von Resimesdra
~ Title borrowed from Muse. Now really, what else did you expect? ~
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Okay, folks, sorry to have made you wait that long again – me and my wonderful beta CBeta had some problems with the evil internet to work out first; but now here it is, the amazingly sappy fourth chapter. Somehow I’ve got a feeling this is getting fluffier by the minute. oO Astounding, seeing how I’m pants at writing fluff…^^°
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Harry dropped face-first onto his bed and sighed gravely into the cushions. Two days since he had met Tristan – Malfoy! – in the park. Two days since they had discovered the secret of each other’s identity. Two days since Harry had been left standing at a bloody fountain, which was awfully public, cell phone in hand and open-mouthed, staring at his former enemy’s back rapidly disappearing. Two days during which Tristan – Malfoy, God dammit! – hadn’t called or written.
Two days during which Harry had started to really miss the other boy in his life.
Harry groaned and buried his face in the pillows. Merlin, he hadn’t been so frustrated since… No. He couldn’t remember any other time when he would have felt so frustrated. It was sickening, this feeling that he and Tristan – Malfoy, now for Heaven’s sake! – had shared so much (not even to mention the most thrilling, mind-blowing and perfect sex Harry had ever had – and they hadn’t even touched or seen each other to achieve that, and Harry couldn’t stop thinking about how good it would be if they finally did it for real!), that they had gotten along so wonderfully – and now it was over. Just like that.
And it wasn’t because they had found out they didn’t like each other when they met, no. Just like everything in Harry’s life, it all came back to his past. They couldn’t be together because of who they were, because they were life-long enemies and they just weren’t meant to fraternize. To have sex. To fall in love with each other. Whatever.
Harry groaned again, incredulously registering that the mere memory of their telephone-wanking-session had him hardening in his boxers and against the mattress. Who was he kidding? He had it bad for him. He must have been in love with Tristan, and now that he knew it was actually Malfoy – he still was.
A little.
Okay, perhaps a bit more than just a little.
He had been awfully cute on the phone, and when Harry had Malfoy in the park, not yet knowing about the turn things were about to take, he couldn’t help blushing because his imaginary Malfoy-shower scene had popped up in front of his inner-eye again and again, quite persistently.
And damn him if Malfoy's looks hadn‘t improved since school! While he’d always been taller than Harry when they were still at school, Malfoy seemed to have stopped growing in their sixth year, whilst Harry had had another spurt of growth in what should have been their seventh year. Of course, there hadn’t really been a seventh year for the students and teachers of Hogwarts, since that had been the time when the war had started, leaving no time for educational worries…
Anyway, Malfoy was now at least several inches shorter than Harry was (and Harry liked that a lot), and his face seemed still very young, boyish even, despite the rather hard times the Malfoys had faced during the wartime. Harry had been seriously tempted to try to seduce him right there and then – and he might have, had he not suddenly remembered that first, he was about to have a date with the supposedly-second-hottest boy on earth, and second, that Malfoy didn’t harbor any homosexual tendencies. Or so he had thought at the time.
So how did Harry actually feel about the whole thing?
Truth was, he couldn’t actually tell. Everything about the whole matter was awfully ambivalent to him, and while he felt oddly stupid and betrayed on the one hand (which didn’t even make sense, since – unlike him – Draco had never claimed Tristan to be his real name and he hadn’t exactly lied to Harry in any way Harry knew of, or refused to answer any questions that Harry had asked him), he was still strangely relieved that things had turned out like this.
Because first, Draco Malfoy was one very attractive bloke, and everything Harry could ever want in a man. And he was blond on top of all.
And second, Harry slowly came to terms with the realization that there must have been something more to their mutual enmity back at school than stupid childhood rivalry.
And finally, last but not least – because Harry felt weirdly giddy about the fact that Draco had as good as admitted to having had a rather serious crush on him during their time at school, something Harry would never have found out about had it not been for the whole incident. And while he realized, of course, that he himself had made some statements along the same line that Malfoy could easily figure out if he only gave it a bit of thought – Harry didn’t really mind. He was too busy reveling in the realization that a big part of Malfoy’s appalling behavior was only due to a strong desire to get Harry’s attention in any way. How unbearably cute and totally irresistible was that?
Harry sighed again, this time less aggrieved. Perhaps it wasn’t so fucked up after all. All he needed to do was fully convince himself that he really wanted Malfoy. And convince Malfoy that he still wanted Harry, and that Harry wanted him back. Shouldn’t be that hard, Harry mused, even though the thought of so much convincing to do gave him a headache. He still couldn’t stifle the small smile working its way on his lips.
Harry rolled on his back and looked up at the ceiling.
“Malfoy,” he said experimentally. The name felt strange when spoken without the usual malevolence, completely foreign and unfamiliar on his lips, as though Harry had never before said it out loud. He shook his head. That wouldn’t do. He couldn’t keep calling him by his last name if he wanted him to believe Harry was serious about everything.
It was time for something more daring.
Harry frowned in intense concentration. It was harder than you should think, saying the name of someone that you had spent loathing for so many years of your life, and with affection.
“Draco,” he finally said, and was surprised at how easy he found it after all. “Draco,” he said again, for good measure. Not bad at all. Harry smiled. It was Dra- on the tip of his tongue*, clicking against his palatine with the softest of tickles, while -co rolled off his tongue, spilling over his lips like a summer breeze, like the soft stream of air that comes with a blown kiss.
“Draco.” What a wonderful, exceptional, unique name! How could he have been so entirely oblivious to the beauty of this word for such a long time?
Harry rolled his eyes at himself, even as a broad grin was spreading on his cheeks. Now he was being silly. And cheesy. And sappy. This was no good. Except – somehow it was.
Somehow, it was very, very good.
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Draco stepped out of the shower, drying his hair with a soft towel, when he saw that the tiny light on the answering machine was blinking. He sighed sadly.
Four days had passed since the terrible discovery in the park, and he was still shaken to the roots. Six billions of Muggles in this world, and he had to fall back on Potter of all people. That wasn’t even funny any more. That was tragic.
Draco had spent the last week in complete and utter denial, convincing himself that he did not have any feelings for Potter, that he wasn’t even remotely attracted to him anymore and that he Did Not Want To See Him Ever Again.
It worked out pretty well over the first two days, and Draco could almost believe that he would get over this new backslap without suffering from more permanent damage to his already badly affected soul – and then Potter had started calling.
Draco sighed again and made his way to the telephone, leaving wet stains on the carpet. He had been in the shower for almost an hour, and now his skin was soaked and shriveled. Draco found he did many rather stupid things lately, and he couldn’t entirely shake the thought that this had to do with a certain git leaving stupid messages on his answering machine almost every hour. Or so it seemed to Draco. Getting things over with would be so much easier if it wasn’t for those increasingly desperate messages, Draco mused, his finger already hovering over the DELETE key, as it did each and every time.
But then, he always gave in and listened to another outburst of Potter’s. Somehow, hearing Potter’s voice sounding so needy, begging and desperate provided Draco with some very sick but still very real satisfaction. He didn’t even know why he was so worked up over this, but… The thought that he had told Potter so many private things, that he had shown him depths of his soul he didn’t even know existed in the first place – it made him feel vulnerable. And in the very moment he had realized he’d been speaking to Harry bloody Potter the whole time, something inside him had snapped.
Perhaps it was some sense of self-defense clicking back into action, Draco contemplated; something that told him to get away before he got in over his head, like he had done so many times in the past.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t handle this. He knew that Potter was probably equally mortified over the whole matter, but then again Potter had always been good at stomaching stress. Draco had never excelled at that, and he seriously doubted he ever would. Potter was strong where Draco was weak, and he was not willing, more, not able, to expose his fragile self to such a vicious task. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
And then there was this nagging little feeling that – somehow – it all had to be Potter’s fault. It always was, right? So why not this time? Shouldn’t he have noticed something was amiss when Draco had told him about his schoolboy crush on him? God. The mere thought that he had told Potter in person about his so well kept secret, something nobody knew about, still served to make Draco cringe.
But, the small voice somewhere in the back of Draco’s head, that had an awful lot to say these days, pointed out, he did say he also had the hots for you.
“Oh shut up,” Draco mumbled. “He never said that. He said he was merely wondering. Besides, I don’t even know whether he was talking about me at all. There were quite a number of people Potter disliked, if I recall correctly.”
At least equally humiliating was the thing that had happened during their very first conversation. Draco still couldn’t believe he’d gotten so worked up over Harry’s damnably sexy voice that he couldn’t keep his paws out of his trousers. He had wanked to Potter’s words, he’d stuck his fingers in his arse and told Potter he imagined them to be his – and he’d told Potter that he fantasized over having dicks up him. Big dicks, implying in not so many words that it could easily be Potter’s.
Draco’s cheeks burned with humiliation. What had he been thinking?
Still he keeps calling, the unbidden little voice piped up again. Looks like he doesn’t mind you did all those things.
“Yeah right,” Draco murmured moodily. “Because he’s a bloody pervert who gets off on the notion of sticking his knob up some cute bloke’s arse.”
Isn’t that exactly what you wanted? The Voice was back, and she (she sounded like a woman to Draco, so he’d started to think of it as her) really was starting to annoy the hell out of him. Find some decent, good-looking bloke and surrender to him? Let him take care of you? Let him enter your body and soul, show him parts of you that even you don’t know yet?
Damn. The Voice was good, the persistent little bitch, Draco had to give her that much.
Draco stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “What if he only uses me?” he asked his other self miserably. “What if he toys with me? What if he laughs at me?”
Do you really think that?
Draco shook his head, slowly, hesitantly. “I don’t know,” he said faintly. “People have used and played with me a lot. How am I to know he won’t do the same?”
You can never really know about another person. It’s called trust. It’s not easy, but the alternative is being alone for the rest of your life. Is that what you'd prefer?
Draco shook his head again. Then he left the bathroom and hesitantly walked over to the answering machine.
Harry’s messages. They were all still there, neatly saved. Draco hadn’t had the heart to delete a single one of them, and wasn’t that telltale! He sat down on the sofa and listened to them.
Hey Draco. This is Harry. Uhm… Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but I… well, I guess I was a little shocked. You know. So, uhm, what do you think about the whole thing? I’m terribly sorry it turned out so awkwardly, and I would still like to meet you. How about you? So… you know, just call me back. See you.
Draco gulped. The way Harry said his name… nobody had ever spoken it like that. When his father said it, it already sounded like a menace, with his mother it was always whiny and full of complaints, and his friends… well, there was nothing special about the way either of them pronounced it. But with Harry! Harry had a way of making it sound precious, like bone china, as if it would break if one said it in a careless manner. And he had never before used his first name either, so this must mean something, right?
Hi, it’s me again. Did you get my message earlier, I wonder. I just wanted to ask whether everything is all right. Draco, I just want you to know that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, okay? Please don’t think it was all part of a plan, because there is no plan. This has hit me as hard as it has hit you, please believe me!
Draco cocked his head. Why had he found it so hard to believe him? Right now, Potter’s words sounded nothing but sincere to him…
Draco, please call me back!
Draco smirked. Potter was really getting desperate.
Are you away or something? Or are you just ignoring my calls? Can’t you let me know where you are and whether you’re okay? Please?
Goddamn, Draco! Would you pick up the bloody phone already? Look, I told you I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault! Really! I didn’t mean to lie to you about my name and everything, but James actually is my second name and I’ve been using it these days instead of Harry, because I like it better. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about that, but then I never figured it would become an issue, and you never asked! You can’t be mad at me because of that. Please call me.
Okay, that sounded pretty convincing, actually. If you were inclined to really listen, that is, which Draco had not been doing until now.
Please, please, please, Draco!
Look, my address is Benton Road 147, if you’d rather like to talk in person? … Not that I really count on it, but still… Now you know. You can come by any time, okay?
Draco felt a little pang of guilt at how resigned and sad Harry sounded. Harry. Harry wasn’t as stupid a name as he used to think. Even back at school when Draco had started fancying him, Harry had always sounded pretty ridiculous to him.
Now there was the last message, the one Draco had not yet listened to.
Okay. I just know I’m making a great fool out of myself, but I can’t stop thinking of you. I was shocked when I found out who you were, but really, it’s not that much of a big deal, is it? I mean, okay, so you and I disliked each other when we were at school and you really did some stupid things, but so did I. We already admitted to having had a little crush on each other anyway, so what’s all this now?
Little crush, Draco snorted mentally. I had the major hots for you, you stupid tosser! Merlin, I was absolutely crazy about your arse, and that one time in the shower…Oh my GOD, I’m so fucking glad I didn’t tell him about that!
But Harry’s message continued.
Of course the thing with Dumbledore was absolute crap, but in hindsight, I don't think that he did everything he could have done to save you and himself from this. I mean, I’d been telling him all year that you were up to no good, and he must have known anyway, but still he didn’t do anything to prevent it. It might sound somewhat heartless now… I don’t know, I don’t mean it that way, I mean, I do miss him and everything, and at that time I would gladly have ripped your balls off… But I know now, however, that you only did it to save your family, and I know that you didn’t actually participate in the war either, not on my side, but what’s more important, not on His side, either. So can’t we just forget about all things past and start all over again? I know I’m willing, and I’m hoping, begging, praying that you are too!
Draco stared at the answering machine as though there was a Blast-Ended Skrewt sitting on it, ready to explode. How could it possibly be that Harry Potter of all people should be the first person to willingly forgive him for his stupid mistakes? Could a little telephone sex really do that to people? He felt tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, thinking that Harry must be the most wonderful person treading the earth.
He didn’t even bother to pick up the phone. He merely put on a pair of jeans, pulled over the next best shirt available and slipped barefoot into his sneakers. He had no time to waste.
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TBC
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*This was inspired by Vladimir Nabokov's “Lolita” : Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, at the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. . I love that scene, it’s likely my most favorite part of the whole book ;)
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