create_serenity (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
create_serenity) wrote2006-09-03 10:39 pm
create_serenity) wrote2006-09-03 10:39 pm
Entry tags:
We'll Always Have Paris
Title: We'll Always Have Paris
Author: Katherine![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
create_serenity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash!
Beta: The wonderfulcandy_marie_55, who has patiently put up with me moaning about the difficulties of writing sex scenes XD
Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: Time passes and things change. Sometimes we just need to forgive and forget in order to move on.
Author's notes: This is a short fic set after Voldemort's defeat, and takes place in Paris. There are a few French words, which I have translated at the end of the story, although I think most of them are self explanatory. Enjoy!
We’ll Always Have Paris
“Fais attention!”
“Excusez-moi.”
Harry bent down to help the woman retrieve her bags, whilst attempting to keep one eye on the figure he was following. It was a hopeless task though, for even as he strained to see past the woman’s body, the man was swallowed up by the crowds. Cursing under his breath Harry returned his attention to the woman who had now launched into a torrent of French, possibly about his clumsiness, Harry couldn’t tell.
“Er…” he said helpfully when the woman finally came to a stop. Having pretty much exhausted his stock of relevant French words he fished around for something to say. “Anglais?” He tried eventually when nothing sprung to mind. The woman subjected him to an icy glare and departed huffily.
Rather relieved Harry hurried down the street in the direction the man had been heading, hoping he would be able to catch up with him further along. It didn’t help that Harry wasn’t actually sure who the man was. The glimpse of silver blonde hair had triggered something in his memory, it belonged to a person he hadn’t seen or thought about for a very long time, and Harry was determined to satisfy his curiosity by finding out who this man was.
The crowded Paris streets weren’t really the ideal place for following someone, and in fact this was not the first time Harry had seen, and then lost, the figure in this area. More like the third time.
Cursing again Harry was about to give up when a flash of blonde hair across the street caught his attention. He turned to follow it and for the second time that day walked into someone.
“Excus….” The figure started to apologise, but then trailed off. Harry just stood there lost for words as he realised this was the man he had been following, the man he had spent the last three days trying to find. After a temporary pause to get over the shock, his brain whirled into action. At close quarters the thin, angular features of the face seemed even more familiar and although it was difficult to identify someone whose eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, Harry felt sure that the man’s name was right on the tip of his tongue. Before he could speak the man, who had been looking at him with the same amazement, seemed to recover.
“Potter!” There was no mistaking that clipped, aristocratic accent and as the man pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, Harry already knew what colour his eyes were going to be.
“Malfoy!” Silver grey eyes met his own emerald ones and suddenly Harry felt like the world around him had gone into slow motion, or perhaps sped up until he couldn’t tell the difference. People streaming past them were little more than blurs of colour, the sounds of cars and chatter of pedestrians were now little more than a hum in the background. There was just him, and his childhood sparring partner.
Only when someone bumped against Harry, almost sending him flying into Malfoy, was the spell broken.
“Long time no see, Potter.” Malfoy drawled, as Harry’s brain decided this was the time to note that Malfoy was dressed in Muggle clothes, in the middle of a Muggle shopping district, leaving him with no choice but to carry on gawping idiotically at the figure in front of him.
Eventually Harry’s brain kicked back into action and he tried to come up with something suitable to say.
“Er… yes,” was all he could manage, causing Malfoy to raise one platinum blonde eyebrow.
“Well nice as this little chat has been, I’ve got things to do Potter, so if you’ll excuse me…” Malfoy turned to leave and too late Harry realised there were lots of things he wanted to say.
“Wait Malfoy! Wait….” He trailed off as he realised Malfoy was nowhere in sight.
********
Later that night Harry sat in his rented holiday apartment and reflected on what had happened. Never in a million years had he suspected that the elusive blonde figure he’d spent days trying to identify was Draco Malfoy. Considering he hadn’t seen Malfoy since the night of Dumbledore’s death six years ago this was hardly surprising. Malfoy had disappeared along with his mother, and everyone had thought them dead or so deeply in hiding it wasn’t worth looking for them. As it was, with Horcruxes to find and Voldemort to defeat, Harry had not had too much time to worry about the Malfoys’ whereabouts, and indeed when nothing had been heard of them for over a year he had… not forgotten, exactly, but locked all his memories of Draco away in some remote corner of his brain, so that he didn’t have to think about him anymore.
Now, over a year after Voldemort’s demise, when Harry was, at Hermione’s insistence, spending a relaxing month living away from everything that reminded him of the war, and everyone who wanted to worship him as a hero, Malfoy had turned up to set those memories free.
Strangely, when he thought of the figure he had seen today in the street he felt no malice, nor any need for vengeance. A few years ago he would have quite happily hexed Malfoy to oblivion and had him thrown into Azkaban along with his father, but now he just felt curiosity and an odd sense of loss. What had Malfoy been doing all these years? Why was he in Paris? And strangest of all, why was he openly embracing Muggle culture, wearing their clothes and shopping in their boutiques?
Whoever this Malfoy was, he clearly wasn’t the same person who had Apparated out of Harry’s life on that fateful night so many years ago. Sure he still seemed calm, collected, confident to the point of arrogance, and, judging by the wristwatch Harry had glimpsed, very rich; but there was something else there that was different. Malfoy seemed… relaxed? Happy? They weren’t words Harry would usually associate with the-boy-who-had-made-his-life-as-miserable-as-possible, but something about Malfoy had changed and Harry was determined to find out more.
********
The next day Harry found himself wandering around the same shopping district, hoping to catch a glimpse of the familiar blonde hair. He had spent most of the morning sitting in various cafés, alternately drinking coffee, which he didn’t much care for, and tea, which didn’t taste anything like the tea back home, whilst keeping an eye on the throngs of people who passed by his table.
After a light lunch in one of the cafés he decided that a more proactive approach was necessary and began walking systematically up and down the streets, focusing particularly on two streets which radiated off a kind of central plaza, both of which he had followed Malfoy down at various points in the last few days.
By around 7pm however, Harry was ready to give up, and returned to the central plaza wondering whether he should eat out or attempt to cook something in his apartment’s tiny kitchen. Deciding on the latter he began to make one last careful scrutiny of the plaza, desperate to make sure he hadn’t missed the familiar flash of blonde.
“Looking for someone?” Harry gave a rather undignified leap and whirled round as a familiar voice drawled in his ear.
“Malfoy!” he exclaimed, noting that the man was once again wearing sunglasses, which effectively hid any emotion his eyes might be betraying. Did he know Harry had been looking for him? Feeling embarrassed, and rather unsure how to explain himself, Harry said the first thing that came into his head. “Erm I was looking for somewhere to have dinner.”
“Really?” Malfoy’s lips curved into a delighted smirk, and Harry began to feel a little worried, especially since all he could see when he looked into Malfoy’s face was his own eyes reflected in shiny black lenses. As if sensing his unease, Malfoy pushed the sunglasses up into his hair, making the blonde locks muss rather attractively, and Harry suddenly felt inexplicable butterflies in his stomach. He couldn’t be thinking that Malfoy was good looking could he?
Silver grey eyes that were softer and warmer than Harry ever remembered them being, pale skin that only showed the slightest hint that its owner was living in a warm country at the height of summer, open collared shirt that showed the barest glimpse of skin and sunglasses perched boldly on top of his blonde head. Harry actually had to admit that Malfoy was very good looking indeed, and from what he’d just said it seemed that Malfoy was asking him out.
“What?” he spluttered, unsure quite how to take Malfoy’s announcement that “he knew a place that served excellent food and would be happy to show him.”
“For goodness sake Potter. I said, I can recommend a good place to eat dinner, do you want me to show you or not?” His voice was drawling and exasperated, a sentiment that was not reflected in his eyes, which shone with vague amusement and something else Harry couldn’t quite pinpoint.
“Ok,” he found himself agreeing, a decision that seemed to have bypassed all rational thought processes. Had he just accepted an offer of help from Draco Malfoy? And come to that had Draco Malfoy just offered to help him, Harry Potter? Damn, things really had changed.
“This way then.” Malfoy suddenly plunged off into the crowd and Harry’s legs decided to follow without consulting his brain first. This was madness! This was insanity! But then again, this wasn’t the same Draco Malfoy Harry had known six years ago.
They came to a halt outside an elegant looking restaurant overlooking the plaza and Harry suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. This wasn’t the sort of place he would have chosen to eat if he was by himself, it was far too expensive, far too sophisticated and he certainly wasn’t dressed for the experience. It was also extremely busy.
Draco though didn’t seem phased by the small clutch of people waiting around the entrance; instead he waltzed past, with Harry trailing along behind smiling apologetically at the queuing patrons. Then, before Harry could really understand what was going on, he found himself seated at a small table being handed a menu, whilst Draco, sitting opposite, chatted genially in French with the maître de.
It was odd, Harry thought, now Draco was speaking French, you would have been hard pressed to tell he had lived in Britain all his life. Gone was the aristocratic British accent, replaced by French that sounded as if it was being spoken with… well, with a French accent. Harry wondered vaguely if there was such a thing as an aristocratic French accent. If there was, he would bet that Draco spoke with one.
He glanced down at the menu and found it was all in French, which he couldn’t read it at all, so he occupied himself by gazing round the restaurant. It was tastefully decorated and filled with sophisticated looking people, all dressed smartly and all speaking perfect French. Harry felt rather out of place and with a twisted sort of smile he realised that this place was very Draco.
“Nice place isn’t it?” Malfoy’s voice, now the height of British refinement, brought Harry’s attention back to his unlikely dining companion.
“Er, yes, very… nice.” Harry finished lamely, unable to think what to say when he expected the manager to emerge any moment to tell him that he was far too scruffy to be allowed in a place like this and could he please leave.
Malfoy gave him a strange sort of smile, as if this was the answer he had expected, but was rather relieved that it hadn’t been anything else. Harry was just about to reflect on whether he had ever seen Malfoy smile so nicely and what his opinions were about this new turn of events when he was interrupted again.
“So what are you having?” Harry rolled his eyes and gestured towards the menu.
“You think I can read French?” Malfoy smirked, indicating that no, he didn’t, but he’s just wanted to ensure Harry had to admit to it for himself.
“That’s no problem, I’ll just order for you.” Without giving Harry time to argue he summoned a waiter, seemingly from thin air, and proceeded to order at great length, in French. Harry didn’t understand a word he said, and hoped that he wasn’t ordering him something awful like snails or frogs’ legs. That would be typical of Malfoy he thought, order him something nasty and then laugh at his lack of sophistication.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t ordered you anything awful.”
Harry wondered if Draco could read his thoughts, and, unsure whether to believe him, could only offer a wan smile in return. The waiter returned with wine and Harry watched silently as Draco tasted and accepted it. He wasn’t a huge fan of wine, but didn’t object when the waiter filled his glass, and when he tasted it himself he had to admit it wasn’t bad at all.
“So what brings you to Paris?” Malfoy had sat back in his chair and was regarding Harry with a mixture of curiosity and something Harry couldn’t quite place.
“Holiday,” he replied shortly, and when Malfoy seemed to be waiting for him to elaborate he continued, “You know, just to get away from things back home. Hermione thought it would be a good idea.”
Something new flitted across Malfoy’s expression at Hermione’s name, another emotion Harry couldn’t place. The nearest he could get was pain, but that wasn’t quite right.
“How long are you planning on staying?” The expression was gone, replaced by a look of vague interest.
“Dunno, a month maybe, I’ve been here a couple of weeks already.”
“Enjoying Paris?”
“Well it’s ok, I guess.” Harry knew he didn’t sound very enthusiastic, but having covered all the main Parisian tourist attractions within the first few days he had been at a bit of a loss as to what to do recently. Hence he had spent the last few days chasing round after a mysterious blonde that turned out to be Malfoy.
Malfoy smirked, and seemed about to make some sort of cutting remark when he was prevented by the arrival of the starter. It turned out to be onion soup and fresh crusty bread, something that Harry had eaten many times at the Weasleys’, and he gave an inward sigh of relief that at least he would not be embarrassing himself by enquiring what one dish was this evening.
“Merci,” he said as the waiter placed his bowl down and he glanced up to find Malfoy looking at him, eyebrows raised in amusement.
“So you do know some French.”
Harry laughed. “About five words, and a few phrases that Hermione drummed into my head before I left.”
“Not entirely useless then.”
Unsure if he was referring to him or Hermione, Harry declined to reply and instead started on his soup. The course was eaten in comparable silence, except for the odd “pass the butter” or “would you like some more wine?” and Harry felt it was beginning to wear rather thin by the time the dishes were removed.
Malfoy now leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his chin resting gently on his clasped hands. He looked like he was about to say something and for some reason that gave Harry the courage to cut him off before he even started with a question of his own.
“So how long have you been here?” he blurted out. Tact, after all, was never his strong point. For a moment Malfoy looked surprised, but he quickly collected himself.
“In Paris? About four years. In France? About six.” Harry blinked slightly, unable to believe what he was hearing.
“So you mean… I mean… you were…”
“Yes Harry, I was right across the Channel all along.” He was smirking again, as if this was something that caused him great amusement. Harry though was too busy worrying about the fact that Malfoy had just called him by his first name. He had a strong urge to check out the window for pigs flying by, in accordance with the famous Muggle phrase, but restrained himself and instead just gaped at Malfoy open mouthed.
“You look like you’re trying to catch flies, Harry.” Malfoy now looked even more amused. “You aren’t going to object to me calling you Harry are you, only as we seem to be eating dinner together I thought it would only be polite if we were on a first name basis.”
“Er right, yes, fine.” Harry snapped his mouth shut and searched for something else to say.
“So what did you do?” Then he realised that this might be a bit personal, after all he wasn’t sure he wanted Malfoy asking him what he’d been up to for the past six years, so he tried to backtrack. “…if you don’t mind me asking.”
“I lived with my mother in the South of France. We moved around a lot, it was a bit…” He wrinkled his nose in a way that indicated his unspoken word rather clearly. Common. “After almost two years I couldn’t stand it any longer, I refused to carry on living like that. Not knowing who I was or where I belonged. So I came to Paris, found somewhere to live and got a job. Yes, a job Harry, I could hardly live on fresh air could I?” He rolled his eyes at Harry’s incredulous gaze and continued. “Anyway, you know me, I’m not that good at following orders from other people, so I quit after a while, and then...” He leaned forward conspiratorially as if about to reveal a huge secret. “I opened a restaurant.”
Harry nearly spat out his wine, and in fact had to cough quiet a few times before he was in any fit state to respond. Draco sat back and watched, looking rather pleased with himself. When Harry had regained his composure he leaned forward and ran his hand through his hair.
“I knew it!” he exclaimed. “This place is just so… well, so you!” Draco looked even more pleased and grinned rather amiably as the waiter arrived with the main course.
It was some sort of fish, in some sort of sauce, served with vegetables. That much Harry could tell and since it tasted all right he didn’t bother to enquire as to what it was. Draco seemed satisfied when he said he liked it but offered no follow up clues as to what they were consuming so Harry had to be content.
Whether it was the wine, or something else, Harry felt himself relaxing in Draco’s presence and actually found himself chatting away about what he had seen in Paris so far. Draco even gave him a few pointers as to lesser known places that he should visit whilst he was here, and by the time the main course was finished Harry was beginning to think that he might actually have something to do with himself for at least part of the rest of his holiday.
They were interrupted shortly after the dishes had been removed by a young couple who approached and greeted Draco. He obviously recognised them, for he got to his feet with an easy grace and kissed them both on both cheeks. Harry felt something twitch inside him at this simple display of affection, and before he could stop himself he found he was admiring Draco’s lithe figure and slender fingers that cradled his wine glass in a way that was just so sophisticated and strangely attractive.
He cleared his throat, more to hide his confusion at these thoughts than anything, but it seemed to remind Draco of his presence and he immediately introduced him to the couple. The switches between English and French were effortless for Draco, and Harry was once again amazed by the complete change his entire accent seemed to go through every time he switched. The couple laughed after the introduction and said something to Draco that brought a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. Harry had never seen Draco blush like that before and was still wondering what had brought on this strange new occurrence when the couple said goodbye and departed. Draco sat back down and obviously noticed Harry’s strange look, for he immediately spoke.
“They have never heard me speak English before, they thought my accent was very strange.” Harry nodded, but thought that such a simple observation would not have made the Draco he used to know blush, he suspected there had been more said than that, but unwilling to disturb the easy peace, didn’t press for more information.
The waiter returned and there was another exchange in rapid French that Harry couldn’t follow. He was getting rather tired of being in the dark all the time and was half beginning to wish he’d gone with Ron’s suggestion of holidaying in Blackpool. At least there he would have been able to understand what was going on. Then again Draco wouldn’t have been in Blackpool so this situation would never have occurred. To his surprise Harry was unsure if that would have been such a good thing after all.
“What did you order?” Harry asked after the waiter had departed.
“Dessert,” Draco replied with a wicked smirk. “Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”
Harry was a little unsure how to respond to this and instead drank some more wine. He probably shouldn’t have another glass he realised; he was already beginning to feel slightly light headed.
“So…” he began as he put down his glass, before realising he had absolutely nothing to follow up that comment with. He fished quickly and could find no neutral topic, so settled on the first thing that came to mind. “Is your mother living in Paris too?”
“No.” For a moment Draco looked wistful and when he spoke again his voice was softer. “She died.” Harry’s eyes widened.
“Oh… I’m so sorry. How… I mean….” He trailed off, realising that Draco might not want to talk about it and thinking it would be impolite to press for details.
“It’s ok.” Draco actually smiled gently. “It was a long time ago.”
Harry nodded and was trying to think of a way to change the topic when Draco did it for him by turning the conversation to Harry’s own life. To his surprise Harry found himself talking in detail about what he had been doing in the year since he had defeated Voldemort – mostly that he had been working for the Ministry as an Auror, but was actually thinking of quitting since he’d had quite enough of it and was seriously considering becoming a professional Quidditch player.
Somewhere in the middle of all this the desserts arrived; they were thick and creamy and Draco told Harry what they were called, but for the life of him Harry could not remember afterwards. They were delicious though, and they were followed by proper English tea, which Draco admitted everyone thought he was mad for liking.
Harry wasn’t sure who Draco was referring to by ‘everyone’, and wondered if it was the people who worked for him, or his friends. It was an odd concept, Draco having friends who he considered equals, but Harry remembered the couple he had seen earlier and knew that however strange it was to him, it clearly was no longer strange to Draco.
********
By the end of the meal, anyone who had passed by their table and taken note would have thought Harry and Draco were just two old friends catching up over dinner. They were smiling and chatting, even sharing the odd joke, and Harry felt like their past was drifting further and further away.
It came back to him though when they had drunk the last of their tea and found themselves outside in the warm evening air. It was late now; the sun was beginning to set, although the plaza was still busy. Harry wondered what happened now, but luckily Malfoy answered that question for him.
“Come on. There is something everyone who comes to Paris should see.” Harry frowned in confusion, wondering what Malfoy was referring to. His head was feeling slightly muzzy from all the wine he had drunk, and he wasn’t sure whether he should follow Malfoy, or make some excuse to go back to his flat. He was suddenly unsure about everything that had happened tonight, and he wondered vaguely whether he would wake up tomorrow to find this had all been a dream. Perhaps he hadn’t even come to Paris at all; perhaps he’d wake up in his London flat; perhaps….
He’d run out of thoughts and having got no nearer to thinking up an excuse to leave, indicated that he would go with Malfoy. Immediately Malfoy set off across the plaza and Harry had to trot to catch up, feeling too full of food for this much exertion.
“Slow down!” Malfoy simply pulled a face, and carried on at the same pace. Harry settled into a quick stride and just managed to keep up as he hurried through the streets. At first Harry thought maybe Malfoy was taking him to the Eiffel Tower, something that he had seen lit up on his first night there, having been informed that it was well worth seeing. He had been impressed, although not enough to wish to see it again; he suspected it was more awe-inspiring when you had someone special to share it with. After all Paris was supposed to be the most romantic city in the world.
Without warning Malfoy turned down a side street, one with far fewer people and to Harry’s relief slowed down.
“I hate walking through those touristy areas,” he informed Harry. “Too many people gawping at stuff just because it’s in another language.”
Harry raised his eyebrows, and suddenly Draco looked at him and smiled.
“I guess tolerance was never my strong point.” Harry couldn’t help the slight chuckle that escaped his throat and in that moment he felt that he didn’t care if Draco was taking him halfway across Paris, it would be worth it just to see something Draco thought was good.
********
As it turned out Harry did feel like they’d walked halfway across Paris by the time they reached their destination. They were far away from the tourist areas now and standing on a long footbridge that spanned the width of the Seine River, it had taken them so long that the sky ahead was already getting dark.
“Turn round.” Draco’s voice was soft, and for the first time Harry realised that the noise and traffic of Paris was little more than a distant hum in the background. Obediently turning in the direction Draco indicated Harry looked up and felt his breath catch in his throat.
He had never seen anything quite so beautiful in his entire life. He walked up to the low handrail that ran along the edge of the bridge and rested his arms on the top. After a moment he felt Draco move to stand next to him and together they watched the sun set over the river, a magnificent display of natural beauty, bathing the Parisian skyline in an unearthly red and orange glow.
How long they stood there Harry didn’t know, but when at last the sun slipped over the horizon he found he was stiff from standing in one position so long.
“…Amazing,” he breathed, when at last he felt he could speak. Next to him Draco nodded and stretched.
“Come on, I better show you the way back.” He moved slowly away from the edge and seemed about to set off.
“Draco.” Harry’s voice was soft and clear in the still night air and Draco turned back to face him. There was something Harry felt he needed to express to Draco, something he couldn’t quite find the words for.
“Thank you.”
Draco nodded and turned to lead the way back, but not before Harry saw the hint of a smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth.
********
They took the tube train back to the ‘tourist area’ as Draco termed it, and Harry was pretty sure that at one point he dozed off on the way back. When they stepped back out into the fresh, cool evening air though he felt refreshed and awake.
“So where are you staying?” Draco asked, and for a moment Harry wondered why on earth Draco would even want to know, before he looked round and realised they were still in an area that looked completely unfamiliar to him and had no clue how to get back himself.
He gave Draco the street name, thankful that the effects of the wine appeared to be wearing off and he could now think more clearly. As they wandered back through the dimly lit streets Harry got the distinct impression that Draco wanted to say something, but wasn’t quite sure how to begin. He also noticed for the first time that Draco’s sunglasses were no longer perched on his head, now he thought about it, he’d probably taken them off the second they got in the restaurant, but where they’d gone since then Harry had no idea. One advantage of owning the restaurant, he realised, was that Draco could leave his personal possessions scattered around and they’d just be returned to him at a later date.
“I am sorry you know.” Harry was startled out of his thoughts by Draco’s sudden, if quiet outburst. Collecting his thoughts, he tried to work out what Draco was talking about and wondered if there had been information before this that he had missed. Sorry for what? His confusion obviously showed on his face, for Draco twisted his hands together awkwardly as he walked and tried again.
“For that night. For what happened. I couldn’t do it and I was awfully sorry for what I had done. That’s why I left and didn’t come back.” Something in Harry’s brain switched on and he realised what Draco was talking about, and why the man before him was now gazing at him with an almost wretched expression, as if the one thing he needed was forgiveness.
Harry searched his feelings and found that if he had ever needed to forgive Draco for what had happened that night, he had done it a long time ago… a long time ago when he realised that Draco wasn’t coming back, that Draco had simply vanished, run away from Voldemort and the killing and the nightmare that was those dark days. If there was anything he needed to forgive Draco for, it was for leaving a fight that he could not leave himself.
“I’m sorry for leaving.” Draco’s eyes met his and in that moment Harry felt something inside of him let go. Voldemort was gone; it didn’t matter anymore. He could lead a normal life, a life like the one Draco had been living, only without the burden of guilt that he had clearly been carrying all this time. Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and smiled gently.
“It’s ok Draco,” he said softly. “It really is ok.”
********
They didn’t talk much the rest of the way back after that, each of them was busy with their own thoughts, and when they finally came to a halt Harry was surprised to find they were already back at his flat.
“Do you want to come in?” The words were out of his mouth before he had even thought about them, and realising how they must sound added rather lamely, “I have tea.”
To his relief Draco smiled and nodded, and followed Harry up the stairs to his second floor flat. At the door Harry paused to take off his shoes and Draco gave him a strange look.
“There was a list of conditions of renting the flat and one of them was no shoes on the carpets,” Harry shrugged. Draco rolled his eyes, but proceeded to remove his own footwear as Harry went to make some tea. When he returned a few minutes later holding two mugs he found Draco gazing politely at some of the pictures on the walls.
“Have a seat,” he urged, handing Draco his tea and gesturing towards the sofa. He sat himself down at one end, wondering what on earth they were going to talk about now, and watched as Draco sat elegantly at the opposite end, sipping his tea politely.
“Nice flat,” he commented after a few moment of silence. Harry nodded, and relieved to have something to talk about quickly thought up some additional comment he could make on the subject.
“Yes I was lucky to get it really. Hermione had been on at me for ages to take a holiday and it was kind of a last minute decision. She managed to get it through one of her family’s friends.”
“Why?” It was an unexpected question and for a moment Harry was alarmed since he had no idea what Draco was referring to until he elaborated. “I mean why was she so insistent about you taking a holiday?”
“Oh,” Harry sighed. “She was worried about me I think. She said I wasn’t myself and I guess I was acting like a bit of an arse.” He frowned as he remembered his behaviour over the past year. Here in Paris it all seemed so long ago, but really it was little more than two weeks since he had been back at home, flying off the handle at every little thing, refusing to talk about anything that had happened, and generally being moody.
“A bit of an arse?” Draco seemed rather amused by this concept; his silver eyes gleamed in the moonlight pouring through the windows.
“Yeah, well. She said I needed a break. Needed to get away from things for a while.” He gave a rather ironic smile. “She was right of course, I wasn’t sure at first but now I think coming to Paris was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”
Harry hadn’t really meant that to sound quite as loaded with meaning as it had done and he felt his cheeks starting to colour as he checked Draco’s reaction. There was something that briefly flickered across Draco’s face, a kind of hope, as if Harry’s words meant something different to him than they did to Harry, but the expression was quickly gone and Draco changed the topic.
“So did she marry Weasley?” There was now the barest hint of a smile playing around Draco’s lips as he looked at Harry.
Harry blinked, quickly realising that Draco had switched back to Hermione and wondering how he had worked that one out, since Hermione and Ron definitely hadn’t been together when Draco disappeared. That had taken them another year. “Yeah,” he answered after a moment, smiling at the remembrance of the wedding day, which had been a brief oasis of calm and happiness amidst the dreadful task they were undertaking.
“What about you then? You were with that Weasley girl weren’t you?” Draco twisted to face Harry, curling up his legs and leaning one arm on the back of the sofa, as if this was a point he was particularly interested in. Harry tried to ignore the fact that he had just referred to Ginny as “that Weasley girl” and tried to keep his reply neutral.
“Not anymore. We just kind of… fizzled out.”
“Oh.” There was a pause. “So you’re not married then? No one on the scene? You must have girls throwing themselves at you. Surely they all want to cosy up to The Great Harry Potter.”
“Yeah. I mean no. I mean, they do, sometimes, but I’m not interested.”
Draco raised an eyebrow and Harry felt the conversation was becoming a little too personal, but couldn’t think of a way out of it. He squirmed under Draco’s penetrating gaze and felt something inside of him snap. He wouldn’t give Draco the satisfaction of figuring it out for himself, so he blurted it out:
“Oh for heaven’s sake Draco, I’m gay!” Almost at once Harry regretted revealing something so private, but Draco didn’t seem to be worried, and in fact his lips curved into a casual smile.
“Well, since you come to mention it… so am I.” Their gazes locked and there was one moment where Harry felt it should be illegal for anyone to look at someone in the way Draco was looking at him right now. Then suddenly they were kissing.
Harry didn’t know if it was he who had moved towards Draco or Draco who had moved towards him, but that didn’t worry him right now. All that mattered was the feel of Draco’s lips, warm and soft against his own; and then his hand was in Draco’s hair and Draco’s arms were round his back and they were arching together, each pulling the other closer as they lost themselves in the kiss.
Only when Draco’s tongue swiped across his lower lip did Harry come to his senses and realise just who he was kissing. Gasping for air he pulled back and found himself staring into Draco’s eyes. The silver grey orbs were alight with something Harry had never seen in them before: there was passion and fire in those eyes, and hunger, a hunger that Harry knew must be mirrored in his own.
His brain made one last attempt to intervene. This was Draco Malfoy, the boy who had wasted no opportunity to make Harry’s life a misery at Hogwarts, the boy who had nearly become a Death Eater. Only nearly, though. Harry didn’t know where that last thought had come from and right now he didn’t care. Whatever else Draco was, he was gorgeous and tonight he had been perfect.
Harry closed his eyes and once again pressed his lips to Draco’s. The kiss this time was more measured, more sensuous, and Harry brought one hand up to Draco’s jaw line, curling his fingers in the soft hair around Draco’s neck.
Draco responded by latching one arm round Harry’s neck and pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. This time when Harry felt his tongue probing at his lower lip he didn’t pull away; instead he parted his lips and darted his own tongue out to meet Draco’s. There was a sharp intake of breath, Harry couldn’t be sure if it was his own or Draco’s, and their tongues were gliding together, stroking, tasting, caressing; dancing around each other as if they had been doing this all their lives.
Groaning, Harry pressed deeper into the kiss, sending them tumbling backwards so Draco was pinned beneath him, breathing hard and looking more flushed than Harry had ever seen him. Harry met his eyes and was a little disturbed by the wicked gleam there, but then Draco thrust his hips upwards, pressing his own semi-erect cock into Harry’s and all thoughts fled from Harry’s mind.
Something like wildfire surged through Harry, and suddenly they were groaning, grinding up against each other, frantically tugging at each other’s clothes. With a thud they fell off the couch and onto the floor, and Draco, his shirt half undone, flashed his most wicked grin.
“Do you happen to have a bedroom around here, Potter?” he drawled, rising smoothly to his feet. Nodding, and trying to catch his breath, Harry stood up somewhat more shakily, and began to walk towards the bedroom door.
Away from Draco’s touch, embarrassment started to set in, and he felt his cheeks start to burn. What was he doing? What was he thinking? He never got any further because at that moment Draco caught his wrist, whirled him round and slammed him back against the door.
“Mmpff…” the noise of protest died in Harry’s throat as those soft lips met his own in an intense kiss. Harry’s head was spinning, his heart was racing, he couldn’t think, because Draco was pressed up against his entire body, and those lips were now tracing a line down his throat, past his collarbone, licking and kissing and sucking, and Harry felt his legs start to give way, just as Draco found the door handle, and they stumbled into the bedroom with Draco’s lips never leaving his skin.
As his legs came up against the bed, Harry had the presence of mind to catch himself before he fell backwards and half lent, half sat on the bed as Draco’s hands came up to join his lips and began working on removing Harry’s clothes. Delicate fingers danced over his bare skin and spurred Harry into action. He wanted more, he wanted to feel Draco’s body pressed up against his own with no barriers separating them. He made short work of the rest of Draco’s shirt buttons and trousers, then reached out and ran his palms up the smooth skin of Draco’s chest.
As they reached Draco’s neck Harry felt something cold and hard under his fingers. It was a silver chain and he ran it through his fingers looking for the catch, noticing that it held a delicate silver dragon with tiny green emerald eyes. “How Slytherin,” he thought, unclasping the necklace and setting it on the bedside table, Draco’s eyes following his every move.
Harry’s hands resumed their journey across Draco’s body, fingers running over his collarbone, then tracing down his spine all the way to the bottom before pulling him forwards so that Harry could capture one flushed nipple in his mouth. His tongue swirled round the hardening bud, before travelling upwards to flick along Draco’s collarbone and up his neck towards his jawline.
“Merlin, Harry.” A soft voice just by his ear and Harry grinned in delight, knowing that Draco was enjoying this just as much as he was. Carefully he adjusted his balance on the bed, then hooked his legs round Draco’s waist, dragging him towards him until their hips ground together, eliciting gasps and moans from them both.
Harry lent forward to capture Draco’s lips in another forceful kiss, and the other man’s hands once again tangled through his hair before gliding down his back, setting off tingles of pleasure everywhere they touched.
“Draco,” Harry whined into his mouth, pushing his hips hard against Draco’s erection. A bit too hard apparently, for Draco lost his balance, tumbling down onto the bed on top of Harry. Now Draco was groaning, pressing down onto Harry, covering every piece of skin he could reach with hard, open-mouthed kisses and Harry was pressing up into him, running his hands over Draco’s skin, wanting to touch him everywhere at once, yet knowing that it would never be enough.
“Please, Draco,” he moaned, not even caring that he was the first to beg. From the way Draco was looking at him though it didn’t matter. His stormy eyes dragged over Harry’s body, and then suddenly he was gone. A moment later Harry gasped, and his hips bucked as he felt Draco’s mouth wrap itself round his cock. His tongue swirled around the head, then trailed down to his balls and Harry knew that if he opened his eyes he’d see that deliciously wicked grin playing over Draco’s features. As Draco lowered his head taking more of him into his mouth, Harry felt something hard and wet slide inside him; his breath hitched and there was a moment’s pause before Draco continued, adding a second finger and carefully working them in and out, in time with the movements of his mouth.
The motion was still slow and deliberate – teasing almost – and it wasn’t long before Harry began to squirm impatiently, wanting, and needing, something more. He tangled his hands in Draco’s hair, pushing his head down and bringing his hips upwards, even as he heard himself gasp: “Fuck Draco, more…. please, more.”
With a sharp tug Draco pulled away, and then he was back up near Harry’s face, planting soft kisses along his jaw line. “Got any lube?” he murmured between kisses, and Harry gestured vaguely in the direction of the bedside drawers.
As Draco went to retrieve it Harry pulled himself further onto the bed, making sure he was comfortable, and after a few moments Draco was back, straddling him and grinning wickedly again. Harry knew what was expected of him, and by now he was too far gone to feel any embarrassment. He wanted this so badly - wanted to feel Draco inside of him - he needed it now.
He hooked his legs around Draco’s back and felt the other man’s hands on his hips, guiding him into position. He felt Draco pressing against his entrance for a moment and then he was slipping inside, and despite the lube Harry threw back his head and gasped in pain as he felt himself being stretched. Draco stopped pushing and Harry glanced at him; his eyes were closed and his expression was unreadable. Not wanting to consider what Draco might be thinking, Harry closed his eyes and pushed forwards, this time taking Draco’s whole length inside him.
A sharp intake of breath made Harry open his eyes, Draco’s expression had changed to one of pure pleasure as he pulled out almost completely and then slowly pushed back inside, moaning in ecstasy as he did so. Harry matched his movement, thrusting forwards each time Draco pushed in, feeling the waves of pleasure building inside him. Even as he did so though, he looked up at Draco and felt something clench in his stomach. Draco had his eyes closed and seemed to be lost in pleasure, and even though Harry told himself it didn’t really matter he couldn’t help thinking, he looks like could be fucking anyone right now, you just happened to be convenient.
Draco’s eyes snapped open suddenly as he thrust in and silver grey eyes met his own. “Fuck, Harry,” he gasped, leaning down and placing a rather messy kiss on his lips before dropping his head down so their cheeks were touching. “Fuck that’s good,” he groaned again as Harry, suddenly feeling that Draco was reacting like this because it was him and no one else, started to thrust harder against him.
And then they were moving so fast Harry could hardly breath, and Draco was fucking him hard, too hard, but Harry didn’t care because the pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming pleasure, only enhanced by the part of his brain screaming what the hell? You’re getting fucked by Draco Malfoy! And Draco was saying his name over and over, and he heard his own voice crying out, “fuck, Draco”; “that’s so good”; “right there, harder Draco”. And then he was falling over the edge, coming harder than he’d ever done in his life, and the world was exploding behind his eyelids. As it did he felt his muscles tighten around Draco’s cock, and then Draco was coming inside of him, and their hips were still moving as they rode out their ecstasy. Then it was over and Harry tumbled down onto the bed, breathing hard.
After a pause Draco pulled himself out of Harry and fell down on the bed next to him. Harry twisted, looking over at him with bleary eyes, and felt his breath constrict in his throat.
Draco was beautiful.
Lying there looking flushed and happy, his skin still slick with sweat and his hair all mused, Draco was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. The moonlight from the window caught silver grey eyes, making them appear iridescent as he turned to look back at Harry.
There was a moment when Harry felt the beginnings of a vague sort of shyness, but then Draco smiled, and it was the most honest smile Harry had ever seen grace his lips. Without really meaning to he reached out and pushed some of Draco’s hair away from his jaw; to his surprise Draco actually closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into Harry’s caress. Then with a quiet hum of contentment, that Harry wasn’t quite sure whether he’d imagined or not, Draco pushed himself across the bed into Harry’s arms. Surprised, Harry wrapped his arms around the suddenly vulnerable figure now pressed up against him, noticing for the first time how thin and fragile Draco felt when he let his guard down.
Lazily he stroked gentle circles over Draco’s back, relishing the openness and honesty, imprinting on his mind the feel of Draco’s skin and the way his body fit so snugly around Harry’s own. He knew, without feeling any animosity, and with only a passing moment of regret, that Draco would be gone in the morning; but for now he placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and tightened his arms around the sleeping figure before drifting off to sleep himself.
********
When he awoke in the morning Draco was gone, just like Harry had expected. He rose feeling strangely serene, and went to shower. When he came back he noticed something silver lying in a heap on his bedside cabinet. It turned out to be Draco’s dragon necklace. He held it up for a moment, admiring the way the light sparkled on the dragon’s emerald eyes, before slipping it over his head with a wistful smile.
Then he packed his belongings and went home.
****************************
So what did you think? Comments are much loved XD
Rough translations of the French:
Fais attention! - Watch out!
Excusez-moi - Sorry/Excuse me
Anglais? - English?
Merci - Thank you
Author: Katherine
create_serenityPairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash!
Beta: The wonderful
candy_marie_55, who has patiently put up with me moaning about the difficulties of writing sex scenes XDDisclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling. Sadly I didn't invent Harry Potter and can therefore only borrow him and his world for brief periods of time.
Summary: Time passes and things change. Sometimes we just need to forgive and forget in order to move on.
Author's notes: This is a short fic set after Voldemort's defeat, and takes place in Paris. There are a few French words, which I have translated at the end of the story, although I think most of them are self explanatory. Enjoy!
We’ll Always Have Paris
“Fais attention!”
“Excusez-moi.”
Harry bent down to help the woman retrieve her bags, whilst attempting to keep one eye on the figure he was following. It was a hopeless task though, for even as he strained to see past the woman’s body, the man was swallowed up by the crowds. Cursing under his breath Harry returned his attention to the woman who had now launched into a torrent of French, possibly about his clumsiness, Harry couldn’t tell.
“Er…” he said helpfully when the woman finally came to a stop. Having pretty much exhausted his stock of relevant French words he fished around for something to say. “Anglais?” He tried eventually when nothing sprung to mind. The woman subjected him to an icy glare and departed huffily.
Rather relieved Harry hurried down the street in the direction the man had been heading, hoping he would be able to catch up with him further along. It didn’t help that Harry wasn’t actually sure who the man was. The glimpse of silver blonde hair had triggered something in his memory, it belonged to a person he hadn’t seen or thought about for a very long time, and Harry was determined to satisfy his curiosity by finding out who this man was.
The crowded Paris streets weren’t really the ideal place for following someone, and in fact this was not the first time Harry had seen, and then lost, the figure in this area. More like the third time.
Cursing again Harry was about to give up when a flash of blonde hair across the street caught his attention. He turned to follow it and for the second time that day walked into someone.
“Excus….” The figure started to apologise, but then trailed off. Harry just stood there lost for words as he realised this was the man he had been following, the man he had spent the last three days trying to find. After a temporary pause to get over the shock, his brain whirled into action. At close quarters the thin, angular features of the face seemed even more familiar and although it was difficult to identify someone whose eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, Harry felt sure that the man’s name was right on the tip of his tongue. Before he could speak the man, who had been looking at him with the same amazement, seemed to recover.
“Potter!” There was no mistaking that clipped, aristocratic accent and as the man pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, Harry already knew what colour his eyes were going to be.
“Malfoy!” Silver grey eyes met his own emerald ones and suddenly Harry felt like the world around him had gone into slow motion, or perhaps sped up until he couldn’t tell the difference. People streaming past them were little more than blurs of colour, the sounds of cars and chatter of pedestrians were now little more than a hum in the background. There was just him, and his childhood sparring partner.
Only when someone bumped against Harry, almost sending him flying into Malfoy, was the spell broken.
“Long time no see, Potter.” Malfoy drawled, as Harry’s brain decided this was the time to note that Malfoy was dressed in Muggle clothes, in the middle of a Muggle shopping district, leaving him with no choice but to carry on gawping idiotically at the figure in front of him.
Eventually Harry’s brain kicked back into action and he tried to come up with something suitable to say.
“Er… yes,” was all he could manage, causing Malfoy to raise one platinum blonde eyebrow.
“Well nice as this little chat has been, I’ve got things to do Potter, so if you’ll excuse me…” Malfoy turned to leave and too late Harry realised there were lots of things he wanted to say.
“Wait Malfoy! Wait….” He trailed off as he realised Malfoy was nowhere in sight.
********
Later that night Harry sat in his rented holiday apartment and reflected on what had happened. Never in a million years had he suspected that the elusive blonde figure he’d spent days trying to identify was Draco Malfoy. Considering he hadn’t seen Malfoy since the night of Dumbledore’s death six years ago this was hardly surprising. Malfoy had disappeared along with his mother, and everyone had thought them dead or so deeply in hiding it wasn’t worth looking for them. As it was, with Horcruxes to find and Voldemort to defeat, Harry had not had too much time to worry about the Malfoys’ whereabouts, and indeed when nothing had been heard of them for over a year he had… not forgotten, exactly, but locked all his memories of Draco away in some remote corner of his brain, so that he didn’t have to think about him anymore.
Now, over a year after Voldemort’s demise, when Harry was, at Hermione’s insistence, spending a relaxing month living away from everything that reminded him of the war, and everyone who wanted to worship him as a hero, Malfoy had turned up to set those memories free.
Strangely, when he thought of the figure he had seen today in the street he felt no malice, nor any need for vengeance. A few years ago he would have quite happily hexed Malfoy to oblivion and had him thrown into Azkaban along with his father, but now he just felt curiosity and an odd sense of loss. What had Malfoy been doing all these years? Why was he in Paris? And strangest of all, why was he openly embracing Muggle culture, wearing their clothes and shopping in their boutiques?
Whoever this Malfoy was, he clearly wasn’t the same person who had Apparated out of Harry’s life on that fateful night so many years ago. Sure he still seemed calm, collected, confident to the point of arrogance, and, judging by the wristwatch Harry had glimpsed, very rich; but there was something else there that was different. Malfoy seemed… relaxed? Happy? They weren’t words Harry would usually associate with the-boy-who-had-made-his-life-as-miserable-as-possible, but something about Malfoy had changed and Harry was determined to find out more.
********
The next day Harry found himself wandering around the same shopping district, hoping to catch a glimpse of the familiar blonde hair. He had spent most of the morning sitting in various cafés, alternately drinking coffee, which he didn’t much care for, and tea, which didn’t taste anything like the tea back home, whilst keeping an eye on the throngs of people who passed by his table.
After a light lunch in one of the cafés he decided that a more proactive approach was necessary and began walking systematically up and down the streets, focusing particularly on two streets which radiated off a kind of central plaza, both of which he had followed Malfoy down at various points in the last few days.
By around 7pm however, Harry was ready to give up, and returned to the central plaza wondering whether he should eat out or attempt to cook something in his apartment’s tiny kitchen. Deciding on the latter he began to make one last careful scrutiny of the plaza, desperate to make sure he hadn’t missed the familiar flash of blonde.
“Looking for someone?” Harry gave a rather undignified leap and whirled round as a familiar voice drawled in his ear.
“Malfoy!” he exclaimed, noting that the man was once again wearing sunglasses, which effectively hid any emotion his eyes might be betraying. Did he know Harry had been looking for him? Feeling embarrassed, and rather unsure how to explain himself, Harry said the first thing that came into his head. “Erm I was looking for somewhere to have dinner.”
“Really?” Malfoy’s lips curved into a delighted smirk, and Harry began to feel a little worried, especially since all he could see when he looked into Malfoy’s face was his own eyes reflected in shiny black lenses. As if sensing his unease, Malfoy pushed the sunglasses up into his hair, making the blonde locks muss rather attractively, and Harry suddenly felt inexplicable butterflies in his stomach. He couldn’t be thinking that Malfoy was good looking could he?
Silver grey eyes that were softer and warmer than Harry ever remembered them being, pale skin that only showed the slightest hint that its owner was living in a warm country at the height of summer, open collared shirt that showed the barest glimpse of skin and sunglasses perched boldly on top of his blonde head. Harry actually had to admit that Malfoy was very good looking indeed, and from what he’d just said it seemed that Malfoy was asking him out.
“What?” he spluttered, unsure quite how to take Malfoy’s announcement that “he knew a place that served excellent food and would be happy to show him.”
“For goodness sake Potter. I said, I can recommend a good place to eat dinner, do you want me to show you or not?” His voice was drawling and exasperated, a sentiment that was not reflected in his eyes, which shone with vague amusement and something else Harry couldn’t quite pinpoint.
“Ok,” he found himself agreeing, a decision that seemed to have bypassed all rational thought processes. Had he just accepted an offer of help from Draco Malfoy? And come to that had Draco Malfoy just offered to help him, Harry Potter? Damn, things really had changed.
“This way then.” Malfoy suddenly plunged off into the crowd and Harry’s legs decided to follow without consulting his brain first. This was madness! This was insanity! But then again, this wasn’t the same Draco Malfoy Harry had known six years ago.
They came to a halt outside an elegant looking restaurant overlooking the plaza and Harry suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. This wasn’t the sort of place he would have chosen to eat if he was by himself, it was far too expensive, far too sophisticated and he certainly wasn’t dressed for the experience. It was also extremely busy.
Draco though didn’t seem phased by the small clutch of people waiting around the entrance; instead he waltzed past, with Harry trailing along behind smiling apologetically at the queuing patrons. Then, before Harry could really understand what was going on, he found himself seated at a small table being handed a menu, whilst Draco, sitting opposite, chatted genially in French with the maître de.
It was odd, Harry thought, now Draco was speaking French, you would have been hard pressed to tell he had lived in Britain all his life. Gone was the aristocratic British accent, replaced by French that sounded as if it was being spoken with… well, with a French accent. Harry wondered vaguely if there was such a thing as an aristocratic French accent. If there was, he would bet that Draco spoke with one.
He glanced down at the menu and found it was all in French, which he couldn’t read it at all, so he occupied himself by gazing round the restaurant. It was tastefully decorated and filled with sophisticated looking people, all dressed smartly and all speaking perfect French. Harry felt rather out of place and with a twisted sort of smile he realised that this place was very Draco.
“Nice place isn’t it?” Malfoy’s voice, now the height of British refinement, brought Harry’s attention back to his unlikely dining companion.
“Er, yes, very… nice.” Harry finished lamely, unable to think what to say when he expected the manager to emerge any moment to tell him that he was far too scruffy to be allowed in a place like this and could he please leave.
Malfoy gave him a strange sort of smile, as if this was the answer he had expected, but was rather relieved that it hadn’t been anything else. Harry was just about to reflect on whether he had ever seen Malfoy smile so nicely and what his opinions were about this new turn of events when he was interrupted again.
“So what are you having?” Harry rolled his eyes and gestured towards the menu.
“You think I can read French?” Malfoy smirked, indicating that no, he didn’t, but he’s just wanted to ensure Harry had to admit to it for himself.
“That’s no problem, I’ll just order for you.” Without giving Harry time to argue he summoned a waiter, seemingly from thin air, and proceeded to order at great length, in French. Harry didn’t understand a word he said, and hoped that he wasn’t ordering him something awful like snails or frogs’ legs. That would be typical of Malfoy he thought, order him something nasty and then laugh at his lack of sophistication.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t ordered you anything awful.”
Harry wondered if Draco could read his thoughts, and, unsure whether to believe him, could only offer a wan smile in return. The waiter returned with wine and Harry watched silently as Draco tasted and accepted it. He wasn’t a huge fan of wine, but didn’t object when the waiter filled his glass, and when he tasted it himself he had to admit it wasn’t bad at all.
“So what brings you to Paris?” Malfoy had sat back in his chair and was regarding Harry with a mixture of curiosity and something Harry couldn’t quite place.
“Holiday,” he replied shortly, and when Malfoy seemed to be waiting for him to elaborate he continued, “You know, just to get away from things back home. Hermione thought it would be a good idea.”
Something new flitted across Malfoy’s expression at Hermione’s name, another emotion Harry couldn’t place. The nearest he could get was pain, but that wasn’t quite right.
“How long are you planning on staying?” The expression was gone, replaced by a look of vague interest.
“Dunno, a month maybe, I’ve been here a couple of weeks already.”
“Enjoying Paris?”
“Well it’s ok, I guess.” Harry knew he didn’t sound very enthusiastic, but having covered all the main Parisian tourist attractions within the first few days he had been at a bit of a loss as to what to do recently. Hence he had spent the last few days chasing round after a mysterious blonde that turned out to be Malfoy.
Malfoy smirked, and seemed about to make some sort of cutting remark when he was prevented by the arrival of the starter. It turned out to be onion soup and fresh crusty bread, something that Harry had eaten many times at the Weasleys’, and he gave an inward sigh of relief that at least he would not be embarrassing himself by enquiring what one dish was this evening.
“Merci,” he said as the waiter placed his bowl down and he glanced up to find Malfoy looking at him, eyebrows raised in amusement.
“So you do know some French.”
Harry laughed. “About five words, and a few phrases that Hermione drummed into my head before I left.”
“Not entirely useless then.”
Unsure if he was referring to him or Hermione, Harry declined to reply and instead started on his soup. The course was eaten in comparable silence, except for the odd “pass the butter” or “would you like some more wine?” and Harry felt it was beginning to wear rather thin by the time the dishes were removed.
Malfoy now leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his chin resting gently on his clasped hands. He looked like he was about to say something and for some reason that gave Harry the courage to cut him off before he even started with a question of his own.
“So how long have you been here?” he blurted out. Tact, after all, was never his strong point. For a moment Malfoy looked surprised, but he quickly collected himself.
“In Paris? About four years. In France? About six.” Harry blinked slightly, unable to believe what he was hearing.
“So you mean… I mean… you were…”
“Yes Harry, I was right across the Channel all along.” He was smirking again, as if this was something that caused him great amusement. Harry though was too busy worrying about the fact that Malfoy had just called him by his first name. He had a strong urge to check out the window for pigs flying by, in accordance with the famous Muggle phrase, but restrained himself and instead just gaped at Malfoy open mouthed.
“You look like you’re trying to catch flies, Harry.” Malfoy now looked even more amused. “You aren’t going to object to me calling you Harry are you, only as we seem to be eating dinner together I thought it would only be polite if we were on a first name basis.”
“Er right, yes, fine.” Harry snapped his mouth shut and searched for something else to say.
“So what did you do?” Then he realised that this might be a bit personal, after all he wasn’t sure he wanted Malfoy asking him what he’d been up to for the past six years, so he tried to backtrack. “…if you don’t mind me asking.”
“I lived with my mother in the South of France. We moved around a lot, it was a bit…” He wrinkled his nose in a way that indicated his unspoken word rather clearly. Common. “After almost two years I couldn’t stand it any longer, I refused to carry on living like that. Not knowing who I was or where I belonged. So I came to Paris, found somewhere to live and got a job. Yes, a job Harry, I could hardly live on fresh air could I?” He rolled his eyes at Harry’s incredulous gaze and continued. “Anyway, you know me, I’m not that good at following orders from other people, so I quit after a while, and then...” He leaned forward conspiratorially as if about to reveal a huge secret. “I opened a restaurant.”
Harry nearly spat out his wine, and in fact had to cough quiet a few times before he was in any fit state to respond. Draco sat back and watched, looking rather pleased with himself. When Harry had regained his composure he leaned forward and ran his hand through his hair.
“I knew it!” he exclaimed. “This place is just so… well, so you!” Draco looked even more pleased and grinned rather amiably as the waiter arrived with the main course.
It was some sort of fish, in some sort of sauce, served with vegetables. That much Harry could tell and since it tasted all right he didn’t bother to enquire as to what it was. Draco seemed satisfied when he said he liked it but offered no follow up clues as to what they were consuming so Harry had to be content.
Whether it was the wine, or something else, Harry felt himself relaxing in Draco’s presence and actually found himself chatting away about what he had seen in Paris so far. Draco even gave him a few pointers as to lesser known places that he should visit whilst he was here, and by the time the main course was finished Harry was beginning to think that he might actually have something to do with himself for at least part of the rest of his holiday.
They were interrupted shortly after the dishes had been removed by a young couple who approached and greeted Draco. He obviously recognised them, for he got to his feet with an easy grace and kissed them both on both cheeks. Harry felt something twitch inside him at this simple display of affection, and before he could stop himself he found he was admiring Draco’s lithe figure and slender fingers that cradled his wine glass in a way that was just so sophisticated and strangely attractive.
He cleared his throat, more to hide his confusion at these thoughts than anything, but it seemed to remind Draco of his presence and he immediately introduced him to the couple. The switches between English and French were effortless for Draco, and Harry was once again amazed by the complete change his entire accent seemed to go through every time he switched. The couple laughed after the introduction and said something to Draco that brought a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. Harry had never seen Draco blush like that before and was still wondering what had brought on this strange new occurrence when the couple said goodbye and departed. Draco sat back down and obviously noticed Harry’s strange look, for he immediately spoke.
“They have never heard me speak English before, they thought my accent was very strange.” Harry nodded, but thought that such a simple observation would not have made the Draco he used to know blush, he suspected there had been more said than that, but unwilling to disturb the easy peace, didn’t press for more information.
The waiter returned and there was another exchange in rapid French that Harry couldn’t follow. He was getting rather tired of being in the dark all the time and was half beginning to wish he’d gone with Ron’s suggestion of holidaying in Blackpool. At least there he would have been able to understand what was going on. Then again Draco wouldn’t have been in Blackpool so this situation would never have occurred. To his surprise Harry was unsure if that would have been such a good thing after all.
“What did you order?” Harry asked after the waiter had departed.
“Dessert,” Draco replied with a wicked smirk. “Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”
Harry was a little unsure how to respond to this and instead drank some more wine. He probably shouldn’t have another glass he realised; he was already beginning to feel slightly light headed.
“So…” he began as he put down his glass, before realising he had absolutely nothing to follow up that comment with. He fished quickly and could find no neutral topic, so settled on the first thing that came to mind. “Is your mother living in Paris too?”
“No.” For a moment Draco looked wistful and when he spoke again his voice was softer. “She died.” Harry’s eyes widened.
“Oh… I’m so sorry. How… I mean….” He trailed off, realising that Draco might not want to talk about it and thinking it would be impolite to press for details.
“It’s ok.” Draco actually smiled gently. “It was a long time ago.”
Harry nodded and was trying to think of a way to change the topic when Draco did it for him by turning the conversation to Harry’s own life. To his surprise Harry found himself talking in detail about what he had been doing in the year since he had defeated Voldemort – mostly that he had been working for the Ministry as an Auror, but was actually thinking of quitting since he’d had quite enough of it and was seriously considering becoming a professional Quidditch player.
Somewhere in the middle of all this the desserts arrived; they were thick and creamy and Draco told Harry what they were called, but for the life of him Harry could not remember afterwards. They were delicious though, and they were followed by proper English tea, which Draco admitted everyone thought he was mad for liking.
Harry wasn’t sure who Draco was referring to by ‘everyone’, and wondered if it was the people who worked for him, or his friends. It was an odd concept, Draco having friends who he considered equals, but Harry remembered the couple he had seen earlier and knew that however strange it was to him, it clearly was no longer strange to Draco.
********
By the end of the meal, anyone who had passed by their table and taken note would have thought Harry and Draco were just two old friends catching up over dinner. They were smiling and chatting, even sharing the odd joke, and Harry felt like their past was drifting further and further away.
It came back to him though when they had drunk the last of their tea and found themselves outside in the warm evening air. It was late now; the sun was beginning to set, although the plaza was still busy. Harry wondered what happened now, but luckily Malfoy answered that question for him.
“Come on. There is something everyone who comes to Paris should see.” Harry frowned in confusion, wondering what Malfoy was referring to. His head was feeling slightly muzzy from all the wine he had drunk, and he wasn’t sure whether he should follow Malfoy, or make some excuse to go back to his flat. He was suddenly unsure about everything that had happened tonight, and he wondered vaguely whether he would wake up tomorrow to find this had all been a dream. Perhaps he hadn’t even come to Paris at all; perhaps he’d wake up in his London flat; perhaps….
He’d run out of thoughts and having got no nearer to thinking up an excuse to leave, indicated that he would go with Malfoy. Immediately Malfoy set off across the plaza and Harry had to trot to catch up, feeling too full of food for this much exertion.
“Slow down!” Malfoy simply pulled a face, and carried on at the same pace. Harry settled into a quick stride and just managed to keep up as he hurried through the streets. At first Harry thought maybe Malfoy was taking him to the Eiffel Tower, something that he had seen lit up on his first night there, having been informed that it was well worth seeing. He had been impressed, although not enough to wish to see it again; he suspected it was more awe-inspiring when you had someone special to share it with. After all Paris was supposed to be the most romantic city in the world.
Without warning Malfoy turned down a side street, one with far fewer people and to Harry’s relief slowed down.
“I hate walking through those touristy areas,” he informed Harry. “Too many people gawping at stuff just because it’s in another language.”
Harry raised his eyebrows, and suddenly Draco looked at him and smiled.
“I guess tolerance was never my strong point.” Harry couldn’t help the slight chuckle that escaped his throat and in that moment he felt that he didn’t care if Draco was taking him halfway across Paris, it would be worth it just to see something Draco thought was good.
********
As it turned out Harry did feel like they’d walked halfway across Paris by the time they reached their destination. They were far away from the tourist areas now and standing on a long footbridge that spanned the width of the Seine River, it had taken them so long that the sky ahead was already getting dark.
“Turn round.” Draco’s voice was soft, and for the first time Harry realised that the noise and traffic of Paris was little more than a distant hum in the background. Obediently turning in the direction Draco indicated Harry looked up and felt his breath catch in his throat.
He had never seen anything quite so beautiful in his entire life. He walked up to the low handrail that ran along the edge of the bridge and rested his arms on the top. After a moment he felt Draco move to stand next to him and together they watched the sun set over the river, a magnificent display of natural beauty, bathing the Parisian skyline in an unearthly red and orange glow.
How long they stood there Harry didn’t know, but when at last the sun slipped over the horizon he found he was stiff from standing in one position so long.
“…Amazing,” he breathed, when at last he felt he could speak. Next to him Draco nodded and stretched.
“Come on, I better show you the way back.” He moved slowly away from the edge and seemed about to set off.
“Draco.” Harry’s voice was soft and clear in the still night air and Draco turned back to face him. There was something Harry felt he needed to express to Draco, something he couldn’t quite find the words for.
“Thank you.”
Draco nodded and turned to lead the way back, but not before Harry saw the hint of a smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth.
********
They took the tube train back to the ‘tourist area’ as Draco termed it, and Harry was pretty sure that at one point he dozed off on the way back. When they stepped back out into the fresh, cool evening air though he felt refreshed and awake.
“So where are you staying?” Draco asked, and for a moment Harry wondered why on earth Draco would even want to know, before he looked round and realised they were still in an area that looked completely unfamiliar to him and had no clue how to get back himself.
He gave Draco the street name, thankful that the effects of the wine appeared to be wearing off and he could now think more clearly. As they wandered back through the dimly lit streets Harry got the distinct impression that Draco wanted to say something, but wasn’t quite sure how to begin. He also noticed for the first time that Draco’s sunglasses were no longer perched on his head, now he thought about it, he’d probably taken them off the second they got in the restaurant, but where they’d gone since then Harry had no idea. One advantage of owning the restaurant, he realised, was that Draco could leave his personal possessions scattered around and they’d just be returned to him at a later date.
“I am sorry you know.” Harry was startled out of his thoughts by Draco’s sudden, if quiet outburst. Collecting his thoughts, he tried to work out what Draco was talking about and wondered if there had been information before this that he had missed. Sorry for what? His confusion obviously showed on his face, for Draco twisted his hands together awkwardly as he walked and tried again.
“For that night. For what happened. I couldn’t do it and I was awfully sorry for what I had done. That’s why I left and didn’t come back.” Something in Harry’s brain switched on and he realised what Draco was talking about, and why the man before him was now gazing at him with an almost wretched expression, as if the one thing he needed was forgiveness.
Harry searched his feelings and found that if he had ever needed to forgive Draco for what had happened that night, he had done it a long time ago… a long time ago when he realised that Draco wasn’t coming back, that Draco had simply vanished, run away from Voldemort and the killing and the nightmare that was those dark days. If there was anything he needed to forgive Draco for, it was for leaving a fight that he could not leave himself.
“I’m sorry for leaving.” Draco’s eyes met his and in that moment Harry felt something inside of him let go. Voldemort was gone; it didn’t matter anymore. He could lead a normal life, a life like the one Draco had been living, only without the burden of guilt that he had clearly been carrying all this time. Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and smiled gently.
“It’s ok Draco,” he said softly. “It really is ok.”
********
They didn’t talk much the rest of the way back after that, each of them was busy with their own thoughts, and when they finally came to a halt Harry was surprised to find they were already back at his flat.
“Do you want to come in?” The words were out of his mouth before he had even thought about them, and realising how they must sound added rather lamely, “I have tea.”
To his relief Draco smiled and nodded, and followed Harry up the stairs to his second floor flat. At the door Harry paused to take off his shoes and Draco gave him a strange look.
“There was a list of conditions of renting the flat and one of them was no shoes on the carpets,” Harry shrugged. Draco rolled his eyes, but proceeded to remove his own footwear as Harry went to make some tea. When he returned a few minutes later holding two mugs he found Draco gazing politely at some of the pictures on the walls.
“Have a seat,” he urged, handing Draco his tea and gesturing towards the sofa. He sat himself down at one end, wondering what on earth they were going to talk about now, and watched as Draco sat elegantly at the opposite end, sipping his tea politely.
“Nice flat,” he commented after a few moment of silence. Harry nodded, and relieved to have something to talk about quickly thought up some additional comment he could make on the subject.
“Yes I was lucky to get it really. Hermione had been on at me for ages to take a holiday and it was kind of a last minute decision. She managed to get it through one of her family’s friends.”
“Why?” It was an unexpected question and for a moment Harry was alarmed since he had no idea what Draco was referring to until he elaborated. “I mean why was she so insistent about you taking a holiday?”
“Oh,” Harry sighed. “She was worried about me I think. She said I wasn’t myself and I guess I was acting like a bit of an arse.” He frowned as he remembered his behaviour over the past year. Here in Paris it all seemed so long ago, but really it was little more than two weeks since he had been back at home, flying off the handle at every little thing, refusing to talk about anything that had happened, and generally being moody.
“A bit of an arse?” Draco seemed rather amused by this concept; his silver eyes gleamed in the moonlight pouring through the windows.
“Yeah, well. She said I needed a break. Needed to get away from things for a while.” He gave a rather ironic smile. “She was right of course, I wasn’t sure at first but now I think coming to Paris was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”
Harry hadn’t really meant that to sound quite as loaded with meaning as it had done and he felt his cheeks starting to colour as he checked Draco’s reaction. There was something that briefly flickered across Draco’s face, a kind of hope, as if Harry’s words meant something different to him than they did to Harry, but the expression was quickly gone and Draco changed the topic.
“So did she marry Weasley?” There was now the barest hint of a smile playing around Draco’s lips as he looked at Harry.
Harry blinked, quickly realising that Draco had switched back to Hermione and wondering how he had worked that one out, since Hermione and Ron definitely hadn’t been together when Draco disappeared. That had taken them another year. “Yeah,” he answered after a moment, smiling at the remembrance of the wedding day, which had been a brief oasis of calm and happiness amidst the dreadful task they were undertaking.
“What about you then? You were with that Weasley girl weren’t you?” Draco twisted to face Harry, curling up his legs and leaning one arm on the back of the sofa, as if this was a point he was particularly interested in. Harry tried to ignore the fact that he had just referred to Ginny as “that Weasley girl” and tried to keep his reply neutral.
“Not anymore. We just kind of… fizzled out.”
“Oh.” There was a pause. “So you’re not married then? No one on the scene? You must have girls throwing themselves at you. Surely they all want to cosy up to The Great Harry Potter.”
“Yeah. I mean no. I mean, they do, sometimes, but I’m not interested.”
Draco raised an eyebrow and Harry felt the conversation was becoming a little too personal, but couldn’t think of a way out of it. He squirmed under Draco’s penetrating gaze and felt something inside of him snap. He wouldn’t give Draco the satisfaction of figuring it out for himself, so he blurted it out:
“Oh for heaven’s sake Draco, I’m gay!” Almost at once Harry regretted revealing something so private, but Draco didn’t seem to be worried, and in fact his lips curved into a casual smile.
“Well, since you come to mention it… so am I.” Their gazes locked and there was one moment where Harry felt it should be illegal for anyone to look at someone in the way Draco was looking at him right now. Then suddenly they were kissing.
Harry didn’t know if it was he who had moved towards Draco or Draco who had moved towards him, but that didn’t worry him right now. All that mattered was the feel of Draco’s lips, warm and soft against his own; and then his hand was in Draco’s hair and Draco’s arms were round his back and they were arching together, each pulling the other closer as they lost themselves in the kiss.
Only when Draco’s tongue swiped across his lower lip did Harry come to his senses and realise just who he was kissing. Gasping for air he pulled back and found himself staring into Draco’s eyes. The silver grey orbs were alight with something Harry had never seen in them before: there was passion and fire in those eyes, and hunger, a hunger that Harry knew must be mirrored in his own.
His brain made one last attempt to intervene. This was Draco Malfoy, the boy who had wasted no opportunity to make Harry’s life a misery at Hogwarts, the boy who had nearly become a Death Eater. Only nearly, though. Harry didn’t know where that last thought had come from and right now he didn’t care. Whatever else Draco was, he was gorgeous and tonight he had been perfect.
Harry closed his eyes and once again pressed his lips to Draco’s. The kiss this time was more measured, more sensuous, and Harry brought one hand up to Draco’s jaw line, curling his fingers in the soft hair around Draco’s neck.
Draco responded by latching one arm round Harry’s neck and pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. This time when Harry felt his tongue probing at his lower lip he didn’t pull away; instead he parted his lips and darted his own tongue out to meet Draco’s. There was a sharp intake of breath, Harry couldn’t be sure if it was his own or Draco’s, and their tongues were gliding together, stroking, tasting, caressing; dancing around each other as if they had been doing this all their lives.
Groaning, Harry pressed deeper into the kiss, sending them tumbling backwards so Draco was pinned beneath him, breathing hard and looking more flushed than Harry had ever seen him. Harry met his eyes and was a little disturbed by the wicked gleam there, but then Draco thrust his hips upwards, pressing his own semi-erect cock into Harry’s and all thoughts fled from Harry’s mind.
Something like wildfire surged through Harry, and suddenly they were groaning, grinding up against each other, frantically tugging at each other’s clothes. With a thud they fell off the couch and onto the floor, and Draco, his shirt half undone, flashed his most wicked grin.
“Do you happen to have a bedroom around here, Potter?” he drawled, rising smoothly to his feet. Nodding, and trying to catch his breath, Harry stood up somewhat more shakily, and began to walk towards the bedroom door.
Away from Draco’s touch, embarrassment started to set in, and he felt his cheeks start to burn. What was he doing? What was he thinking? He never got any further because at that moment Draco caught his wrist, whirled him round and slammed him back against the door.
“Mmpff…” the noise of protest died in Harry’s throat as those soft lips met his own in an intense kiss. Harry’s head was spinning, his heart was racing, he couldn’t think, because Draco was pressed up against his entire body, and those lips were now tracing a line down his throat, past his collarbone, licking and kissing and sucking, and Harry felt his legs start to give way, just as Draco found the door handle, and they stumbled into the bedroom with Draco’s lips never leaving his skin.
As his legs came up against the bed, Harry had the presence of mind to catch himself before he fell backwards and half lent, half sat on the bed as Draco’s hands came up to join his lips and began working on removing Harry’s clothes. Delicate fingers danced over his bare skin and spurred Harry into action. He wanted more, he wanted to feel Draco’s body pressed up against his own with no barriers separating them. He made short work of the rest of Draco’s shirt buttons and trousers, then reached out and ran his palms up the smooth skin of Draco’s chest.
As they reached Draco’s neck Harry felt something cold and hard under his fingers. It was a silver chain and he ran it through his fingers looking for the catch, noticing that it held a delicate silver dragon with tiny green emerald eyes. “How Slytherin,” he thought, unclasping the necklace and setting it on the bedside table, Draco’s eyes following his every move.
Harry’s hands resumed their journey across Draco’s body, fingers running over his collarbone, then tracing down his spine all the way to the bottom before pulling him forwards so that Harry could capture one flushed nipple in his mouth. His tongue swirled round the hardening bud, before travelling upwards to flick along Draco’s collarbone and up his neck towards his jawline.
“Merlin, Harry.” A soft voice just by his ear and Harry grinned in delight, knowing that Draco was enjoying this just as much as he was. Carefully he adjusted his balance on the bed, then hooked his legs round Draco’s waist, dragging him towards him until their hips ground together, eliciting gasps and moans from them both.
Harry lent forward to capture Draco’s lips in another forceful kiss, and the other man’s hands once again tangled through his hair before gliding down his back, setting off tingles of pleasure everywhere they touched.
“Draco,” Harry whined into his mouth, pushing his hips hard against Draco’s erection. A bit too hard apparently, for Draco lost his balance, tumbling down onto the bed on top of Harry. Now Draco was groaning, pressing down onto Harry, covering every piece of skin he could reach with hard, open-mouthed kisses and Harry was pressing up into him, running his hands over Draco’s skin, wanting to touch him everywhere at once, yet knowing that it would never be enough.
“Please, Draco,” he moaned, not even caring that he was the first to beg. From the way Draco was looking at him though it didn’t matter. His stormy eyes dragged over Harry’s body, and then suddenly he was gone. A moment later Harry gasped, and his hips bucked as he felt Draco’s mouth wrap itself round his cock. His tongue swirled around the head, then trailed down to his balls and Harry knew that if he opened his eyes he’d see that deliciously wicked grin playing over Draco’s features. As Draco lowered his head taking more of him into his mouth, Harry felt something hard and wet slide inside him; his breath hitched and there was a moment’s pause before Draco continued, adding a second finger and carefully working them in and out, in time with the movements of his mouth.
The motion was still slow and deliberate – teasing almost – and it wasn’t long before Harry began to squirm impatiently, wanting, and needing, something more. He tangled his hands in Draco’s hair, pushing his head down and bringing his hips upwards, even as he heard himself gasp: “Fuck Draco, more…. please, more.”
With a sharp tug Draco pulled away, and then he was back up near Harry’s face, planting soft kisses along his jaw line. “Got any lube?” he murmured between kisses, and Harry gestured vaguely in the direction of the bedside drawers.
As Draco went to retrieve it Harry pulled himself further onto the bed, making sure he was comfortable, and after a few moments Draco was back, straddling him and grinning wickedly again. Harry knew what was expected of him, and by now he was too far gone to feel any embarrassment. He wanted this so badly - wanted to feel Draco inside of him - he needed it now.
He hooked his legs around Draco’s back and felt the other man’s hands on his hips, guiding him into position. He felt Draco pressing against his entrance for a moment and then he was slipping inside, and despite the lube Harry threw back his head and gasped in pain as he felt himself being stretched. Draco stopped pushing and Harry glanced at him; his eyes were closed and his expression was unreadable. Not wanting to consider what Draco might be thinking, Harry closed his eyes and pushed forwards, this time taking Draco’s whole length inside him.
A sharp intake of breath made Harry open his eyes, Draco’s expression had changed to one of pure pleasure as he pulled out almost completely and then slowly pushed back inside, moaning in ecstasy as he did so. Harry matched his movement, thrusting forwards each time Draco pushed in, feeling the waves of pleasure building inside him. Even as he did so though, he looked up at Draco and felt something clench in his stomach. Draco had his eyes closed and seemed to be lost in pleasure, and even though Harry told himself it didn’t really matter he couldn’t help thinking, he looks like could be fucking anyone right now, you just happened to be convenient.
Draco’s eyes snapped open suddenly as he thrust in and silver grey eyes met his own. “Fuck, Harry,” he gasped, leaning down and placing a rather messy kiss on his lips before dropping his head down so their cheeks were touching. “Fuck that’s good,” he groaned again as Harry, suddenly feeling that Draco was reacting like this because it was him and no one else, started to thrust harder against him.
And then they were moving so fast Harry could hardly breath, and Draco was fucking him hard, too hard, but Harry didn’t care because the pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming pleasure, only enhanced by the part of his brain screaming what the hell? You’re getting fucked by Draco Malfoy! And Draco was saying his name over and over, and he heard his own voice crying out, “fuck, Draco”; “that’s so good”; “right there, harder Draco”. And then he was falling over the edge, coming harder than he’d ever done in his life, and the world was exploding behind his eyelids. As it did he felt his muscles tighten around Draco’s cock, and then Draco was coming inside of him, and their hips were still moving as they rode out their ecstasy. Then it was over and Harry tumbled down onto the bed, breathing hard.
After a pause Draco pulled himself out of Harry and fell down on the bed next to him. Harry twisted, looking over at him with bleary eyes, and felt his breath constrict in his throat.
Draco was beautiful.
Lying there looking flushed and happy, his skin still slick with sweat and his hair all mused, Draco was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. The moonlight from the window caught silver grey eyes, making them appear iridescent as he turned to look back at Harry.
There was a moment when Harry felt the beginnings of a vague sort of shyness, but then Draco smiled, and it was the most honest smile Harry had ever seen grace his lips. Without really meaning to he reached out and pushed some of Draco’s hair away from his jaw; to his surprise Draco actually closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into Harry’s caress. Then with a quiet hum of contentment, that Harry wasn’t quite sure whether he’d imagined or not, Draco pushed himself across the bed into Harry’s arms. Surprised, Harry wrapped his arms around the suddenly vulnerable figure now pressed up against him, noticing for the first time how thin and fragile Draco felt when he let his guard down.
Lazily he stroked gentle circles over Draco’s back, relishing the openness and honesty, imprinting on his mind the feel of Draco’s skin and the way his body fit so snugly around Harry’s own. He knew, without feeling any animosity, and with only a passing moment of regret, that Draco would be gone in the morning; but for now he placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and tightened his arms around the sleeping figure before drifting off to sleep himself.
********
When he awoke in the morning Draco was gone, just like Harry had expected. He rose feeling strangely serene, and went to shower. When he came back he noticed something silver lying in a heap on his bedside cabinet. It turned out to be Draco’s dragon necklace. He held it up for a moment, admiring the way the light sparkled on the dragon’s emerald eyes, before slipping it over his head with a wistful smile.
Then he packed his belongings and went home.
****************************
So what did you think? Comments are much loved XD
Rough translations of the French:
Fais attention! - Watch out!
Excusez-moi - Sorry/Excuse me
Anglais? - English?
Merci - Thank you
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awesome writing, take care :-)
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