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create_serenityTitle: This Kiss, sequel to 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 probably got sent this chapter more times than she cares to remember.
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 the sequel to We'll Always Have Paris. I did intend for that fic to be a one off but in the end I just couldn't leave it as it was. This will now be the second part of a trilogy.
Go here to read We'll Always Have Paris. You really need to have read it first in order to understand what's going on.
This Kiss
“Harry! You’re back early!” Hermione came rushing through into the living room in response to Harry’s greeting as he stepped out of the fireplace. Her look of delight at seeing him, quickly changed to one of concern as possible reasons for Harry’s early return registered in her mind.
“I know.” Harry stood there, grinning like an idiot, so pleased to see his friend he couldn’t find the words to express it, and feeling like he was seeing her for the first time after a very long absence instead of just two short weeks.
“Is everything all right?” Hermione came to a stop in the middle of the room, looking at Harry with a mixture of concern and surprise. “I thought you weren’t going to be back for at least a month.”
“I know, Hermione, but it’s ok. Don’t you see, everything’s ok!” Hermione was looking at him with increasing alarm, and seemed to be considering the possibility that Harry had finally cracked under the stress. Unable to hold back any longer, Harry let out a sudden laugh and flew across the room, flinging his arms around his friend and twirling her round as she laughed nervously.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve been so stupid Hermione,” he gasped when he finally released her. “I’m so sorry for everything. It’s all ok now though, I’m ok, he’s ok, everything’s ok.”
“What? What’re you…?” but Harry carried on, almost as if he hadn’t heard his friend’s question and was determined to finish what he was saying,
“I saw him in Paris, he’s living there. He owns a restaurant for fucks sake; we travelled on the underground. He’s practically a Muggle! And… and…. I don’t know Hermione, but everything’s ok now. Voldemort’s gone, we’re alive, life is normal. His life is normal.”
Worn out from his exuberant outburst Harry sank down on the sofa, grin still plastered on his face, leaving Hermione standing in the centre of the room looking even more confused than when he had first arrived.
“Harry,” she began. “I’m pleased to see you, I’m glad you’re looking so happy, but really I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Who is he?”
“Draco Malfoy.”
There was a moment of silence, during which Harry realised he had probably sounded quite like a raving lunatic when he had first arrived, before Hermione, looking rather dazed, plonked herself down on the sofa next to Harry.
“Draco Malfoy?” she repeated rather faintly. “You saw Draco Malfoy in Paris? And he owns a restaurant?”
Harry nodded, wondering whether his friend was about to faint or yell at him; either seemed a possibility, but then she seemed to collect herself and turned to face him.
“So let me get this straight. You saw Malfoy in Paris, and instead of hexing him, or attempting to arrest him, you got on the train with him?”
Harry groaned, and buried his head in his hands.
“Yes, well sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Well we kinda had dinner together. In his restaurant.”
“You had dinner with him?” Hermione’s voice was now strained, as if she felt the world was teetering on the brink of insanity,
“Yes I did. I’m not explaining this very well, am I?” Hermione raised one eyebrow, indicating that no he wasn’t, and he realised he now had the rather delicate task of telling her what had happened, without actually revealing any of the more personal stuff. Draco and I spent the night having hot sex was probably not the best way to go just now.
“Look, I was just wandering around Paris one day and suddenly I bumped into him. I recognised him and he recognised me, but he left before I could say anything. I mean, I was quite surprised to see him there. When we bumped into each other again the next day he offered to recommend somewhere to eat dinner, and somehow we ended up eating together. Then afterwards we went down to the river, that’s why we were on the train. He’s changed, Hermione, he’s not the same person he was six years ago.” Harry rubbed his hand through his hair and wondered how strange the next bit would sound to his friend. “He said sorry, Hermione, he said he was sorry for what happened, and then he said he was sorry for leaving as well and I just… well it made me realise… I don’t know what, but things just seem better now.”
Hermione had been gazing silently at him whilst he told his story and now when he looked up, half afraid to see her reaction, he realised he had no need to worry. Her eyes held an understanding that Harry didn’t need her to express in words, and when a moment later she put her arms around him and pressed a chaste kiss to his temple he didn’t pull away or freeze up as he would have done a couple of weeks ago. Instead he wrapped his arms around her, as she gave a muffled sob into his shoulder.
“Oh, Harry, we’ve been so worried about you,” she sobbed. “We didn’t know what to do, how to help you, and now it turns out that the last person on earth any of us would have thought of has helped without even trying. It’s good to have you back, Harry.”
“It’s good to be back, Hermione.” Harry smiled into her hair and rocked her soothingly. When Ron came home ten minutes later they were still sitting on the sofa clinging to each other as if they could never let go.
********
“Harry!!”
“Ron!!”
Harry leapt from his seat, dislodging Hermione, and pulled his friend into a hug, slapping him on the back and grinning again.
“When did you get back?”
“This morning.”
“Everything ok?”
“Great!”
And that was all that needed to be said between two best friends, who’d been through so much together and could tell from a smile that from now on things would be just fine.
********
And they were.
For five months life was fantastic for Harry. He quit his job as an Auror, tried out for the Puddlemere United, got accepted as their Seeker and was snapped up for England training before he could even catch his breath.
In the midst of it all Hermione gave birth to her second child, a baby girl named Cassandra. Hermione was overjoyed, Ron was ecstatic and Harry, who was Godfather, though he had never been so happy in his entire life.
Sometimes though, on the few evenings he spent alone in his house, he had the sense that something was missing. Not something that was absent in a way that made him unhappy, but just a strange feeling that there was something missing that was just within reach, if only he knew what it was he was reaching for.
Then there were the times when he woke up slick with sweat, with Draco’s name on his lips and an uncomfortable sticky feeling inside his boxers. At times like that he suddenly felt like he knew what it was he was reaching for, but then he would fall asleep again and forget that he had ever known.
So life continued in this new happy and relaxed way, until Christmas was just around the corner and for the first time in a long time Harry found himself looking forward to the celebrations.
********
“Another beer, mate?”
“Sure.”
Ron trotted off to the kitchen to get a couple of beers and a glass of red wine for Hermione. Actually it was Harry’s kitchen, for they were in Harry’s house, but Ron knew where everything was and if he was offering to get the drinks Harry wasn’t about to move from his comfortable chair by the fire.
“I always think open fires are so homely,” Hermione commented from the sofa, smiling at the glowing embers. “I think it’s a pity Muggles don’t bother with them anymore, even after all these years in the wizarding world I still love seeing a proper fire.”
Harry stared at the fire. He was so used to them by now that he never really stopped to think like this anymore. Years of submersion in the wizarding world, with no Muggle relatives to visit had not lessened his amazement and gratitude towards his magical abilities, but there were some things you just got used to taking for granted. Trust Hermione to still be comparing the two after all this time.
“Hmmmm,” he mumbled noncommittally and realised he was going to have to get up anyway to put some more wood on the fire, which was already burning quite low. Sighing, he dragged himself out of his seat and added a couple of logs to the fire. He stirred it a little with the iron poker and as the heat and light washed over him he had to admit that Hermione did have a point: with the curtains drawn against the bitter weather outside and the room lit by candles and firelight it was much more homely than Muggle electricity and radiators.
He was admiring the blaze he had managed to stir up when suddenly the flames turned green and he had barely a moment to stumble backwards before a figure stepped out of the fireplace and into the room.
It was Draco.
Harry gawped at him open mouthed, but even in his shock he had enough power of observation remaining to note that Draco looked slightly disconcerted when he saw Hermione sitting on the sofa. The look was only there for a second, but Harry saw it and it helped him to regain his own composure.
“Really, Potter, that fireplace needs a good clean,“ drawled Draco, brushing imaginary dirt from his clothes and turning his silver grey eyes towards Harry. He saw them linger briefly on his neck and realised with some embarrassment that he was wearing Draco’s necklace on the outside of his t-shirt where it was in full view. He was rather relieved when instead of commenting on it Draco began inspecting the bottom of his trousers.
“Look at my trousers, completely covered in ash.” Harry looked, but since the trousers were black he could see nothing wrong with them. As he stared, the strangeness of the situation suddenly hit him. Draco Malfoy had just turned up in his front room, for no apparent reason, and now didn’t seem to have much to say for himself at all.
“I assume you didn’t just come here to comment on the state of my fireplace, Malfoy.” Harry thought he did a rather good job of imitating Draco’s drawling tone, although judging by the half smirk he got in return it wasn’t quite good enough. “Anyway, what do you want?” he finished rather lamely, before adding “I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
“Happy Christmas to you too,” Draco sneered “Honestly I just drop by to offer you seasonal greetings and all that…” he gestured vaguely with his hand and Harry got the impression that this wasn’t what he had come for at all and that actually Draco wasn’t quite sure what to say next. He rallied quite well though. “And this is the greeting I get. Not very hospitable, are you?”
Harry gaped, but was saved from answering by Ron entering the room, dropping Hermione’s wine glass and making a noise which sounded rather like someone letting the air out of a balloon very slowly.
“What’s he doing here?!” he exclaimed, stepping over the puddle of red wine to come further into the room.
Draco ignored him and simply continued to look at Harry as if there had been no interruption, waiting for an answer to his previous comments.
“Harry!” Ron said, desperately trying to take the scene. “What’s going on?”
Harry’s gaze darted helplessly from Ron to Draco to Hermione, silently begging her with his eyes to do something. She though was staring transfixed at the scene and seemed unable to move.
As if he suddenly realised that the conversation wasn’t going any further with Ron standing around, Draco turned to him with a noise of exasperation and waved his hand towards one of the chairs.
“Asseyez-vous,” he instructed, in a tone so commanding that Harry was unsure how Ron resisted obeying, until he realised that his friend probably had no clue what Draco was saying.
“It means ‘sit down’, Ron,” Harry sighed, turning towards him.
Ron looked as if he had no intention of sitting down, but Harry’s translation seemed to have triggered Hermione into action. She grabbed Ron’s sleeve and pulled him down onto the sofa next to her. Harry turned back to Draco.
“Would you like a drink?”
Draco, who had been watching Ron and Hermione, whipped back round to face Harry looking puzzled. Obviously this was the last thing he had been expecting to hear and Harry was rather pleased to have wrong-footed him.
“Ah… no. I can see you’re busy and everything, so I’ll just…um, I’ll just be going.” Draco stepped towards the fireplace and before anyone could say anything else he grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the pot and stepped into the flames.
Harry starred at the empty fireplace for a whole minute before turning to see Hermione and Ron doing exactly the same thing.
“Well,” he said brightly, “that was odd.”
********
Odd was definitely the word to describe it. Over the next few days Harry lost track of the number of times he’d had conversations with Ron along the lines of: “So he just turned up, sneered a bit and then left?”, “Yes”, “Why?”, “I’ve no idea.” Hermione, he suspected, knew there was something Harry wasn’t telling them about what had happened in Paris, but to her eternal credit she only asked him about it once and accepted his repeated story of what he had already told her with nothing more than a knowing look and a caution to ‘be careful’.
The problem was Harry himself wasn’t so satisfied with these half answers. Why had Draco decided to Floo to his house unannounced? What had he wanted to say, or do, that he couldn’t because Hermione and Ron had been there? What might have happened if they hadn’t been there?
The answer to that last question haunted Harry’s nights, but his days were haunted by a different question. Why, after five months, had Draco come to see him at all?
Things came to a head one evening when Harry was sitting on the sofa, contemplating that very question. After a while he found himself staring at the fire, just wishing and hoping that any moment Draco would step through and finish whatever he had come to say and do six days ago. Eventually the warmth of the fire and the monotony of waiting sent Harry to sleep; and that’s when he dreamt.
Dreamt of pale skin slicked with sweat. Dreamt of flushed cheeks and stormy grey eyes. Dreamt of moans and pleas, and hands gripping his thighs, and fingernails digging into his skin, and thrusts and gasps and screams.
He awoke to find himself lying in a wet patch, his cock still throbbing painfully. Before he could even think, he wrapped his hand around it and tugged until suddenly his hips jerked forward and he found Draco’s name spilling all too easily off his tongue as he moaned in ecstasy.
There was a brief pause as he collected himself and then suddenly he sat up, as if pulled by some invisible string. He grimaced and climbed carefully off the sofa, avoiding the wet patch and reaching for his wand to clear up the mess. This couldn’t go on.
He was annoyed. Things had been going along nicely. He had sex with Draco, he had come home and put it mostly out of his mind, and that had been that. There had been nothing else. No expectations. No questions. No answers. No nothing. Just sex and a feeling that the world wasn’t such a bad place after all.
Then Malfoy had to go and break the unwritten, unspoken rule: he had made contact. He had shown up in Harry’s living room and had thrown a huge spanner in the smooth workings of Harry’s life, which had just got back on track after countless years of not running very smoothly at all.
There was only one thing to do. Harry was going to have to quit staring at the fireplace hoping Malfoy would come back and answer all his unspoken questions, and instead he was going to have to go and find Malfoy and get the answers for himself.
Having resolved on visiting Paris, Harry checked the time. Seven o’clock. Plenty of time to make the visit tonight. He showered, changed his clothes, attempted to get his hair to lie flat and at eight o’clock exactly stood in front of his fireplace, holding a handful of Floo powder. He didn’t drop it in the fire though. He’d come this far and only just realised.
He didn’t know where Malfoy lived.
He stood for a minute, gaping at his own stupidity, then decided that he could Floo to the restaurant. At least, he hoped he could. He ran over a theory in his head. It was a Muggle restaurant so turning up in the fireplace would probably cause a bit of a stir. However by that same rule, because it was a Muggle restaurant it was highly unlikely that the main room where customers ate would be connected to the Floo network. If it were connected to the Floo network at all it would probably be by some office in the back that Draco kept for his own personal use and that would be where he would emerge. Once he was there he could decide how best to go about finding out where Draco lived.
Harry nodded to himself. It was a good theory. Of course, it relied on the restaurant being connected to the Floo network, but if it wasn’t the worst that could happen was that Harry wouldn’t actually go anywhere at all.
He hoped that didn’t happen.
Taking a deep breath he stepped forward into the fire and shouted the name of the restaurant.
Ninety very uncomfortable seconds later Harry fell out of a fireplace somewhere he didn’t recognise. In fact he had very little chance of recognising anything because for the first couple of minutes it was all he could do to focus on the plush red carpet inches from his nose and breathe deeply to try and stop himself from being sick. He should have expected that really, he realised; after all, England to Paris was a long way by Floo.
When he felt a bit less like his dinner was about to make an unscheduled reappearance he heaved himself to his feet and realised that his theory had been correct. He was in a small, but tastefully decorated office - and thankfully it was empty. As he looked around he had a sudden panic about whether or not this was Draco’s restaurant, or whether in fact, he had flooed to somewhere entirely different.
With his dinner once again threatening to reappear he strode across to the door and yanked it open. The words 'Draco Malfoy' glinted down at him in gold lettering and he relaxed, reaching out to run his fingers over the letters, such was his relief at seeing them there.
His plan was going well so far. Unfortunately the next bit consisted of “and find Draco” and not a lot else, so Harry quickly reviewed the options and thought it was probably best if he went down the stairs at the end of the corridor to find someone who could tell him where Draco was. If they wondered how he had got there he could always tell them that he had got lost. On his way to the bathroom. Or something like that anyway. Best not to worry about it until it actually happened.
Down the stairs and along another bit of corridor was a door, which Harry discovered led into a room full of coats. There were rather a lot of them, but luckily no one was actually in the room so Harry slipped inside and across to the door opposite. This door he was sure led into the restaurant, not only because that made sense, but also because he could hear the sounds of music and talking coming from the other side of it. It occurred to Harry that it didn’t actually sound very much like the noises you would expect from a restaurant. There was no sound of cutlery clinking or plates clashing, and the talking was rather too loud and the music was rather too partyish for a sophisticated restaurant. Harry found out why when he opened the door: there was a party going on.
Most of the tables had been cleared from the middle of the floor and instead there was a huge crowd of people standing around chatting, or sipping champagne, or nibbling canapés. Most of them seemed to be dressed rather more formally than he was, the women in beautiful long dresses and the men all in suits, or even occasionally tuxedos. Grimacing, Harry ducked back into the coatroom and leant back against the door with his eyes closed. Draco was bound to be in there, if there was some sort of big event going on in his restaurant then he was sure to be around. He could just imagine Draco loving an event like this: the glitz, the glamour, the high society living. Just like being back home. The problem was Harry couldn’t go in there dressed like he was.
He glanced down at his outfit. His trousers and shoes were fine; thank goodness he had gone for something smart in an effort to look nice. His shirt wasn’t too bad either, being a nice green one that had been a present from Hermione and which brought out the colour in his eyes rather well. The problem was that without a tie and jacket he looked completely underdressed and would stick out like a sore thumb if he started trying to look for Draco. He wondered vaguely if this was some sort of ticket only event and if, seeing him wrongly dressed, some bouncer would come and ask to see his ticket, then kick him out when he couldn’t provide one.
Luckily, after more than ten years, Harry was finally getting used to the idea that he had magic to help him get out of fixes like this. He pulled out his wand, grabbed the nearest ladies scarf and transfigured it into a tie. He fastened it round his neck and as he squinted round for something suitable to turn into a jacket a sudden flash of memory made him rush back out the door, along the corridor and up into Draco’s office.
“Ah ha,” he murmured to himself as he entered and found that his sub-conscious memory had remembered the details right. Hanging on the coat stand was a black jacket that must have belonged to Draco. Harry quickly put it on and, after using a little magic to adjust the size slightly, checked himself out in the mirror next to the coat stand. It wasn’t perfect, the shirt wasn’t really made to go with a jacket and tie, but he figured it was as good as it was going to get. Attempting to flatten his hair once more he made his way back down to the restaurant and this time slipped out of the cloakroom and into the crowd, trying to look as if he had been there all along.
Having requisitioned a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, more to make himself look inconspicuous than because he wished to drink it, Harry began to look around for Draco. Almost immediately he caught a flash of blonde hair, but it turned out to belong to a rather tall, severe looking woman and suddenly Harry found he had butterflies. The champagne now seemed like a good idea and he gulped it down quickly as he made his way across the room, pausing only to exchange his empty glass for a full one.
“Où est Draco?” he finally enquired of a passing waiter, when after ten minutes he had seen no sign of the man. He was glad that he had been taking French lessons, unbeknownst to Hermione or Ron, for the past 5 months. He had no idea why, but something about the way Draco had spoken the language had made him want to learn it himself. Unfortunately whatever the waiter said was lost on him, since it was a torrent of fast, complex French, which due to the tray in the man’s hands, could not be accompanied by any gestures that might at least have revealed the general direction.
Thanking the man, Harry moved on and tried again, this time with a guest, since he figured that they at least might point and offer him some clue as to the direction.
“Excusez-moi, où est Draco s’il vous plait?” It wasn’t the best French in the world, Harry had to admit, and his accent was probably all wrong, but it produced the desired result, for with some French that Harry didn’t understand, the woman pointed to a particularly crowded area on the far side of the room.
“Merci, merci,” Harry said hurriedly, catching a glimpse of platinum blonde hair and setting off across the room before it could disappear. He wound his way through the crowd and stopped short when he came to the little clutch of people who were standing around Draco, holding a very lively French conversation. Not quite knowing what to do Harry starred unthinkingly at Draco, who after a moment, looked up, looked away, then looked back, before saying something in French to the group and moving towards Harry.
It was at this point that Harry realised his original plan of “and then find Draco” had in fact been the most detailed and well thought out plan in the world, because now he had no plan at all and he was completely at a loss as to what to do or say next.
“Harry, what are you doing here?” Draco said, smiling and yet looking slightly suspicious at the same time.
“Well… I uh...” Harry trailed off, but Draco seemed too busy squinting at his jacket to notice.
“Is that my jacket?”
“Um… yes.” Harry felt some sort of explanation was necessary. “Sorry, it’s just that I didn’t have one and everyone else did so I thought I’d better put one on too.” As explanations went it wasn’t fantastic, but Draco didn’t seem to notice.
“But why are you here in the first place?”
Because I’ve been fucking you in my sleep and if I don’t get to fuck you again in real life fairly soon I think I’m going to explode. The thought rose unbidden into Harry’s mind and shocked him into silence as he desperately tried to find something to say that wasn’t that. Anything but that. Where had that come from anyway?
“I cannot believe you’ve just turned up at my restaurant without warning and decided to invite yourself to my party.” Draco was saying, and it was that which made Harry remember what had started all this off in the first place.
“What do you mean, you can’t believe it?” he said, his voice slightly louder than he intended it to be. ”You were the one who Flooed into my house completely uninvited and completely unexpected. I mean, what were you doing? You were the one who wasn’t there in the morning remember?”
“Did you expect me to stay?” The question was snapped out rather nastily, but even in his worked up state Harry saw the flash of something different in Draco’s eyes.
“No, I didn’t, but that’s not the point. We’re talking about your little unannounced visit to my house last week.”
“Keep your voice down.” Draco smiled reassuringly at the people nearest, some of whom had turned their heads to watch the conversation, then hissed, “I don’t know why I came. I shouldn’t have done. It was a mistake.”
Harry felt rather deflated. He didn’t know what he had been hoping for. Maybe for Draco to admit that he’d come because he wanted a repeat performance of that night in Paris. In all the scenarios Harry had played out in his mind about what might have happened had he been alone that one had seemed the most likely. Now Draco was standing there saying it had been nothing and part of Harry felt crushed. Another, bigger part though, saw Draco’s stormy grey eyes and refused to believe him.
“That’s it?” Harry said incredulously, and more quietly than before. “You don’t know why you came? Just one day you stepped into the Floo, shouted my address and found yourself in my living room for absolutely no reason. And now you expect me to go home, just like that.”
Draco’s expression softened just slightly, “I never said you had to go home. You can stay for the party if you want.”
“What, and then go home at the end, having got no more explanation than before? No thanks.”
“What do you want me to say, Harry? That I came to retrieve the property you stole from me?” Draco sneered.
Harry flinched visibly “I didn’t steal it, you left it behind. And if you wanted it back all you had to do was ask. Here.” He reached up and unhooked the chain from around his neck, only half registering Draco’s look of surprise. “Happy?”
He grabbed Draco’s hand and pressed the necklace into it, desperately ignoring the images that flashed into his head on contact with Draco’s skin. Long pale fingers trailing across his chest, slim hands pressing against his hips. Harry snapped his eyes open without realising they had been closed and turned from Draco to march back to the cloakroom.
“Wait, Harry.” He thought he heard Draco’s voice behind him, “So good, Harry”, “More, Harry”, “Right there, Harry” but he carried on, wrenching the door open with a little more force than necessary. He paused briefly to take off the tie and transfigure it back into the scarf, then as he heard the handle of the door turn, he twisted on the spot and Apparated to Draco’s office.
Once there he had to pause again to take off the jacket. He felt strangely obliged to undo the magical alterations he had performed on it and leave it hanging tidily where he had found it. By the time he was striding towards the fireplace Draco was through the door. He’d obviously run upstairs because his cheeks were flushed and he was panting very slightly. Lips moving across porcelain skin; sucking, licking, biting. A soft moan as he dipped his head, taking one small, hard nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. Then downwards, flicking his tongue into the bellybutton, laying a train of kisses across that perfect, flat stomach...
“Harry.” He wrenched open his eyes in horror as the voice in his fantasy reached his ears in reality. Draco was standing just inches away from him and he realised his pants were uncomfortably tight. He hoped Draco hadn’t noticed.
“Why did you come, Harry?” Draco breathed, leaning in so that Harry could feel his breath playing over his lips.
“Why did you come?” he returned, tilting his head sideways and closing his eyes without really thinking about it. This time, though, there were no fantasies playing out across his mind, because this time the reality was far, far better.
Gentle lips caressed his own, slowly and longingly. Draco tangled one hand in Harry’s hair, and the other snaked around his back to pull him closer. Harry gasped as his semi-hard cock rubbed against Draco’s own, which seemed to be in a similar state, and he automatically raised one hand and let it rest on Draco’s jaw, gently holding his head in place. He parted his lips without thinking, and ran his tongue over Draco’s lower lip, probing gently.
The kiss deepened and Harry felt himself going weak at the knees. He moaned against Draco’s lips and looped his free arm around Draco’s shoulder, pulling him closer as if he never meant to let him go. His head was spinning, he felt like he was drowning in the kiss, like he wanted to stay forever with his lips pressed against Draco’s. It was safe here, it was warm and comfortable and it felt like nothing else mattered.
Somewhere deep in his brain, reality still had a hold.
This time he was going to be the one to leave. Reluctantly at first, and then with more conviction Harry pulled away from the kiss. For a moment – just for a moment – he allowed himself to rest his forehead against Draco’s, then he pulled away.
“I can’t do this, Draco. I just can’t. Why did you come?” he murmured, almost as if Draco wasn’t in the room right next to him. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and the last thing he saw as he turned to look back was Draco’s eyes snapping open, as if he was waking from a very pleasant dream to find he was actually living a nightmare. He lunged forward towards the fire just as Harry released the Floo powder.
Ninety seconds of feeling unpleasantly like he was in a Muggle washing machine and then Harry fell out onto the carpet of his living room. He didn’t even have the strength to get up this time, he just lay there, curled up, with his stomach turning somersaults, and he cried. He cried in a way he hadn’t cried since he had left school. He cried and didn’t even really know what he was crying about. He cried until he fell asleep, which was long after the fire had died away and long after he started shivering with the cold, and when he woke up the next morning he felt better.
Well actually he felt like crap, because that’s what happens when you spend half the night crying and the other half asleep on a hard floor.
But he felt better inside and that was strange.
Maybe that was just what Draco did to him.
********
“Mummy says this is going to be the best Christmas ever!”
Harry couldn’t help smiling at the little girl who stood in the kitchen, gazing up at him with adoring eyes, as he made some sandwiches for her lunch. Rose was Hermione and Ron’s eldest child and had reached the age where she spent most of her time talking about anything and everything to the nearest adult. Harry adored her and grinned as the little girl danced out of the room to go check on her baby sister, who was in her cradle in the front room.
Hermione had said the same thing about Christmas last year, but things hadn’t quite worked out according to plan. Harry had been bad tempered, Ron had got drunk, Rose had been sick and Mrs Weasley had shouted at Fred and George about what she called ‘inappropriate presents’ for a three year old. All in all Christmas hadn’t been very successful and Hermione was determined that the celebrations, which were being held at her and Ron’s house, were going to be much better this year.
So Harry was spending the day before Christmas Eve looking after his best friends’ children whilst they ran round sorting out last minute decorations and food. Hermione had of course planned everything weeks in advance, but unfortunately Ron had left many of the tasks she’d assigned to him until the last minute, and there was some food which couldn’t be bought till just before it was needed; Harry didn’t envy them their preparations at all, compared to that, looking after his Goddaughters for the day was nothing.
He had just finished making the sandwiches when Rose came back into the kitchen, a puzzled expression on her face.
“Uncle Harry,” she began, her huge brown eyes looking at him curiously, “There’s a strange man in your front room, he just came down the Floo.”
Alarmed Harry almost dropped the plate he was holding, and half threw it onto the table as he hurried into the living room. It was lucky he left the plate behind, for if he had brought it with him it certainly would have ended up on the floor when he saw who had just arrived.
Draco Malfoy looked the picture of elegance as he stood in the middle of the room, dressed casually, with an expensive-looking black cloak fastened over his shoulders. He had something in his hand, which Harry couldn’t quite see, and he looked perfectly at ease, almost as if he had been an invited guest.
“Are you busy?” he asked, eyeing Rose who was now grinning at him from behind Harry’s legs.
“Er… no,” said Harry, then after a moment to collect his thoughts he bent down and told Rose to go and eat her sandwiches. “They’re Ron and Hermione’s kids,” he said waving vaguely at the cradle in the corner containing Cassie, since he felt some explanation was required of him “I’m just looking after them for the day.”
Draco nodded, as if Harry had just confirmed an important fact, and Harry hesitated, unsure what to do or say next. He remembered what had happened the last time he had seen Draco and shifted uncomfortably, he was trying to put that incident out of his mind and now here was Draco standing in his living room for the second time, and not really saying anything much. Harry wondered why he had come, after all they hadn’t parted on good terms, even if there had been that kiss...
“Do you want to sit down?” Harry found himself offering, more to say something than through any wish of appearing polite. He wasn’t too sure he owed Draco any politeness at the moment.
“Um… no, thank you.” The offer seemed to have thrown Draco, and suddenly he looked unsure as his eyes darted round the room, looking anywhere but at Harry. The moment only lasted a few seconds though, for after clearing his throat, Draco seemed to pull himself together and suddenly he was much more like the Draco Harry remembered from the evening they had spent together in Paris than he had been since then.
“Actually I just came to give you this.” He stepped forward half smirking, his silver grey eyes glinting almost wickedly. The look sent a shiver down Harry’s spine and he automatically held his hand out for the small box Draco was offering him.
He blinked and looked down, before opening the lid without really realising what he was doing. Inside, nestled in black silk, was an exact replica of the dragon necklace he had returned to Draco, but for one thing: this one had two tiny sparkling rubies for eyes, rather than emeralds.
Harry gaped at it for a moment, then looked up at Draco, his mouth still open in shock.
“Since you seemed to have taken quite a fancy to mine, I thought I’d get you one of your own.” Draco was still giving him that half smirk, looking quite pleased by his reaction.
“I haven’t got you anything,” Harry said dumbly, cursing the stupidity of the words before he’d even finished saying them. He was embarrassed; actually, embarrassed was an understatement for how he was feeling right now. He longed for a time turner so he could go back to that night in Paris and just leave the stupid necklace behind. It had been the cause of so many blushes over the past few weeks that Harry was beginning to wish he had never even seen it. But he still had to admit that he had missed the comforting weight of it round his neck these past few days, and sometimes he wished he had never given it back at all. Now here was Draco, in his house, giving him one of his own.
“Thank you,” he stammered, finally looking up and meeting Draco’s eyes. He felt the colour spreading across his cheeks and a nervous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“You like it?” There was a nervous edge to Draco’s tone and Harry noticed that the smirk had gone. His silver grey eyes were now looking hard into Harry’s own, as if he wanted to seek out the truth in Harry’s very soul, Harry felt a glimmer of confidence returning.
“Yes, I do” he answered; straightening up properly and smiling genuinely back at Draco. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you do.” Draco flashed a brief, but sincere smile, then turned and made his way back over to the fireplace. He looked back as he reached the hearth and, just like that night in Paris, Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. When Draco let his guard down, when he was genuine and open and happy, Draco was the most beautiful thing in the world. Not that Harry didn’t find him attractive all the time; it was just that sometimes, like now, there were moments when he was heartbreakingly beautiful.
“Goodbye, Harry.” The words hung between them in the air, as Draco took a handful of the green Floo powder from the pot and stepped into the fireplace.
“Goodbye, Draco.” There was that smile again, and then the green flames flared briefly and Draco was gone.
There was a few minutes of silence, before Harry felt something tugging on his trouser leg.
“Uncle Harry, who was that man?”
“He’s called Draco.”
“That’s a funny name. He was nice though, I liked him.”
Harry laughed suddenly and scooped the little girl up in his arms, making her squeal in delight.
“You know what, I think your mummy’s right,” he said, smiling as she wrapped her arms round his neck and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
“This is going to be the best Christmas ever.”
***************************
So what did you think? Comments are much loved! I do have plans for another (final) part, which will hopefully draw the story to a nice conclusion.
Author: Katherine
create_serenityPairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash!
Beta: The wonderful
candy_marie_55, who probably got sent this chapter more times than she cares to remember.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 the sequel to We'll Always Have Paris. I did intend for that fic to be a one off but in the end I just couldn't leave it as it was. This will now be the second part of a trilogy.
Go here to read We'll Always Have Paris. You really need to have read it first in order to understand what's going on.
This Kiss
“Harry! You’re back early!” Hermione came rushing through into the living room in response to Harry’s greeting as he stepped out of the fireplace. Her look of delight at seeing him, quickly changed to one of concern as possible reasons for Harry’s early return registered in her mind.
“I know.” Harry stood there, grinning like an idiot, so pleased to see his friend he couldn’t find the words to express it, and feeling like he was seeing her for the first time after a very long absence instead of just two short weeks.
“Is everything all right?” Hermione came to a stop in the middle of the room, looking at Harry with a mixture of concern and surprise. “I thought you weren’t going to be back for at least a month.”
“I know, Hermione, but it’s ok. Don’t you see, everything’s ok!” Hermione was looking at him with increasing alarm, and seemed to be considering the possibility that Harry had finally cracked under the stress. Unable to hold back any longer, Harry let out a sudden laugh and flew across the room, flinging his arms around his friend and twirling her round as she laughed nervously.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve been so stupid Hermione,” he gasped when he finally released her. “I’m so sorry for everything. It’s all ok now though, I’m ok, he’s ok, everything’s ok.”
“What? What’re you…?” but Harry carried on, almost as if he hadn’t heard his friend’s question and was determined to finish what he was saying,
“I saw him in Paris, he’s living there. He owns a restaurant for fucks sake; we travelled on the underground. He’s practically a Muggle! And… and…. I don’t know Hermione, but everything’s ok now. Voldemort’s gone, we’re alive, life is normal. His life is normal.”
Worn out from his exuberant outburst Harry sank down on the sofa, grin still plastered on his face, leaving Hermione standing in the centre of the room looking even more confused than when he had first arrived.
“Harry,” she began. “I’m pleased to see you, I’m glad you’re looking so happy, but really I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Who is he?”
“Draco Malfoy.”
There was a moment of silence, during which Harry realised he had probably sounded quite like a raving lunatic when he had first arrived, before Hermione, looking rather dazed, plonked herself down on the sofa next to Harry.
“Draco Malfoy?” she repeated rather faintly. “You saw Draco Malfoy in Paris? And he owns a restaurant?”
Harry nodded, wondering whether his friend was about to faint or yell at him; either seemed a possibility, but then she seemed to collect herself and turned to face him.
“So let me get this straight. You saw Malfoy in Paris, and instead of hexing him, or attempting to arrest him, you got on the train with him?”
Harry groaned, and buried his head in his hands.
“Yes, well sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Well we kinda had dinner together. In his restaurant.”
“You had dinner with him?” Hermione’s voice was now strained, as if she felt the world was teetering on the brink of insanity,
“Yes I did. I’m not explaining this very well, am I?” Hermione raised one eyebrow, indicating that no he wasn’t, and he realised he now had the rather delicate task of telling her what had happened, without actually revealing any of the more personal stuff. Draco and I spent the night having hot sex was probably not the best way to go just now.
“Look, I was just wandering around Paris one day and suddenly I bumped into him. I recognised him and he recognised me, but he left before I could say anything. I mean, I was quite surprised to see him there. When we bumped into each other again the next day he offered to recommend somewhere to eat dinner, and somehow we ended up eating together. Then afterwards we went down to the river, that’s why we were on the train. He’s changed, Hermione, he’s not the same person he was six years ago.” Harry rubbed his hand through his hair and wondered how strange the next bit would sound to his friend. “He said sorry, Hermione, he said he was sorry for what happened, and then he said he was sorry for leaving as well and I just… well it made me realise… I don’t know what, but things just seem better now.”
Hermione had been gazing silently at him whilst he told his story and now when he looked up, half afraid to see her reaction, he realised he had no need to worry. Her eyes held an understanding that Harry didn’t need her to express in words, and when a moment later she put her arms around him and pressed a chaste kiss to his temple he didn’t pull away or freeze up as he would have done a couple of weeks ago. Instead he wrapped his arms around her, as she gave a muffled sob into his shoulder.
“Oh, Harry, we’ve been so worried about you,” she sobbed. “We didn’t know what to do, how to help you, and now it turns out that the last person on earth any of us would have thought of has helped without even trying. It’s good to have you back, Harry.”
“It’s good to be back, Hermione.” Harry smiled into her hair and rocked her soothingly. When Ron came home ten minutes later they were still sitting on the sofa clinging to each other as if they could never let go.
********
“Harry!!”
“Ron!!”
Harry leapt from his seat, dislodging Hermione, and pulled his friend into a hug, slapping him on the back and grinning again.
“When did you get back?”
“This morning.”
“Everything ok?”
“Great!”
And that was all that needed to be said between two best friends, who’d been through so much together and could tell from a smile that from now on things would be just fine.
********
And they were.
For five months life was fantastic for Harry. He quit his job as an Auror, tried out for the Puddlemere United, got accepted as their Seeker and was snapped up for England training before he could even catch his breath.
In the midst of it all Hermione gave birth to her second child, a baby girl named Cassandra. Hermione was overjoyed, Ron was ecstatic and Harry, who was Godfather, though he had never been so happy in his entire life.
Sometimes though, on the few evenings he spent alone in his house, he had the sense that something was missing. Not something that was absent in a way that made him unhappy, but just a strange feeling that there was something missing that was just within reach, if only he knew what it was he was reaching for.
Then there were the times when he woke up slick with sweat, with Draco’s name on his lips and an uncomfortable sticky feeling inside his boxers. At times like that he suddenly felt like he knew what it was he was reaching for, but then he would fall asleep again and forget that he had ever known.
So life continued in this new happy and relaxed way, until Christmas was just around the corner and for the first time in a long time Harry found himself looking forward to the celebrations.
********
“Another beer, mate?”
“Sure.”
Ron trotted off to the kitchen to get a couple of beers and a glass of red wine for Hermione. Actually it was Harry’s kitchen, for they were in Harry’s house, but Ron knew where everything was and if he was offering to get the drinks Harry wasn’t about to move from his comfortable chair by the fire.
“I always think open fires are so homely,” Hermione commented from the sofa, smiling at the glowing embers. “I think it’s a pity Muggles don’t bother with them anymore, even after all these years in the wizarding world I still love seeing a proper fire.”
Harry stared at the fire. He was so used to them by now that he never really stopped to think like this anymore. Years of submersion in the wizarding world, with no Muggle relatives to visit had not lessened his amazement and gratitude towards his magical abilities, but there were some things you just got used to taking for granted. Trust Hermione to still be comparing the two after all this time.
“Hmmmm,” he mumbled noncommittally and realised he was going to have to get up anyway to put some more wood on the fire, which was already burning quite low. Sighing, he dragged himself out of his seat and added a couple of logs to the fire. He stirred it a little with the iron poker and as the heat and light washed over him he had to admit that Hermione did have a point: with the curtains drawn against the bitter weather outside and the room lit by candles and firelight it was much more homely than Muggle electricity and radiators.
He was admiring the blaze he had managed to stir up when suddenly the flames turned green and he had barely a moment to stumble backwards before a figure stepped out of the fireplace and into the room.
It was Draco.
Harry gawped at him open mouthed, but even in his shock he had enough power of observation remaining to note that Draco looked slightly disconcerted when he saw Hermione sitting on the sofa. The look was only there for a second, but Harry saw it and it helped him to regain his own composure.
“Really, Potter, that fireplace needs a good clean,“ drawled Draco, brushing imaginary dirt from his clothes and turning his silver grey eyes towards Harry. He saw them linger briefly on his neck and realised with some embarrassment that he was wearing Draco’s necklace on the outside of his t-shirt where it was in full view. He was rather relieved when instead of commenting on it Draco began inspecting the bottom of his trousers.
“Look at my trousers, completely covered in ash.” Harry looked, but since the trousers were black he could see nothing wrong with them. As he stared, the strangeness of the situation suddenly hit him. Draco Malfoy had just turned up in his front room, for no apparent reason, and now didn’t seem to have much to say for himself at all.
“I assume you didn’t just come here to comment on the state of my fireplace, Malfoy.” Harry thought he did a rather good job of imitating Draco’s drawling tone, although judging by the half smirk he got in return it wasn’t quite good enough. “Anyway, what do you want?” he finished rather lamely, before adding “I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
“Happy Christmas to you too,” Draco sneered “Honestly I just drop by to offer you seasonal greetings and all that…” he gestured vaguely with his hand and Harry got the impression that this wasn’t what he had come for at all and that actually Draco wasn’t quite sure what to say next. He rallied quite well though. “And this is the greeting I get. Not very hospitable, are you?”
Harry gaped, but was saved from answering by Ron entering the room, dropping Hermione’s wine glass and making a noise which sounded rather like someone letting the air out of a balloon very slowly.
“What’s he doing here?!” he exclaimed, stepping over the puddle of red wine to come further into the room.
Draco ignored him and simply continued to look at Harry as if there had been no interruption, waiting for an answer to his previous comments.
“Harry!” Ron said, desperately trying to take the scene. “What’s going on?”
Harry’s gaze darted helplessly from Ron to Draco to Hermione, silently begging her with his eyes to do something. She though was staring transfixed at the scene and seemed unable to move.
As if he suddenly realised that the conversation wasn’t going any further with Ron standing around, Draco turned to him with a noise of exasperation and waved his hand towards one of the chairs.
“Asseyez-vous,” he instructed, in a tone so commanding that Harry was unsure how Ron resisted obeying, until he realised that his friend probably had no clue what Draco was saying.
“It means ‘sit down’, Ron,” Harry sighed, turning towards him.
Ron looked as if he had no intention of sitting down, but Harry’s translation seemed to have triggered Hermione into action. She grabbed Ron’s sleeve and pulled him down onto the sofa next to her. Harry turned back to Draco.
“Would you like a drink?”
Draco, who had been watching Ron and Hermione, whipped back round to face Harry looking puzzled. Obviously this was the last thing he had been expecting to hear and Harry was rather pleased to have wrong-footed him.
“Ah… no. I can see you’re busy and everything, so I’ll just…um, I’ll just be going.” Draco stepped towards the fireplace and before anyone could say anything else he grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the pot and stepped into the flames.
Harry starred at the empty fireplace for a whole minute before turning to see Hermione and Ron doing exactly the same thing.
“Well,” he said brightly, “that was odd.”
********
Odd was definitely the word to describe it. Over the next few days Harry lost track of the number of times he’d had conversations with Ron along the lines of: “So he just turned up, sneered a bit and then left?”, “Yes”, “Why?”, “I’ve no idea.” Hermione, he suspected, knew there was something Harry wasn’t telling them about what had happened in Paris, but to her eternal credit she only asked him about it once and accepted his repeated story of what he had already told her with nothing more than a knowing look and a caution to ‘be careful’.
The problem was Harry himself wasn’t so satisfied with these half answers. Why had Draco decided to Floo to his house unannounced? What had he wanted to say, or do, that he couldn’t because Hermione and Ron had been there? What might have happened if they hadn’t been there?
The answer to that last question haunted Harry’s nights, but his days were haunted by a different question. Why, after five months, had Draco come to see him at all?
Things came to a head one evening when Harry was sitting on the sofa, contemplating that very question. After a while he found himself staring at the fire, just wishing and hoping that any moment Draco would step through and finish whatever he had come to say and do six days ago. Eventually the warmth of the fire and the monotony of waiting sent Harry to sleep; and that’s when he dreamt.
Dreamt of pale skin slicked with sweat. Dreamt of flushed cheeks and stormy grey eyes. Dreamt of moans and pleas, and hands gripping his thighs, and fingernails digging into his skin, and thrusts and gasps and screams.
He awoke to find himself lying in a wet patch, his cock still throbbing painfully. Before he could even think, he wrapped his hand around it and tugged until suddenly his hips jerked forward and he found Draco’s name spilling all too easily off his tongue as he moaned in ecstasy.
There was a brief pause as he collected himself and then suddenly he sat up, as if pulled by some invisible string. He grimaced and climbed carefully off the sofa, avoiding the wet patch and reaching for his wand to clear up the mess. This couldn’t go on.
He was annoyed. Things had been going along nicely. He had sex with Draco, he had come home and put it mostly out of his mind, and that had been that. There had been nothing else. No expectations. No questions. No answers. No nothing. Just sex and a feeling that the world wasn’t such a bad place after all.
Then Malfoy had to go and break the unwritten, unspoken rule: he had made contact. He had shown up in Harry’s living room and had thrown a huge spanner in the smooth workings of Harry’s life, which had just got back on track after countless years of not running very smoothly at all.
There was only one thing to do. Harry was going to have to quit staring at the fireplace hoping Malfoy would come back and answer all his unspoken questions, and instead he was going to have to go and find Malfoy and get the answers for himself.
Having resolved on visiting Paris, Harry checked the time. Seven o’clock. Plenty of time to make the visit tonight. He showered, changed his clothes, attempted to get his hair to lie flat and at eight o’clock exactly stood in front of his fireplace, holding a handful of Floo powder. He didn’t drop it in the fire though. He’d come this far and only just realised.
He didn’t know where Malfoy lived.
He stood for a minute, gaping at his own stupidity, then decided that he could Floo to the restaurant. At least, he hoped he could. He ran over a theory in his head. It was a Muggle restaurant so turning up in the fireplace would probably cause a bit of a stir. However by that same rule, because it was a Muggle restaurant it was highly unlikely that the main room where customers ate would be connected to the Floo network. If it were connected to the Floo network at all it would probably be by some office in the back that Draco kept for his own personal use and that would be where he would emerge. Once he was there he could decide how best to go about finding out where Draco lived.
Harry nodded to himself. It was a good theory. Of course, it relied on the restaurant being connected to the Floo network, but if it wasn’t the worst that could happen was that Harry wouldn’t actually go anywhere at all.
He hoped that didn’t happen.
Taking a deep breath he stepped forward into the fire and shouted the name of the restaurant.
Ninety very uncomfortable seconds later Harry fell out of a fireplace somewhere he didn’t recognise. In fact he had very little chance of recognising anything because for the first couple of minutes it was all he could do to focus on the plush red carpet inches from his nose and breathe deeply to try and stop himself from being sick. He should have expected that really, he realised; after all, England to Paris was a long way by Floo.
When he felt a bit less like his dinner was about to make an unscheduled reappearance he heaved himself to his feet and realised that his theory had been correct. He was in a small, but tastefully decorated office - and thankfully it was empty. As he looked around he had a sudden panic about whether or not this was Draco’s restaurant, or whether in fact, he had flooed to somewhere entirely different.
With his dinner once again threatening to reappear he strode across to the door and yanked it open. The words 'Draco Malfoy' glinted down at him in gold lettering and he relaxed, reaching out to run his fingers over the letters, such was his relief at seeing them there.
His plan was going well so far. Unfortunately the next bit consisted of “and find Draco” and not a lot else, so Harry quickly reviewed the options and thought it was probably best if he went down the stairs at the end of the corridor to find someone who could tell him where Draco was. If they wondered how he had got there he could always tell them that he had got lost. On his way to the bathroom. Or something like that anyway. Best not to worry about it until it actually happened.
Down the stairs and along another bit of corridor was a door, which Harry discovered led into a room full of coats. There were rather a lot of them, but luckily no one was actually in the room so Harry slipped inside and across to the door opposite. This door he was sure led into the restaurant, not only because that made sense, but also because he could hear the sounds of music and talking coming from the other side of it. It occurred to Harry that it didn’t actually sound very much like the noises you would expect from a restaurant. There was no sound of cutlery clinking or plates clashing, and the talking was rather too loud and the music was rather too partyish for a sophisticated restaurant. Harry found out why when he opened the door: there was a party going on.
Most of the tables had been cleared from the middle of the floor and instead there was a huge crowd of people standing around chatting, or sipping champagne, or nibbling canapés. Most of them seemed to be dressed rather more formally than he was, the women in beautiful long dresses and the men all in suits, or even occasionally tuxedos. Grimacing, Harry ducked back into the coatroom and leant back against the door with his eyes closed. Draco was bound to be in there, if there was some sort of big event going on in his restaurant then he was sure to be around. He could just imagine Draco loving an event like this: the glitz, the glamour, the high society living. Just like being back home. The problem was Harry couldn’t go in there dressed like he was.
He glanced down at his outfit. His trousers and shoes were fine; thank goodness he had gone for something smart in an effort to look nice. His shirt wasn’t too bad either, being a nice green one that had been a present from Hermione and which brought out the colour in his eyes rather well. The problem was that without a tie and jacket he looked completely underdressed and would stick out like a sore thumb if he started trying to look for Draco. He wondered vaguely if this was some sort of ticket only event and if, seeing him wrongly dressed, some bouncer would come and ask to see his ticket, then kick him out when he couldn’t provide one.
Luckily, after more than ten years, Harry was finally getting used to the idea that he had magic to help him get out of fixes like this. He pulled out his wand, grabbed the nearest ladies scarf and transfigured it into a tie. He fastened it round his neck and as he squinted round for something suitable to turn into a jacket a sudden flash of memory made him rush back out the door, along the corridor and up into Draco’s office.
“Ah ha,” he murmured to himself as he entered and found that his sub-conscious memory had remembered the details right. Hanging on the coat stand was a black jacket that must have belonged to Draco. Harry quickly put it on and, after using a little magic to adjust the size slightly, checked himself out in the mirror next to the coat stand. It wasn’t perfect, the shirt wasn’t really made to go with a jacket and tie, but he figured it was as good as it was going to get. Attempting to flatten his hair once more he made his way back down to the restaurant and this time slipped out of the cloakroom and into the crowd, trying to look as if he had been there all along.
Having requisitioned a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, more to make himself look inconspicuous than because he wished to drink it, Harry began to look around for Draco. Almost immediately he caught a flash of blonde hair, but it turned out to belong to a rather tall, severe looking woman and suddenly Harry found he had butterflies. The champagne now seemed like a good idea and he gulped it down quickly as he made his way across the room, pausing only to exchange his empty glass for a full one.
“Où est Draco?” he finally enquired of a passing waiter, when after ten minutes he had seen no sign of the man. He was glad that he had been taking French lessons, unbeknownst to Hermione or Ron, for the past 5 months. He had no idea why, but something about the way Draco had spoken the language had made him want to learn it himself. Unfortunately whatever the waiter said was lost on him, since it was a torrent of fast, complex French, which due to the tray in the man’s hands, could not be accompanied by any gestures that might at least have revealed the general direction.
Thanking the man, Harry moved on and tried again, this time with a guest, since he figured that they at least might point and offer him some clue as to the direction.
“Excusez-moi, où est Draco s’il vous plait?” It wasn’t the best French in the world, Harry had to admit, and his accent was probably all wrong, but it produced the desired result, for with some French that Harry didn’t understand, the woman pointed to a particularly crowded area on the far side of the room.
“Merci, merci,” Harry said hurriedly, catching a glimpse of platinum blonde hair and setting off across the room before it could disappear. He wound his way through the crowd and stopped short when he came to the little clutch of people who were standing around Draco, holding a very lively French conversation. Not quite knowing what to do Harry starred unthinkingly at Draco, who after a moment, looked up, looked away, then looked back, before saying something in French to the group and moving towards Harry.
It was at this point that Harry realised his original plan of “and then find Draco” had in fact been the most detailed and well thought out plan in the world, because now he had no plan at all and he was completely at a loss as to what to do or say next.
“Harry, what are you doing here?” Draco said, smiling and yet looking slightly suspicious at the same time.
“Well… I uh...” Harry trailed off, but Draco seemed too busy squinting at his jacket to notice.
“Is that my jacket?”
“Um… yes.” Harry felt some sort of explanation was necessary. “Sorry, it’s just that I didn’t have one and everyone else did so I thought I’d better put one on too.” As explanations went it wasn’t fantastic, but Draco didn’t seem to notice.
“But why are you here in the first place?”
Because I’ve been fucking you in my sleep and if I don’t get to fuck you again in real life fairly soon I think I’m going to explode. The thought rose unbidden into Harry’s mind and shocked him into silence as he desperately tried to find something to say that wasn’t that. Anything but that. Where had that come from anyway?
“I cannot believe you’ve just turned up at my restaurant without warning and decided to invite yourself to my party.” Draco was saying, and it was that which made Harry remember what had started all this off in the first place.
“What do you mean, you can’t believe it?” he said, his voice slightly louder than he intended it to be. ”You were the one who Flooed into my house completely uninvited and completely unexpected. I mean, what were you doing? You were the one who wasn’t there in the morning remember?”
“Did you expect me to stay?” The question was snapped out rather nastily, but even in his worked up state Harry saw the flash of something different in Draco’s eyes.
“No, I didn’t, but that’s not the point. We’re talking about your little unannounced visit to my house last week.”
“Keep your voice down.” Draco smiled reassuringly at the people nearest, some of whom had turned their heads to watch the conversation, then hissed, “I don’t know why I came. I shouldn’t have done. It was a mistake.”
Harry felt rather deflated. He didn’t know what he had been hoping for. Maybe for Draco to admit that he’d come because he wanted a repeat performance of that night in Paris. In all the scenarios Harry had played out in his mind about what might have happened had he been alone that one had seemed the most likely. Now Draco was standing there saying it had been nothing and part of Harry felt crushed. Another, bigger part though, saw Draco’s stormy grey eyes and refused to believe him.
“That’s it?” Harry said incredulously, and more quietly than before. “You don’t know why you came? Just one day you stepped into the Floo, shouted my address and found yourself in my living room for absolutely no reason. And now you expect me to go home, just like that.”
Draco’s expression softened just slightly, “I never said you had to go home. You can stay for the party if you want.”
“What, and then go home at the end, having got no more explanation than before? No thanks.”
“What do you want me to say, Harry? That I came to retrieve the property you stole from me?” Draco sneered.
Harry flinched visibly “I didn’t steal it, you left it behind. And if you wanted it back all you had to do was ask. Here.” He reached up and unhooked the chain from around his neck, only half registering Draco’s look of surprise. “Happy?”
He grabbed Draco’s hand and pressed the necklace into it, desperately ignoring the images that flashed into his head on contact with Draco’s skin. Long pale fingers trailing across his chest, slim hands pressing against his hips. Harry snapped his eyes open without realising they had been closed and turned from Draco to march back to the cloakroom.
“Wait, Harry.” He thought he heard Draco’s voice behind him, “So good, Harry”, “More, Harry”, “Right there, Harry” but he carried on, wrenching the door open with a little more force than necessary. He paused briefly to take off the tie and transfigure it back into the scarf, then as he heard the handle of the door turn, he twisted on the spot and Apparated to Draco’s office.
Once there he had to pause again to take off the jacket. He felt strangely obliged to undo the magical alterations he had performed on it and leave it hanging tidily where he had found it. By the time he was striding towards the fireplace Draco was through the door. He’d obviously run upstairs because his cheeks were flushed and he was panting very slightly. Lips moving across porcelain skin; sucking, licking, biting. A soft moan as he dipped his head, taking one small, hard nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. Then downwards, flicking his tongue into the bellybutton, laying a train of kisses across that perfect, flat stomach...
“Harry.” He wrenched open his eyes in horror as the voice in his fantasy reached his ears in reality. Draco was standing just inches away from him and he realised his pants were uncomfortably tight. He hoped Draco hadn’t noticed.
“Why did you come, Harry?” Draco breathed, leaning in so that Harry could feel his breath playing over his lips.
“Why did you come?” he returned, tilting his head sideways and closing his eyes without really thinking about it. This time, though, there were no fantasies playing out across his mind, because this time the reality was far, far better.
Gentle lips caressed his own, slowly and longingly. Draco tangled one hand in Harry’s hair, and the other snaked around his back to pull him closer. Harry gasped as his semi-hard cock rubbed against Draco’s own, which seemed to be in a similar state, and he automatically raised one hand and let it rest on Draco’s jaw, gently holding his head in place. He parted his lips without thinking, and ran his tongue over Draco’s lower lip, probing gently.
The kiss deepened and Harry felt himself going weak at the knees. He moaned against Draco’s lips and looped his free arm around Draco’s shoulder, pulling him closer as if he never meant to let him go. His head was spinning, he felt like he was drowning in the kiss, like he wanted to stay forever with his lips pressed against Draco’s. It was safe here, it was warm and comfortable and it felt like nothing else mattered.
Somewhere deep in his brain, reality still had a hold.
This time he was going to be the one to leave. Reluctantly at first, and then with more conviction Harry pulled away from the kiss. For a moment – just for a moment – he allowed himself to rest his forehead against Draco’s, then he pulled away.
“I can’t do this, Draco. I just can’t. Why did you come?” he murmured, almost as if Draco wasn’t in the room right next to him. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and the last thing he saw as he turned to look back was Draco’s eyes snapping open, as if he was waking from a very pleasant dream to find he was actually living a nightmare. He lunged forward towards the fire just as Harry released the Floo powder.
Ninety seconds of feeling unpleasantly like he was in a Muggle washing machine and then Harry fell out onto the carpet of his living room. He didn’t even have the strength to get up this time, he just lay there, curled up, with his stomach turning somersaults, and he cried. He cried in a way he hadn’t cried since he had left school. He cried and didn’t even really know what he was crying about. He cried until he fell asleep, which was long after the fire had died away and long after he started shivering with the cold, and when he woke up the next morning he felt better.
Well actually he felt like crap, because that’s what happens when you spend half the night crying and the other half asleep on a hard floor.
But he felt better inside and that was strange.
Maybe that was just what Draco did to him.
********
“Mummy says this is going to be the best Christmas ever!”
Harry couldn’t help smiling at the little girl who stood in the kitchen, gazing up at him with adoring eyes, as he made some sandwiches for her lunch. Rose was Hermione and Ron’s eldest child and had reached the age where she spent most of her time talking about anything and everything to the nearest adult. Harry adored her and grinned as the little girl danced out of the room to go check on her baby sister, who was in her cradle in the front room.
Hermione had said the same thing about Christmas last year, but things hadn’t quite worked out according to plan. Harry had been bad tempered, Ron had got drunk, Rose had been sick and Mrs Weasley had shouted at Fred and George about what she called ‘inappropriate presents’ for a three year old. All in all Christmas hadn’t been very successful and Hermione was determined that the celebrations, which were being held at her and Ron’s house, were going to be much better this year.
So Harry was spending the day before Christmas Eve looking after his best friends’ children whilst they ran round sorting out last minute decorations and food. Hermione had of course planned everything weeks in advance, but unfortunately Ron had left many of the tasks she’d assigned to him until the last minute, and there was some food which couldn’t be bought till just before it was needed; Harry didn’t envy them their preparations at all, compared to that, looking after his Goddaughters for the day was nothing.
He had just finished making the sandwiches when Rose came back into the kitchen, a puzzled expression on her face.
“Uncle Harry,” she began, her huge brown eyes looking at him curiously, “There’s a strange man in your front room, he just came down the Floo.”
Alarmed Harry almost dropped the plate he was holding, and half threw it onto the table as he hurried into the living room. It was lucky he left the plate behind, for if he had brought it with him it certainly would have ended up on the floor when he saw who had just arrived.
Draco Malfoy looked the picture of elegance as he stood in the middle of the room, dressed casually, with an expensive-looking black cloak fastened over his shoulders. He had something in his hand, which Harry couldn’t quite see, and he looked perfectly at ease, almost as if he had been an invited guest.
“Are you busy?” he asked, eyeing Rose who was now grinning at him from behind Harry’s legs.
“Er… no,” said Harry, then after a moment to collect his thoughts he bent down and told Rose to go and eat her sandwiches. “They’re Ron and Hermione’s kids,” he said waving vaguely at the cradle in the corner containing Cassie, since he felt some explanation was required of him “I’m just looking after them for the day.”
Draco nodded, as if Harry had just confirmed an important fact, and Harry hesitated, unsure what to do or say next. He remembered what had happened the last time he had seen Draco and shifted uncomfortably, he was trying to put that incident out of his mind and now here was Draco standing in his living room for the second time, and not really saying anything much. Harry wondered why he had come, after all they hadn’t parted on good terms, even if there had been that kiss...
“Do you want to sit down?” Harry found himself offering, more to say something than through any wish of appearing polite. He wasn’t too sure he owed Draco any politeness at the moment.
“Um… no, thank you.” The offer seemed to have thrown Draco, and suddenly he looked unsure as his eyes darted round the room, looking anywhere but at Harry. The moment only lasted a few seconds though, for after clearing his throat, Draco seemed to pull himself together and suddenly he was much more like the Draco Harry remembered from the evening they had spent together in Paris than he had been since then.
“Actually I just came to give you this.” He stepped forward half smirking, his silver grey eyes glinting almost wickedly. The look sent a shiver down Harry’s spine and he automatically held his hand out for the small box Draco was offering him.
He blinked and looked down, before opening the lid without really realising what he was doing. Inside, nestled in black silk, was an exact replica of the dragon necklace he had returned to Draco, but for one thing: this one had two tiny sparkling rubies for eyes, rather than emeralds.
Harry gaped at it for a moment, then looked up at Draco, his mouth still open in shock.
“Since you seemed to have taken quite a fancy to mine, I thought I’d get you one of your own.” Draco was still giving him that half smirk, looking quite pleased by his reaction.
“I haven’t got you anything,” Harry said dumbly, cursing the stupidity of the words before he’d even finished saying them. He was embarrassed; actually, embarrassed was an understatement for how he was feeling right now. He longed for a time turner so he could go back to that night in Paris and just leave the stupid necklace behind. It had been the cause of so many blushes over the past few weeks that Harry was beginning to wish he had never even seen it. But he still had to admit that he had missed the comforting weight of it round his neck these past few days, and sometimes he wished he had never given it back at all. Now here was Draco, in his house, giving him one of his own.
“Thank you,” he stammered, finally looking up and meeting Draco’s eyes. He felt the colour spreading across his cheeks and a nervous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“You like it?” There was a nervous edge to Draco’s tone and Harry noticed that the smirk had gone. His silver grey eyes were now looking hard into Harry’s own, as if he wanted to seek out the truth in Harry’s very soul, Harry felt a glimmer of confidence returning.
“Yes, I do” he answered; straightening up properly and smiling genuinely back at Draco. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you do.” Draco flashed a brief, but sincere smile, then turned and made his way back over to the fireplace. He looked back as he reached the hearth and, just like that night in Paris, Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. When Draco let his guard down, when he was genuine and open and happy, Draco was the most beautiful thing in the world. Not that Harry didn’t find him attractive all the time; it was just that sometimes, like now, there were moments when he was heartbreakingly beautiful.
“Goodbye, Harry.” The words hung between them in the air, as Draco took a handful of the green Floo powder from the pot and stepped into the fireplace.
“Goodbye, Draco.” There was that smile again, and then the green flames flared briefly and Draco was gone.
There was a few minutes of silence, before Harry felt something tugging on his trouser leg.
“Uncle Harry, who was that man?”
“He’s called Draco.”
“That’s a funny name. He was nice though, I liked him.”
Harry laughed suddenly and scooped the little girl up in his arms, making her squeal in delight.
“You know what, I think your mummy’s right,” he said, smiling as she wrapped her arms round his neck and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
“This is going to be the best Christmas ever.”
***************************
So what did you think? Comments are much loved! I do have plans for another (final) part, which will hopefully draw the story to a nice conclusion.
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Date: 2007-08-29 07:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-29 11:56 pm (UTC)