turned him down. In my defense, he was being an absolute prick to my best friend Ron, but I think that I probably could have handled the situation slightly better than I did. We matched fairly evenly in most of our classes, though I think he often thought my friend Hermione was his only competition for the head of class.” He grinned wickedly. “And there was the school sports teams. Our school was incredibly private, so instead of playing against other schools we had competitions between the four Houses of students. We played this odd sport that they called Quidditch, which I don’t feel like detailing past that it had four balls, seven players to a team, and four different positions. As I said, we played the same position, and, well… I hate it that it sounds sort of cocky, but he was really the only opponent I ever found a challenge in. He and I would both dominate the other two Houses.” Harry scratched the back of his head shyly. “I eventually beat him every time we played against each other, but it was always just barely.” There was a nostalgic smile on his face, as if he were remembering the matches.
“Ah, well, anyway, he ended up studying elsewhere during our last year, so I never really did get to see him again after a certain…conflict. I would have loved to talk to him, seeing as there wasn’t any real reason for there to be any hostility between us anymore – save for anything residual from our childhood. I guess it was during that last year at school that I realized how very much I missed his presence. But…well…I can be pretty damn brave about most things, but I could never find the courage to actually send any of the letters I wrote him. Or hunt him down – which likely wouldn’t be too hard, given that I know where his family lives.
“Every now and then I’ll hear a snippet of something about him from a friend or acquaintance. Like how he traveled after graduation and is now some sort of executive in his mother’s business. But…still. I’m kinda afraid that if I showed up on his doorstep one day he’d still slam the door in my face before I could say ‘hi.’ Or perhaps break my nose first, then close the door with precisely the amount of force necessary to show how little I affected him.” He was chewing on his lip and staring at the ground, the self-consciousness almost palpable.
“Actually, probably the only reason I can talk about this right now is because I highly doubt he’ll ever find out about it. I don’t think he or any of his friends are the type who watch the late night shows – or the telly at all, really. He probably wouldn’t even like the band’s style of music, and likely doesn’t even have a clue I’m a musician now. My close friends from school all already know who he is and how I feel, but I managed to get them to swear not to go marching up to him and tell him. …It was sadly a worry, with some of them.” He laughed softly. “And, well, I doubt anyone listening in has enough information to go on to track him down.” He smirked slightly, but the effect was lost with the subdued look in his eyes.
One of his bandmates took a moment to lighten the mood, dramatically pouting about how Harry had never told him about this mystery bloke. Harry just laughed and blushed more, promising to show him a picture later, if he could find one.
“Anyway, back to the initial question… Well, whenever I start dating someone…it always comes back to him. I’m not stupid – I realize the image I have of him in my head has probably been idealized or something over the years. Or I guess I am stupid, because I still hold people to that standard. I always end up comparing them. And, sadly, they’ve all fallen short. Something is always just not right. I’d been right content with some of the people I’ve dated – would even go so far as to say I loved them – but it wasn’t enough, and with some of them I broke it off simply because it was unfair to them. They didn’t deserve to be compared against that image and found wanting all the time. I’ve welcomed the challenge of someone coming along and making me forget, but…” He shrugged and stared at the ground again, scratching his neck softly.
“So, you would say you love this bloke, then?” was the excited question.
“I, um, well, I guess I’d like to think so. Maybe I love the idea of him. I…can’t really be sure anymore, to be perfectly honest.” He bit his lip like it pained him to admit it. “See, I think of it this way: you can love a lot of different people in your life in various ways, but you only fall in love once. You love your family and friends in a certain way. And you can even have really loved other significant others in another way. But that special person…they only come once. And that’s it, forever and ever. Soulmates, or whatnot. Yeah, it’s possible to love again if that person somehow falls out of your life, but it will never quite compare.” He waved a hand as if exasperated at his inability to express himself. “Anyway, I’m not claiming that he’s necessarily that one for me, but…” He shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t mind having found out.” He ducked his head shyly and smiled up through his lashes.
“But you won’t contact him?”
“No! Haha! I’m not nearly that brave,” was the wry response.
“What if you could have him for just one night? What would you do?”
“Hah! Just one? Oh…well, I’d take the chance, no question about that. It’d kill me to walk away after that. Probably the only thing to keep me from going mad would be the knowledge that my godson looks to me a lot since his own parents died; I would pull myself together for his sake, at least. But, no, I couldn’t deny him for all the world. Even if all I’d ever have would be one night,” he replied earnestly. He smiled at the host, but the sadness that lay just under the surface of it was plain as day.
There was a commercial break then, and the host thanked them for sharing their stories before asking that the viewers stay tuned to catch a performance from the band at the end.
Draco knew he was staring. He also knew that there was a scratchy wetness in his eyes threatening to fall. He was sure he was almost biting through his lip. What he couldn’t figure out was whether his heart had stopped or if it was just beating so quickly that he couldn’t keep track of it anymore.
Potter. After years of antagonism and absence. The Gryffindor Golden Boy. Just admitting to the whole of the Muggle world that he’d had the hots for one Draco Malfoy, the Ice Prince of Slytherin.
And Draco would never have known it. And none of his old friends would have known it. He’d made quite a few friends and acquaintances with half-bloods and Muggleborns since the War’s end, but most of them didn’t pay much heed to the Muggle world either.
Except Hans. Who was now sitting on the couch. Draco’s eyes flicked to him, and it looked like he couldn’t breathe. His face had gone white. His expression was wholly unreadable – some mixture of stricken, relieved, and the sort of look one gets when his theory is proven correct, but isn’t pleased about what that means. He took a long blink and a deep breath, turning around to see Draco standing in the doorway.
Anything Hans would have said – possibly accusatory – died on his tongue as soon as he saw Draco’s face.
His eyes were wide, unblinking, and twitching frantically, as if his mind was going a mile a minute and he couldn’t quite keep up. His face was even paler than usual. His mouth was parted just slightly, and his shallow breathing could just be heard – rapid, but not quite to the point of hyperventilation. He was visibly shaking, the arms that had been casually crossed over his chest now clutching tightly as if he might fall apart if they let go.
Hans sighed and looked down at his hands while thinking, then raised his eyes back up to Draco. The commercials buzzed on in the background remorselessly.
“Draco,” Hans said quietly. Draco jumped slightly, his eyes snapping to Hans and focusing intensely. “Draco, how did you really know each other?”
“I…” Draco had to swallow the lump in his throat and force himself to breathe properly. “W-we were schoolmates. …Rivals. I-…there was a point when I thought I hated him. …Then I learned what hate really was, and why he was always so upset with me. I saw how horrible I was – had been. I…didn’t accept that right away – I was a child, still. Seventeen, yes, but still a child. I…” Draco’s hand gripped his left forearm painfully over the now bite-bruised scar and his breath caught at the twinge it caused. “Y-you know that I was f-forced to be a Death Eater.” Hans flinched slightly, and Draco shifted uncomfortably; they’d never been able to discuss it in detail. “I…didn’t want to be. I thought he thought I did, but I didn’t. I thought…he might have realized after it was too late that I didn’t… He saved my life, during the final battles. …He took my wand and used it. Used it to…to…” His voice faded away in a whisper, the thoughts swirling too quickly now for him to focus enough on them. He was staring into space again.
“Draco,” Hans said to regain his attention, continuing when the over-bright eyes turned back to him. “You said Harry Evans wasn’t his real name.” Draco nodded slowly, his eyes shifting to stare somewhere between the couch and the floor. “What is his real name?”
Draco swallowed painfully and took a deep breath, closing his eyes to brace himself as he breathed it out. “Harry Potter.”
In the background, the break had ended and the sound of music could be heard. Harry’s voice rose above it, singing about endings and beginnings, how it’s never too late to change one’s life, and how love is the driving force behind the greatest of changes.
Harry sighed softly as he aimlessly strummed his fingers over the strings of the acoustic guitar resting on his lap. He knew that he should be happy. Knew it. Knowing didn’t make him any happier, but he supposed it counted for something.
Since the end of the War, he’d been able to completely remake his life. He still kept all of the friends he’d made during his schooldays – and some of the acquaintances too. Magic was still very active in his home life, since there was no way in Hell he would ever give that up completely, but he had found his public niche in the Muggle world. He had somehow ended up as a public figure once again, which he wasn’t entirely so hot about, but now it was because he had chosen to be. And it was for a good cause. And it was unlikely to have any powerful, psychopathic madmen intent on killing him attached to it.
He sighed again and shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the few pieces of hair that were falling in his eyes – which of course only made the problem worse. He scowled and raked his hand back through his hair. Teddy giggled at him from the other side of the couch and Harry glared at him playfully. He hid his grin behind his hand, but it didn’t quite stifle the giggles. Harry rolled his eyes and made as if to snatch at the little boy, who quickly squirmed out of the way and dashed to the other side of the dressing room, a big smile lighting his features.
And then of course there’s Teddy, he thought to himself. Andromeda still took care of the boy for the most part, but Harry made sure he saw him at least once a week and would sometimes take him for a week in its entirety. They had agreed that Harry was a bit too young to be a single father, especially to such a rowdy little boy. And, in her seemingly endless maternal wisdom, Andromeda seemed to know that Harry needed some time to figure himself out before he could ever hope to provide a stable enough home for his godson.
Harry closed his eyes and, for a brief moment, a scene played out behind his lids:
It was morning – too early for any decent person to be awake, but late enough that the sun was pouring in the windows. Harry had been peacefully asleep until he’d been awoken by an armful of cackling little boy. Laughing and shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, Harry growled playfully and grabbed the child around the middle, dragging him over to tickle him in vengeance.
After a bit of squealing and squirming, they managed to come to a truce, motioning over at the other large bundle of blankets with their eyebrows. At once, they attacked the lump and heard a displeased – though muffled – groan issue forth. More tickling and squirming ensued. Harry and Teddy were laughing loudly, and they’d managed to even catch a few barks of laughter through the thick duvet. The covers swept back suddenly, and scowling over at them was Draco in all his glory.
And here, the vision altered slightly from the one that Harry often had. Harry had tried to imagine what Draco would look like a bit older, but now he knew. It was frightening how much more attractive he was than Harry had previously managed to conjure in his imagination.
The effect of the scowl was somewhat lost, what with the grin threatening at the corners of his mouth and his hair sticking up at odd angles. Harry grinned when he saw Draco’s hair, knowing that he had caused much of the disarray the previous night. After a few more moments, Draco gave up on scowling and dragged Teddy over to exact his own vengeance-by-tickling.
Harry lay back against the pillows again, a content smile on his face and happiness curling warmly in his chest. He laughed at the howls of laughter the bright-haired little boy let forth, wriggling frantically to get free. He was only given a few moments to admire his happy family, though, before being dragged back into the fray – by way of a pillow to the face.
He shook his head swiftly in an attempt to clear it. There was no reason for him to keep dreaming – to keep deluding himself. He’d gotten his night with Draco, just like that talkshow host had joked (and then gone promptly home to get himself properly pissed). He’d felt that piece of his heart break painfully with the knowledge that it would never be, but now he had to keep going. For Teddy’s sake. The child had lost two parents before he’d known them, and had a chance to have a happy life with his godfather. Harry wouldn’t let that be taken away from another little boy if he could help it.
It had been five days, and he had survived just fine. He could make it.
He realized he’d been mulling over it with his eyes closed and opened them. It had been quiet, and when it was quiet it meant that Teddy had found some sort of mischief. Harry had to blink a few times in surprise, as the aforementioned four-year-old was now staring at him with big eyes from about four inches away from his face. “What’s wrong?”
Harry laughed and pecked a kiss on Teddy’s forehead, which he jerked away to wipe at furiously. “Oh, just daydreaming. Don’t worry about me, kiddo.” He smiled at the glare he was receiving. It had amused him endlessly when Teddy had decided that kisses from his family were embarrassing.
Quickly forgetting his displeasure at his godfather’s kiss, Teddy jumped back on what he’d wanted to ask. “Sing to me? Please? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeese, Uncle Harry?” He put on his best puppy-dog face, making Harry chuckle.
“Oh, I don’t know…” he teased. The puppy-dog face grew more desperate – the eyes widening and the bottom lip jutting out more. Harry knew he’d never be able to stand up to that face, and worried for the future because of it. “Oh, well, if you insist.” He sighed dramatically, making Teddy stick his tongue out at him. “Whatcha wanna hear, then?”
“Ummm…I forget. That pretty one. With the rain and stuff. I like that one. …Even if it talks about kisses. Eurgh.” He squinched his face up in thought, blinking up at Harry innocently.
Wonderful, Harry thought morosely. A love song. Just what I really don’t feel like singing. …He probably doesn’t even really get what it’s about though. …Well, besides kisses and rain. Despite his lack of enthusiasm at the choice, he didn’t dare to brave The Face again. Plus, it was something that he only played on the acoustic and never on stage, so he couldn’t just promise to play it during the show later.
He settled himself comfortably on the couch and removed his glasses so he could let his mind and eyes unfocus. He made sure the old Potter signet ring he’d found in his vaults was shoved securely to the base of his finger, idly reminding himself that he’d meant to get it sized. He began plucking the strings deftly, joining in with the first verse a few chords later. He often sang with a much rougher voice on stage, but that was in counterpoint to the electric instruments and loud drums. He had a guilty pleasure, though, for creating a few softer songs to be sung with acoustic accompaniment.
Behind him, he only vaguely registered the chime on the door to the backstage room. One of his bandmates had found it might be a good idea to install a doorbell that sounded whenever someone tried to turn the knob. Though they always secured the door when they were away to prevent their possessions from being stolen, they sometimes forgot to lock it when they were in there. It had given them the moment’s notice necessary to cover up when someone had walked in on them changing a few times. At the moment, though, he didn’t really mind anyone walking in on him singing.