Part 3: Day After
You come across impure
I didn't mean it
You're goddamn immature
I didn't mean it
You act so insecure
I didn't mean it
You hate me now I'm sure
I didn't mean it
"Slackerbitch", Placebo
They were tiredly lying on the bed. Harry opened his eyes and began to look around lazily, blinking at the early morning sun, which streamed from a window, playing shadows of light on Draco's back. Then his eyes fell on Draco, who was restless in his sleep.
Harry sighed and reached the packet of Marlboro abandoned on the bedside table. When he moved, his arm brushed Draco's skin. Harry stood still for a while, fearing of having woken the blond up, but when nothing happened, he fished a cigarette and lightened it, taking a deep drag of the smoke.
Harry wasn't used to this addiction, mainly because he didn't usually see the appeal of smoking, but there was nothing he couldn't do if he wanted to, and now he wanted to smoke.
Well, actually this was his addiction: obtaining what he wished.
And this isn't easy to reach as a packet of cigarettes... he pondered, smirking and thinking about his last conquest, his last victory. Harry analysed the perfect shape of the fair-haired man at his side.
Draco was beautiful and this was just a fact. Not only handsome, nor simply pretty, but just beautiful, like one of the angel painted on the most famous chapels in the world.
And having touched this perfection - that Harry had secretly admired, since the times of Hogwarts - having put his skilled fingers of Seeker on that living masterpiece, well, this really gave a special taste to the black-haired wizard victory.
Don't forget his hate... Harry considered smirking again, conscious that a large part of his happiness was given by having cut through Draco's thick shield of arrogance and self-control.
Now Harry felt a lazy sense of satiety, just like when, after a three hours Quidditch match against the Slytherin team, he finally closed his tired fingers around the little golden ball he had longed for since the very beginning of the game.
Have I *longed* for Malfoy? The Harry wondered getting up from the bed and putting on his pants and his trousers.
He shook his head.
No way. I just wanted to beat him. The Quidditch pitch or a bed, it doesn't matter as long as there is a challenge between us, Harry considered, amused. I was the best in Quidditch. I've been the best *tonight*, he concluded, crushing the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray.
Harry kept on dressing absently, still replaying the events of the last night in his head, still congratulating with his proud inner self for having perfectly repaid seven years of Malfoy's taunting, and he didn't notice a pair of grey eyes looking at him interrogatively.
"Harry," a sleepy smooth voice said.
He turned and looked coldly at Draco, who blinked, puzzled.
Harry smiled reading the confusion on the blonde-haired man face.
"Good Morning Malfoy. Did you sleep well?" he asked sarcastically while Draco blinked again, as trying to wake up.
"Harry, I..." the fair-haired man began again but Harry interrupted him abruptly "Yes, Malfoy?"
Draco looked at him for a long while, the realization dawning in his cloudy grey eyes, and then he lowered his gaze to the ground.
Harry shook his head.
"What did you want to tell me, Malfoy? Maybe how much you enjoyed last night?" he suggested mischievously, a smirk on his lips.
Oh well, if this isn't a blushing Malfoy... Harry thought, noticing an unusual red tinge colouring the pale skin of Draco's cheeks, behind his untidy platinum locks.
The fair-haired man didn't answer. Actually he couldn't, because he felt something like a black cloud of anger, sadness and disbelief obscuring his mind and leaving a single painful answer: What's wrong with me?
When Draco found enough courage to lift his silvery gaze on Harry, the black-haired wizard was completely dressed and ready to leave.
"Well," he said, approaching the bed. Draco looked at Harry. The Gryffindor raised his hand until his fingers were brushing the skin of the Slytherin’s cheek, and then raised his hand again and raked his fingers slowly through his fair hair. Draco closed his eyes and shivered involuntarily while Harry laughed, drawing back his warm hand and that sense of frightening certainty it took with it.
Harry stepped back and searched his pocket. Finally, he laid some crumpled notes on the bed, next to Draco and he turned, really ready to leave now.
"Har... Potter," Draco called, his voice back to his old angry drawl.
Harry turned towards him and looked at him interrogatively, arching his eyebrows.
"Yes, Malfoy?"
"Those," he said pointing at the one-hundred-pounds notes abandoned on the white sheets. "It's too much."
Harry smiled, a soft evil smile that Draco had never seen before on the Golden Boy's lips, not even when the pale Slytherin had insulted him and his friends with his nastiest words. And this was the reason why, looking at that dangerous curve of Harry's lips, the fair-haired man barely resisted the urge of trembling.
"Really? They're only one thousand pounds. You should have a better consideration of yourself, " Harry stated grinning.
Then, he shook his head and went on, with his voice smooth as silk but cold as steel.
"Actually, I think that there's no price for what I had tonight. Really, a Malfoy, Draco Malfoy begging to be fucked by Harry Potter. It's something invaluable in my humble opinion. You, fighting the pleasure I was giving you and losing helplessly in the end... and the shame in your eyes... What bothers you the most, Malfoy? Having been forced to be my whore for a night or having enjoyed it?"
Draco shook his head tiredly and looked straight into Harry's eyes, trying his best to hide the hurt that filled his grey gaze.
"Why are you doing this Potter? This isn't you..." Draco said, his voice sounding empty.
Harry chuckled and smiled again at the fair-haired man, a bit more sweetly this time: "My, my, Malfoy... Maybe this wasn't me... But it's me now. And about my reasons... I'm doing this basically because... I can," he finished shrugging.
Malfoy stared at him blankly and silently. Harry shook his head.
"Sorry, Malfoy, for having destroyed your sweet memory about that fucking Golden Boy that I happened to have been during Hogwarts' times," Harry said angrily.
He waited for an answer that never came. Draco was too busy in mending the broken pieces of that thing that once was Draco Malfoy, and he didn't even glance at the raven-haired man who, after a while, left without looking back.
Three weeks later Harry had practically forgotten that night. He had been completely absorbed in solving the several troubles the editing of his last book had caused and the recollection of his victory over Draco was something sweet but distant.
Anyway, even if his book was finally completed and safe on Harry's publisher's desk, the famous write wasn't about to think about that little event a second time.
So, on a rainy Monday evening, with his mind still racing on his book and light-years away from the pale shape of a man called Draco Malfoy, Harry arrived at a well-known door, whistling a stupid tune, and after a while rang the bell.
After a while, the door opened and a beautiful young woman appeared behind it.
"Hi Herm," Harry said smiling warmly. Hermione smiled in return, leaning towards Harry to kiss his cheek lightly, brushing her soft chocolate hair on his neck.
"Hi Harry," she said. "Come in. Ron isn't here yet."
"Late as usual, our red-head, isn't he?" he asked mockingly, knowing the answer already.
Harry, Hermione and Ron had been meeting at the witty witch's home almost once a week since they left Hogwarts. And Ron had always been late, as far as Harry could remember.
They were still friends, the same best friends and the same "magic trio" they had been during their school time, even if they had changed a lot. Actually, Harry wasn't the only living as a muggle: Hermione was now a journalist and she often worked with Ron, who had become photographer.
Harry had always suspected, or at least hoped, that the two of them were sharing something more than just a job, but if after seven years of school and three years of work together they hadn't started something more serious yet, well, the Gryffindor began to think that the possibility of ever seeing a deeper kind of relationship involving Ron and Hermione was a delusion.
On the other hand, he really couldn't talk about delusions, since everybody thought that, once out of Hogwarts, the Golden Boy would have soon ended up with a good and pretty girl. Well, even an evil and ugly one... but definitively a feminine kind...
So Hemione and Ron's surprised faces when he introduced them his first boyfriend, didn't bother him too much. And actually, once they overcame the initial shock, Harry's once best friends kept on being his best friends and supporters.
"Well, how is your work going, Harry? You were quite busy last week, and we hadn't had our ritual weekly dinner because of you," Hermione accused jokingly, offering a drink to the black-haired man sitting on her couch.
"Oh Herm, I'm sorry about that, but that bloody book needed to be edited properly... I've lost sleep finishing it," Harry answered tiredly.
His friend nodded.
"I can imagine it," she said smiling sweetly. "But d'you know? They say that probably you'll be the one to win that award."
"Really?" Harry asked surprised. "I don't know... There are a lot of good writers to take part in this competition... I don't think I'll win that easily," he considered finally, frowning slightly.
"This is true, but you're the best Harry. And then, I've never seen you lose any kind of competition," she stated, and as her words left her mouth, Harry was hit by a sudden flash of a grey lustful glance.
He smiled pleased, suddenly recalling Draco's taste on his lips.
"Harry?" Hermione called puzzled.
"Yes?" Harry answered blinking.
His friend chuckled.
"You were daydreaming. You really must have lost a lot of sleep on that book," she noticed.
"Well, once it was you that spent your nights closed in the library..." he recalled.
Hermione nodded, her mind went back to the school she loved so much.
"Tell me, Herm. What would you think if I said Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked suddenly.
The woman snapped out of her sweet reverie and blinked.
"Malfoy? That little spoiled brat? Why Harry," she complained. "Are you trying to ruin my good memories of Hogwarts? Malfoy was something I really wanted to forget. And I'd have almost succeeded if you hadn't said his name now," she said pouting.
Harry laughed: "Sorry Herm. I'll do anything so that you'll forgive me."
"Well, you could begin opening the door for Ron," she suggested smiling, while the doorbell rang madly. "He always rang that poor bell like this," Hermione added, shaking her head.
Harry got up and opened the door, facing an excited Ron.
"Harry!" he almost yelled in surprise. "I was just looking for you!" he said excited.
Harry frowned.
"What's wrong Ron?"
"Wrong? Nothing wrong! What's could be wrong in winning that bloody award?" he asked smiling happily.
Harry blinked.
"You're joking, aren't you?"
"Well, as you like it Harry... but please, stay still for a photo and prepare your pen for some autographs," Ron said as seriously as he could.
"What's happening here?" Hermione asked, appearing at the dining room door, her arms folded in front of her chest and a smirk on her lips.
"Ron says I won the award," Harry said flatly, not willing to believe his friend’s words.
"Is it the truth, Ron?" she asked.
"It is the bloody truth, Herm!" he insisted. "I'm just coming from the press office of the competition!"
"Well, then... congratulations Harry," she said smiling warmly. "I told you that you would have won. The least you could do for me is let me have the exclusive on the award."
Harry sighed pinching his nose behind his glasses.
"Oh well. I think I don't have choice, do I? And besides, I have something for which I need to be forgiven." he said smiling.
"Forgiven?" Ron asked.
"Exactly. While waiting for you, we talked for a while and Harry made me remember of an amazing bouncing ferret," she began.
"Malfoy??? Harry? We should be celebrating tonight and planning about Saturday evening, not thinking about a nightmare that lasted seven years!"
Ron complained, lying on the couch with a disgusted look on his face.
Harry shook his head.
"Ok, right. I'm sorry about the... erm... Malfoy thing... let's talk about something else, ok?" he suggested hopefully.
"Are you taking Mark to the award?" Hermione asked, while setting the table.
"Actually I'm not," Harry admitted sighing. "We broke up three weeks ago."
An awkward silence followed, until Hermione spoke again, her voice showing her sincere regret.
"Oh Harry, I didn't mean to... I'm sorry."
He smiled sweetly, easing the atmosphere.
"Really, Herm, don't be. I'm not," he assured.
"Mmm... This is no good," Ron stated, sipping his Martini. "People expect to see you with your last conquest. Especially the girls were longing to see the lucky guy at your side. My, my Harry, leaving the poor Mark just before the award… it wasn't a wise move. It will affect your image," the red-haired man stated mockingly.
But Harry answered seriously.
"No, you're right Ron. Sometimes I think I really need somebody, but without the lovely-sweet-caring thing," he said, thoughtfully.
"Harry, you said you didn't care about Mark, but it seems that this breaking up affected you more strongly than you wanted us to believe."
Harry didn't answer but let his gaze wander around, still considering the sudden emptiness that Mark had left behind, that emptiness that actually had never been filled, because as long as things get complicated, Harry broke off with them.
"Well, Herm, I think Harry needs a bit of safe sex without love implications. Let's call it a change. The matter is: who would knowingly accept to be shagged heartlessly?" Ron said laughing slightly.
"Yeah, who?" Harry echoed distantly, without noticing the worried look Ron and Hermione exchanged, listening at his voice resounding strangely serious in the room.