Part 9: Blow
Nothing really matters,
Anyone can see,
Nothing really matters, nothing really matters to me,
Any way the wind blows....
"Bohemian Rapsody", Queen
Draco was on the terrace again. When they had returned from the award, Harry had gone to change his clothes and, when he went looking for his lover, he found the glass door of the living room open and the cold wind blowing sharply through it. He shivered, but went out nevertheless.
Draco was leaning against the railing, smoking and looking down at the city's lights.
Harry stood still for a while, observing how that pale shape cut the night, how the few light shone on his hair, tousled by the wind.
"Draco?"
The Slytherin turned around to stare at the other wizard. Harry looked at him, while he took a drag from his cigarette, his pale lips slightly closing on the filter. The smoke was quickly carried away by the wind.
And suddenly few words came out.
"Did you mean it?"
Draco pondered Harry's question for a while. Then, he answered the only way he could, the only way he would allow himself to answer.
"Of course I didn't."
Both men looked each other for a while, both believing the words. The lie. Because it was easier.
"Of course you didn't," Harry agreed softly, even if he didn't feel like doing so. He had unconsciously hoped, just for a few moments, that Draco wasn't such a good actor, "But you did a good work."
"Do you think?" Draco said, turning again towards the railing. Harry reached him.
"Yeah, I do," Harry said.
"Well, I'm paid for it," the blond stated, almost sadly, but Harry didn't notice, 'cause the wind made those words disappear a little too quickly.
Draco finished his cigarette and turned to face his rival, who was standing at his side for a while, studying him, trying to understand what was that feeling growing painfully inside his chest.
Stop it.
And it stopped, allowing Draco to smirk. Harry looked at him interrogatively.
"And for this," the Slytherin added, coming closer to Harry, touching his cheek with a cold finger.
Harry shivered and Draco moved even closer. When their bodies were flushed together, he placed his lips on the Gryffindor's neck, trailing warm kisses on the cold skin.
Harry quivered again and unconsciously raked his fingers through Draco's hair. The blond continued to grace Harry’s neck with languid kisses. Each touch of his lips was soft and intimate, showing its own form of adoration. Suddenly, he stopped.
The Harry’s fingers kept moving lazily through his hair. Draco looked up and the two locked gazes.
A moment or an eternity. Then, it happened.
Harry leaned slowly towards the blond and placed his lips on the other's. Draco's eyes went wide in shock. He opened his mouth trying to say something, anything.
This is wrong, both thought. Why does it feel so right?
Harry's tongue slipped past Draco's lips, gently violating the sweet warmness of that mouth. His fingers ran through the blonde locks, then down, slowly caressing Draco's neck and shoulders.
Draco trembled under the tender assault, but he would not let the Boy Who Lived win this battle. Tentatively, he sought Harry's tongue. Then, he became more daring, caressing and teasing it with his own. The temperature might have been close to the freezing mark, but the two wizards were burning from the fire of their first kiss. Eventually, Draco drew back, leaving a confused Harry to look at him interrogatively.
"Don't," Draco said, trying to explain. "Please, don't do this again. Harry, I…" He tried again, but he seemed unable to form the right words. He raised his hand and touched his lips, as if, with that simple gesture, he could make them stop from longing for that warmness they had experienced a while ago.
"Don't what, Draco? You don't have many problems when I fuck you. So why don’t you want me to kiss you?" Harry asked, angrily.
"You don't understand. Harry, I…" Before he could say anymore, Harry cut him off.
"You, what?" Harry growled.
"I could believe you mean it," Draco said, finally, his voice distant, dreamy.
Did you mean it? Did I mean it?
There were the same simple questions swirling in their minds. But there weren't simple answers to them. Lost in their thoughts, Harry and Draco went to sleep, without adding a single word on the subject.
Draco lay awake on his bed all the night, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about Harry's lips, about that warmness and that 'everything-is-perfectly-fine' feeling. Something he didn't remember of ever having experienced.
He caught me off guard. Shit. Don't think about it!
At five o'clock, Draco finally got up and took a shower, hoping that his thoughts could be washed away under the warm water that caressed his skin.
An hour later, the Slytherin was dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a green jersey. He went into the kitchen to fetch a cup of coffee. Each movement he made was automatic and detached. He refused to think at the moment, since his brain appeared to be unable to focus on anything but the ‘kissing incident’. And all thoughts related to it were warm and longing. That wouldn’t do at all. He needed to use all his upbringing to remember that Malfoys didn’t do warm. Malfoys were cold detached and bloody realistic. He knew that it was a mistake. A sodding mistake that would not happen again. Never ever again. Otherwise...
Otherwise *what*? He wondered angrily, sensing that his thoughts had trailed, once again, toward those mushy feelings.
He finished the cup of coffee and reached for his Marlboro. He went to the terrace. He knew that, no matter how hard he was trying, he could not regain a dignity that simply wasn't there anymore. Draco sighed and took a drag of smoke.
What should I actually admit? That I'm beginning to *feel*? To feel for *Harry*? It's sick. It should be sick. So why am I even considering it?
Draco had thousand of questions in his mind, but could not find a single answer. Or, at least, no direct answer, but just a feeling that was springing from inside, giving him little innuendos of a bigger truth that the Slytherin still wasn't ready to accept. Because of his pride. And because of his fears.
"How long until I can get my arse out of here?" Draco thought aloud. Then, realizing that he was talking to nobody, he laughed, sadly. Desperately.
"How long before I'll finally lose my mind?" he whispered.
And the silence of dawn was the only answer he got.
It was half past ten when the doorbell began to ring madly. Draco flinched, not expecting that noise in the quietness of the morning. Harry hadn't come out of his room yet.
But probably, he‘ll wake up with all this racket, Draco realized, opening the door.
An uncomfortable silence followed. Ron and Hermione were scrutinizing the fair-haired man with different expressions, which went from 'then-we-weren't-dreaming-last-night' to 'you'd-better-begin-saying-your-prayers'.
It took Draco only a moment to find the proper way to face those inquiring two-thirds of the ‘Wonder-Trio’. He smiled tentatively and began to perform his little act.
"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley. What a wonderful surprise! Unfortunately, Harry is still in bed, but if you want to come -" Draco said, but as the word ‘bed’ left his mouth and sunk into Ron consciousness, the redhead cut him off, shoving him rudely aside and entering the flat as a rabid dog. "- in," the Slytherin concluded, sighing deeply before Ron began to shout.
"HARRY! GET.UP.YOU.LAZY.ARSE! You have a lot of explanations to give us and you're already LATE!" the redhead yelled angrily, his face reaching the same dangerous crimson tone of his hair.
Well, if he hadn't got up yet, he surely has *now*, Draco considered, shaking his head defeated.
After a while Harry appeared, wearing only his shorts and a grey t-shirt, his hair even messier than usual, if that were possible, and his glasses lying crooked on his nose.
"Ron," he began. "There's nothing so important that can't wait until I take a shower. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a minute," Harry said, before disappearing again.
Draco blinked. Hermione shook her head. And Ron cursed, slumping heavily on the couch. After a while the witch joined him and Draco closed the door. They said nothing for a long while, until Ron asked what time it was.
"It should be half past ten, Ron," Hermione answered tiredly and Draco wondered how long she had been listening to the redhead’s complaints.
"I need something to drink. Anything," Ron said before looking at Draco, meaningfully.
"Right. What can I bring you?" The fair-haired man asked, calmly.
Ron shrugged, refusing to say anything else to the person who would always be, at least for him, the 'bloody ferret boy'.
"For you, Miss Granger?" Draco tried again.
"Coffee, black, no sugar, thank you," she said, smiling politely.
Draco disappeared in the kitchen. If he weren't been a true Malfoy, he would be cursing in the three languages he happened to know. Instead, he filled a glass with something that smelled like scotch for the 'Rabid Weasel' and poured some coffee for Granger.
Granger. Sadly, the only *normal* part in the bloody trio.
Draco went back to the living room. Once gotten his drink, Ron looked at it suspiciously. Hermione, on the other hand, began to sip calmly her coffee. The redhead frowned and finally decided to drink his scotch. In one go.
Draco would have looked at him amazed, but nothing could be considered strange when dealing with Weasel. Hermione, instead, glared at her friend, before turning towards Draco.
"Well, Malfoy. You look a bit tired. Didn't you sleep enough, last night?" she asked, while Ron looked at her bewildered.
Draco smirked.
"Actually, I didn't sleep at all. But the reason is not what Mr. Weasley is thinking at the moment."
Hermione sneered. She had to admit that Ron's expression was priceless. But the fun lasted only awhile.
"Fuck you, Malfoy. What do you think? We didn't come here to offer our congratulation to the sickest couple in the world."
Draco didn't bat an eye at that outburst and Hermione found herself admiring the cold composure of their former rival. The one he had always had and that had always unnerved Ron so much.
Ron will never learn, she considered rationally, his words can't hurt Malfoy.
"And if Harry is so blind to not see what filthy bastard you are, well, as his friends, is our duty to wake him up."
"I think you already managed to do that," Draco finally retorted, raising a delicate eyebrow defiantly.
Hermione shook her head helplessly. And Ron got up.
"You.Filthy.Bastard." The red-haired man growled.
"You already said that, Mr. Weasley," Draco calmly pointed out.
And at that Ron snapped, jumping towards him and grabbing the collar of his jersey. Draco didn't react and let the {other} shove him against the wall. Quite rudely too. Hermione noticed him, wincing and frowned.
"Ron, stop it," she said coldly, but her friend was too angry to pay attention to her words.
"I'm going to kill you, Malfoy. Just wait for me," Ron spat out.
"I'm not in the position to go anywhere, am I?" Draco wondered aloud, his tone calm and innocent, as if he was talking about the weather. But Ron's mood wasn't sunny, and just to underline this statement he raised his fist, ready to smash it on Draco's face.
"Enough," a voice said, and Ron, reluctantly, let go of his victim. Harry was standing next to Hermione, his eyes flashing with anger. Ron looked at him angrily as well and went back to sit on the couch. Draco instead, stayed where he was, waiting for Harry to say something. And he did indeed.
"Draco, what did I tell you?" he asked coldly. The Slytherin flinched and looked at him interrogatively. Hermione frowned.
"Harry, actually Ron was a bit upset," she began, not liking at all her friend’s gaze. It was something that she has never witnessed before and it was quite scary.
"It doesn't matter, Hermione," he said, not moving his burning green eyes from Draco. "He knew. Now I expect you to apologise for your behaviour, Draco."
Hermione looked at Harry, bewildered. Ron looked like ice-cold water had been dropped on him. His jaw fell slightly. Draco narrowed his eyes and looked at Harry, but the raven-haired man kept his gaze steady and folded his arms on his chest.
"Ron is waiting, Draco,"
Draco blinked, finally realizing that Harry wasn't exactly kidding. The atmosphere became dangerously tense. This is not happening, he thought panicking. But as much as he hated to admit it, the truth was that Harry was asking him to apologise. And he would have had to do it, sooner or later. Draco clenched his teeth for a while and then, trying as hard has he could to stay calm, he looked at Ron.
"I'm sorry," he said.
I'm *sorry*?
Hermione frowned. Draco Malfoy apologising to Ron Weasley. There's something *definitely* wrong here, she thought, letting her gaze wander between an amazed Ron, a satisfied Harry and an expressionless Draco. Finally, the blond moved.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked, almost softly.
"Cigarettes," Draco muttered, before disappearing.
Harry sat on the couch and smiled warmly at his friends. Ron was still in shock, so he addressed Hermione.
"So, Herm? What can I do for you?" He asked, still smiling.
The witch looked at him meaningfully for a while before smirking.
"What do you think about telling us the truth?"
Harry looked at her. He should have known better than to try to fool his friend. She had always been extremely perceptive. Then, he laughed.
"Well, that's definitively asking something, Herm," Harry stated, before finally starting his tale.
Sod off, Harry. JUST SOD OFF.
Draco reached the bathroom, shaking in rage. Once there, he turned the knob of the cold water and splashed his face. Not caring about the drops that ran down the collar of his jersey, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He had a disgusted grimace on his lips and deep bags under his eyes, which were even clearer thanks to his deadly pale face.
I'm a mess, he stated tiredly.
He sighed deeply, trying to calm down, but it was useless. He was angry. He was hurt.
Harry humiliated me. And it *did* hurt me. This is the bloody truth. Now what? Does this make me weak? Does this make him powerful? Does he *know* what he's doing to me? NOT BLOODY LIKE LIKELY. Because if he knew. If he knew and *still* he wanted to do this...
Draco refused to think that. It was scary. It would mean that Harry Potter was a completely different person. The Golden Boy, the Brave Gryffindor was a well-disguised Slytherin bastard. Draco shook his head and smiled tiredly at himself. He dried his face and went searching for his cigarettes, before going back to the living room, where something was waiting for him.
"You're kidding."
"No, I'm not."
"Malfoy.Is.Your.Whore. Sorry, but I can't believe it! My brain doesn't allow me," Ron stated, laughing.
"Well, actually, if I think about it this way... Yes, I admit it's quite strange. But amazingly funny too," Harry stated.
Hermione kept looking, speechless, at her friends, while they went on and on about what was going on between Harry and Malfoy. They made it sound like a big joke.
I wanted the truth, but now I regret my wish. This is a bloody nightmare. And my *friends* are talking about it as they used to talk about Quidditch.
From Hermione's point of view, everything was just wrong. Malfoy had been a jerk. Maybe, he still was a jerk.
But Harry is talking and behaving like an uncaring Death Eater! The worse thing is that he doesn't seem to understand it. He doesn't understand that he's playing with a *person*. Shit! Why didn't I see this coming? Why didn't I see him changing? I should have thought about possible *consequences*...
Her trail of thoughts was interrupted as some of Ron and Harry's words hit her brain.
"Are you saying that he's a good shag?" Ron asked, bewildered.
Harry nodded, smirking.
"Indeed. Actually the best shag of my life, till now," he stated.
"Glad to know it."
Ron, Harry and Hermione turned towards the cold voice. Draco was there, leaning on the doorframe, a cigarette stuck in his mouth and a blank expression on his face.
The first to recover was Ron.
"Well, Malfoy? Do you enjoy being Harry's whore?" he asked, nastily.
Draco didn't answer but kept staring at the wall, his grey eyes as glassy as dead.
It doesn't hurt. If you don't think about it, it doesn't hurt.
But the Slytherin's thoughts were cut off by Ron's voice.
"What? Cat got your tongue, Draco? Have you finally swallowed your pride or is your mouth to overworked to speak?"
"Ron!" Hermione cried out, shocked. The situation was simply unbearable. But again, Draco didn't answer. He simply turned and started to move, thinking about how many steps separated him from his room.
Or from the railing of the terrace.
"Running away?" Ron called, an amused tone in his voice, but the Slytherin wasn’t paying attention to him. Or better, he wouldn't have if Harry hadn't intervened.
"Draco. Exactly, where do you think you're going?" The Gryffindor asked, "Ron is talking to you. Stay."
"Harry!" Hermione called, indignation rising in her voice.
"What?" he snapped.
The witch blinked. Then, she narrowed her eyes and got up, trembling in rage, something that rarely happened.
"This is sick, Harry," she said articulating her words as if talking to a two years old child, "You're sick, Harry. And I can't believe I'm your friend. I'm best friend with a... a bastard!" She yelled.
Harry raised his eyebrows at the curse, while Ron frowned.
"Don't you see what you're doing? Now, Death Eaters had something to learn from you, Harry. For God sake, what the hell happened to you?" She said, fighting her tears, torn between her rage and her rational side, which told her that maybe she had something to do with that change.
Her friend stared at her blankly.
"Harry..." she said softly, trying hard to find her friend behind that empty gaze. Suddenly, those green eyes fixed on her, and their owner smiled.
"There's nothing wrong with me, Hermione. Well, maybe I've been a little harsh. But -" he managed to say before the witch cut him off.
"No, Harry. This isn't simple harshness. This is gratuitous nastiness. Hate. Darkness. Have you ever wondered where this come from?"
The Boy Who Lived flinched.
Darkness. What's this darkness inside me? Why do I feel like destroying everything? And why does destroying Draco feel *especially* good? Harry wondered. But before he could formulate an answer, Hermione interrupted his thoughts.
"I'm leaving. See you when your brain starts working again," she said, almost sadly. "And you, Ron. You're simply great. You have just acted like the bastard he used to be. The difference is that you are a little too old to be forgiven," she pointed out. Ron flinched and a guilty expression covered his face.
"Herm, wait!" He said, running after her.
In the living room, Harry and Draco were now alone. The only company was a terrifying silence.