Author: Mosh Title: A Hundred Reasons Why Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
The house was stationed a fair distance from the long, straight main road that sliced through the bleak downs of Cornwall. Harry had followed it on his broom for over half an hour as night had fallen heavily around him. With the darkness had come a bitter cold wind, and he'd had a hard time prying his fingers from around his Firebolt on landing. He was at least thankful he'd found the house, which was vaguely cheering, though not by much. He hadn't wanted to take any chances, so he had touched down in a small, nearby woods and walked the rest of the way. From far off it looked like nothing more than a crumbling shack, but after a couple of quick detection spells he'd learned from Lupin, Harry found that the house was charmed to appear derelict and dangerous, no doubt to deter Muggles from entering, just like Hogwarts. If the map he had nicked from the last Order meeting was correct, it was one of the many places Voldemort had used during the first war. Fair enough, the chances that one of the Horcruxes was hidden there were slim, but Harry wasn't going to risk overlooking it. The damp darkness of November curled more tightly around him, seeping rapidly through his clothes and into his skin. He began to wish Ron and Hermione were with him, two familiar warm presences at his side, two extra wands to light the way. Still, he had decided long ago that he wasn't going to put them at risk, and had carefully avoided telling them where he was going earlier that afternoon when he'd left The Burrow. Things had gone too far and he couldn't let them follow him anymore, not after Sirius and then Dumbledore. Christ, Dumbledore... Harry still couldn't fully believe what he'd seen that night on the battlements. It felt like a surreal and twisted dream, being trapped there unable to move or speak, all those strangers around him, the Dark Mark glittering and ugly in the black sky. And the flash of white hair and long beard, the glint of green on purple cloth as the elderly wizard flew up into the air and over the edge, right over. Swallowing thickly, Harry forced himself to focus on his task. Stay busy, that's what he'd told himself, and he had, and so far it was working, keeping him from dwelling on things too much. It was becoming increasingly easy to be weighed down with worry, and he'd had enough. He began to move around the surrounding field, staying close to the thick, tangled hedges for cover. The grass was wet with dew, which soaked his trainers and the hems of his jeans. He was pretty sure the house hadn't been used for years, but he wasn't about to wander up to the front door and knock. Instead, he snuck around the back, checking window frames for weaknesses and taking the opportunity to peer inside through the grime when he could. The blackness within revealed nothing. As he rounded the edge of the house into the shadowed back garden, his foot caught on something solid on the ground - a rock or low step, by the feel of it - and he stumbled, cursing quietly. He heard a gasp, the rustle of movement and swish of robes. A light burned lowly on the back porch, a candle flickering within a crystal dome. It spluttered, casting a zoetrope of images in front of Harry; a black-cloaked figure, flashes of movement, almost pretty for a second before the flame steadied itself and everything came to a stop, became horribly real. As he regained his balance, he noticed the figure had a wand pointed at him in one hand, while a cigarette hung loosely between the thin, pale fingers of the other. Harry froze, too late to shield himself from what was surely about to come. The tall, thin figure let out a soft, triumphant sounding laugh and flicked its half-smoked cigarette onto the ground. The still-lit end cut a bright orange path through the darkness before it landed on sodden grass and died out. Harry could see it fading out of the corner of his eye. He waited for light to spring from the end of the wand, for a curse to ring out in the silence. "Potter." It might as well have been a curse from the way it was spoken. The voice sounded familiar, but Harry couldn't quite place it, not yet. What did it matter? He'd just walked straight into a Death Eater, on his own, at night, and nobody knew he was there. The figure raised its free arm and slowly drew its hood down, first revealing a thin mouth, a sharp, pointed nose, then malicious eyes, and finally pale hair. Harry stared at Malfoy. As much as he was surprised, if he was totally honest, he was a little relieved, some of the tension leaking out of his shoulders. He never thought he'd live to see the day he was relieved to see Draco Malfoy. If it had been one of the others - the Lestranges, Macnair, Draco's father - he surely would be tightly bound by now, and most likely being carried off to Voldemort. As it was, Malfoy did nothing, staring right back at him with that infuriatingly triumphant smile. "I always said you were stupid, Potter. How nobody else at school could see it mystifies me. Well, me and Professor Snape." That unfroze something in Harry's gut, something ripe and painful. "Is he here?" he said, his hand automatically reaching towards his coat pocket where he kept his wand. "Don't even think about it." Malfoy tutted and shook his head. "Professor Snape's whereabouts are none of your business." "Is he here?" Harry demanded. To his surprise, Malfoy shrugged. "How the hell should I know? It's not that
easy to identify everyone when we're all masked." He stopped and seemed to check
himself. "I'm asking the questions. What are you doing here?" "What do you think?" said Harry, trying to suppress a shiver. The temperature had dropped considerably since he'd landed in the woods and his coat wasn't all that thick; he could see the mist of his own breath in the air as he spoke, the same consistency as a Patronus. Malfoy looked comfortable enough, but then, he was in thick robes, covering all but his face and hands. Harry quickly considered attacking, but with the distance between them and the wand pointed directly at his chest, he didn't fancy his chances. He glanced at the nearest darkened window. All seemed still, though for a horrible moment he thought he could hear the faint thrum of voices from deep inside the house. Maybe it was his imagination. It certainly hadn't escaped his mind that Voldemort could be in there. There was a high chance Snape was in there, too, the next item on Harry's list of things to find and deal with. Considering Malfoy was outside on his own, the meeting had either just finished or hadn't yet started. The other young man was still watching him closely. His aim hadn't faltered and he looked vaguely impatient. Harry supposed he had no other choice than to attempt bargaining with him. After everything he had seen the summer before, he was pretty sure Malfoy didn't have the balls to kill him, and if he planned to turn Harry into the other Death Eaters surely he would have done so by now. Surely? "Malfoy, listen," Harry began. "You, um... you don't want to become a killer, do you? And needless to say I don't want to die right now, either..." "Sarcasm will get you nowhere," Malfoy said, unimpressed. "Look, nobody knows about this but you and me, right?" Harry continued, determined to keep Malfoy talking. "Can't we work something out?" "And why would I want to do that?" Malfoy said, raising an eyebrow. "If I hand you over to the Dark Lord, I'll have given him the thing he wants most. Hell, there are a hundred reasons why I should turn you in." "You won't do that," Harry said carefully, hoping he was playing this right. "Oh?" "No. Because you know I've got a chance at killing him." Visibly affected by Harry's words, Malfoy rapidly grew restless, edgy, glancing around as if he expected Voldemort to suddenly jump out of a nearby bush. It was then that Harry noticed how drawn he looked, how pinched the corners of his mouth were, cheeks hollow as if he hadn't eaten properly in weeks. "I can't let you go, Potter," he said after a while, his eyes sliding back to meet Harry's. Harry was sure he detected a hint of remorse in the other's voice. He had hit a nerve. In for a penny. "I'll give you whatever you want, if you let me go." Malfoy looked incredulous. "Believe me, you have nothing of any worth I could possibly..." Then he stopped, and frowned. Harry weighed up his options again, but was still pretty sure he'd never cross the distance between them before Malfoy could fire a hex. Damn it. That and the fact that his feet were beginning to freeze inside his trainers. "I know people who can protect you and your mum, who can hide you both - powerful people. If that's what you want." He realised too late that he was echoing Dumbledore's previous words, some of the last, desperate words of an old man who shouldn't have died. He wondered if Malfoy would notice and question it. Malfoy shook his head slowly. "You sound just like the old codger." Harry gritted his teeth and tried not to outwardly react. "It's too late," Malfoy added. For an awkward moment they just glared at each other. Then: "There is something I've always wondered, though." Harry raised an eyebrow. He counted six heartbeats before Malfoy drew his robes apart. Underneath he was wearing a simple white t-shirt that lay slightly too-tight across his chest, and dark trousers, a neat crease that had obviously been ironed down the centre of each leg. He caught the zip between his fingers and drew it slowly down, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. "You can't be serious," said Harry, with dawning realisation. He had not been expecting that. "I want to see if those rumours about you are true," Malfoy replied. "What rumours?" "That you like boys as much as girls. I'll bet the Weasel bitch doesn't even know, does she?" "Leave Ginny out of this." "What did you tell her, that because of your busy Boy Who Lived status you've never had the chance to get close to anyone? Because that's not what I heard from Smith. Got quite close to him, didn't you, Potter?" "Bullshit," Harry said angrily. Zach... the utter bastard. "Anyway, if you're so intent on this, what does it make you?" "Do you really think I care what anyone thinks of me now?" Harry was at a loss. "Look, when I said anything I didn't mean-" "I can always hand you over to the others," Malfoy cut in. "Greyback's in there, you know." He inclined his head towards the house. "You must've heard of him by now. He attacked one of the Weasleys during the fight at school, or so he said. I'm sure he sends his regards. It's just a shame he didn't get the lot of them." "Big talk for someone who's shit scared of him." "What the hell do you mean by that?" Malfoy snapped quickly. "I'm just saying." Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Stop stalling and come here." The wand was at his side now, but it was still pointed in Harry's direction and there was no way Harry would be able to make a run for it. "I'm not going to suck you off, Malfoy, you pervert." "Oh no?" With a quick flick of his wrist the back door swung open with a faint groan of old, rusted hinges. "Then why don't we take a walk inside." Fuck. "Your time's running out," Malfoy said with relish. "They'll be done in there soon, then they'll head out here." There were no more options to weigh; Harry didn't even bother entertaining the thought of escape. Forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other, he moved forward, his steps awkward. He couldn't feel his toes anymore and he was shivering badly now, so much so that when he was standing directly in front of Malfoy he could feel the heat of his body close by. It wasn't comforting; in fact, he rather preferred the numbing cold. Taking one last look at the deceptively still and dark house, Harry reluctantly got to his knees in front of Malfoy, every part of him opposed to the idea. He wondered if there'd ever be a time again when his life wouldn't feel so surreal, so fucked up. Of all things, and Malfoy wanted this. This! Harry thought about Zach, then, suddenly, and the fact that he had told. Told Malfoy. He had brief and disturbing flashes of Malfoy and Zach together, and wondered if they had fucked, or if he was just being paranoid. What did it really matter? It wasn't like Harry planned to go back to Hogwarts anyway. If the news got out to the rest of the Wizarding World that he wasn't entirely straight, it'd just give them one more 'rumour' to put on the front cover of the newspapers. It was hardly worse than the stuff they had printed in the past. Harry kept telling himself that as he tugged Malfoy's trousers down further, the cut of the material slipping over his sharp hipbones and cream-white thighs. Oh. The line of light hair that ran from his navel looked soft, inviting, and for a ridiculous moment Harry felt the urge to run his mouth over it. Don't think. He closed his eyes and saw the raw imprint of the shape of Malfoy's erect cock on the inside of his eyelids, like an obscene, superimposed photograph. "Well what are you waiting for?" rained Malfoy's voice from above. He spoke quietly, but there was an edge to his tone, as if he couldn't quite believe Harry was about to go through with it, either. Harry looked up, blinked. It was odd how someone could change so drastically when seeing them from a different angle. Malfoy looked almost... good, with his hair now long enough to fall far over his forehead, nearly hiding the dark semi-circles below his eyes, and his skin unusually healthy-looking from the glow of the porch light. Harry wanted to kick himself for thinking such things. Instead, he opened his mouth and swallowed Malfoy's cock down as far as he could, gagging for a second. You've done this before. He paused, forced himself to relax his tongue, his throat. He hated to admit it, but he reveled in the sigh he heard, the way Malfoy's breathing picked up a few paces and the jerk of his hips. Harry found himself getting hard; not that he wanted to, but the soft, breathy moans floating on the icy air were like a warming drug. Incredible. For a heady moment they could have been somewhere else, Malfoy could have been someone else - could have, but wasn't. "Potter, you- I- Potter." Harry curled his fingers around Malfoy's shaft and pretended not to hear the curses uttered in his wake, rubbing up and down, up and down - "Fuck, ohh" - up and down, sucking gently on the head then sliding his lips down further, further, get it over with, don't enjoy it. Don't, don't. "Potter... I hate you, but fuck." The words rang loud in Harry's ears. He realised how long it'd been since he had done this - since Zach. He'd missed it, missed other boys, solid and hot and right against him, in his mouth. When a hand settled on the top of his head, fingers threading through his hair, Harry let out an indistinct sound. He was no longer sure if he wanted to get it over and done with as quickly as possible so he could get away, or just to hear what noises Malfoy made when he came. The fingers in his hair tightened by a fraction, then by a lot. Harry's eyes fell to the wand shaking in Malfoy's other hand, now pointed at the ground. The curses turned to broken, incoherent sentences, and Malfoy began to sway on his feet, his cock slipping back and forth across Harry's tongue, pushing up against the roof of his mouth. He didn't seem to care too much about teeth, and his thrusting became harder, more erratic; he was losing control. Harry knew that could be very beneficial to him, though he still couldn't bring himself to act, too caught up with trying to open his mouth wider, trying to fall in sync with Malfoy's rhythm. Harry liked it - loved it, even - and though he hadn't given consent, he felt powerful. He carefully ran his hand up his thigh to rub at his cock through his jeans, in time to Malfoy's thrusts, echoing them a second later with a rough squeeze-twist-squeeze. Within seconds Harry heard the wand clatter to the stones, and cold fingers wrap around his own. Looking up, he caught sight of Malfoy at that moment, his neck pulled taut as his head fell back, his entire body swaying forward. Harry swallowed around the pulse of Malfoy's orgasm, absently wondering how much he'd regret it later. Swallow. And when he finally let himself go, hotly into his underwear, he could only close his eyes and ride through it. Now was his chance. As Malfoy shuddered to stillness Harry rose quickly to his feet and with both hands he shoved Malfoy hard in the chest. He went crashing to the ground with a shout that was way too loud, and Harry inwardly cursed for not taking that into consideration. He looked frantically at the house, then at the wand by his feet. He kicked it soundly, watching it fly into the darkness beyond the hedges. Malfoy was sitting on the ground, glaring up at him, his hands fumbling with his trousers and belt. Harry licked his lips, then immediately regretted it. "I was never here." "Like I'd tell anyone you got away from me," came the breathless, irritated reply. Resisting the inexplicable urge to laugh, Harry steeled himself, turned and quickly headed back the way he'd come, away from the door and the Death Eaters. Away from Malfoy. Then he stopped, turned. Malfoy was on his feet now, watching him leave. "I wouldn't come back here again if I were you," said Harry. Malfoy seemed to understand; he rolled his eyes and scowled. It was the last thing Harry saw as he bolted from the house, across the field and into the pitch-black night. He stumbled into the woods to locate his broom, which took longer than he'd have liked, but finally he found it. With one last glance in the direction of the house, Harry mounted his Firebolt and headed up into the sky, higher than he would usually fly until his vision became obscured by low drifting clouds. The flight to The Burrow was arduous, long and tiring, and just a little freezing. He felt a surge of gratitude when his feet hit the pebbled driveway. Inside, after a surprised shout of "Where have you been?!" from Mrs Weasley, Harry told Mr Weasley about the house and the fact that it had been occupied. In moments Mr Weasley was on the Floo, calling loudly for Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry took the opportunity to excuse himself and said he was going to clean up and get some rest. He ignored Mrs Weasley's machine-gun style yelling all the way up the rickety stairs - "Couldn't-you-have-told-us! I-can't-believe-how-foolish! Going-off-on-your-own! The-danger-you-put-yourself-in!" - and headed for the bathroom. He let the shower water run as hot as he could stand it, almost scoldingly so, and with a wince he stood under the spray, one hand braced against the cool tiles in front of him. Afterwards, he brushed his teeth, three times, but as he slipped into the fold-down bed in Ron's room and pulled the blankets up over his head, he could still taste Malfoy. Get away from that house, he thought over and over, as he lay a long time alone in the quiet. ~Fin~ |
Email | Back to index | Back to Top |