Delusions
Harry fingered the glinting object in his pocket, minutely hearing the plastic around it crinkle. He pulled his hood down further as he entered the shabby brick building. A bored looking woman with lipstick smudges on her teeth popped her gum and clacked her teeth together before glancing up and asking, "You want?"
Not even a full sentence, Harry thought, impressed. He yanked the baggie out of his pocket and slammed it down on the counter. The woman stared at him after the rough action with arch eyebrows that had been drawn on and pushed her tongue through her stale purple gum. Harry thought she might have been trying to raise one in question but it was too hard to discern as the artificial brows didn't work as well as real ones would have.
The woman was now eyeing both the baggie and Harry's face, darting between the two. Harry growled and shoved the plastic closer to her. His voice came out hoarse and sandpapery, "Your whores do Polyjuice?"
The woman smiled smartly in understanding and plucked the bag from under his flat palm between two gaudily manicured nails. She nodded and pushed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, probably trying to corral her gum as she made a tick with her wand behind her. She indicated the couches and chairs that bordered the small room and popped her gum again, "Wait here 'n someone'll be right wit ya."
Apparently it was far too much effort to say full words.
Harry began unbuttoning his coat as he turned away when she waved her hand dramatically and called him back, "Oh, hold on there. You wan' male or female?"
Harry ground his teeth together, "Does it matter? By the time I see them," He jerked his thumb towards the bag, "They'll look like that."
The woman gave him a derisive look at his caustic tone, and, looking down her nose at him, she said condescendingly, "Now my girls don' much like bein' men and my boys ain' much like bein' women."
Harry waved her off and fought the urge to roll his eyes, "Male," He said gruffly.
She nodded but Harry didn't miss the slight surprise in her widened hazel eyes. Perhaps she had recognized him? She handed him a small slip of paper with the number '48' on it, written in a vibrant red. Harry inclined his head and turned away from her successfully.
He went to find a seat as far away from the other men in the "waiting room" as possible. One of them was scratching fitfully at his neck as if he had fleas and Harry tried not to stare at him as he twitched.
His palms were sweating and he bunched up the material of his jeans beneath them, clenching and unclenching his hands. He refused to allow himself to think because, if he did, he would stand up and walk out that door. He glanced around for something to distract him, realizing the only type of 'reading' material in the establishment was porn.
He looked away distastefully and tried to corral his runaway emotions. He wanted this, he reminded himself breathlessly. There was a queasy feeling in his stomach but he relegated it with the fact that, in only a few moments, he would see Draco for the first time in weeks. His stomach gave a jump at that and he pushed down the excitement that was mingling with much darker emotions.
Two men were called before him, one looking much more prepared for a business meeting than fucking an indiscriminate whore and the other a lean man who looked around shiftily as though afraid someone might recognize him.
Finally it was Harry's turn as the woman's lips parted to realize the glorious syllables, "Forty-eight." Harry jumped up out of his seat as if electrified and dropped his strip of paper in his nervousness. He stooped to pick it up, feeling foolish, and approached the desk.
He handed the tawdry woman his slightly damp ticket and tried to smile at her, unfortunately with his nerves going haywire it looked as if he was baring his teeth predatorily. She seemed to understand the intention however but still managed to give him an odd, almost amused, glance.
She pulled a key from under the desk and placed it on the countertop, folding her arms over the edge of the table assuredly, "You gonna go through tha' door there, 'n three doors down you'll find your lover boy awaitin' for ya."
Harry swallowed and nodded, taking the key from the woman. The keychain was the same vibrant red as the ink and there was a snake pattern carved into it. He followed the woman's directions and found his feet planted outside a door with the same serpent pattern etched into the wood on a much larger scale.
Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned the key in the lock. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, eyes closed, door open, and breathing choppily. He slowly opened his eyes and saw Draco Malfoy standing in the middle room, looking uncertain and a bit mussed.
Harry's breath caught in his throat and the whore – Draco – turned around with wide eyes and looked at him fearfully. Harry walked into the room and closed the door behind him, trying to calm the instinct that screamed, 'defile!'
Draco was only wearing robes, which were falling off one of his shoulders revealing a long length of creamy skin, and a pair of gray slacks that hung loosely on his frame and complimented his eyes beautifully. Harry leaned back against the sturdy barrier and, with his hand shielded by his body, clicked the lock into place.
He glanced up, his eyes glittering hungrily, and took slow, stilted, steps forward. Draco didn't back up but he looked as if he was considering it, instead only shrinking a bit. Harry reached up carefully and placed his hand on the blonde's cheek.
Draco looked at him confusedly, his grey eyes questioning, before finally leaning into the touch. He brushed his cheek back and forth and Harry's stomach performed a somersault. He wasn't sure who had told the whore how to act, or how they had known, but at this point, he couldn't care less.
Harry ripped off his own jacket hastily, tossing it somewhere behind him, and fumbled with his jeans, nearly jumping out of his skin when Draco's soft hands joined the fray. Harry removed his trembling fingers in awe and watched reverently as Draco undid his jeans deftly and sank to his knees.
There was one quick glance up for confirmation before Draco removed Harry's half-hard prick from its cloth confines. Harry groaned and Draco began moving his fine, long fingers up and down Harry's length, encouraging him to full hardness.
He licked his lips and Harry moaned, fisting the blonde hair but managing not to force Draco's head forward. Draco placed his lips tentatively against the head of Harry's cock, his hand still doing the work before his mouth replaced it. He lipped the top of Harry's shaft, allowing the tip of his tongue to press against the slit, gently at first and then more roughly as Harry mewled for more. His lips slipped open wider and he encompassed half of Harry inside him
Harry kept his eyes closed, trying desperately to find the rhythm in the boy's bobbing. Draco always had a perfect rhythm that would keep Harry expecting the unexpected. The boy sucked him off but his tongue – for the most part – lay limp in his mouth. Draco would never allow that, he was much more enthusiastic, as if it was a privilege to suck Harry's cock and he was going to drain every second of pleasure from it.
Harry groaned and cracked open one eye. He was looking down at Draco's spitting image but... It wasn't him. It would never be him. Never again. He released the boy's hair from his death grip and gently pried his head away from his cock. Harry sighed and said wearily, "I'm sorry, this isn't what I want."
The boy looked stunned. Harry wouldn't be surprised if he'd never been turned down before. He eyed Harry's wilting cock and stood indignantly, saying quickly and vehemently, "I could do better!" His hands were clenched at his sides and his face was set.
Harry looked back at Draco's determined features, even now, even though Harry knew it wasn't really him, it was hard to deny him after everything he'd put him through.
Harry ran a hand through his tangled hair, "You were doing fine. It's just – I thought I could but – You're not him," Harry finished gruffly. He placed the key on a low table and said quietly, "I'll still pay you but I can't go through with it."
Harry turned around but was stopped by a silky hand on his forearm and pale skin in his periphery. The boy cast a Tempus charm and said softly, "You still have about forty minutes." He shrugged, "We could talk."
Harry fought the urge to snort and watched as the boy looked down at himself and plucked at his robes, asking, "Who was he?"
Harry shook his head, he had no idea why he was even considering talking to a whore but, despite what he was thinking, he found himself sitting down on the bed. The boy sat next to him while Harry lost himself in thought. There were so many ways he could answer that; my ex-boyfriend, the man I beat and crushed until he left me, the love of my life, the one I took for granted, the man I – Harry exhaled noiselessly and whispered, "Everything."
The boy arched Draco's blonde brow and turned to face him, scooting a bit closer. "Did something bad happen to him?" He asked so quietly Harry almost didn't hear him.
"Yes," Harry admitted. "Me."
The boy looked at Harry confusedly, twisting Draco's features into bewilderment, "But... You love him, don't you?"
Harry opened his mouth and no sound came out. What an odd question to stump him. He thought he did, but you generally didn't kill the spirit of people you cared for. He twisted his hands together uncomfortably and stuttered, "I-I don't know."
The boy placed one of Draco's smooth hands over Harry's and said unassumingly, "You seem as if you do. The way you looked at me – him – I've never felt more desired."
Harry turned away from him, "I was never uncertain of my desire for him but I didn't – I wasn't good to him and he left me."
The boy looked curious, or rather, Draco did, "Why weren't you good to him, I can tell you care for him."
Harry bit his tongue to stop from retorting, 'Because I'm a selfish, self-destructive, manipulative little prick who doesn't know a good thing when he sees one,' and instead answered, "I don't know."
And it was true, he didn't.
~*~
Harry sat in The Hog's Head, his affinity for alcohol having become much more pronounced in Draco's absence. Three bottles of Ogden's best littered the table around him while he took a swig of his newest and traced his finger against one of the many watermarks.
The bottles in front of him vanished and Harry looked up to tell his server to keep them coming when he met Hermione's furious glare. He shrank under it inwardly but outwardly he just scoffed.
Hermione threw her bag into the booth and sat down across from him with purpose. She slammed the flat of her palm against the table to get Harry's attention, apparently past the coddling stage. "Just tell me why," She demanded. She huffed the bangs out of her face and her voice was a bit strained as if she were sleep-deprived, "I've been over and over it and I can't figure it out. Why did you do it?"
Harry shrugged, wondering if she was referring to everything or Wood. He decided to answer the one he felt less guilty about and delivered the same line he'd given himself, "It was the only way he was ever going to leave."
He couldn't tell if that had been the right answer but Hermione didn't seem to have a preference as she immediately retorted, "And, since when," She emphasized dramatically, "Did you want him to leave?"
Harry glowered at her and said in a brusque tone, "He deserved better, Hermione."
Hermione shook her head, her voice a mite bit calmer, "I'm not saying that he didn't, Harry." She got a look on her face as if she'd swallowed something bitter and said coldly, "If I remember correctly, I asked you to leave him and you said he was yours."
Harry fought the urge to lash out at her, wondering who the fuck had made her Draco's personal savior when she had barely given two shits about the guy when he'd stuck around. He gripped his bottle painfully and ground out, "I realized the error of my ways."
"Bullshit, Harry," She announced cleanly. She waved her hand and scoffed derisively, "You make it sound like you did this selfless thing for him but I know you, and that's not you."
Harry knew this was about her own guilt for not helping Draco when she'd had the chance but she could not pretend to know him any longer when he didn't even recognize himself.
He gave up trying to control himself, his face already red from restraint. He could feel his anger building and spat through a clenched jaw, "Fine then, maybe I just wanted a fuck."
Hermione snarled at him and hissed, "Don't you dare lie to me, Harry James Potter, or to yourself! You were seeing how far you could push him! How much he'd withstand for you! How much shit he'd trudge through!"
She leaned across the table and asked with perspicacious deviousness, "But it was never good enough, was it, Harry? At least not until he left, right?"
Her nostrils were flaring and she leaned back with glassy eyes, promising, "I refuse to offer even one iota of help until you admit everything you've done to him. In detail," She clarified, adding at Harry's blankly furious glare, "Write it down if you must but I will not let you close your eyes to this!"
"Get the fuck away from me!" Harry screamed, breathing hard, his magic building to a terrifying swell in his chest. His eyes were wild with stripped pain and raw rage. In that instant, he wanted to kill Hermione and he wasn't sure he wouldn't do it if she didn't get the fuck out.
Who the fuck was she to tell him his motives? Who the fuck was she to act better than him? Who the fuck was she to bring up Draco like she even deserved to speak his fucking name?
Hermione actually looked frightened, sinking down in her chair, and breathing shakily, "Harry..."
Harry's eyes flashed dangerously as he said in a deathly hush, "Get. Out."
Hermione didn't waste a second glance as she grabbed her bag and slipped out of her seat with cautious and condescending motions. She held her head high and threw scornfully over her shoulder, "I feel like I don't even know you anymore, Harry Potter."
Harry waited for her to leave before hanging his head in his hands, tears sliding down his cheeks, and muttering, "Me neither."