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JUST LIKE THIS
BY JACKSON RULE
Harry had never been in love, or known the love of his parents but he knew
what it was supposed to be like. He'd gleaned it from movies, pictured it
when he was a heart-breakingly lonely child lying in his bed under the
stairs. A mothers love should be like Mrs. Weasley's affection: brisk and
kind and warm. A fathers love should be like Sirius's protective fire had
been - and to be *in* love .... well that would be sweet and pure and
natural. Like Ron and Hermione.
Ron and Hermione are in love, and they are exactly what couples in love
should be like. How Harry likes to think his parents would have been
together when they were just starting out. He's watched Ron and Hermione
together, holding hands as they walk to class. He's seen Ron carrying
Hermione's heavy bag for her. He's noticed the way Hermione leans over Ron
to show him something in a book, and the way her hair tickles over Ron's
face but how he doesn't seem to mind. Their relationship is all about
friendship and tenderness. About shared jokes and sparky arguments, over
almost at once with a kiss. It's about acceptance and easy, teasing
flirtation, about open affection, innocent and uncomplicated, while he and
his secret lover ...
Well. They don't have that, therefore they're not in love. Ipso facto.
The sensation of being watched as he toys with his breakfast grows stronger
until, with a shiver of anticipation, he looks up. Malfoy is watching him
from the Slytherin table. Despite the fact that this ... thing between them
has been going on for nearly two months he still gets a needful thump right
in the pit of his stomach. An unwanted, helpless response, just from having
Malfoy's eyes on him. Malfoy raises his eyebrows slightly in a silent
question, unseen by anyone else, and in reflex Harry glances down at the
note in his hand that he received that morning, already crumpled and creased
like it was weeks old.
'Tonight. Midnight. The Astronomy Tower.'
His fingers clench tighter on the note. He promised, he *swore* to himself
he wouldn't do this again ... He looks back up at Malfoy. Big mistake. He
fights a fierce but unsuccessful battle with himself in the space of
seconds, feeling his face grow taut with the effort of trying to keep his
struggle hidden from Malfoy's eyes. Malfoy doesn't look away, his
silver-grey eyes making all sorts of promises. Desire pulls inside Harry, a
wanting, aching sensation, and his resistance crumples like the paper he
holds in his hand. He nods and drops his eyes at once, unwilling to see the
expression on Malfoy's face as he capulates. He may be unable to stop this
but he damn well doesn't have to like it. If Malfoy wants to gloat then
Harry can at least deny him the satisfaction of watching him do it. Sick
excitement churns inside him, tinged with disgust at himself. What the hell
is *wrong* with him? He despises himself for giving in to this, for being so
weak, but try as he might he can't stop himself, barely knows how he's going
to wait until tonight. He's willing to bet Ron and Hermione don't feel like
this when they make a date. They probably get happy butterflies, not this
relentless, gnawing ache, but then they are in love. And he's not.
Love would have him sleeping like the dead, the way Ron does, with a slight
smile on his face, his dreams filled with hazy images and scents of his
loved one. It wouldn't wake him up in the night to send a wave of paralysing
terror crashing over him as he thought apros of nothing; 'Oh my God. I'm
sleeping with Draco Malfoy!' Love was something to show the world and be
proud of, something his friends could be happy about. It wouldn't send sheer
panic through him at the thought of what they would say, the way they would
*look* at him if they ever found out what he's doing with Malfoy. Love began
with liking and flirtation, with a date and gentle excitement, not with
utter loathing and yet *another* blazing row that suddenly took a sharp turn
into bizzaro land.
********************flashback************************
The hatred between the two of them had worsened with every passing year and
in their sixth year Malfoy, always poisonous, was more vicious than ever. A
new edginess about him made him vibrate with tension whenever Harry as much
as entered the room and he seemed to take Harry's very existence as a
personal insult. He had obviously decided to make it his mission to ruin
Harry's life, pushing at him relentlessly with his taunting, back-biting and
all out cruelty, until Harry - who for some reason was also more on edge
than ever - exploded with rage. He could barely think of Malfoy without the
hatred rising like bile in his throat. He constantly itched to seek him out
and let vent to his loathing all over again and they couldn't glance
sideways at each other without one trying to hex the other into the floor.
This particular evening they were in detention - again - following an
altercation in the corridor earlier that day. Malfoy had insulted Hermione,
and Harry had - as always - leapt headfirst into the fray. The difference
about this detention was that they had to do it together. All the teachers
knew of their hatred and usually kept them separated, but Professor
McGonagall, obviously sick to death of the pair of them, had decided the
worst punishment for them would be to have to spend the time together. It
certainly was a good punishment, the very air seemed to crackle with the
glares they were shooting at each other. However they managed to keep their
tongues and tempers reigned in - at least until Professor McGonagall was
called away to an emergency arising from one student's attempts at trying to
transfigure another student into some kind of animal, with certain
undesirable results. Telling them she was trusting them to stay the
remaining half-hour without fighting she had hurried off. Unsurprisingly
within seconds of her leaving another furious row erupted, the insults flung
back and forth like gunfire until they were nose to nose, screaming
obscenities at each other, shaking with rage.
" ... eat shit Potter, you're *nothing*!"
"Never managed to beat me to the Snitch though, have you ..."
"Fuck off you Muggle-loving *bastard* ..."
"You pathetic, prejudiced, spoilt *fucking* brat ..."
"Still better than you Scarhead ..."
"At least my father isn't in jail ..."
"At least mine isn't *dead* ..."
"Go screw yourself Malfoy!" And for once Harry didn't reach for his wand.
His mind in a red haze, he only wanted the satisfaction of pounding Malfoy's
face with his bare hands. He launched at Malfoy, knocking him painfully to
the floor, but Malfoy dragged Harry down with him, and they fought wildly,
viciously, their breath rasping.
"I hate you," Harry gasped, wrenching at Malfoy's hair, scrabbling wildly
for a grip on his neck, barely able to speak as he wallowed in the luxury of
naked emotion. "I *hate* you!"
"I hate you *more*!" Malfoy spat furiously, his pale face flushed, his eyes
blazing with emotion, he managed to throw Harry off him. Harry landed with a
bone-jarring thump on his back, the breath knocked out of him, and Malfoy
straddled him, pinning him to the floor. "You hear me Potter?" Malfoy
yelled, pent up words spilling from his mouth, released on a tide of anger.
"I *hate* you! You're ruining my fucking *life*! I ... I can't eat ... I
can't sleep ... I wish I'd never met you! I wish you were dead! I wish ... I
want ..."
Malfoy's voice broke, and then ... then ... suddenly Malfoy's mouth was on
his, hard and desperate. Harry tasted blood in his mouth, his ears roaring
with shock, the outside world swirling in confusion, his mind only
processing one terrified scream; 'Malfoy is *kissing* me!' He struggled
frantically but Malfoy had the advantage, his hands pinning Harry's wrists
to the floor, his body pressed hard against Harry's, and though Harry knew
if he tried, really tried, he could throw Malfoy off, he couldn't quite ...
couldn't seem to ...
The world turned upside-down and inside out then finally slotted into place
as understanding flooded his head like a light being switched on. He stopped
struggling, the resistance flowing away from his body. Malfoy didn't let up
his grip on Harry's wrists, didn't take his mouth away and ... oh God. His
mouth. His *mouth*. Frantic and needful and *scorching*.
Harry kissed him back.
*****************end flashback***************************
Harry shakes his head slightly, makes another effort to respond to the
light-hearted conversation being bantered back and forth around him, but as
breakfast ends he can't stop himself from risking another glance at Malfoy.
He notices the way everything about him, from his perfectly groomed hair to
his crisp robes is immaculate. He's drawn to that because he wants to
destroy that perfect image. Wants to tear those robes, run his fingers
through that hair, use his own body and mouth to make Malfoy *lose it*, make
him writhe in pleasure, make him cry out, turn him into a sated, rumpled,
sweaty heap.
An ache of desire so strong it hurts rips through him and he snaps his eyes
away before Malfoy catches him staring. Biting his lip to stifle his whimper
of impatience he lets himself be swept away to his first class, wishing with
all his heart he had some kind of time turner that could move time forwards.
Angry bewilderment, a familiar feeling by now, had him writhing in its
grasp. This wasn't *supposed* to happen! He's not meant to have this utter
*craving* for cruel, ruthless, cunning Draco Malfoy, a boy he's loathed from
the start. Still, there's some small solace in the fact that this is just
sex - two bitter enemies who've discovered a very inconvenient, yet
overwhelming physical attraction. That's all. Although physically he's given
himself to Malfoy he refuses to open his heart and mind to him. Why should
he? One day he'll be able to walk away, find a nice girl, someone good and
worthy and write all this off as temporary insanity. Except ... except ...
Except this neat theory doesn't even begin to explain why he's risking so
much to be with a boy he supposedly hates. It doesn't tell him why it's
getting harder and harder to say no to Malfoy, why he feels hollow when
Malfoy isn't around, yet violently unsettled when he is. It doesn't explain
why his control is slipping from his fingers and why his act of cool
indifference is a gruelling effort to maintain, and it doesn't explain
Malfoy. Harry doesn't understand why Malfoy, who now has potential dynamite
to blackmail him with, isn't using it to make Harry's life hell in-between
screwing him. What *is* going on in Malfoy's head? After years of rivalry he
now has Harry where he wants him; helpless under his power. Malfoy should be
triumphant and cutting, but he's not. He still acts cool and sarcastic, yet
underneath that he seems sad and slightly bitter, as though *Harry* is the
one with the power. What the hell does Malfoy have to be sad and bitter
about? Harry - against every rational thought he has - is sleeping with him
isn't he? Just what else does Malfoy want from him?
As the lesson drags by and Professor McGonagall talks on and on, Harry casts
a glance to a certain space on the floor and despite himself lets his mind
flash up images from the past couple of months. Confusing, frustrating clues
about Malfoy that Harry can't quite piece together. He remembers ....
***
Waking up with the dawning light, lying naked on a cold classroom floor.
There are finger shaped bruises on his wrists, hips and thighs, he aches in
places he never knew he could ache, and his lips are swollen. Draco Malfoy
is lying next to him, watching him and the horrified rush of realisation of
what he's done hits him. Sex. With Malfoy. Right here. Over and over and
over. Malfoy's eyes are glowing, probably with satisfaction at finally
having found a way to get Harry to buckle under his power. In this moment he
looks devastating. Devastatingly beautiful, devastatingly sexy, and poised
to devastate Harry. Before Malfoy can speak Harry rolls away violently,
dressing with lightening speed despite his shaking fingers.
"What's wrong?" Malfoy asks, his voice oddly subdued and sounding a little
frightened.
"What's *wrong*?" Repeated harshly and his voice is trembling. "Last night I
made the biggest mistake of my life and you want to know what's wrong?
What's wrong is I'm *disgusted* with myself!"
"I ... I thought ..."
"What? What did you think you sick bastard? That you were going to blackmail
me with this? I swear to God, you *ever* tell anyone about this and I will
cast the Cruciatus curse on you every day for the rest of your *life*!"
Slamming out of the classroom, leaving Malfoy lying on the floor, motionless
and silent. Harry pelts down the corridors and tears fill his eyes, because
under his horror and dismay there's still a part of him that wants it to be
last night.
***
He's avoided Malfoy successfully for days but as he sprints along the
corridor, drastically late for Charms, Malfoy steps out from behind a suit
of armour and Harry barrels into him. Before he can catch his breath Malfoy
has him pinned against the wall.
"Meet me tonight."
"Get *off* me!"
"Say you'll meet me. Name the time, the place, any bloody thing you want,
just ..."
"Malfoy I mean it, let me go or I swear ..." The words are cut off as he
inhales sharply as Malfoy's hand slides under his robes, rubbing between his
thighs. Desire that he's tried so hard to ignore breaks free and his legs
actually buckle with the force of it.
"No. Malfoy ... don't ..." It comes out as a moan, he's already hard. "It's
never going to happen again."
"It is. It's going to. Let it happen, Potter, meet me later ..."
"I hate you," Harry spits, even as his hips arch forward.
Malfoy drops his eyes from Harry's but his hand increases the friction
fractionally. "I know. But you'll meet me won't you?"
And Harry's skin is tingling, he feels hot and restless and edgy, can't stop
himself grinding into Malfoy's hand, and soon he's saying yes, he'll meet
Malfoy, yes he'll meet him tonight, yes, yes, yes ...
***
Malfoy's easing into him and the way his eyes are so dilated they're almost
black is almost as good as the shivers racking Harry's body. Malfoy presses
forward until he's pressed flush against Harry, biting his lip so hard Harry
can see a tiny bead of blood forming under his perfect white teeth, like
Malfoy was terrified of what he'd say if he didn't clamp down. Feels a pull
inside him that terrifies him, yet is not entirely unpleasant.
***
Looking up unexpectedly in Potions class and catching Malfoy looking at him
with an expression of frustrated yearning. It feels like Malfoy has reached
inside him and wrenched at his heart. Harry drops his eyes quickly, and he
doesn't turn up to their meeting that night.
***
Quidditch practice yesterday and pain explodes as he's hit by a bludger,
it's broken his collarbone and he loses control of his broom. He plummets to
the ground hitting it with an agonising thud. Within moments his concerned
team-mates flock around him, helping him to his feet. Through the bodies
surrounding him, through the rain, he catches sight of a pale face, taut
with concern, way back in the stands. *Malfoy*? Why was he out in the rain
watching Harry practice? For a crazy second his heart is in his mouth,
thinking Malfoy was going to race down to his side and there's a hollowness
in his legs that's nothing to do with his injury. A thrill in his belly,
like he's about to jump off a high building with no broom ... Of course
Malfoy doesn't move. Harry's team-mates chatter around him, pulling him to
the school, to Madame Pomfrey and Malfoy is lost from view.
***
Harry sighs, giving up on trying to understand Malfoy, and makes another
effort to pay attention to his class. It's easier - or maybe *safer* - not
to think too much about what's going on in Malfoy's head. He can cope when
Malfoy is snide, sarcastic and a downright bastard but these odd flashes of
vulnerability scare Harry. They make him feel like something inside him is
being stretched taut. He's terrified of breaking under the pressure of it,
and can only repeat to himself; it's just sex, as he struggles to keep his
defences nailed in place.
The day inches by, classes are unbearably irrelevant and Harry can't stop
himself from watching out for Malfoy in the courtyard, in the Great Hall.
He's walking down the corridor, slightly ahead of Ron and Hermione who have
their arms linked, murmuring to each other, when Malfoy passes by. He
brushes past Harry unnecessarily closely and trails his finger secretly over
Harry's sleeve and hand. For a second Harry is tongue-tied, physically
melded to the spot.
"Hey watch it Malfoy," Ron snaps in Harry's defence, only seeing Malfoy's
arrogance in pushing past Harry but Malfoy doesn't even pause, throwing a
scornful look over his shoulder.
"Come off it Weasley, Potter should know to get out of the way of his
betters by now."
Harry scowls as the Slytherin's that surround Malfoy snicker at Malfoy's
comment and at Harry's flushed face as they sail off triumphantly down the
corridor.
"Prick," Ron mutters.
"Malfoy's awful," Hermione says soothingly, shooting Harry a compassionate
look. "We know that. Just ignore him."
"Yeah," Harry agrees dully. If only he could. His cheeks are still flushed
and he tells himself it's because he's furious with Malfoy for doing
something so potentially risky in front of his friends and the Slytherin's.
But his hand feels like it's been seared with fire where Malfoy brushed
against it.
***********
An eternity later night arrives and Harry checks the boys in his dormitory
are sleeping. Ron isn't there and he draws his curtains around his bed so
Ron won't notice his absence when he comes to bed. It's still too early to
leave but he can't force himself to wait another second. He wraps himself in
his invisibility cloak and slips out, easing the door closed behind him. He
wonders what his Father would have thought of him using his cloak in order
to make it easier for him to sneak out to have sex with Lucius Malfoy's son,
and pushes the thought away. He has enough to worry about with what would
happen if any living person found out about this, without wondering what his
parents would say if they could talk to him.
He silently descends the stairs to the common room and sees Ron is there
with Hermione. They are curled up by the fire, the warm glow flickering over
them as they kiss tenderly. His heart thudding fast he slips past them and
inches the portrait door open. They are so wrapped up in each other they
don't even hear the tiny sound as it shuts behind him.
In the summer the Astronomy Tower is a hotbed of couples smooching, but in
winter it's deserted thanks to it's arctic temperatures. The higher he
climbs the colder it gets and the warmth of the common room recedes until it
seems almost like a dream. He opens the door and closes it carefully behind
him. Malfoy is waiting and Harry's heart lurches painfully at the sight of
him. Malfoy unfurls himself elegantly from the armchair he's reposing in as
Harry takes off his cloak. It's five minutes to midnight.
"You're early, Potter," Malfoy drawls, his voice cool and slightly mocking.
"If I didn't know better I'd think you were eager to see me."
"You're even earlier," he points out, speaking coldly to match Malfoy's tone
and the iciness of the room, yet behind his surface composure he's
liquefying into a searing pool of desire. The tension between them is being
cranked higher and higher and he doesn't know how he's going to survive
another second without Malfoy pressed against him, easing the ache that
seems to be in his very bones.
For once Malfoy doesn't seem to have a cutting response. He only nods,
smiling slightly bitterly. "So I am. I suppose I must be even more eager
than you." And he reaches out, hauling Harry to him.
Despite the cool air Malfoy's lips are burning hot, the kiss demanding and
almost brutal, like Malfoy is trying to draw him in, swallow him up, and
Harry's kissing him back just as hard. His heart swelling painfully with
emotion and it's too much. He was only with Malfoy two nights ago and it
still feels like it's been too long since they did this. He might just die
of how right this feels, how much he needs this, needs him. *Needs* him. Not
loves him.
Malfoy's hand slides under the neck of his T-shirt, tracing his collarbone,
healed, but still slightly tender from yesterday's fall. Harry pulls back
briefly from the kiss to draw in a shuddering gasp of air, then freezes,
stunned to see Malfoy's eyes glinting with what looks like tears.
"Malfoy ...?"
"Shut up, Potter," Malfoy's voice has a harsh edge to it. Could be anger or
sadness. "Just ... shut up."
It's tempting, yet he can't. He can't bear to see the pain in Malfoy's eyes,
it makes his own heart ache in unwanted sympathy, and he hates this, hates
that he can't control his churning, confusing emotions. "What ... what's
wrong?"
"Oh spare me," A world of bitterness in the retort. "As if you care."
A frightened thud hits right in the middle of his chest, Malfoy was right,
he shouldn't care, he *didn't* care and yet ... "Malfoy, I ..."
"Leave it Potter!" Malfoy snarls. "Stop pretending you give a crap. You
think I don't know what you really think about me? About this?"
"And what do I think Malfoy?" Harry asks, trying to keep his voice cool.
"That I'm scum. That this is wrong. That I'm only a good screw, and one day
when you've had enough you'll leave - well fine, but I'm not forcing you to
do this. You're the one that keeps coming back for more, Potter, remember
that."
Harry feels his face drain white, then flush red almost instantly. "I knew
it," he says, trying to control the tremor in his voice, to ignore the
miserable, sick feeling in his stomach. "I knew this was all about getting
one up on me, I knew you were only doing this to win ..."
"Oh grow up Potter! Do I *look* like I'm winning?" Malfoy's voice cracks as
his slender form vibrates with agitation. "This isn't about beating you!"
"So what *is* it about Malfoy?" The question slips out before he can stop
it, and his heart thuds in fear, suddenly aware he's played right into
Malfoy's hands, into some danger zone he's been trying to avoid.
"Isn't it bloody obvious?"
"No!"
Malfoy snorts disgustedly, yet his voice is still tight with misery. "God,
Potter maybe you ought to get new glasses since you're obviously *blind*."
"I haven't got a clue what you're talking about." Said icily, clipped, as he
struggles to stay calm. "And I'm really not in the mood tonight for all
these stupid hints ..."
"You're never in the mood!" Malfoy shouts and Harry jerks back in shock as
Malfoy's veneer of control shatters - Malfoy is *always* in control ... Or
at least he *was* "You never hear what I'm trying to say, all you want to do
is bury yourself in denial ..."
"What are you talking about 'in denial'?" Harry sneers, complete with finger
quotes around the words. "I'm sleeping with you aren't I?"
"I'm not talking about sex!"
"What else is there? We hate each other and we have sex with each other and
that's all!"
"Potter ..." Then suddenly Malfoy's voice softens, takes on an edge of
desperation. "Harry ..."
Harry's heart gives a huge lurch. They never - but *never* call each other
by their first names. Not even in his head does he allow himself to call
Malfoy by his first name, it's too scary, too intimate, too ... *loving*.
Fear wallops through him and he strikes back angrily. "Oh shut up *Malfoy*!
I hate your guts - I hate myself for letting you drag me into this whole
sick situation ... I hate this whole thing ..."
Harry stops. Malfoy's face is even paler than usual, and his lip is
trembling, while his eyes ... oh his *eyes*, they look like Harry has torn
out his heart and ground it under his heel. Harry suddenly wishes he could
pull the words back. Tonight is heading about a hundred miles from where he
wanted it to go, and it hurts more than he'd ever admit.
"Fine." Malfoy says, shaking. "Well if we can stop any time you want, how
about right now?"
Malfoy pushes past him, almost running to the door, and Harry feels -
physically feels - his heart begin to tear in two. Doesn't hesitate a
second, he dives after him, grabbing him, forcing the blond to turn and face
him, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Don't you go - don't you dare!" he
shouts shrilly, panic streaming through him.
"Why not?" Malfoy shouts, his voice trembling.
"I don't know! I wish I did, I just ... I need ..." Gives up trying to
explain feelings that didn't make slightest sense to him and slams his mouth
to Malfoy's instead, kissing him hard. The blond struggles briefly, bringing
his hands up to try and shove Harry away.
"Oh please, please let me ..." Harry pleads in his head. Only realises when
Malfoy stills, that he's said the words out loud, and he doesn't care,
because Malfoy is giving in. With a noise that sounds an awful lot like a
choked sob he opens his mouth under Harry's, winding his arms around him
tightly, pulling him close, kissing him fervently. A surge of painful relief
fills Harry's heart and he's almost at the point of tears himself, just at
being allowed to do this after coming within a hairs breadth of losing it.
Dra ... Malfoy wasn't going to leave, was still with him, was still his to
kiss and run his hands over and lay him on the floor ...
Harry knows Ron and Hermione haven't taken their relationship to sex yet. He
has a feeling when they do it'll be warm and safe, maybe with candles,
whispered endearments and gentleness. It won't be like this, on a cold stone
floor with all kinds of confusing emotions swirling around, yet still
wanting this so badly he's rock hard and shaking with his stomach in knots.
He can't find it in his heart to envy them, because he'd never, ever change
this. Draco - and yes, he does notice the slip in using his first name, but
for once doesn't go back and correct it - is so fucking beautiful with pale,
silky skin that's his to tastekisstouch, and eyes darkened with hunger.
They kiss as they undress each other, trembling but unable to separate for a
second. Their fingers fumble in their haste as they pull at clothing, no
finesse, all they want is the clothes *off*. Finally the ache in Harry's
bones is eased as Draco lies flush on top of him, still kissing as Harry
tangles his hands into that silky hair. Draco's passionate responses telling
Harry that he's forgiven, and they arch against each other, friction making
their skin slick. In the past when they've had sex Harry has always felt an
undercurrent of anger and resentment, but tonight feels different, something
has been released. The latent simmering anger in him has gone, destroyed by
Draco's painfully honest vulnerability and the courage it must have taken to
reveal it to Harry. His defences are down and he doesn't give a damn. He no
longer resents Draco, he wants to be *good* to Draco, wants to make up for
hurting him, and he gives himself up in a way he's never done before. His
hands are everywhere, roaming over Draco, needing to touch, to be one with
him, their mouths sliding over each other, tasting skin, and he gets a hot
thump right in the pit of his belly as Draco moves over him, preparing him
and sliding inside. Their bodies mould deeply together, their breath coming
in harsh, deep gasps. He clings to Draco, vibrating under him, slamming his
body up to meet Draco's eagerly. Harry was falling apart in Draco's arms and
that was okay because Draco was right there with him, grey eyes *locked* on
his, brilliantly hazy as they rode the roller-coaster ride together. Draco's
fingers are clenched painfully tight on his body, and he's biting his lip as
usual, but for the first time Harry doesn't want him to, and he gropes for
the words to let him know.
"It's okay - let go ... I want you too ... it's okay ..." he mutters
incoherently, Draco's eyes widen with understanding, and with a shiver, he
lets his control slip as he stops biting his lip and moans; "Harry. Oh,
Harry, Harry." And the sound of his name on Draco's lips like that is just
the best, most warming thing Harry's ever heard. Scary and intoxicating and
somehow, perfect.
Afterwards Draco slips out of him and they lay still for a while, hearts
pounding, sweat cooling. Usually he races away, terrified at being left
behind by Draco, but tonight he didn't move, didn't want to move. So what if
Draco leaves first? It won't be the worst thing that has ever happened to
him, but Draco remains still. Harry looks at Draco lying beside him, still
breathing heavily. His eyes are closed, his lips pinned tightly together, as
though he's terrified he's said too much and the tether inside Harry,
binding him to ideas formed long ago of how love should be, already
stretched taut, finally, silently, snaps.
He feels strange without it, but free, like he's been chained down, and now
he can move again. All he has to do is decide how, and in which direction,
he wants to move.
He tentatively reaches his hand out towards Draco, cupping his face in a
movement as uncertain as it is tender. Draco's eyes open, looking at him
warily, waiting, and at last Harry can see that the light in them isn't the
smugness he so bitterly resented, but hope. Burning, enduring hope. An
incredible, frightening new world, blazing with possibilities lies in those
eyes, and he doesn't want to hide from it anymore. Harry feels light-headed,
breathless, hot and nervous, like this is it, the big jump ...
"Draco," It's not a question or a statement, more a sigh, a release of all
the things he's been trying to ignore, to deny, all let loose with one word
as he steps into the new world with Draco. A world where everything that
matters to him is wrapped up in this boy with pale skin and silver eyes. His
heart swells with emotion, his eyes sting. Draco doesn't speak but swallows
and reaches an unsteady hand out, stroking Harry's hair. Harry jumps
slightly but stays still and lets Draco caress him tentatively, slightly
awkwardly, as though he's not sure he's doing it right. He realises with a
shock this is the first truly loving gesture they've shared and knows with
steel-plated certainty he doesn't want it to be the last.
Somehow Harry doesn't feel surprised. He has always ended up doing things
the hard way and this is no different. Now he understood; love was different
for everyone, and no, they weren't like Ron and Hermione, because they were
Harry and Draco. Maybe Draco *was* cruel and ruthless and cunning. It didn't
matter. Love wasn't always simple, wasn't always about sweetness and
tenderness and holding hands in public. Sometimes it was complicated and
painful and secret and scary. Sometimes it was about passion so powerful it
could destroy you, and pressure that felt like it was going to kill you, yet
holding on somehow because letting go was impossible. About looking at the
face of what had once been your bitterest rival and knowing it had changed
into a face you would live and die for. About knowing that no matter how
hard this was, and how much harder it was going to get; nothing could be
better than this.
He takes Draco's hand in his, Draco's fingers curl tightly around his, and
for a long time they lie there silently, gazing at each other in the chill
of the room.
Sometimes love was just like this.
End.
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