Author: Mosh Title: Falling Uphill Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
"I'm coming with you," Harry said firmly, standing up at the same time Mr Weasley did. By her husband's side, Mrs Weasley pursed her lips, though her hands reflexively reached forward as if she had to protest somehow. Staring anxiously at Harry, she managed to remain silent, though her usually jovial face was solemn and pinched. The Weasleys had finally learned not to question Harry's decisions and to stop treating him like a child. They hadn't been able to persuade him to return to Hogwarts at the beginning of September, and they certainly couldn't keep him from going on Order missions now he was seventeen. As much as he loved them and felt at home with them - always felt as welcome as if he was one of their own - he had the power to do what he wanted now, even if it meant upsetting those he cared about. Some things just couldn't be helped. He was glad Ron, Hermione and Ginny weren't there, or they would've no doubt had something to say about it. Thankfully, although with no small measure of protest, they had reluctantly boarded the Hogwarts Express at the start of the school year without him. He didn't like being so far away from them, but what good would another year of waiting for Voldemort's next move really achieve? The school would no longer feel safe for anyone, least of all Harry. His Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had fulfilled the promise they had made to Dumbledore the year before, so Harry was, essentially, on his own now, looking out for himself. That was fine. He preferred it that way. On his own, there was no chance of anyone else getting hurt. Thus, he pressed his fingertips to the Portkey Mr Weasley had procured earlier that morning, light from the half-moon above making the battered old Coke can glint under their hands. Mrs Weasley was standing silhouetted in the front doorway, gold light spilling out from behind her, watching them. She had kissed her husband, then dotted another kiss on Harry's forehead before they'd buttoned their coats and made their way outside. The memory of that kiss, the simple heartfelt gesture of it, gave Harry some warmth as the Portkey activated, and he spun off almost fifty miles to London.
* * * * * * * * * *
Lupin met them at the 'Designated Area', as Mr Weasley had said; a narrow country lane, shadowed bushes reaching into the dense black of night, potholes marring the ground. Harry stumbled in one as he landed. He was gathered into a tight bear hug before he could find his footing and he found himself smiling into Tonks's hair (now long, though still pink). He hugged back quickly, cheered by the affection. "Harry! How are you?" "Okay," Harry said, once she'd released him. She smiled sadly. Everyone smiled at him sadly these days, but Harry had trained himself to not let it bother him any more. "What's the count?" Mr Weasley was saying to Lupin. "About ten of them. Kingsley, Mad-Eye and the others are meeting us there," Lupin checked his watch, "in about five minutes." He handed Mr Weasley what looked like a small stone on a short length of leather, which Mr Wealsey quickly tied to his wrist. Harry noticed that Lupin and Tonks were wearing similar stones around their wrists, too. "Put this on, Harry," Lupin said, handing him one as well. Harry stared down at the stone, noting its midnight blue colour, and the fact that there was something glittery swirling within it. He looked up at Lupin and arched an eyebrow. "We've sealed the area so they'll be unable to Apparate," Lupin explained. "But you can if you wear that." "Oh. Clever." Harry quickly strapped the stone to his wrist. It was heavier than it looked and after a second he untied it from his wand-arm and retied it to the other. Mr Weasley brought a second Portkey out of his pocket, a crumpled Wrigley's Chewing Gum wrapper, this one having been set to activate ten minutes after the first to take them to their next destination. He put one reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezed, then said, "Ready, then, Harry?" Harry nodded. As ready as he'd ever be. It wouldn't be the first time he had duelled with Death Eaters, though unlike the previous time he wouldn't be on his own. "If anything happens and you find yourself in trouble, go straight back home." He nodded again, comforted by the thought of The Burrow as 'home'. The four of them reached in together, each taking a small corner of the gum wrapper. Harry wondered if he'd ever get the hang of Portkeying, just as he was wrenched forward, down, and his world started spinning. Seconds later, the place where they had been standing was quiet, dark, and deserted once more.
* * * * * * * * * *
The first thing he heard on landing - hard on his arse, on prickly, uncomfortable ground - was the cooing of an owl nearby. Harry tried to swim out of the dense blackness, but it was all around him, in every direction. "Give your eyes a moment to adjust," said Lupin, also from nearby but not yet visible. For a moment there Harry had thought something had gone wrong. He blinked a few times, squinted, shivered - at least he could be sure they'd arrived in the woods they were supposed to. It was freezing cold, the air was slightly damp as he sucked in two large breaths to calm himself. He realised why his backside was hurting so much as he put one hand down for leverage and a sharp pinecone bit into his skin. "That you, Lupin? Arthur?" Harry recognised the voice as Moody's. He rose to his feet and gradually things started to focus, shadows materialised from the darkness - trees, bushes, people. "Yes, we've got Harry tonight, as well," said Mr Weasley. "Ah, Potter," said Moody, stepping forward so Harry could see him. "Long time." "Hi," said Harry as the magical eye roamed over him, a dull blue glow in the shadows. He'd never get used to that, and often wondered what Moody could actually see through. Floors were a definite, so it didn't look too hopeful for clothes. Not a nice thought to be going along with. "They're close," Moody said to Lupin and Mr Weasley. "We've got the others keeping watch." "So we're just going to go in there and try to catch them?" Tonks didn't sound as sure as she usually did. Harry could sympathise. It sounded to him like the plan was to startle a small Death Eater meeting. At night. In a woods. "That's right," grumbled Moody. "It's the only way we'll find out where he's hiding. Now follow me, and be quiet." Without any other choice, Harry trailed after Moody, with Lupin, Tonks and Mr Weasley on his heels.
* * * * * * * * * *
The problem with sneaking around in the almost pitch black night, then leaping straight into a ring of campfire light was that things got a little disorientating for a few seconds. As figures rushed past Harry, shouting hexes, jinxes, even one or two curses, he swore under his breath and rubbed one grubby sleeve over the lenses of his glasses. Shit. It would not do to be standing there like an idiot with ten Death Eaters around. "This way," Mr Weasley said as he ran past Harry towards the other side of the clearing, as two cloaked figures disappeared into the trees. Harry followed, wanting the darkness again - he felt much safer hidden than in the light. Among the weathered trunks and curling branches, he could see many lighted wands moving in other directions, see flurries of sparks as more hexes were fired, greens and blues and mauves like little fireworks in the thicket. Everything was happening too fast; one minute there was yelling, Mr Weasley by his side, and the next Harry had run too far, too fast. He turned, still listening to the voices, but they weren't so close any more. Mr Weasley was gone and for a moment Harry thought he heard his name being shouted to his right in the distance, but then the wind picked up and all he could hear was the clacking of branches above, the hush of leaves across the ground below. "Shit, shit, shit!" he whispered, contemplating calling for Mr Weasley or Lupin. He couldn't risk it, though - if he was caught on his own now that would be the end of it. No, he had to be silent, careful. He could find his way back, he just had to make sure nobody found him first. Steeling himself, Harry held his wand out in front of him and started to trek towards the distant commotion, his jeans scraping bushes, trainers disturbing stones and twigs. It all sounded too loud. There came a snap, like a branch breaking, from nearby. Harry spun around, stopping himself from lighting his wand at the last second, held his breath. A rustle. Someone was moving around, behind the trees to his left. He peered around the nearest trunk, hexes lurking in his throat. He couldn't see much, except for a tiny orange light glowing about two feet from the ground. What the hell was it? At the exact second Harry stepped forward a gasp was uttered, pinecones crunched under someone's foot and a "Lumos!" was hissed from the dark, flaring up bright as sunlight for a moment and temporarily blinding Harry. He shied back, covering his eyes with his arm, his wand still pointed forward but not necessarily at his opponent. I'm dead meat, Harry thought immediately, waiting for the curse. No curse came. "I don't believe this," said a voice. A very familiar, low voice. Harry realised he wasn't writhing on the ground under Cruciatus, or dead from Avada Kedavra, and held up his wand, breathing an unsteady "Lumos!" as well. Oh, Christ, no. It couldn't be. "Malfoy," Harry said incredulously. "What are you doing here?" "I could say the same thing to you. This isn't your party, Potter. What's going on?" Malfoy was alabaster-white in the wandlight, almost ghostly but for his black robes. He irritably flicked a half-smoked cigarette to the ground and moved his foot forward to snub it out. "Do you ever do anything other than lurk around dark places and smoke?" said Harry, avoiding Malfoy's question. There was the barest hint of amusement in his voice, which surprised him as much as it appeared to surprise Malfoy. He hadn't intended it. Neither lowered their wands. "Want to give me another blowjob, Potter?" "Shut up," snapped Harry, sobering. Two months had passed since he'd last seen Malfoy, that night at the house in Cornwall. He hadn't forgotten a single detail, no matter how hard he'd tried since. It shouldn't plague him as much as it did because Malfoy was nobody to him, just the sort to resort to manipulation to get head. Now was not the time to be thinking about that. "Stalking me, are you?" Malfoy persisted, obviously trying to rile Harry up. "Actually yeah," replied Harry. "Me and the Order are here to take you and your lot in. So I guess you could call it stalking." "You what?" "Hear those voices, Malfoy?" Malfoy glared at him, but his head inclined ever so slightly to the left, straining to hear what was going on outside the woods. From there, the sound of dozens of pairs of feet could be heard, as well as the chaotic rise and fall of shouts, riding towards them on the breeze. Malfoy didn't look so sure of himself any more. His gaze darted to the shadows between the tall, looming trees, then back to Harry. "I let you go," he said, his eyes wide. "I know. But there's nowhere for you to run. We've got every corner of this wood covered." Malfoy opened his mouth, but Harry already knew what he was about to say. "They've also secured a square mile of anti-Apparition zone. You're practically standing in the middle of it." "Fuck." Harry thought for a moment, not just wondering how he could get Malfoy out of there, but also if he really should let him go. He hadn't changed his priorities, as far as the Death Eater garb proved. Though Harry couldn't forget that Malfoy had let him go under similar circumstances. "All right," he finally said. "I can Apparate - I've got a temporary charm that'll allow me." "Great," Malfoy said sarcastically. "That'll be a bloody load of good to me." Harry heard a gruff voice from nearby, drawing closer - too close. It was Moody, yelling something about figures up ahead, through the trees. Shit. Without another moment's thought, Harry shoved his wand back in his pocket, strode forwards, concentrating hard. Malfoy's eyes widened at Harry's advance, and as Harry reached him he pressed the tip of his wand into Harry's chest. Harry merely knocked it out of the way and curled both arms tightly around Malfoy's tall, slim frame, making sure to press the charm on his wrist against his back. He closed his eyes, hoping it'd work. "Potter, what the hell do you think you're-" And Apparated both of them out of there, or so he sincerely hoped, to the only place he could think of.
* * * * * * * * * *
"-doing?" Malfoy finished, God knew how many miles away from where his sentence had begun. The street was as grimy as Harry remembered, the air still vaguely tainted by the smell of day old rubbish bags, the houses run-down, mortar crumbling from between bricks in the walls. He let go of Malfoy too quickly and watched as he stumbled slightly before straightening himself. "Are you okay?" Harry asked, checking himself first, then running his eyes over Malfoy. They both appeared to have landed in one piece. "Malfoy?" "Yes, I'm fine," came the snappy reply. "Where are we?" "Standing outside Sirius's... my godfather's house. Er, I mean, my house." Malfoy gave him a cold stare. "You mean to say Black left you... that's unbelievable." "Believe it," Harry said shortly, ignoring Malfoy and thinking: 12 Grimmauld Place. As before, the house materialised impossibly within the short gap between 11 and 13. There it was. Without waiting to see if Malfoy was following, Harry walked up the path and, to his surprise and relief, opened the door without a hitch. As the owner, he supposed the charms and locks responded to his touch. One small mercy. As much as he hated the thought of owning this place, he couldn't help but feel satisfied that it was his. That a surviving part of Sirius, no matter how dark and desolate, belonged to him. The hall smelled musty and unused. After months of being empty, Harry hoped it was no longer on Voldemort's list of places to look for him. Malfoy shuffled in behind him. "What exactly do you plan to-"
"Potter, what-" "I said shut it!" he said more firmly, but still keeping his voice to a rough whisper. "Lumos!" Thankfully, the curtain covering Mrs Black's portrait was drawn. Not so thankfully, from the angle Harry was looking at it, it resembled a long black veil. "Who else is here?" Malfoy asked, keeping his tone down. "Nobody important," replied Harry. "C'mon. And close the door - quietly." Again, he walked on, through the hall and down the stone steps leading to the kitchen, without checking whether Malfoy was following. Once inside, he lit a couple of lamps and looked around. It was like an entirely different room without the fire burning on the hearth, or parchment spread across the coffee cup stained table. No Sirius sitting at the head with a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, a king of his home-prison, smiling a tipsy smile at him. "The Blacks lived here?" said Malfoy from the doorway. Harry let the images slide back into the past, leaving him morose. "Yeah. Nice, isn't it?" A soft snort. "I have to get back or the others'll be wondering where I am." He wasn't sure what to do with Malfoy now - offer him one of the rooms to use for the night? It wasn't the nicest thought; leaving Malfoy there in Grimmauld Place on his own, not for Malfoy's sake, but because Harry was sure Sirius wouldn't have liked the idea. "What about me?" Harry shrugged. "I dunno. Won't Snape be wondering where you are?" "Fat chance," Malfoy said. "He hasn't been around since..." "Since what?" "Nothing." "Fine, keep your dark little secrets. I don't have time for this." Harry moved away from the sink and prepared to Apparate once again. "Wait, Potter," Malfoy interrupted. He was tense, that much was apparent, and he looked rather lost. "Are you coming back?" "Can't stand it in this spooky house without me, huh?" "Shut up." Harry stared at him hard for a second. "Do the right thing, for once in your life. Whatever you think that is, just... do it." He concentrated on The Burrow, picturing it, picturing himself standing outside it. Before he knew it a soft breeze was whipping his hair around his face. There was light glowing from the living room window, as well as one of the upstairs bedroom windows. Harry knocked on the door, and after a few moments he heard the rattle of a safety chain being slid back. As loath as he was to leave Malfoy to his own questionable devices, Harry knew it wouldn't be worth upsetting Mrs Weasley by disappearing without a word, even for a few short hours. "What are you doing back?" she said as she opened the front door to him. "Is everything all right? Where's Arthur?" "Still herding the Death Eaters, I should think. Sounded like they'd got some of them." Mrs Weasley visibly relaxed. She ushered him inside quickly. "Whatever you do, don't tell Arthur I forgot to ask you for the password - he gets so touchy about it these days." "Sure," said Harry. "Erm, look, I'm not staying. I just wanted to report in and let you know everything was okay." "Of course you're staying, where else would you go?" Mrs Weasley took the kettle off the burner and poured two mugs of coffee. "Actually," Harry began, then stopped. He certainly couldn't tell her he was planning to go back to Grimmauld Place - she'd have a fit. She would have an even bigger fit if she knew why he was going back. Just to check up on him, he told himself, if he's still there. "I was invited to drop in on Fred and George a few days ago." "At this hour?" Harry offered her a weak smile. "No time like the present - I've put it off for too long. They'll want to know what's happening." Mrs Weasley surveyed him closely. She didn't look happy about it - she looked quite dubious, in fact - but she finally relented and allowed Harry to leave, with a sharp, "Apparate straight there - no detours!" "Say 'night to the others for me when they get back," he said as he headed out front, feeling simultaneously awful and relieved he'd got away with the lie.
* * * * * * * * * *
For the second time in half an hour, Harry strode up the path to Grimmauld Place and let himself in. With another soft "Lumos!" he found himself able to navigate his way along the hall. It struck him just as he reached the kitchen stairwell, and he backtracked a few paces to double-check. Mrs Black's portrait was open, the curtain drawn back. She was slumped in her chair, a horrible gnarled woman with her greying hair strained back over her head into a severe bun. Her hands rested in her lap, bone-white and withering; her eyes were closed, and she let out a faint snore. The portrait had been covered when Harry and Malfoy had arrived earlier. Curious and a little concerned, Harry tiptoed away, down into the kitchen. He half expected to see Malfoy still standing there beside the door, looking around like a lost animal. But he wasn't. The room was empty and dark. Strangely, Harry felt disappointment mixed in with his lack of surprise. Of course Malfoy would high-tale it back to wherever the Death Eaters were hiding out these days, but an odd part of him quite enjoyed the tetchy banter, the feeling that there might be some hope for Malfoy - that there was a small chance he could talk some sense into the idiot. It was what Dumbledore had wanted, after all, no matter how awful Malfoy had been at school. Harry squinted down at his watch. It read just past midnight. Crap. He wasn't sure if he had the strength to Apparate again, or the inclination to. The night had been too weird and, quite frankly, he was knackered and in need of some time alone. By far not the perfect arrangement, and with some measure of reluctance but no other option, Harry climbed up the stairs, then up the main flight to the first floor, his wand out in case the Doxies had moved back in. He could use the room him and Ron had shared during the brief time he'd lived there, when Sirius had been- Something huge, solid and heavy suddenly crashed out of the shadows, knocking soundly into Harry and sending him flying. His wand slipped from his fingers, the light spluttering to nothing as it clattered to a standstill some feet away. Harry yelled, kicking out, struggling. "Potter?!" "Malfoy? Get the hell off me!" He hated the quaver in his voice, but damn. Pushing at the weight on top of him, Harry crawled out from under Malfoy, the back of his head and shoulders hurting from where he'd landed. "Why did you just pounce on me?" "I didn't know what was coming up the stairs," Malfoy replied with equal ire, hauling himself up. "I just heard them creaking. This place is horrible." If he wasn't so startled and shaken up, Harry might've laughed at Malfoy's tone. He didn't sound like the cocky bastard Harry knew, more like a scared child. "You could have said something - shouted out that you were back," Malfoy continued angrily. "I can't, shouting only wakes her up." "Oh, yes, the crazy old bat from downstairs." "You met Sirius's mum, then," said Harry, now realising why the portrait had been uncovered. "She's insane." "Tell me something I don't know. Look, do you have your wand?" "Yeah, why?" "A Lumos might be helpful about now," Harry pointed out, talking in the direction of Malfoy's voice. He had got to his feet and wanted to find his own wand before he stepped on it and broke it. That didn't bear thinking about; his wand had saved his life too many times to count; it was part of him now. After a second white light cracked and spread in a circle around them, too bright, then mellowing so they could see clearly. Hair ruffled and falling into his eyes, robes bunched, Malfoy looked pissed off as hell as he guided Harry to his wand. Well, tough; Harry was beyond pissed off. The whole thing was a total shambles - what was he thinking bringing Malfoy here? He should have taken him to Hogsmeade and left him there to find his own place to stay. "I take it you're not planning on going home tonight." Malfoy didn't answer. "Won't mummy be worried about you, or is she off making home with your dad in prison?" Malfoy's wand hand flinched. His lips worked silently, like he was forming a hex, or a curse. Harry let out a huge sigh. "If you plan to stay, the bathroom's over there," he indicated down to the end of the hall, "and you can use any of the rooms except this one," he pointed to the door they were standing directly in front of - Sirius's old room, "and that one over there," and then to the one him and Ron had used before his fifth year at school. That was his. "Fine," was the curt reply. As Malfoy stalked off to find a suitable room to crash in, he muttered, icily, "Don't you talk about my parents again, Potter." Harry couldn't be bothered to respond.
* * * * * * * * * *
All in all, it had been a really shit day. Harry was finding it difficult getting to sleep. He felt physically exhausted, but his mind was too busy racing around everything that had happened; the shouts in the woods, finding Malfoy, bringing Malfoy with him, lying to Ron's mum. That, and the old pipes in the walls kept groaning, louder than Harry could recall from before. He shifted uncomfortably on the mattress and got a sickening waft of the scent of mothballs. The whole house was like a big tomb; chilly and dull and thoroughly depressing. He never thought he'd end up there again. He had planned to just leave it, eventually turn it in to the Ministry if - no, when, he forced himself to think - his business with Voldemort was finally done. If he never got the chance - well, he couldn't help but think it that time - then he'd leave instructions with Lupin to sort out Grimmauld Place. He listened wearily to the clunk-clunk, rattle in the walls, knowing he should get some rest, that he shouldn't let it get to him so much. Beyond frustrated, he sat up, slid out of bed, and made his way to the door. He shuffled down the shadowed hall in just his boxers, regretting not slinging on a t-shirt for warmth. As far as he knew, Malfoy had taken the room closest to the bathroom, but Harry didn't bother trying to be quiet as he passed the door. As he reached for the handle he could've sworn he heard the creak of a floorboard coming from that room. Looked like he wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. Once finished he went to the sink, turning the squeaky tap and letting the cold water run over his hands. He splashed some on his face, too, the chill of it tingling his skin and making him shiver. When he turned around he was not expecting Malfoy to be lurking around the doorway. "How long have you been there?" Harry rubbed his damp face with his hand. "Not that long. I didn't see anything if that's what you're getting at." Determined not to let Malfoy wind him up so early in the morning, Harry merely shrugged. Malfoy stepped into the bathroom as Harry started to leave, blocking the way out. Harry wasn't stupid - he could clearly read the expression on Malfoy's face, his body language. "Don't test me," he warned. "I'm too tired for this. Get out of my way." The twisted black design imprinted on Malfoy's forearm hadn't escaped him, though Harry couldn't bring himself to openly stare at it. Unsurprisingly, Malfoy didn't move. "God, will you just grow up for once?" Harry found the lack of force in his voice disheartening. He refused to think about Malfoy in any way other than an irritant. A Death Eater irritant, that was. He kept that thought in mind as Malfoy pressed in closer to him. "Don't even bother." Again, he regretted bringing Malfoy to the house, letting him stay. "I can't sleep," Malfoy needlessly pointed out. "What do you expect me to do about it?" Unbidden, the memory of Malfoy's cock rose in his mind, how it'd felt sliding back and forth over his tongue, the shudder and curse Malfoy had uttered as he'd come. How he'd liked it, how it had turned him on more than anything else in his memory. Definitely not a good thought. "This changes nothing," Malfoy continued, as if Harry hadn't spoken. "There's no 'this'." The words spilled from his lips, but they were forced, practiced. It wasn't the first time he'd said it - he'd muttered it under his breath to himself before, no point denying - nor the first time he'd doubted himself. Malfoy pushed him backwards all too easily, right up against the sink. "Cut it out." But Malfoy ignored him, again, following until he was close enough for Harry to see the wet of his lips from where he'd licked them, the softness of the hair that feathered just below his ears. Harry looked anywhere but Malfoy's long, smooth chest and stomach, anywhere but Malfoy's black boxer shorts and the thin line of golden fuzz that paved up from the waistband. Hair Harry already knew too well. "Why not?" Malfoy said, and he ran one hand all the way down Harry's arm, from shoulder to wrist, where he curled his fingers and held on for a moment, before letting go. "Are you going to make me wait another two months?" "This isn't a game... or a - a regular thing." "From the way you keep following me around-" "I ran into you," Harry corrected. "Twice. It's not like I wanted to. The world couldn't be big enough, Malfoy." Even as he said it, he was pushing himself away from the sink, which only meant pushing himself into Malfoy. Who was getting hard, from the feel of it. He thought about the night in Cornwall, how Malfoy had felt under his hands, what he had said. "Did you really... with Zach?" Harry asked. "Smith?" replied Malfoy, "Oh, yes. A lot. From what I've heard, so did you." "Shit." "He acts all prim," Malfoy went on, "But he's really just a great big slut." He breathed the last against Harry's ear. "You can talk," Harry managed to grate out. With an undefined sound, Malfoy pushed himself flush against Harry's body, making sure to nudge his erection into Harry's hip. All tiredness was slipping away grain by grain; Harry knew he wanted it - he'd thought about sex a great deal since, more sex with Malfoy. Up until now, though, he hadn't let it get to him, putting it down to long hours searching for Horcruxes and no action but his own right hand. But now, Malfoy was real again, solid and hard and very, very warm. An arm snaked around his waist and nudged him closer still, and when Harry turned his face up to say something - anything, because this was a really stupid idea - he found Malfoy's mouth instead and kissed it. Malfoy obviously hadn't been expecting kisses, since he froze momentarily, mouth unmoving, before turning his head to one side by a fraction and allowing it, kissing back. So much for steely resolve, Harry thought. Why couldn't he have just said no? It wasn't like the last time, with time running out and everything going fast, confusing, dangerous. There were no Death Eaters (except the one he was currently kissing) mere feet away, there was no cold, dark night, no wand pointed at him. No real anger. "Why not?" Because it was Malfoy. Because it was in Sirius's house and he'd hate it. Because Harry had lied to someone he cared about to get there. Because, because, because. But he was still kissing and being kissed, could taste Malfoy's tongue now, liked the slide of it against his own. He liked the press of an erection against his hip, loved thrusting his own against Malfoy. Harry hadn't felt arms around him with Zach, nor been given the time to savour the sex, no build up to it. It had always been rushed, hidden away in some broom cupboard or under the Quidditch stands, once in the library in a dark aisle at the back. It had always been the hasty pop of buttons, the slide of fabric as school robes were parted, hands or mouth or sometimes both, biting on moans, then done, back to lessons or lunch or Gryffindor Tower. "Why not?" kept echoing around Harry's head as Malfoy broke off and pulled him roughly out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. The door slammed, then Harry was slammed against the door. "Watch it-" He was cut off, almost winded by the force of Malfoy pushing against him, frotting hard and sliding his tongue back into Harry's mouth. He'd certainly grown used to the kissing thing. Shoving back, Harry managed to pry Malfoy off long enough to swear at him and push him over to the bed. The fact that Malfoy landed in a sprawl on the mattress gave Harry the chance to slip out of his boxers, lean down and pin Malfoy's wrists to the bed at either side of him. "Potter-" "You owe me." With an incredulous sound, Malfoy struggled once, relaxed. He muttered under his breath what Harry thought was a complaint at first, but when he lowered himself against Malfoy's body he realised it had been a spell to remove his boxers. Both let out heated sighs on contact, and Harry slid his cock along Malfoy's, felt Malfoy's hands on his arse urging him on, pinching his skin until it ached. The house was by no means warm, but by the time Harry had set up a steady rhythm sweat was building between them, making his movements all the smoother and sweeter. He was so caught up in the wonderful pressure in his balls, building, building, the hard angles of Malfoy's body, the moist breath beating against his shoulder, that he realised too late what Malfoy was doing with his hand. One swift, light rub of a finger up over Harry's hole and he was groaning, losing his pace in a heartbeat. It happened again, this time Malfoy drawing his finger downwards, pressing in at just the right time, not far enough to hurt - just a fingertip right there. Harry cursed, his hips jerking back, forward, Christ Malfoy was going to finish him off this way. He bit down on the nearest piece of flesh, Malfoy's neck; the finger withdrew, then came back again, as thrilling as it was shocking. Harry knew he wasn't making all the noises, all the long, breathless moans. He moved to the left, Malfoy moving with him until they were side by side on the mattress, still with arms and legs wrapped around each other. The bed springs whined as they rolled over and suddenly Malfoy's mouth was clamped onto Harry's chin, sucking, then up to his lips, biting them, licking, too. A bead of sweat fell from Malfoy's fringe onto Harry's cheek where it rolled slowly down like a tear, disappearing into his hair. What Malfoy was doing couldn't be called kissing any more. He was talking fast, muttering at a rapid pace so Harry couldn't make out what he was saying, just a low thrum of words pouring out in waves as he reached between them and started pumping Harry's cock within the circle of his fist. Harry caught a whispered, "Come on," and took Malfoy's prick in his hand, the familiar weight of it settling against his palm. He squeezed lightly, then harder and Malfoy's steady banter cut off abruptly, a choked intake of breath replacing it. When Harry came he was silent, all air having left his lungs. Malfoy drew every last out of him, stroking throughout, come running between his fingers slicking them further. Once Harry had stopped shuddering Malfoy released him and curled his hand around Harry's, moving it up to the head of his cock, back down, prompting Harry to keep going. Malfoy buried his face against Harry's shoulder and jerked forward, hot threads of come hitting Harry's stomach fast, slinking slowly down his skin. They moved apart as quickly as they'd come together, settling down beside each other, not touching, just breathing. Harry ached in a few different places, from the strange angle and the brutality of frotting against Malfoy, who was still underweight, all bony lines and concave. Pressing a finger against his hip, Harry could feel a dull pain, possibly a bruise blossoming. He couldn't seem to care. The sweat on his body was cooling down. He wanted to shower but there was only an old-fashioned bath at Grimmauld Place that had mould and mildew growing on the mat that seemed to have been permanently fixed to the bottom. The sink would have to do, whenever he could gather enough energy to get up. He wondered what Malfoy was thinking. "We're even," Malfoy said in a neutral voice. He wasn't stupid enough to make out he hadn't enjoyed that, hadn't wanted it. "Fine," replied Harry. "Now get out." "It's my house." Malfoy laughed softly, a short-lived sound. "Just wanted to see what you'd say." Harry let out a snort in return. He didn't move for a long time, and Malfoy seemed content to stay put in silence for the time being. Again, just like in Cornwall, everything had changed, yet nothing had changed at all. Malfoy was still a Death Eater, Harry was still trying to survive long enough to find a way of stopping Voldemort. But the difference was that Malfoy wasn't quite who he used to be, not to Harry. Harry rather felt that he wasn't, either. It was disquieting, the sensation of falling down while travelling uphill. "Last time I saw you I gave you some advice," he eventually said, thinking back. Malfoy sighed. "Yes, yes." Some of the old irritableness was seeping back into his voice. "Don't go back to that house, etcetera. I'm not stupid. I'll bet you and your lot turned up hours after you left." "We burned it down." "How barbaric." "And torturing Muggles isn't?" "I don't torture Muggles." "You know what I mean. The other Death-" "I'm not going down this road with you again, Potter," Malfoy said, covering his eyes with his forearm. The forearm that bore the Dark Mark, great ugly thing that it was. "I can't just... You can't walk away from something you're destined to be." There was no way Harry could argue with that, but the way he saw it, Malfoy had more chance of living than he did in his current situation. "You think there's no way out - I told you, there is. You're just too stupid and stubborn to listen to anyone. Dumbledore said-" "What did he say?" Obviously angry now, Malfoy sat up and stared at Harry through narrowed eyes. "What are you, his messenger? He's dead. There's nothing he can do." "He wasn't meant to do anything - you were. The Order could safehouse you and your mum. Just say the word-" "This again?" Malfoy pulled the blanket over himself. "I'm not joking when I say it this time, Potter, but get the fuck out." There was no one more infuriating on the planet. Harry was in half a mind to punch Malfoy, though he didn't think that would achieve anything at this point except express how fucking irritating he was and start a very vicious fight. "You're an idiot," he snapped instead, rising from the bed and snatching up his boxers from the floor. He didn't wait to hear the reply, didn't want to keep going round in the same damn circles. He had been right, hours before. Bringing Malfoy to Grimmauld Place had been a terrible idea, getting involved again had been so stupid. Harry slipped into the bathroom again to clean himself up, wincing because all he could get out of the taps was freezing cold water, then went back to his room further down the hall.
* * * * * * * * * *
He had listened as Malfoy left the house just as the sky began to turn a dusky lavender outside. Harry hadn't stopped him, instead pulling the blankets more tightly around himself and trying to shut out the creak of the stairs as Malfoy descended. An hour later, now feeling that he was back to square one yet again, Harry hauled himself out of bed, dressed, preparing himself for the journey back to The Burrow. The only thing to do now was to put it out of his mind, keep busy, concentrate on Order business, and hope he never crossed paths with Malfoy again. ~Fin~ |
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