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birdsofshoreTitle: Truth Will Out
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
birdsofshore
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word count: ~4300
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Er, none? Sorry about that...
Summary: Sometimes you just need a little bit of a push to say what needs saying.
A/N: A belated Happy Birthday, Happy Valentine's, and WELCOME HOME to our darlingcapitu. I started so many things for your birthday, dear! I tried to write filthy, I tried to write funny. I FAILED, and this happened instead, but it is sort of romantic, possibly? And it was written with love ♥
Thank you so much towritcraft and lumosed_quill for all of your help!
***
Harry never guessed it would happen like this. Most of the time he didn't even think it would happen at all. But sometimes, late at night usually, when he was lying in bed, he thought about it. He thought about the pull in his stomach; he'd felt it once too often to deny it any more, that shuddery, turning-over feeling when he saw Malfoy. Harry hadn't thought they'd see each other again, after the war, and they hadn't, not for a year or so. Not until the parties began.
It was weird now to remember how it had started. It was all down to Luna, of course. There was a party at her house. Not just the people who Harry saw every week or so at the Leaky, but loads of people – the crowd who Luna worked with, and quite a collection who she'd met when travelling through Asia. A big hairy bloke called Rolf who nearly shook Harry's arm off at the shoulder when they first met. Two-thirds of the Nigerian Quidditch Team. And tons of people from Hogwarts. People Harry had never imagined he'd be in a room with again, let alone at a party with. Millicent Bulstrode and Greg Goyle. Professor Trelawney, looking very carefree as she danced with some bloke wearing a fez. A couple of Centaurs. Assorted House-elves. And Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy was‒ god, he was tall, and blond, and‒ had Malfoy always looked like that? Harry didn't know. Maybe he had, and Harry hadn't noticed. Or maybe he had noticed, just a little bit. This feeling, like a delicious itch, like something irresistible, that rippled all over Harry's skin when he was anywhere near Malfoy ‒ that feeling was a tiny bit familiar, after all. In the past, when Harry had felt the itch, he had an urge to hurt Malfoy, to bruise him, to mess his face up. Now... well, now, it was quite different. The way he looked made Harry feel warm right down to his toes, and Harry didn't want to hurt him, so much as―
Merlin. Harry had given Malfoy one more long, lingering look, then walked away to find Ron and Hermione.
That party was followed by another party. Luna's house was enormous and sprawling and weird and pretty much perfect for gatherings filled with disparate mixtures of people. And then Millicent had a birthday party, and invited a lot of the same crowd, and then Dean and Seamus threw one to celebrate their engagement, and after that it seemed there were parties every week or so. It was just what they did. It was cheaper than going to the Leaky all the time, and things could get, well, just that little bit wilder. Not that anything scandalous ever happened. Just a kind of comfortable, friendly rowdiness.
And Harry couldn't keep avoiding Draco Malfoy, because he was always there. For instance, he always seemed to be lounging in doorways. So that if Harry wanted to go into a room, he'd have to squeeze past Malfoy to get there. Or if Harry was sitting with some people, before long, Malfoy would come and join them, not always saying much, but just standing there, his very existence tugging at Harry's attention so that he lost track of whatever he was meant to be doing. Malfoy laughed a lot, these days, and the sound of it was so... so pure and unexpected that it startled Harry, the first time he heard it.
Sometimes, when Harry looked over, Malfoy was looking at him, too. Malfoy seemed to look as if Harry was not what he had expected at all. As if Harry was... something unusual to look at. And as if Harry amused him very much. Which he probably did, seeing as how Harry never quite knew what to do with his hands when Malfoy looked at him like that. He had the feeling that he might fall over his own feet, or say something fucking idiotic. So Harry didn't say anything. He just looked, and the more he looked, the more he wanted to look, and there was something unbearable about looking at Malfoy and not being able to touch him, so Harry usually turned away and found something else to do, someone to talk to. Some very interesting or important conversation, so that he couldn't look at Malfoy any more.
Or sometimes Harry left, just walked out and took himself home the Muggle way instead of Apparating, hoping the walk would clear his head. He spent the walk home with his head down, watching his own feet and thinking that he really ought to get some new trainers, because these ones were a bit fucked. Trying not to think about Malfoy and the way he looked and the way he moved and the way his wristbones jutted out when he held a drink.
Harry spent a lot of time going home early in those days. It was easier than sitting there watching Malfoy like some sort of fucking creep.
They were at Luna's, again, that night. There was an enormous bowl of punch in the kitchen, and everyone had brought a bottle of whatever they fancied, to add to it as they arrived. It tasted... interesting, would be the word. It had an overpowering taste of strawberries which almost masked the kick of the alcohol. But it felt good going down, and even better when it hit your stomach, warming and spicy.
Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, watching people help themselves to punch. The faces they made when they first tasted it were pretty funny. Dean was there, and they were having a perfectly good conversation about Quidditch, but the problem was that Malfoy and Goyle were there, too, over by the window, just talking, and laughing about the punch... and Harry could see already that he was going to end up going home early again.
It was just that there didn't seem to be anyone else in the room that mattered, when Malfoy was there – Harry knew it was idiotic, but Malfoy sort of glowed. His hair was always so bright and his shirts were so white and crisp, and his skin wasn't milky-pale like it was at Hogwarts, not any more. It was a very soft, very warm golden colour. Like he'd been on holiday, somewhere, and he probably had. Harry had heard him mention the Caribbean sometimes, and Italy, but the thought of Malfoy lying on a beach, stretched out, letting the sunlight cover every inch of him, his skin dusted with sand and smelling of sunshine and seasalt and— oh, god, this was the kind of thing Harry tried not to think about. Because after a while of thinking, Harry felt that he might actually have to do something about this. Especially when Malfoy was wearing a shirt with the buttons open at the throat, and the sleeves rolled up, and Harry could see that his arms were that rich, soft golden colour, all the way up.
How could Harry look at anyone else when Malfoy was standing there looking like that? Even the air around him seemed to vibrate, as if it was full of... Harry didn't know what. It was probably some kind of Glamour or something that Malfoy used at parties.
Harry mumbled something to Dean about needing the loo, and got to his feet. He didn't want to go home yet. There were plenty of other rooms he could go to. Places where Malfoy wasn't. There were people dancing in the room next door, but Harry didn't feel like dancing right now. Also, it was possible that Malfoy might come in, later. He'd seen Malfoy on the dance floor before. It was a special kind of torment to watch him move: fluid and relaxed, and unfairly compelling to look at.
Harry wandered upstairs. He looked in at one of the big reception rooms on the first floor, where Luna had removed most of the furniture and filled half the floor with bean bags instead. Neville was there, and Lavender, and Luna, and some Ravenclaw girls Harry didn't really know, and a bunch of people who Luna had explained worked in the new bookshop in Diagon, the one with all of the enchanted frogs in the window. Harry went in and sat down on a long squashy sofa.
In this room, music played quietly in the corner, and Luna had charmed some lamps to float near the ceiling. Harry settled in, feeling warm and hazy, half-listening to Lavender's stories about her summer romance out in Madrid. Luna lay on her back, apparently looking at the ceiling, and Neville was chatting up a Ravenclaw who Harry thought was probably named Phyllis. Harry took another swig of his punch, the heady heat of it swirling through his blood and making him feel like he could handle anything. Like maybe it was going to be a good night after all. Then there was a long, lean shape in the doorway and Harry knew without looking up that it was Malfoy.
Luna waved from her bean bag. “Hello, Draco.”
“Hello.” Malfoy didn't stay in the doorway, for once, but sat down on the other end of the sofa from Harry, and suddenly, it didn't feel so comfortable any more.
Luna sat up on her elbows. “What's happening out there?”
Malfoy shrugged. “Dancing. Drinking. The Bloody Baron turned up and scared the life out of Ernie Macmillan.” He looked around the room, and Harry felt a flash of heat as Malfoy's eyes swept over him. “What's happening in here?”
Luna sank back into the beanbag. “Not very much,” she said in her sing-song voice. “Actually, should we play a game?”
Neville groaned, but Malfoy's face took on the familiar amused expression. “Yes, absolutely.”
“Venomous Tentaculas?” Luna suggested.
There was a chorus of protest. Luna had invented this game herself. It involved crawling blindfolded through the garden in two teams until you managed to— Actually, Harry didn't know what was actually meant to happen at the end. Last time, Parvati had stumbled into a Mimbulus Mimbletonia and the game had dissolved in a putrid-smelling haze as Luna guided her to the bathroom.
“Truth or Dare?” Luna suggested.
“Not right now,” Harry said quickly, and suppressed a shiver as Malfoy smirked to himself.
“Oh, you're no fun tonight.” Luna wound a strand of hair around her finger. “Hide and Seek?”
“Yes!” Lavender bounced happily in her armchair. “Why not? Remember when we used to play at Hogwarts? And McGonagall caught Alicia hiding in the boys' toilets?”
“Do we have to play anything?” Neville asked.
Harry stole a quick look at Malfoy to find him already watching Harry, his eyes hot and teasing.
“I don't mind,” Harry said. He could probably wander into another room while the game was on. See whether Hermione had turned up yet.
Luna struggled out from the embrace of her beanbag and drew her wand. “Right. Lumos.” A small ball of light appeared at the end. “Selego.” The light left Luna's wand and hovered next to it in mid air. It appeared to hesitate for a moment, then shot off around the room, bobbing first above Neville's head, then Lavender's, then Harry's. Harry frowned as the light remained floating above him, then pulsed brighter.
“You're 'It', Harry.” Luna looked delighted. “You have to go and hide.”
“Me?”
“Go on.” Lavender grinned. “No using your cloak, OK?”
“Can I take my drink?”
“Nope.”
Harry swigged the rest of the punch, gagging slightly at the sweetness. “I can hide anywhere?” There had to be a million places in Luna's house.
“Yes, we'll count to a hundred.” Luna turned to the others. “Oh! I know. Instead of boring Hide and Seek, let's make it Grindylows. So, if we find Harry, we have to keep quiet and hide in the same place.”
“What?” Harry frowned.
“Then we keep going until everyone's found everyone else.”
Harry shrugged. This was more complicated than he'd imagined. “All right. Well, see you.” He tried not to look at Malfoy again before he left, he really did.
It was dark in the corridor outside. He walked past the doorway where music was blaring and headed for the staircase. He'd bet there were Boggarts in Luna's attic. Somewhere downstairs would be best. He headed away from the sounds of chatter coming from the kitchen and took a turn into a dimly-lit corridor instead. There were several doors in a line. Harry picked the first and then backed away from the shape of two figures entwined in the darkness.
“Get your own room!” said a cross voice that sounded a lot like Millicent's. Harry closed the door hurriedly.
“Sorry,” he shouted.
The next was also shut, and he walked past, but the third was ajar. Harry knocked, cautiously, but there was no answer, so he stuck his head in and switched the light on. It seemed to be Luna's cloakroom. There were robes and jackets on hooks all around the room, broomsticks leant against a wall, and a pair of yellow spotted wellies stood jauntily in one corner.
It would do. Harry found a place where some long, thick robes hung down against the wall and slipped in between them. He wasn't quite hidden from view, but he wasn't immediately obvious, either, his body shrouded in the folds of the material. As an afterthought, he pulled out his wand and cast Nox.
It was peaceful in there, only a faint thrumming from the bass upstairs and the occasional shout of laughter from the kitchen. The robes were warm and comforting around him, and a little moonlight trickled in from a small, high window.
Harry settled in to wait, a pleasant flicker of anticipation in his stomach. He'd joined in with Hide and Seek in the Castle, along with the others, and there was always something exciting about waiting to be found. But before more than a minute had passed, the door handle turned and Harry heard the sound of the door creaking open. He held his breath.
Whoever-it-was stood silently in the doorway, then breathed out a whisper: “Potter.”
Merlin. It sounded like Malfoy.
Harry kept quiet. Well, the point of the game was not to be found, wasn't it?
The person came in and shut the door, then stood very still in the middle of the room. Harry could hear his blood pounding in his own ears. He closed his eyes, tried to hold his breath. Then the soft, sure footsteps came nearer.
“Found you.” It was Malfoy. Bloody hell. His face was pale and intriguingly angular in the moonlight, his mouth quirked into a smile.
Harry found he had to swallow hard before he could speak, and his voice still came out sounding funny. “Yep. You found me. Let's go and tell the others.”
“No.” Malfoy stepped closer and shifted the folds of one of the cloaks. “Luna wanted to play Grindylows, remember? We hide together until someone else comes. Move over a bit.”
Harry tried, but there wasn't really any room. Malfoy squeezed between the robes, until Harry could feel their hips bumping together. He could feel the warmth from Malfoy's body.
Harry took an unsteady breath. “How did you find me so fast?”
“I cheated,” Malfoy whispered, and then gave a laugh of surprise, as if he hadn't meant to say that.
Harry couldn't see much in the dim light, but he could see Malfoy's eyes, shining and silvery. He wondered how long it would take for someone else to come. Malfoy shifted a little and the length of his leg pressed against Harry's, so he could feel the firm muscle and the heat there. It was too much, and then there was the fact that Malfoy smelled so fucking good. Shit. Harry didn't think he could do this. Couldn't stand here, feeling Malfoy, and smelling him, and being so bloody close to him, and not―
Harry's face screwed up, in disgust at his own weakness, and Malfoy saw.
Malfoy pulled back, his face creased into a frown. “Do you want me to go?”
“No.” The word came out without Harry thinking about it, his voice unexpectedly deep.
Malfoy looked at him again. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He felt strange. Not light-headed, exactly, more sort of light-tongued, as if he might say anything, anything at all— “Why did you cheat?”
“I wanted to be the first one to find you.” Again Malfoy laughed, and Harry was dizzy with the sound of it, the sound and the smell of Malfoy, and the closeness of him.
“You smell amazing,” said Harry, and he didn't know why he kept saying these things, and―
“Did you have any of that punch?” Malfoy asked.
The punch. Of course.
“Fuck. Yes. A couple of glasses.”
Malfoy laughed again, and Harry could feel it, the shaking of Malfoy's body resonating through him as they stood there. “Me too. I'm not sure, but I think there was probably a little Veritaserum in there.”
“I'm going to fucking kill Seamus.”
“Was it him? How do you know?”
“It's always Seamus.”
Malfoy didn't say anything for a minute. His lips were soft, curving upwards. His face was only a heartbeat away from Harry's. “It's not much worse than being a bit drunk. You say things you might not have said otherwise, that's all.”
“God, I want to kiss you,” Harry said, and he felt a lurch of embarrassment as he spoke, but more than that, a heady rush at having actually spoken the words at last, as if the slow burn of his longing for Malfoy had now burst into bright flame.
“I want to do more than kiss you,” Malfoy said, his eyes hot and dark, and Harry didn't need telling twice. His mouth was on Malfoy's and sudden flares of want were blazing in his chest, fiercer than anything he had ever known. And Malfoy was kissing him back – sweet Merlin, Malfoy was kissing him and Harry thought he might never get over it. He closed his eyes and it was even better, like a hot roar of magic in his veins. Malfoy's kisses were lush and addictive, brimming with the taste of strawberries, and the honeyed slide of tongues. Harry pushed Malfoy up against the wall until they were both enfolded in a soft, heavy swirl of robes, and Harry could feel the press of Malfoy's body, lean and surprisingly strong and unbelievably good.
“I've wanted this,” Harry told him, the words tumbling from his tongue. “Wanted you.” Fuck the Veritaserum. It was dark enough that Malfoy couldn't see the flush on his cheeks. And it felt good to say it. Risky and thrilling and, god, Malfoy seemed to like it, from the way he grabbed Harry's hair and pulled him in to kiss him again, rough and deep and divine.
“Want you, too, Potter.” He said the words against Harry's mouth, as if he didn't want to lose contact for a second. “Want you to―”
But just then the doorhandle rattled. Harry pulled back, breathless, his whole body aching for Malfoy's touch again, but mortified at the thought of being caught like this.
The handle rattled again, impatient. “Harry?” said a voice that sounded like Lavender.
Harry stood still, heart thumping against his ribs. Malfoy's hand snaked around Harry's waist, his fingers just brushing the skin above Harry's jeans.
“It's OK,” Malfoy said, very close to his ear. “I locked it.”
“Come on. Let's look somewhere else,” said a male voice from outside.
Harry let out a breath. “You're a sneaky bastard,” he whispered.
Malfoy laughed, low and happy. “Yes,” he agreed.
“We can't stay here. They'll come back.”
“Who cares?” Malfoy's lips were next to his ear. Against his throat.
Merlin. Harry couldn't think straight. “It seems a little mean to Luna. You know. Spoiling her game.”
“Come to my place, then, and you can owl her. Tell her something in the punch got to you and you had to go to bed.” Malfoy tilted his head and lowered his voice further, so he just breathed the words out. ”My bed.”
Merlin. “Malfoy. I haven't actually been to bed with anyone before.” Shit. He really was going to kill Seamus.
Malfoy's eyebrows went up. Harry kissed him again, so he didn't have to see his look of amusement. He kissed him hard, because he needed to taste him again, to feel Malfoy's breath coming, faster now, huffing hotly against his own mouth. Malfoy shifted his hips and then the whole hard length of Malfoy's cock was sliding against Harry's erection, and Harry cried out at the pleasure, the great stab of wanting that jolted through him.
“Oh, fuck.” Malfoy said it in a sort of groan. “You really want it, don't you?”
“Yes. God, yes.” It wasn't just the Veritaserum. What was the point in pretending? Malfoy must be able to feel it, must know how hard Harry was, must be able to feel Harry half-trembling against him with need.
“You've never been with a bloke before?”
“No.”
“But the way you look at me. I've been waiting and waiting.”
“I've been trying not to look. I didn't think you'd— uhh. Be interested.”
“Wanker,” said Malfoy. “I got tired of waiting for you to do something about it.” His kisses were getting filthier; his tongue was doing terrible, wonderful things to Harry. In fact, Harry was worried he was going to come. Just from this. Just from Malfoy's tongue, and Malfoy's hand in his hair, and Malfoy's tight, eager body against his. He so easily could. He was even making noises, desperate, throaty noises, as if he might lose it, after all the weeks and months of wanting.
Malfoy slid a leg between his thighs and didn't he know, couldn't he see, that Harry couldn't bear it, couldn't last? What with the kissing, and the hands, and now a long firm leg pressed right there―
“Hell, Potter, let me have you, just like this.”
“Yes,” Harry said.
“Right here, like this. Because you can't wait any longer. You can't, can you?”
“No,” Harry groaned. Malfoy was‒ ahh‒ he had his hands under Harry's shirt and then he was grinding up against Harry, sending wild shocks of delight through him. Harry groaned, long and low. His hands gripped Malfoy's arse – and god, his arse felt even better than it looked – and slotted their bodies closer together, so that he could feel everything, every little movement Malfoy was making.
“You're going to come,” Malfoy told him.
“Yes.”
“You're going to come, right here, because you want it so much.”
“Yes. God, yes. Please!” Harry was panting and gripping him tight, his movements jerky with desperation.
“Do it. Do it, Harry,” and Harry did, partly because Malfoy telling him to come was so fucking hot, and partly because the friction of Malfoy's cock rubbing over his, just like ‒ ahh ‒ like that, so perfect and hot and sweet and yessss. And partly because of the unexpected thrill of his name on Malfoy's lips. His orgasm surged through him like a hot streak of lightning, making him cry out, helpless with it, gasping with every pulse.
“Fuck, Draco.” Harry slumped back against the wall and Malfoy kissed him, slow and open-mouthed, rocking breathlessly against Harry until he came, too.
Afterwards, Malfoy slouched against the hanging robes, his eyes sleepy and approving as Harry cast a cleaning spell over both of them and then kissed Malfoy again, and again. Harry couldn't believe that Malfoy didn't seem to mind. His hand cupped the back of Malfoy's head, and Malfoy made a contented sound in his throat.
“Hah. I always thought it would be good, with you. You're so bloody into it. Like everything you do.” Malfoy shook his head. “How long does Veritaserum take to wear off, anyway?”
“Don't know. Can we still go back to yours? I want to. I want to do more stuff.”
“Yes, we can do that. We can do all of the stuff.”
“I fancy you so fucking much,” Harry said, and this time Malfoy's laugh was high and delighted, and easily muffled by another kiss.
Then there was a low knock on the door and they froze, Malfoy's face suddenly still and wary in the moonlight.
“Harry?” Luna's voice was soft but clear. “Are you and Draco OK?”
They looked at each other, eyes wide, then Harry cleared his throat. “Yes. Really fine, thanks.”
“That's good.”
“Sorry, er... Sorry.”
“There's nothing to apologise for.” Luna told them. “In fact, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I just wanted to let you know that we're playing a different game now. So you don't need to worry about anyone coming to look for you.”
“Ah. Thank you.”
Malfoy was grinning. Also, kissing Harry's neck in an incredibly distracting way.
“Yes, it's a new one I just invented,” Luna went on. “We turn the lights off, and then everyone swops one item of clothing. Rolf looks surprisingly good in a dress and biker boots.”
“Great... have fun.” Harry closed his eyes. Malfoy's lips were so warm. So utterly delicious. He thought about what it would be like to undress him. Somewhere quiet, and private. Without a rather odd party going on outside.
“Well, I'll leave you to do whatever it is you were doing,” Luna said. “Just watch out for the Gallyfinks; they like to nest in the pockets of old robes.”
Malfoy laid his head in silent laughter against Harry's shoulder. Then, “Luna!” he called.
“Yes, Draco?”
“Just a word of warning. There's Veritaserum in your punch.”
“Oh, that?” Luna sounded unconcerned. “It was only a drop. Barely a pint. I'm sure it won't bother anybody. I must go. I think Rolf needs help getting zipped up.”
Malfoy looked stunned for a moment, then he shrugged. “Not Seamus, after all,” he told Harry.
“Apparently not.”
“Come on.” He held out his arm for Harry to hold. “We have stuff to do.”
Harry never guessed it would happen like this. Hadn't really expected it to happen at all. But as Malfoy turned on his heel and the room span into a blur, Harry made a mental note to send Luna a bouquet or something the next day, by way of a thank you. Perhaps a nice arrangement of Venomous Tentaculas would be appropriate.
Author:
birdsofshorePairing: Harry/Draco
Word count: ~4300
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Er, none? Sorry about that...
Summary: Sometimes you just need a little bit of a push to say what needs saying.
A/N: A belated Happy Birthday, Happy Valentine's, and WELCOME HOME to our darling
capitu. I started so many things for your birthday, dear! I tried to write filthy, I tried to write funny. I FAILED, and this happened instead, but it is sort of romantic, possibly? And it was written with love ♥Thank you so much to
writcraft and lumosed_quill for all of your help!***
Harry never guessed it would happen like this. Most of the time he didn't even think it would happen at all. But sometimes, late at night usually, when he was lying in bed, he thought about it. He thought about the pull in his stomach; he'd felt it once too often to deny it any more, that shuddery, turning-over feeling when he saw Malfoy. Harry hadn't thought they'd see each other again, after the war, and they hadn't, not for a year or so. Not until the parties began.
It was weird now to remember how it had started. It was all down to Luna, of course. There was a party at her house. Not just the people who Harry saw every week or so at the Leaky, but loads of people – the crowd who Luna worked with, and quite a collection who she'd met when travelling through Asia. A big hairy bloke called Rolf who nearly shook Harry's arm off at the shoulder when they first met. Two-thirds of the Nigerian Quidditch Team. And tons of people from Hogwarts. People Harry had never imagined he'd be in a room with again, let alone at a party with. Millicent Bulstrode and Greg Goyle. Professor Trelawney, looking very carefree as she danced with some bloke wearing a fez. A couple of Centaurs. Assorted House-elves. And Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy was‒ god, he was tall, and blond, and‒ had Malfoy always looked like that? Harry didn't know. Maybe he had, and Harry hadn't noticed. Or maybe he had noticed, just a little bit. This feeling, like a delicious itch, like something irresistible, that rippled all over Harry's skin when he was anywhere near Malfoy ‒ that feeling was a tiny bit familiar, after all. In the past, when Harry had felt the itch, he had an urge to hurt Malfoy, to bruise him, to mess his face up. Now... well, now, it was quite different. The way he looked made Harry feel warm right down to his toes, and Harry didn't want to hurt him, so much as―
Merlin. Harry had given Malfoy one more long, lingering look, then walked away to find Ron and Hermione.
That party was followed by another party. Luna's house was enormous and sprawling and weird and pretty much perfect for gatherings filled with disparate mixtures of people. And then Millicent had a birthday party, and invited a lot of the same crowd, and then Dean and Seamus threw one to celebrate their engagement, and after that it seemed there were parties every week or so. It was just what they did. It was cheaper than going to the Leaky all the time, and things could get, well, just that little bit wilder. Not that anything scandalous ever happened. Just a kind of comfortable, friendly rowdiness.
And Harry couldn't keep avoiding Draco Malfoy, because he was always there. For instance, he always seemed to be lounging in doorways. So that if Harry wanted to go into a room, he'd have to squeeze past Malfoy to get there. Or if Harry was sitting with some people, before long, Malfoy would come and join them, not always saying much, but just standing there, his very existence tugging at Harry's attention so that he lost track of whatever he was meant to be doing. Malfoy laughed a lot, these days, and the sound of it was so... so pure and unexpected that it startled Harry, the first time he heard it.
Sometimes, when Harry looked over, Malfoy was looking at him, too. Malfoy seemed to look as if Harry was not what he had expected at all. As if Harry was... something unusual to look at. And as if Harry amused him very much. Which he probably did, seeing as how Harry never quite knew what to do with his hands when Malfoy looked at him like that. He had the feeling that he might fall over his own feet, or say something fucking idiotic. So Harry didn't say anything. He just looked, and the more he looked, the more he wanted to look, and there was something unbearable about looking at Malfoy and not being able to touch him, so Harry usually turned away and found something else to do, someone to talk to. Some very interesting or important conversation, so that he couldn't look at Malfoy any more.
Or sometimes Harry left, just walked out and took himself home the Muggle way instead of Apparating, hoping the walk would clear his head. He spent the walk home with his head down, watching his own feet and thinking that he really ought to get some new trainers, because these ones were a bit fucked. Trying not to think about Malfoy and the way he looked and the way he moved and the way his wristbones jutted out when he held a drink.
Harry spent a lot of time going home early in those days. It was easier than sitting there watching Malfoy like some sort of fucking creep.
They were at Luna's, again, that night. There was an enormous bowl of punch in the kitchen, and everyone had brought a bottle of whatever they fancied, to add to it as they arrived. It tasted... interesting, would be the word. It had an overpowering taste of strawberries which almost masked the kick of the alcohol. But it felt good going down, and even better when it hit your stomach, warming and spicy.
Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, watching people help themselves to punch. The faces they made when they first tasted it were pretty funny. Dean was there, and they were having a perfectly good conversation about Quidditch, but the problem was that Malfoy and Goyle were there, too, over by the window, just talking, and laughing about the punch... and Harry could see already that he was going to end up going home early again.
It was just that there didn't seem to be anyone else in the room that mattered, when Malfoy was there – Harry knew it was idiotic, but Malfoy sort of glowed. His hair was always so bright and his shirts were so white and crisp, and his skin wasn't milky-pale like it was at Hogwarts, not any more. It was a very soft, very warm golden colour. Like he'd been on holiday, somewhere, and he probably had. Harry had heard him mention the Caribbean sometimes, and Italy, but the thought of Malfoy lying on a beach, stretched out, letting the sunlight cover every inch of him, his skin dusted with sand and smelling of sunshine and seasalt and— oh, god, this was the kind of thing Harry tried not to think about. Because after a while of thinking, Harry felt that he might actually have to do something about this. Especially when Malfoy was wearing a shirt with the buttons open at the throat, and the sleeves rolled up, and Harry could see that his arms were that rich, soft golden colour, all the way up.
How could Harry look at anyone else when Malfoy was standing there looking like that? Even the air around him seemed to vibrate, as if it was full of... Harry didn't know what. It was probably some kind of Glamour or something that Malfoy used at parties.
Harry mumbled something to Dean about needing the loo, and got to his feet. He didn't want to go home yet. There were plenty of other rooms he could go to. Places where Malfoy wasn't. There were people dancing in the room next door, but Harry didn't feel like dancing right now. Also, it was possible that Malfoy might come in, later. He'd seen Malfoy on the dance floor before. It was a special kind of torment to watch him move: fluid and relaxed, and unfairly compelling to look at.
Harry wandered upstairs. He looked in at one of the big reception rooms on the first floor, where Luna had removed most of the furniture and filled half the floor with bean bags instead. Neville was there, and Lavender, and Luna, and some Ravenclaw girls Harry didn't really know, and a bunch of people who Luna had explained worked in the new bookshop in Diagon, the one with all of the enchanted frogs in the window. Harry went in and sat down on a long squashy sofa.
In this room, music played quietly in the corner, and Luna had charmed some lamps to float near the ceiling. Harry settled in, feeling warm and hazy, half-listening to Lavender's stories about her summer romance out in Madrid. Luna lay on her back, apparently looking at the ceiling, and Neville was chatting up a Ravenclaw who Harry thought was probably named Phyllis. Harry took another swig of his punch, the heady heat of it swirling through his blood and making him feel like he could handle anything. Like maybe it was going to be a good night after all. Then there was a long, lean shape in the doorway and Harry knew without looking up that it was Malfoy.
Luna waved from her bean bag. “Hello, Draco.”
“Hello.” Malfoy didn't stay in the doorway, for once, but sat down on the other end of the sofa from Harry, and suddenly, it didn't feel so comfortable any more.
Luna sat up on her elbows. “What's happening out there?”
Malfoy shrugged. “Dancing. Drinking. The Bloody Baron turned up and scared the life out of Ernie Macmillan.” He looked around the room, and Harry felt a flash of heat as Malfoy's eyes swept over him. “What's happening in here?”
Luna sank back into the beanbag. “Not very much,” she said in her sing-song voice. “Actually, should we play a game?”
Neville groaned, but Malfoy's face took on the familiar amused expression. “Yes, absolutely.”
“Venomous Tentaculas?” Luna suggested.
There was a chorus of protest. Luna had invented this game herself. It involved crawling blindfolded through the garden in two teams until you managed to— Actually, Harry didn't know what was actually meant to happen at the end. Last time, Parvati had stumbled into a Mimbulus Mimbletonia and the game had dissolved in a putrid-smelling haze as Luna guided her to the bathroom.
“Truth or Dare?” Luna suggested.
“Not right now,” Harry said quickly, and suppressed a shiver as Malfoy smirked to himself.
“Oh, you're no fun tonight.” Luna wound a strand of hair around her finger. “Hide and Seek?”
“Yes!” Lavender bounced happily in her armchair. “Why not? Remember when we used to play at Hogwarts? And McGonagall caught Alicia hiding in the boys' toilets?”
“Do we have to play anything?” Neville asked.
Harry stole a quick look at Malfoy to find him already watching Harry, his eyes hot and teasing.
“I don't mind,” Harry said. He could probably wander into another room while the game was on. See whether Hermione had turned up yet.
Luna struggled out from the embrace of her beanbag and drew her wand. “Right. Lumos.” A small ball of light appeared at the end. “Selego.” The light left Luna's wand and hovered next to it in mid air. It appeared to hesitate for a moment, then shot off around the room, bobbing first above Neville's head, then Lavender's, then Harry's. Harry frowned as the light remained floating above him, then pulsed brighter.
“You're 'It', Harry.” Luna looked delighted. “You have to go and hide.”
“Me?”
“Go on.” Lavender grinned. “No using your cloak, OK?”
“Can I take my drink?”
“Nope.”
Harry swigged the rest of the punch, gagging slightly at the sweetness. “I can hide anywhere?” There had to be a million places in Luna's house.
“Yes, we'll count to a hundred.” Luna turned to the others. “Oh! I know. Instead of boring Hide and Seek, let's make it Grindylows. So, if we find Harry, we have to keep quiet and hide in the same place.”
“What?” Harry frowned.
“Then we keep going until everyone's found everyone else.”
Harry shrugged. This was more complicated than he'd imagined. “All right. Well, see you.” He tried not to look at Malfoy again before he left, he really did.
It was dark in the corridor outside. He walked past the doorway where music was blaring and headed for the staircase. He'd bet there were Boggarts in Luna's attic. Somewhere downstairs would be best. He headed away from the sounds of chatter coming from the kitchen and took a turn into a dimly-lit corridor instead. There were several doors in a line. Harry picked the first and then backed away from the shape of two figures entwined in the darkness.
“Get your own room!” said a cross voice that sounded a lot like Millicent's. Harry closed the door hurriedly.
“Sorry,” he shouted.
The next was also shut, and he walked past, but the third was ajar. Harry knocked, cautiously, but there was no answer, so he stuck his head in and switched the light on. It seemed to be Luna's cloakroom. There were robes and jackets on hooks all around the room, broomsticks leant against a wall, and a pair of yellow spotted wellies stood jauntily in one corner.
It would do. Harry found a place where some long, thick robes hung down against the wall and slipped in between them. He wasn't quite hidden from view, but he wasn't immediately obvious, either, his body shrouded in the folds of the material. As an afterthought, he pulled out his wand and cast Nox.
It was peaceful in there, only a faint thrumming from the bass upstairs and the occasional shout of laughter from the kitchen. The robes were warm and comforting around him, and a little moonlight trickled in from a small, high window.
Harry settled in to wait, a pleasant flicker of anticipation in his stomach. He'd joined in with Hide and Seek in the Castle, along with the others, and there was always something exciting about waiting to be found. But before more than a minute had passed, the door handle turned and Harry heard the sound of the door creaking open. He held his breath.
Whoever-it-was stood silently in the doorway, then breathed out a whisper: “Potter.”
Merlin. It sounded like Malfoy.
Harry kept quiet. Well, the point of the game was not to be found, wasn't it?
The person came in and shut the door, then stood very still in the middle of the room. Harry could hear his blood pounding in his own ears. He closed his eyes, tried to hold his breath. Then the soft, sure footsteps came nearer.
“Found you.” It was Malfoy. Bloody hell. His face was pale and intriguingly angular in the moonlight, his mouth quirked into a smile.
Harry found he had to swallow hard before he could speak, and his voice still came out sounding funny. “Yep. You found me. Let's go and tell the others.”
“No.” Malfoy stepped closer and shifted the folds of one of the cloaks. “Luna wanted to play Grindylows, remember? We hide together until someone else comes. Move over a bit.”
Harry tried, but there wasn't really any room. Malfoy squeezed between the robes, until Harry could feel their hips bumping together. He could feel the warmth from Malfoy's body.
Harry took an unsteady breath. “How did you find me so fast?”
“I cheated,” Malfoy whispered, and then gave a laugh of surprise, as if he hadn't meant to say that.
Harry couldn't see much in the dim light, but he could see Malfoy's eyes, shining and silvery. He wondered how long it would take for someone else to come. Malfoy shifted a little and the length of his leg pressed against Harry's, so he could feel the firm muscle and the heat there. It was too much, and then there was the fact that Malfoy smelled so fucking good. Shit. Harry didn't think he could do this. Couldn't stand here, feeling Malfoy, and smelling him, and being so bloody close to him, and not―
Harry's face screwed up, in disgust at his own weakness, and Malfoy saw.
Malfoy pulled back, his face creased into a frown. “Do you want me to go?”
“No.” The word came out without Harry thinking about it, his voice unexpectedly deep.
Malfoy looked at him again. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He felt strange. Not light-headed, exactly, more sort of light-tongued, as if he might say anything, anything at all— “Why did you cheat?”
“I wanted to be the first one to find you.” Again Malfoy laughed, and Harry was dizzy with the sound of it, the sound and the smell of Malfoy, and the closeness of him.
“You smell amazing,” said Harry, and he didn't know why he kept saying these things, and―
“Did you have any of that punch?” Malfoy asked.
The punch. Of course.
“Fuck. Yes. A couple of glasses.”
Malfoy laughed again, and Harry could feel it, the shaking of Malfoy's body resonating through him as they stood there. “Me too. I'm not sure, but I think there was probably a little Veritaserum in there.”
“I'm going to fucking kill Seamus.”
“Was it him? How do you know?”
“It's always Seamus.”
Malfoy didn't say anything for a minute. His lips were soft, curving upwards. His face was only a heartbeat away from Harry's. “It's not much worse than being a bit drunk. You say things you might not have said otherwise, that's all.”
“God, I want to kiss you,” Harry said, and he felt a lurch of embarrassment as he spoke, but more than that, a heady rush at having actually spoken the words at last, as if the slow burn of his longing for Malfoy had now burst into bright flame.
“I want to do more than kiss you,” Malfoy said, his eyes hot and dark, and Harry didn't need telling twice. His mouth was on Malfoy's and sudden flares of want were blazing in his chest, fiercer than anything he had ever known. And Malfoy was kissing him back – sweet Merlin, Malfoy was kissing him and Harry thought he might never get over it. He closed his eyes and it was even better, like a hot roar of magic in his veins. Malfoy's kisses were lush and addictive, brimming with the taste of strawberries, and the honeyed slide of tongues. Harry pushed Malfoy up against the wall until they were both enfolded in a soft, heavy swirl of robes, and Harry could feel the press of Malfoy's body, lean and surprisingly strong and unbelievably good.
“I've wanted this,” Harry told him, the words tumbling from his tongue. “Wanted you.” Fuck the Veritaserum. It was dark enough that Malfoy couldn't see the flush on his cheeks. And it felt good to say it. Risky and thrilling and, god, Malfoy seemed to like it, from the way he grabbed Harry's hair and pulled him in to kiss him again, rough and deep and divine.
“Want you, too, Potter.” He said the words against Harry's mouth, as if he didn't want to lose contact for a second. “Want you to―”
But just then the doorhandle rattled. Harry pulled back, breathless, his whole body aching for Malfoy's touch again, but mortified at the thought of being caught like this.
The handle rattled again, impatient. “Harry?” said a voice that sounded like Lavender.
Harry stood still, heart thumping against his ribs. Malfoy's hand snaked around Harry's waist, his fingers just brushing the skin above Harry's jeans.
“It's OK,” Malfoy said, very close to his ear. “I locked it.”
“Come on. Let's look somewhere else,” said a male voice from outside.
Harry let out a breath. “You're a sneaky bastard,” he whispered.
Malfoy laughed, low and happy. “Yes,” he agreed.
“We can't stay here. They'll come back.”
“Who cares?” Malfoy's lips were next to his ear. Against his throat.
Merlin. Harry couldn't think straight. “It seems a little mean to Luna. You know. Spoiling her game.”
“Come to my place, then, and you can owl her. Tell her something in the punch got to you and you had to go to bed.” Malfoy tilted his head and lowered his voice further, so he just breathed the words out. ”My bed.”
Merlin. “Malfoy. I haven't actually been to bed with anyone before.” Shit. He really was going to kill Seamus.
Malfoy's eyebrows went up. Harry kissed him again, so he didn't have to see his look of amusement. He kissed him hard, because he needed to taste him again, to feel Malfoy's breath coming, faster now, huffing hotly against his own mouth. Malfoy shifted his hips and then the whole hard length of Malfoy's cock was sliding against Harry's erection, and Harry cried out at the pleasure, the great stab of wanting that jolted through him.
“Oh, fuck.” Malfoy said it in a sort of groan. “You really want it, don't you?”
“Yes. God, yes.” It wasn't just the Veritaserum. What was the point in pretending? Malfoy must be able to feel it, must know how hard Harry was, must be able to feel Harry half-trembling against him with need.
“You've never been with a bloke before?”
“No.”
“But the way you look at me. I've been waiting and waiting.”
“I've been trying not to look. I didn't think you'd— uhh. Be interested.”
“Wanker,” said Malfoy. “I got tired of waiting for you to do something about it.” His kisses were getting filthier; his tongue was doing terrible, wonderful things to Harry. In fact, Harry was worried he was going to come. Just from this. Just from Malfoy's tongue, and Malfoy's hand in his hair, and Malfoy's tight, eager body against his. He so easily could. He was even making noises, desperate, throaty noises, as if he might lose it, after all the weeks and months of wanting.
Malfoy slid a leg between his thighs and didn't he know, couldn't he see, that Harry couldn't bear it, couldn't last? What with the kissing, and the hands, and now a long firm leg pressed right there―
“Hell, Potter, let me have you, just like this.”
“Yes,” Harry said.
“Right here, like this. Because you can't wait any longer. You can't, can you?”
“No,” Harry groaned. Malfoy was‒ ahh‒ he had his hands under Harry's shirt and then he was grinding up against Harry, sending wild shocks of delight through him. Harry groaned, long and low. His hands gripped Malfoy's arse – and god, his arse felt even better than it looked – and slotted their bodies closer together, so that he could feel everything, every little movement Malfoy was making.
“You're going to come,” Malfoy told him.
“Yes.”
“You're going to come, right here, because you want it so much.”
“Yes. God, yes. Please!” Harry was panting and gripping him tight, his movements jerky with desperation.
“Do it. Do it, Harry,” and Harry did, partly because Malfoy telling him to come was so fucking hot, and partly because the friction of Malfoy's cock rubbing over his, just like ‒ ahh ‒ like that, so perfect and hot and sweet and yessss. And partly because of the unexpected thrill of his name on Malfoy's lips. His orgasm surged through him like a hot streak of lightning, making him cry out, helpless with it, gasping with every pulse.
“Fuck, Draco.” Harry slumped back against the wall and Malfoy kissed him, slow and open-mouthed, rocking breathlessly against Harry until he came, too.
Afterwards, Malfoy slouched against the hanging robes, his eyes sleepy and approving as Harry cast a cleaning spell over both of them and then kissed Malfoy again, and again. Harry couldn't believe that Malfoy didn't seem to mind. His hand cupped the back of Malfoy's head, and Malfoy made a contented sound in his throat.
“Hah. I always thought it would be good, with you. You're so bloody into it. Like everything you do.” Malfoy shook his head. “How long does Veritaserum take to wear off, anyway?”
“Don't know. Can we still go back to yours? I want to. I want to do more stuff.”
“Yes, we can do that. We can do all of the stuff.”
“I fancy you so fucking much,” Harry said, and this time Malfoy's laugh was high and delighted, and easily muffled by another kiss.
Then there was a low knock on the door and they froze, Malfoy's face suddenly still and wary in the moonlight.
“Harry?” Luna's voice was soft but clear. “Are you and Draco OK?”
They looked at each other, eyes wide, then Harry cleared his throat. “Yes. Really fine, thanks.”
“That's good.”
“Sorry, er... Sorry.”
“There's nothing to apologise for.” Luna told them. “In fact, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I just wanted to let you know that we're playing a different game now. So you don't need to worry about anyone coming to look for you.”
“Ah. Thank you.”
Malfoy was grinning. Also, kissing Harry's neck in an incredibly distracting way.
“Yes, it's a new one I just invented,” Luna went on. “We turn the lights off, and then everyone swops one item of clothing. Rolf looks surprisingly good in a dress and biker boots.”
“Great... have fun.” Harry closed his eyes. Malfoy's lips were so warm. So utterly delicious. He thought about what it would be like to undress him. Somewhere quiet, and private. Without a rather odd party going on outside.
“Well, I'll leave you to do whatever it is you were doing,” Luna said. “Just watch out for the Gallyfinks; they like to nest in the pockets of old robes.”
Malfoy laid his head in silent laughter against Harry's shoulder. Then, “Luna!” he called.
“Yes, Draco?”
“Just a word of warning. There's Veritaserum in your punch.”
“Oh, that?” Luna sounded unconcerned. “It was only a drop. Barely a pint. I'm sure it won't bother anybody. I must go. I think Rolf needs help getting zipped up.”
Malfoy looked stunned for a moment, then he shrugged. “Not Seamus, after all,” he told Harry.
“Apparently not.”
“Come on.” He held out his arm for Harry to hold. “We have stuff to do.”
Harry never guessed it would happen like this. Hadn't really expected it to happen at all. But as Malfoy turned on his heel and the room span into a blur, Harry made a mental note to send Luna a bouquet or something the next day, by way of a thank you. Perhaps a nice arrangement of Venomous Tentaculas would be appropriate.
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Date: 2016-02-17 08:21 am (UTC)