Fic: A Year in Training (2/3)
Apr. 2nd, 2013 09:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omi_ohmy<< Part 1
On a cold January day, Harry walked into the Ministry canteen, rubbing his hands together to try to warm them a little, and hoping for a hot drink and something to eat. There was a group of Auror trainees at a table at the back, which wasn’t a surprise as the food was cheap and a little better than the stuff they had on offer back at the trainees’ canteen. Neville’s height and Ron’s red hair stood out clearly amongst them. As he queued up, Harry looked around the room and straightened up a little as he noticed Hermione, deep in conversation with Lavender. A churning sensation began in his stomach, settling into a general feeling of discomfort as he paid for his tea and pumpkin pasty. It wasn’t that Lavender’s scars repelled him or anything like that: it was more the thought of all that suffering because he hadn’t been able to figure out the Horcruxes sooner.
He stopped by their table, and Hermione saw him first, smiling up at him.
“Harry, how great to see you! Come and sit with us. Lavender popped over to meet me for a coffee and was just telling me how St Mungo’s is going.”
Harry sat down. “I didn’t know you were still having treatment,” he said, trying to swallow down his sense of guilt with a sip of tea.
Lavender laughed, one side of her face static with the four long scars running from top to bottom. “No, no more treatment. This,” she pointed at her face, “is the best that it gets.” Harry couldn’t tell if she was laughing from bitterness, or not.
“Go on, tell him!” Hermione leant forward, and Harry smiled at her enthusiasm.
“I am,” said Lavender. “Give me a chance!” She smiled fondly at Hermione before turning back to Harry. “I’m going to be a Healer. I’m training at St Mungo’s. I’ve only just started, really, but… it’s good.”
Harry ate his pasty as Lavender and Hermione continued their conversation, not really keeping up with the ins and outs of exactly what Lavender was studying: he had a feeling that listening too closely would adversely affect his ability to finish eating. Instead he just watched the way she smiled a little as she spoke, and how her hands moved through the air as she became more animated in her descriptions. It had been a while since he’d last seen Lavender, and it was good to see her so much more full of life. Before, she’d looked like life had got the better of her, but now… now she was more like the girl he’d known at school. Except with a serious glint in her eye which he knew went with her scars.
After Lavender had gossiped a little about the Healers at the hospital, she made her excuses and left. Hermione watched her go. “She’s doing so well,” she murmured. Then she patted Harry on the arm. “I’m glad I saw you, I’ve been meaning to ask how you are. You’re still terrible at sending owls.”
“It’s only been a few weeks!”
“Months, Harry, a few months.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, a little sheepishly. “Well, you know, they keep us busy. And anyway, I still see you.”
“Yes, well, it would be nice to know how you’re doing, anyway.” Hermione sounded put out, but she smiled, and Harry knew she didn’t really mind. Although she did send him long owls, which he had to admit he did skim through – there was only so much about wizarding law he wanted to know in one go – he just couldn’t find anything he particularly wanted to write about to her. He didn’t want to have to think about it any more than he had to.
A familiar laugh caught Harry’s attention, and he looked over at the group at the back of the room. He saw, with confusion, that not only did it include Ron and Neville, but Malfoy was also there. Harry’s mouth hung open when Ron laughed and smacked Malfoy hard enough on the back to make him wince. Malfoy pulled back, but Ron kept talking, his arms waving as he told a story, seemingly oblivious to Malfoy’s discomfort.
“Harry?” asked Hermione, then she turned to look at the group too. “Are you OK?”
Harry looked back at Hermione, who was watching him with thoughtful eyes. “I just don’t get it. How can they be friends?”
Hermione glanced back over at the group of trainees. “You’re talking about Malfoy,” she said, a tone of disbelief in her voice, as if it were inconceivable that Harry should feel any antagonism towards Malfoy, or even spare him a thought. “Ron says that he’s OK now.”
“He is, I guess. But he’s still Malfoy, you know?”
“What exactly is it that bothers you now?”
Suddenly Harry felt the force of Hermione’s lawyer-like scrutiny, and her fierce curiosity. He avoided meeting her eye. How could he answer her question? He wasn’t even sure himself.
“I don’t know. He just– he’s good at everything. Really good. And—“ Harry broke off, embarrassed about continuing.
“Go on, you can tell me.”
“Ron’s my friend. He should be sitting laughing with me, not that git.”
“You’re the one who came to sit with me, Harry.”
“I know.” Harry remembered how happy he’d been to see her there. “But Lavender—“
“Lavender is getting on with her life now. Maybe you should be too.”
“It’s just…” Harry tried to straighten his thoughts out a little. Malfoy just inspired feelings of… huge irritation. He sighed, knowing that Hermione was the nearest he’d get to an impartial listener. Maybe she’d even understand. “Well, it’s almost as if… as if the past doesn’t matter, to anyone, but it does. Everyone seems so willing to… move on.” Harry tried to hold onto the twisting sensation which sprang up even at the mention of Malfoy’s name. “Look at Lavender. That wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let the Death Eaters into the school. And he was always a bastard to you in school. And he broke my nose.”
“Lavender’s doing OK, and anyway, you’re the one who testified on his behalf.”
“Yes, I know. Ron reminds me every five minutes. I– I don’t know. He’s not a killer, I know that—“, Harry’s eyes met Hermione’s, pleading with her to understand. It was just all so confusing, “—but it isn’t that simple. He… he’s not evil, I don’t think that, and it’s clear that he’s going to be a brilliant Auror.” Harry couldn’t help the edge of bitterness that crept into his voice at this admission. “But he’s just– he doesn’t seem sorry for anything he’s done!” Harry said, his voice rising in exasperation, unable to adequately put his frustrations into words.
“I see. You want to see him repent?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I know that I kept him out of Azkaban, but sometimes I wish that he had been… I don’t know, punished a bit more. He almost killed Ron, for Merlin’sgoodness ’ sake!”
“Has he ever apologised to you for his actions?”
“No.” Harry shook his head. “We don’t really talk to each other, if we can help it.”
“Do you want to know what I think, Harry?” Hermione said. She didn’t wait to hear his answer and leant forward, addressing him in her quietest, most serious voice. She was a little frightening in her intensity. “I think that sometimes actions speak louder than words. You do know that he’s walked away from his family? That he avoids them? And look what he’s doing now – training to be an Auror. He’s preparing to spend his life fighting the Dark Arts. What does that tell you?”
“That he’s smart? It’s not the same as being sorry.”
“Harry!”
Harry knew that he’d probably annoyed her. Angered her, even. He sighed. This was why he rarely spoke about how he felt about Malfoy. It was complicated, and probably not that healthy, but how could everyone keep going on as if nothing had happened? “Sorry, but that’s how I feel,” he muttered.
“Well, fine, but I think you need to do a bit of growing up.” Harry didn’t say anything, and his tea was nearly finished. Before he could get up though, Hermione touched his arm again. “Look, just… we’ve all been through a lot, Malfoy included. People can change, remember that.”
Harry nodded, but when he left he didn’t join Ron, deciding instead to go do some research into the Doppelganger Charm instead, in the hopes that for once he could manage something by himself.
:::::
After his talk with Hermione, Harry found himself watching Malfoy more than he had before. The more Harry watched him, the more he learned that Malfoy didn't always get things right. He watched as Malfoy failed to unpick a puzzle correctly, becoming distracted by a false clue, or how occasionally a well-placed insult ruffled him enough to make him mis-cast. But then Harry also watched him pick himself up each time, and try again. Knowing that he wasn’t actually perfect but that he still did well through sheer bloody-mindedness didn’t make Malfoy’s successes or Harry’s failures any easier to bear.
A combination of begrudging respect for his abilities and anger at his lack of remorse left Harry in a constant state of confusion. He was torn between watching Malfoy with undisguised fascination, and wanting to see him break down with guilt for what he’d done. How dare he be so bloody competent? Secretly, Harry knew that he also wished that he had half the confidence that Malfoy showed in each and every session they shared. He felt as if there was some kind of barrier between his desire to become an Auror – still burning strong – and his actual ability to fulfil half of what they covered in class.
On occasion Malfoy tried to offer to help him, but that just made him even angrier, and he always refused. He was going to do this on his own. He was going to get it right without having to ask for help from Malfoy. He sensed Malfoy’s annoyance with him, and saw him offering help to the other trainees. The growing friendships that grew up as a result just left Harry feeling that Malfoy was, in his own way, buying acceptance. It wasn’t enough, not in his books.
And then it became worse.
“Draco, please illustrate for us the correct way to restrain someone so that they cannot reach for their wand.”
Harry was already panting and red-faced, having been put through several attempts at being restrained. Each time though, he’d broken his wand arm free, and now there were two or three trainees sporting extra-large ears.
Malfoy approached Harry with a speculative look on his face. Harry, for once, felt confident about his ability to escape any kind of hold that Malfoy could try. Malfoy reached out for Harry, and paused before he touched him. Harry nodded, appreciating the gesture. Malfoy was always an impeccable opponent in any sparring or duelling. Even Harry could admit that he’d changed in that regard since Hogwarts.
Rather than reach for his arm, or grab his body, Malfoy neatly sidestepped then knocked Harry’s knees out from under him, sending Harry hurtling towards the ground. Instinctively, Harry’s hands came out to break his fall, and then the next thing he was aware of was Malfoy kneeling against his back, whilst pulling his hands up into the air in such an angle that his shoulders protested as his arms twisted. He couldn’t move his hands, or his arms, and his wand was still neatly holstered at his side.
The strain of the position, especially as Harry pushed against it, trying to escape, was making Harry hot, as his limbs began to tremble and sweat to dampen his hair. He felt trapped, and let out a low grunt, but it made no difference.
While Harry was held down, the teacher was talking – explaining something about Malfoy’s hold on Harry – but the words were a meaningless drone of sound. All Harry was really aware of, painfully so, was the pressure of Malfoy’s knees as Malfoy sank his weight onto Harry’s back. His ribcage was being crushed down, his chin and neck at an awkward angle to the floor, as surely as if Malfoy had a handful of his hair and was tugging. Suddenly, Harry wanted to feel that too, the pain of his hair being pulled, the sting of it across his scalp. He couldn’t explain why.
Malfoy’s grip on his hands was firm and unwavering, and that was all that Harry could think: Malfoy is solid, Malfoy is firmness, Malfoy is unmoveable.
“—yes, very good, Draco. You can get up now.”
The feeling of pressure disappeared as swiftly as it had arrived. Harry, sprawled across the floor, took in a long breath, feeling as if he might rise into the air with the sudden lightness of his body. And yet– and yet he almost missed the sensation of being pinned down, unable to move. It had been… more simple. Harry took another breath, shivering at the end of it.
He looked up, the teacher’s words still not really registering. All he could see was Malfoy, who was watching him, eyes bright and focus tight. Harry felt pinned again, trapped by the stare. It was only then that Harry became aware of another part of his body which had tensed up, ready for action. He was grateful for his robes, as he registered just how hard he was. He didn’t know what had done it, if it was being pressed against the floor like that, or what, but the shame of getting an erection because of anything to do with Malfoy…
Harry moved to return to his seat, aware all the time of Malfoy’s eyes following him. Panic shot through him: what if Malfoy knew, somehow? He focused on his hands, held closed, and the feeling of his fingers digging into his palms. Next to him, Ron leant over and whispered “Are you OK?”, and Harry nodded once before trying to pick up the thread of the teacher’s talk.
No matter how much he tried though, he just couldn’t make sense of any of it. His scalp still tingled with the imagined pressure of Malfoy’s hand pulling on his hair, and nothing made sense to Harry in that moment.
By concentrating on his breathing, Harry was able to calm down enough to know when it was time to stand and gather his things. He made his way out of the room as quickly as he could, and hid in his room for the rest of the day, trying but failing to forget the feeling of Malfoy: solid, firm and immoveable.
After that, as well as having to deal with all his resentment at just how fucking perfect Malfoy was as an Auror, he also had to deal with the way he was intensely aware of just how Malfoy’s body moved, how strong he was, how the determination in his eyes was part of what made Harry’s body react in such an unexpected way. Late at night, in the privacy of his own room, Harry absolutely did not imagine the pale hand grasping his hair, the firm weight pinning him down, as his own hand moved with desperation and a new-found self-hatred. Not once.
:::::
Tiny flakes of snow, almost too small to see, fell from the sky, and fleeting whispers of cold brushed across Harry's skin before disappearing. February was proving even more wintry than January; the air was biting cold, and Harry hugged his cloak tighter, thankful for his thick gloves, hat and scarf. They were maroon, a Christmas gift from Molly Weasley, and although they were nothing like Malfoy's refined grey cashmere, they were warm.
He cast his eyes at his fellow trainee. Malfoy's nose was pink in the cold, his breath misting in front of his face as he surveyed the space between the forest and the farm. They were supposed to be using Muggle techniques in Stealth and Tracking, to identify what kind of activity was taking place in the valley. So far all they had learned was that it was cold, and that Muggle clothes weren’t as good as warming charms.
“I do realise that this is a challenge for you, Potter, but do you think you could stay focused on the task at hand?” Malfoy said.
Anger flared in Harry at Malfoy's tone, and he closed his eyes for a second. “Of course,” he said, trying to maintain the semblance of civility. However he felt, he needed to score well in every test from now on, to stay on the course. Bitterness twisted every time he thought of Malfoy though, with his bloody prowess and strength. Something even darker flared too, but he ignored it. Despite everything he had to admit that Malfoy was indeed good at all of this. The sneaking around in particular.
“By my reckoning, the building to the left is where most of the activity is taking place, with the one on the right being used for storage,” Malfoy said, sweeping his hand in front of him. Harry nodded: he'd come to the same conclusion. “Now, we've been told to find out what kind of activity is going on here. While it is possible that the Ministry, in their wisdom, send trainees out to spy on farmers, I don't think that's why we're here.”
“What's the point? None of this is real.” They both knew that there were no real Dark wizards hiding in the valley: it was all Aurors and their teachers, aiming to give them a taste of ‘real’ life. Yet each of these exercises seemed so futile: compared to all the very real challenges Harry had faced with his friends, this felt like playing. Even this one – an exercise in combined Stealth, Defence and Physical (non-magical) techniques – just reeked of the pretend. He was frustrated, nothing so far quite matching what he’d thought training would be. But then he’d always pictured himself tackling training with a touch more success.
“It's real enough.” Malfoy returned to scanning the valley. “You really do need to focus, Potter. To be perfectly honest, I don’t care if you’re intent on failing or not, but I do intend on passing and becoming an Auror. So while we’re working together, I’d appreciate a bit more of an effort from you.” The words were staccato, each one jabbing at Harry with force. He could tell that Malfoy was pissed off, now, and somehow this was easier than them trying to be civil. More honest.
“I still don’t understand why you want to be an Auror.” The words came out before Harry was really aware of it: they had been bubbling away at the front of his mind all day.
“And I don’t understand why you want to be an Auror. Haven’t you had enough of this by now?”
Harry bristled, but answered anyway. He’d tell Malfoy if it meant he got his answer too. “I… I don’t want it to get as bad again. I want to help find Dark wizards before they become Voldemort.” Harry thought of Teddy. “Before more people die.” He always held on to this thought as he failed to dodge another curse, or bungled an antidote, or slipped up in Concealment.
“Very noble,” said Malfoy, still scanning the horizon.
Harry ground his teeth in frustration. Even if Malfoy wasn’t satisfied with his answer, Harry still wanted an answer to his own question. “Anyway, what about you?”
“My mother once told me that it would never matter what I did,” Malfoy said, turning to face Harry. “People would only see my name, my stupid hair, and this fucking mark on my arm.” Malfoy drew up his coat sleeve, and Harry caught sight of thick black lines against white skin, before Malfoy pushed his sleeve down again. It was horribly fascinating, and Harry wanted to look at again, and to reach out and find out how it felt beneath his fingers. He wondered if touching it would somehow make his own scar hurt, but then he remembered that Voldemort was dead and gone, and that nothing would make his scar hurt again.
Malfoy was still looking at Harry, eyes fierce. “I chose not to believe her. I chose to walk away from her, and my father, and everything I’ve ever known. And do you know what? She was right. No one wants to know me, not really, and I’m fine with that.” The bitterness in his voice said otherwise, but Harry didn’t say anything to challenge him. “I realised something, out here in the wilderness of the real world.” He stopped, and took a step closer to Harry. “I don’t care.”
Harry’s breath caught, as Malfoy, furious and pink-nosed, stood right in front of him. He couldn’t have spoken, even if he wanted to.
Malfoy’s voice was tight with anger as he continued. “I just want to be an Auror now. To be good at what I do. I’m going to be the one to define who I am, what I do, not anyone else. Certainly not you, with your little pity-party and fumbling half-arsed attempts at every task put before you. I don’t know why you don’t seem able to give a shit about trying properly, and quite frankly I don’t care. But you are not going to mess up my chances. Understand?”
It was all Harry could do to nod mutely. He hated to admit it, but Malfoy was right about the self-pity. But at the same time he wanted to shout that he was trying, it just wasn’t working, and he didn’t know why. He wasn’t going to, because he wouldn’t give that to Malfoy. It was too personal. Instead, Harry ground his teeth in frustration, knowing that somehow Malfoy had won this one.
A far-off crack drew their attention, and Malfoy swore softly. They began a slow descent towards the farm, taking care to stay out of sight. Harry was grateful that the snow wasn’t settling, as it would have made their progress more difficult, but he still wasn’t enjoying the way his fingers and toes were aching in the cold. Neither of them spoke, and Harry was determined that this time he would prove that he was trying, that he was worthy of the title ‘Auror’.
As they grew closer, moving along the low walls marking the lines between the fields, it became apparent that there were at least three or four people inside the main house. Their outlines could be seen at through the windows, arms raised in animated conversation. It still wasn’t any clearer to Harry what they were doing there. Malfoy’s arm shot out, holding Harry back and pulling him down, but his protest died on his lips as he saw why Malfoy had stopped: someone was standing by the barn, looking out as if searching for something. The woman’s eyes swept over them, and both Harry and Malfoy crouched, holding as still as possible. Her eyes moved on, and Harry let out a breath in relief.
They continued their slow progress, keeping an eye on the woman as they moved. She passed several times between the house and the barn, but always with empty arms. Finally, as they neared the buildings, she entered the farm and could be seen joining the conversation within.
“Let’s check out the barn,” whispered Harry, and to his surprise Malfoy nodded. He tried to hold onto the ‘I-can-be-an-Auror’ feeling, and led the way to the back of the barn. Both it and the farmhouse were built of stone, but while the house was painted a soft yellow, the barn was all bare stone, grey and solid-looking. There were no windows at the back, so they crept around the side until they found one. Peering in, Harry couldn’t help the small yelp of surprise at what he saw. The barn was full of Hippogriffs, strutting and idly flapping their wings.
Malfoy pulled Harry back with a hiss of annoyance, and had a look himself through the window. He recoiled when he saw the Hippogriffs, and Harry was sure he heard him mutter, ‘Of course,’ but before he could say anything they heard footsteps approaching, then stop. Malfoy began to pull Harry back around the corner, but Harry turned back, suddenly struck by the thought that he had recognised one of the Hippogriffs, that it was Buckbeak. He pulled free of Malfoy, and looked back through the window.
A hand on his shoulder pulled at him, and Harry batted it away.
“I’m coming, Malf—“ He turned to see that it wasn’t Malfoy at all, but the woman they had seen earlier. “Oh, fuck.”
She frowned, and grasped his arm tightly. The next thing he knew, he had a wand digging sharply into his neck. Harry was trapped, but this felt nothing like being pinned by Malfoy. Instead he felt a rising burn of anger, which burst forth when she tightened her grip. He twisted, reaching for his wand as he shoved her into the wall behind. A look of shock crossed her face, as he growled, “Don’t move.” Keeping his grip on her, Harry looked around for Malfoy, but couldn’t see him anywhere. His rage increased. Had Malfoy just left him to it? Cowardly toe-rag. But then he saw a flicker at the edge of his vision, and without thinking he turned towards it.
The next thing he saw was the red light come racing towards him, and he was dimly aware of another streak of red going in the direction he thought he’d seen Malfoy. And then, again, everything went dark as the Stunner hit.
The world swam into focus again, and white with light at first, and full of people. The woman who had, presumably, Stunned Harry pointed a wand to her face and Harry watched with a sickening sense of inevitability as the pink cheeks and dark hair of his mentor appeared. She did not look happy. Harry sat up, and saw Malfoy sitting on the ground, rubbing his head and also looking pissed off, a short distance away.
“I—“
“No.” There was no warmth in Hestia’s voice. Harry swallowed. “That was not good enough.” She crouched down to be at Harry’s level. “You have to do better than that, Harry. You forgot the most basic lesson. You didn’t listen to your partner, and failed to disarm me. You gave away his whereabouts. And I had hoped— this was supposed to be well within your capabilities.” She sighed. “For a while there, I thought that you and Draco were working quite well together.”
As Hestia stood up, everyone stopped and turned to face her. “We’ll reconvene at the training centre in ten minutes, and go over all the positives and negatives of this exercise.”
Slowly, everyone Apparated away, until just Harry and Malfoy were left, both still sitting on the ground. They stood, brushing off their robes, neither talking. Malfoy’s jaw was set in stiff lines, as if he were biting down hard.
“What were you thinking, Potter?” he said, barely moving his mouth as he ground the words out. He held a hand up. “Actually, I don’t want to hear your excuses: save them for Hestia. I told you how important this was. How dare you fuck it up? This should have been simple, and now I have a fail on my mark sheet. Thank you very much.” He kicked at a small stone on the ground. It rattled away and hit the wall. “Don’t you see? Don’t you get it? It’s been so fucking hard to get to this point, and now you just waltz in with your ‘I’ll do what I want’ attitude and mess it all up. Just because you’ve already got friends and you’re a fucking war hero, doesn’t mean the rest of us have it quite so easy.”
“Easy, you think it’s easy?”
“Oh, don’t give me your sob story, I’m in no mood to hear it. ‘It’s all so difficult and no one will let me just do whatever I want to do.’ Well boohoo, Potter.”
Harry didn’t even consider how to answer Malfoy. Instead, he launched himself at across the space between them, his hand already balling into a fist. Before he could do anything with it though, Malfoy had knocked him to the ground. Grabbing what he could – Malfoy’s robes, an arm, – Harry tried to push Malfoy down, and roll on top. But Malfoy, despite his slight-seeming build, was strong, and had probably spent hours practising every move covered in their Physical Defence classes. It didn’t take long for him to be straddling Harry, his hands pinned down beside him.
Malfoy’s hands were tight around his wrists. Harry tried to move his hands free, but he couldn’t. Cold stones digging into his back, he could see the anger in Malfoy’s eyes. Harry struggled for a moment more, but then he became aware of another problem. Malfoy’s weight, pressing down on him, was having the unfortunate effect of—
Thankfully at that moment, Malfoy chose to let go and stand up. Harry couldn’t bear to face him, not after the humiliation of being bested like that. And had Malfoy stood because he’d been aware of Harry’s growing… problem? Harry’s face flushed red at the thought, and he stood himself, grateful when Malfoy Disapparated, leaving him alone in a Welsh farmyard in the biting cold. He waited for his erection to subside, then Apparated before he got in trouble for being late, as well as everything else.
:::::
It was quiet, up on the roof. Quiet and cold, but no snow. Harry looked out over the roof tops of London. He’d really messed up this time, he knew that. His ears were still burning from the telling-off he’d got. Malfoy hadn’t spoken to him, just glared from the other side of the room.
The sound of someone clearing their throat made Harry turn, almost losing his balance from his perch at the roof’s edge. Malfoy was standing behind him.
“How did you find me?”
“Magic, remember?” Malfoy took a step towards Harry, who recoiled a little. He stopped and scowled. “Oh, don’t be an idiot, Potter, I’m not going to push you off!”
Harry was still holding on to the roof edge, fingers clasped tightly round stone, but he realised that yes, deep down he did know that he wasn’t about to be shoved off. He relaxed his grip a little, but was still wary as he eyed up Malfoy. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”
Malfoy visibly paused, taking in a large breath. “I would do, normally, but…”
“But what?”
“But you… you’re Harry Potter.”
Disappointment rippled through Harry, and he turned back to the anonymous bustle of London. “I don’t want to hear it,” he said, feeling cold inside. He’d had enough of people telling him who he was. Harry bloody Potter: not even his name felt like his own. Everyone in the wizarding world owned a piece of it.
“I don’t mean it like that.” Uninvited, Malfoy came to sit next to him. “I know I said I didn’t care, but maybe I do, a little bit.” They watched as a flock of pigeons flew off a nearby roof, turning through the sky before settling in the bare branches of some trees, a little further on. Harry wasn’t sure what to make of this version of Malfoy, gently-spoken and invading his space under the sky. “You do tend to mess everything up, and mostly I wonder why you even bother to stay on the course. But then I see something… almost familiar. You are one stubborn bastard.”
“Stubborn? Is that the best you can do?” Harry said, scornful of such a pathetic insult. Malfoy stared at him, eyes pale and light-filled.
“It’s almost a compliment, you idiot. In a strange way you remind me of me. Not as good at it all, obviously.” Harry scowled. “But not willing to give up. You refuse to quit, yet you never really manage to get anything right. Honestly? I don’t think that you’re about to throw away every bit of respect you’ve earned from the wizarding world. It looks like you just don’t care. But I think that you do.” He paused. “You could still be a good Auror. You just need to learn to trust your magic, to see a bit more clearly what’s happening around you.”
Harry didn’t want this: he didn’t want Malfoy to have a soft side. He didn’t want him to be human, or to understand what Harry was going through. He wanted to be able to keep hating him, because that was easier than having to consider anything else. Like just why Harry got so… hot and bothered when he thought of Malfoy on top of him, crushing him into the ground. He willed away the thought, focusing instead on the rough stone beneath his hands.
Up on the roof it was windy, and the noise of it seemed to fill Harry’s ears. He longed for silence, proper silence, and the image of a cool white waiting room flitted through his mind; he felt tired, all of a sudden. “I don’t need your opinion. Didn’t ask for it, either.” Harry just wanted to be left alone.
“Don’t be a fool, Potter,” Malfoy said, wearily. Harry still wouldn’t look at him, but he could feel the hum of Malfoy’s body, tense next to his own. Malfoy might be tired, but he was still pissed off.
“What does it matter to you?” Harry finally turned to face Malfoy. “You might be the teacher’s pet, but that doesn’t mean you need to be bothered with how other people are doing. Why should you care about what happens to me, when you obviously don’t care about anyone else?” Harry again saw the faces of the dead, the same faces he saw at night in his dreams. “I’m sorry if I don’t live up to your image of the great Harry Potter.” Harry felt his anger build again, and he laughed. “You’ve been playing us all. I see your plan now: get on the good side of Harry Potter. Good for your future career as the star of the Auror department. Well, sorry to have disappointed you on that one.”
Malfoy’s face was white, his lips pinched thin.
“Well, I don’t think you really care about what happens to me, and I certainly don’t care about you,” said Harry went on. “Somehow you’ve manage to just put everything behind you, like it doesn’t matter at all. Well, it does matter. Lavender matters. Fred mattered. Charity Burbage mattered.” He saw Malfoy’s shoulders tremble as he said their former Muggle Studies teacher’s name, and remembered seeing, through his connection to Voldemort, as Malfoy had watched her being tortured and killed. Harry, too, shuddered at the memory. “They all matter,” he added softly, putting his head in his hands, feeling the sting of tears as he pushed his fingers onto his closed eyes. Harry took a few deep breaths, still feeling the ache of all the senseless loss, still feeling it every day.
“You think I don’t think they matter? Of course they matter.” Malfoy spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s why I– I need to do this. To be a better person. And it hasn’t come for free. Do you really think I’ve got any friends? You’re probably the only here could actually understand anything of who I am.”
Standing up, Harry looked down at Malfoy. “I can’t just move on like that, so I’m sorry if that doesn’t meet with your approval. But don’t ever say that we’re the same again. And, personally, I really don’t care whether you have friends or not.”
Harry was swaying, and for a second he longed to feel a hand, tight on his arm again, keeping him grounded. But no, that was just wrong. It was easier, he told himself, to just focus on the twisting in his gut and call it hatred. He closed his eyes and remembered Ron falling to the ground after drinking poisoned wine, or the sick crunch as his nose broke, or the angry red lines marring Lavender’s face. He thought about how the look of defeat had haunted her eyes for months on end.
He walked away, leaving Malfoy to stare after him, his expression unreadable.
:::::
“So your role, young trainees, is to help the wizarding world maintain its balance. We can never see the rise of another Dark wizard again.” Robards gave Harry a significant look, and all eyes turned in his direction. Harry shrank back in his chair a little. Any hope he had that Robards would leave him alone soon faded. “Of course, we are lucky that in this very year are many who have personally fought and defeated Dark wizards, including the Darkest of them all.”
Robards had come in to give them a lecture. It was supposed to be a special event, having the Head Auror come in. Something to keep them going, halfway through their first year of training. So far though, it had been long-winded, and more than a little patronising.
Beside him, Harry heard a whispered “For fuck’s sake” from Ron, and a muffled snort from Neville. Robards finally turned to a topic other than Death Eaters or the war, and Harry chanced a glance around the room. No one was looking at him any more – no one except for Malfoy.
Their eyes met, and there was a spark of recognition – of understanding – which shocked Harry into turning away. He knew he’d seen it: the scorn for Robards’ empty words which he himself felt. It was the strangest of feelings. For a moment Harry saw that if there had been no war, no meeting at Madame Malkin’s, no Mudbloods and Purebloods, maybe they could have been friends. But then Harry realised that Malfoy’s scorn was probably based on exactly those things. Their experiences, and choices, had marked out different paths for them.
In fact, no matter how dull and irritating Robards was, Harry realised, there was something behind his words. There had been a war, and the threat from Dark magic was real, Harry knew that. He remembered the way Slytherin’s locket had twisted his thoughts and feelings, and he knew that it didn’t need a Voldemort to destroy life: it could happen on a person by person basis.
He stopped listening to the talk, instead thinking about Horcruxes, and how Ginny as a child had opened the Chamber of Secrets, and killed cockerels in her sleep. Harry shivered, despite the warmth of the room. He knew why he wanted to be an Auror. He didn’t want anything like that to happen again. And if it did, he wanted to stop it.
There was a bit of a crush to get out of the room after the talk. Harry found himself squashed into Malfoy’s bony side, and the rush of heat he felt turned into shame and anger. Harry pushed through a little more forcefully than needed, and their shoulders jarred as Harry barged past. A brief contact, a moment of pain, but worth it for the look on Malfoy’s face.
“Watch out, Potter!”
Harry considered pushing again, seeing what he could get out of Malfoy. It had been satisfying, that brief bump, but he turned away. He didn’t want any of it: the confusion; the heat which built in him with the memory of being pinned; the shame; or the anger. He began to walk away.
“Potter!” Malfoy called out, and he caught up with Harry, grabbing his arm to stop him. “I don’t know what your problem is. I’m not the person you think I am. And… I know you told me you weren’t interested, but I still think that you could crack your problems in training. I think maybe I could help you. With training, and,” Malfoy met Harry’s eye and tightened his grip on his arm, pushing it more towards the wall, “other stuff, too.” His thumb brushed hard over Harry’s skin, giving rise to goosebumps in its trail.
Harry pushed Malfoy’s hand away with the full force of his shame at how good that tight grip had felt. Shame turned to anger. “Look, just leave me alone! I don’t need your help, I don’t want to talk to you, and I’d be happy to never see you again. You might have impressed everyone here, but I know that you are pathetic. You are just a sad loser, and you know it.” He knew that he sounded like a petulant teenager, but somehow Malfoy always brought out the worst in him.
Fuming and slightly aroused, Harry walked off.
:::::
At three o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon in March, the Leaky was almost empty.
“You really have some issues with Malfoy, don’t you?” Ron said, once they’d settled down with their butterbeers. Harry sighed. He’d thought that his friends would avoid talking about it, but he’d obviously been wrong.
“You looked like you were going to get into another fight with him.” Neville shook his head. “It won’t go down well if you do.”
“It’s not like we’ve ever been best of friends,” said Harry.
“Well, yes, I know,” said Ron, “but you can feel it now when the two of you are in the same room. I thought you two were going to have another fight, the other day.”
Harry felt himself tense up. “Do we have to do this now?”
Ron didn’t say anything, looked over at Neville then took a sip of his drink. “I just really don’t think that Malfoy’s that bad,” he said in the end.
“Look, I’d really rather not, if you don’t mind. It’s probably just… that stupid talk Robards gave us got me wound up.” Harry knew this wasn’t the entire truth, but he really didn’t want to talk about it: he hadn’t said some of those things about the war before, not even to Ron or Hermione, and he hated that the first person he’d ever said them to was Malfoy.
Ron looked unconvinced, but then let out a low laugh. “Robards was a bit full of himself, wasn’t he?”
Neville puffed his chest out and deepened his voice. “There is dark, there is light. We stand between the two, casting long shadows—”
“Does that even make sense?” Ron said.
“—to keep the world safe.”
Harry groaned. “That speech was something else!” Neville quoted a few more choice lines and then the conversation moved on. Harry did not mention how he saved the memory of Malfoy’s body, shoved against his, for later in the night, alone in his room. He could still feel the steel-like grip on his arm. He hated his body, for liking it so much.
:::::
The weight pinned him down, crushing the breath from him. Harry writhed under it, but a firm hand shot out and held his arm down. Harry struggled for a moment more, then stilled. His heart beating fast, it was all he could do not to moan and arch into it. He knew though, that he had to be absolutely still, absolutely silent. Every part of his body strained against the weight, but welcomed it too. He was hard, his cock just as squashed as the rest of him, pressed up against the other body, and he had never felt more aroused. Before anything else could happen though, Harry awoke.
He blinked slowly in the dim light of his room, unable to help the sense of disappointment as he realised that he was alone, that it had been a dream. But then came the familiar and churning sense of shame. He hadn’t seen a face: it wasn’t a dream about Malfoy. It wasn’t. He groaned and lay back, knowing that he needed to go back to sleep, knowing that another busy day lay ahead. He refused to touch himself, and just waited for his erection to subside so that he could sleep.
But try as he might, Harry couldn't sleep. In the end he gave up and padded down the corridor to the empty kitchen, in search of a glass of water and a change of scene.
Empty corridors at night made him think of invisibility cloaks, and magic maps, and huge dogs with three heads, and Harry smiled. His smile fell though, as his thoughts returned to Malfoy. Sometimes he thought he’d seen Malfoy watching him, a speculative, almost hungry look in his eyes, but Harry wasn’t sure. If Malfoy came too near to him, Harry would often act overly aggressive, which seemed to keep him at bay. Harry wasn’t sure if he did it because Malfoy annoyed him, or because he wanted to be pushed to the ground again. He tried not to dwell on it, dreams excepted.
As Harry approached the kitchen, he could already see that it was filled with cool, clear moonlight. He stopped just inside the doorway as he saw out the outline of someone standing by the kitchen window, and he swayed slightly as he realised that it was Malfoy.
Seeing Malfoy here, in such a strangely domestic space, was unsettling. Unbidden, the image of Malfoy crying over sinks at Hogwarts came to mind. He didn’t want to, but Harry remembered that Draco had been under huge pressures that year.
When Malfoy caught sight of him, several emotions seemed to chase across his face, all too quickly for Harry to make sense of them. He put down the cup in his hand and straightened up, his body suddenly alert.
“What are you doing here?” Harry knew how belligerent he sounded.
“Drinking some water, Potter. I do use this kitchen too, you know.” His casual words belied the tension in his body.
Harry flushed red in the dark. Occasionally he’d bumped into Malfoy here, or in the bathroom, but it was so rare it was mostly as if they lived nowhere near each other, not at opposite ends of the same corridor. Suddenly he wondered whether that was just down to chance, or because Malfoy had been avoiding him. Or the other way around.
“Yeah, of course. Um, me too. The water, that is.” Harry moved to the sink to get himself a drink. Malfoy leant back against the window frame, watching him. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the scrutiny. He tried not to think about his dream, about the feel of a body on top of his. He was painfully aware that they were both standing there in just their pyjamas. Just a thin piece of cotton, between him and—
The cool water was a welcome distraction. He faced the sink, rinsing his glass out slowly when he had finished. Standing at the sink, he tried to calm himself with some long, slow breaths.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” Malfoy’s voice disturbed the quiet of the room. Harry turned to face him.
“I… I haven’t.”
“No? It seems to me that you have. Ever since Wales.”
Harry didn’t know what to say, because it was true, he had been avoiding Malfoy. Nothing but the barest of civilities in class, and then avoiding anywhere public where they might meet.
“I told you before, I’m not interested,” Harry said, trying to push Malfoy away with his words, if he could. He knew they were half a lie though: the way his body longed to close the gap between the two of them was enough to tell him that.
“In what? I think that’s the question here.”
An unexpected tingle of anticipation rose up his spine, as Harry remembered the strength of Malfoy’s hands, his memory mixing with his dream. But Harry knew that this feeling wasn't right. Not now, not here: not ever. He clamped down on the rekindled feelings of desire, curling and licking inside of him, and tried instead to focus on the ever-present anger he felt when he saw Malfoy. If he thought about Malfoy’s lack of apology since the war, or even back to the sneer in Malfoy's boyish face as he called Hermione a Mudblood, then it was easy to pretend that the flame he felt was hatred, pure and simple.
The breath caught in Harry's throat as Malfoy took first one, then another step towards him. Each step increased the sense of danger in the room.
Now he caught the look on Malfoy’s face, and it was one of pure emotion. There was no thinking about appearances here. Yes. Finally, somehow, he’d made Malfoy snap. How, he wasn’t sure. Finally, something was going to happen. His body thrilled at the thought, but his mind was reeling in panic.
Hot breath touched his face, then warm lips were pressed to his. They were hungry and fierce, seemingly ready to devour him. Overcome, Harry froze, but then he pushed Malfoy away with his hands, because… because this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Malfoy though, didn't push back. He just deepened the kiss, his hands moving into Harry's hair and pulling Harry closer. It was excruciating: the way his scalp tingled and his body sang to be finally pressed up against Malfoy like this, the way a shiver of lust wrapped around him. But it was the ball of hate he always carried with him which twisted within Harry, and somehow he managed to push Malfoy away.
"What the fuck?" Harry was furious now. Damn his stupid body, aching for more. He gritted his teeth and took that feeling, tightening it into a hate-filled fire. His breath came fast and quick. How dare Malfoy do that, after Harry had told him he wasn’t interested? Malfoy was still staring at him. Self-disgust flooded Harry as his body responded to the naked look of lust dancing with along with the traces of hatred in Malfoy's eyes, narrowed and filled with emotion. Damn him for his sneering, kissing ways! The fire reached Harry's face in a sudden flush of heat, and he looked away.
“You can’t fucking do whatever the hell you want, Malfoy!”, Harry said. He couldn't bear to look at Malfoy. The smarmy, beautiful bastard that he was. All this time Harry had been so very sure that he just hated Malfoy, that the other thing was just something accidental. But now… it was all too much to take in, and Harry fell back, retreating to the small table lit by the window overlooking a world pale and colourless, buildings bright with moonlight but the streets hidden in deep shade. Harry felt safer somehow, in the squares of light coming from outside, with a table between the two of them. He still watched Malfoy, who touched a hand to his lips, then took a step forward. Feeling trapped, Harry felt his senses sharpen and he raised his hands without thinking about it. Malfoy stopped, and Harry calmed a fraction, relieved, and lowered his hands.
But then Malfoy did the most infuriating thing possible: he smiled, that confident smirk which always made Harry want to reach over and wipe it clean away. The fire of Harry's rage flared at the sight, and his hands locked into fists, held tightly at his sides.
“Scared, Potter?” It was the echo of so many schoolboy taunts, but this time the voice was deeper, the words laced with suggestion. A different challenge to any offered at Hogwarts.
The edges of everything went white, as Harry's anger grew. He just wanted life to be simple. Malfoy had messed everything up. “What do you think you’re doing? Kissing me like that.” Harry’s mind was whirling, the words in his head making no sense. “Why?”
Malfoy began to move again, his feet tracing a slow line towards Harry. Hairs rose on the back of Harry's neck at the sight of Malfoy, the predatory smile still on his face.
“I don’t know, Potter. Perhaps I’ve realised just how much I’ve missed your company.”
As if they’d ever spent any time together. Harry stared at Malfoy. The bastard. It was as if Malfoy knew some secret that Harry wasn’t privyparty to, and it was infuriating. Well, he’d had enough of feeling one step behind. This time, Harry was going to be the first to act. All of sudden he knew what to do. He took a step forward, watching as Malfoy's eye's widened, and something – hope, fear, desire? – filled his gaze. And then Harry pulled back his fist, and swung with all his might until it connected with Malfoy's jaw and a sickening crack filled the room. Malfoy's eyes lost their focus, and for a moment everything stood still, and then his body flew back as he collapsed on the floor.
>>Part 3
On a cold January day, Harry walked into the Ministry canteen, rubbing his hands together to try to warm them a little, and hoping for a hot drink and something to eat. There was a group of Auror trainees at a table at the back, which wasn’t a surprise as the food was cheap and a little better than the stuff they had on offer back at the trainees’ canteen. Neville’s height and Ron’s red hair stood out clearly amongst them. As he queued up, Harry looked around the room and straightened up a little as he noticed Hermione, deep in conversation with Lavender. A churning sensation began in his stomach, settling into a general feeling of discomfort as he paid for his tea and pumpkin pasty. It wasn’t that Lavender’s scars repelled him or anything like that: it was more the thought of all that suffering because he hadn’t been able to figure out the Horcruxes sooner.
He stopped by their table, and Hermione saw him first, smiling up at him.
“Harry, how great to see you! Come and sit with us. Lavender popped over to meet me for a coffee and was just telling me how St Mungo’s is going.”
Harry sat down. “I didn’t know you were still having treatment,” he said, trying to swallow down his sense of guilt with a sip of tea.
Lavender laughed, one side of her face static with the four long scars running from top to bottom. “No, no more treatment. This,” she pointed at her face, “is the best that it gets.” Harry couldn’t tell if she was laughing from bitterness, or not.
“Go on, tell him!” Hermione leant forward, and Harry smiled at her enthusiasm.
“I am,” said Lavender. “Give me a chance!” She smiled fondly at Hermione before turning back to Harry. “I’m going to be a Healer. I’m training at St Mungo’s. I’ve only just started, really, but… it’s good.”
Harry ate his pasty as Lavender and Hermione continued their conversation, not really keeping up with the ins and outs of exactly what Lavender was studying: he had a feeling that listening too closely would adversely affect his ability to finish eating. Instead he just watched the way she smiled a little as she spoke, and how her hands moved through the air as she became more animated in her descriptions. It had been a while since he’d last seen Lavender, and it was good to see her so much more full of life. Before, she’d looked like life had got the better of her, but now… now she was more like the girl he’d known at school. Except with a serious glint in her eye which he knew went with her scars.
After Lavender had gossiped a little about the Healers at the hospital, she made her excuses and left. Hermione watched her go. “She’s doing so well,” she murmured. Then she patted Harry on the arm. “I’m glad I saw you, I’ve been meaning to ask how you are. You’re still terrible at sending owls.”
“It’s only been a few weeks!”
“Months, Harry, a few months.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, a little sheepishly. “Well, you know, they keep us busy. And anyway, I still see you.”
“Yes, well, it would be nice to know how you’re doing, anyway.” Hermione sounded put out, but she smiled, and Harry knew she didn’t really mind. Although she did send him long owls, which he had to admit he did skim through – there was only so much about wizarding law he wanted to know in one go – he just couldn’t find anything he particularly wanted to write about to her. He didn’t want to have to think about it any more than he had to.
A familiar laugh caught Harry’s attention, and he looked over at the group at the back of the room. He saw, with confusion, that not only did it include Ron and Neville, but Malfoy was also there. Harry’s mouth hung open when Ron laughed and smacked Malfoy hard enough on the back to make him wince. Malfoy pulled back, but Ron kept talking, his arms waving as he told a story, seemingly oblivious to Malfoy’s discomfort.
“Harry?” asked Hermione, then she turned to look at the group too. “Are you OK?”
Harry looked back at Hermione, who was watching him with thoughtful eyes. “I just don’t get it. How can they be friends?”
Hermione glanced back over at the group of trainees. “You’re talking about Malfoy,” she said, a tone of disbelief in her voice, as if it were inconceivable that Harry should feel any antagonism towards Malfoy, or even spare him a thought. “Ron says that he’s OK now.”
“He is, I guess. But he’s still Malfoy, you know?”
“What exactly is it that bothers you now?”
Suddenly Harry felt the force of Hermione’s lawyer-like scrutiny, and her fierce curiosity. He avoided meeting her eye. How could he answer her question? He wasn’t even sure himself.
“I don’t know. He just– he’s good at everything. Really good. And—“ Harry broke off, embarrassed about continuing.
“Go on, you can tell me.”
“Ron’s my friend. He should be sitting laughing with me, not that git.”
“You’re the one who came to sit with me, Harry.”
“I know.” Harry remembered how happy he’d been to see her there. “But Lavender—“
“Lavender is getting on with her life now. Maybe you should be too.”
“It’s just…” Harry tried to straighten his thoughts out a little. Malfoy just inspired feelings of… huge irritation. He sighed, knowing that Hermione was the nearest he’d get to an impartial listener. Maybe she’d even understand. “Well, it’s almost as if… as if the past doesn’t matter, to anyone, but it does. Everyone seems so willing to… move on.” Harry tried to hold onto the twisting sensation which sprang up even at the mention of Malfoy’s name. “Look at Lavender. That wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let the Death Eaters into the school. And he was always a bastard to you in school. And he broke my nose.”
“Lavender’s doing OK, and anyway, you’re the one who testified on his behalf.”
“Yes, I know. Ron reminds me every five minutes. I– I don’t know. He’s not a killer, I know that—“, Harry’s eyes met Hermione’s, pleading with her to understand. It was just all so confusing, “—but it isn’t that simple. He… he’s not evil, I don’t think that, and it’s clear that he’s going to be a brilliant Auror.” Harry couldn’t help the edge of bitterness that crept into his voice at this admission. “But he’s just– he doesn’t seem sorry for anything he’s done!” Harry said, his voice rising in exasperation, unable to adequately put his frustrations into words.
“I see. You want to see him repent?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I know that I kept him out of Azkaban, but sometimes I wish that he had been… I don’t know, punished a bit more. He almost killed Ron, for Merlin’sgoodness ’ sake!”
“Has he ever apologised to you for his actions?”
“No.” Harry shook his head. “We don’t really talk to each other, if we can help it.”
“Do you want to know what I think, Harry?” Hermione said. She didn’t wait to hear his answer and leant forward, addressing him in her quietest, most serious voice. She was a little frightening in her intensity. “I think that sometimes actions speak louder than words. You do know that he’s walked away from his family? That he avoids them? And look what he’s doing now – training to be an Auror. He’s preparing to spend his life fighting the Dark Arts. What does that tell you?”
“That he’s smart? It’s not the same as being sorry.”
“Harry!”
Harry knew that he’d probably annoyed her. Angered her, even. He sighed. This was why he rarely spoke about how he felt about Malfoy. It was complicated, and probably not that healthy, but how could everyone keep going on as if nothing had happened? “Sorry, but that’s how I feel,” he muttered.
“Well, fine, but I think you need to do a bit of growing up.” Harry didn’t say anything, and his tea was nearly finished. Before he could get up though, Hermione touched his arm again. “Look, just… we’ve all been through a lot, Malfoy included. People can change, remember that.”
Harry nodded, but when he left he didn’t join Ron, deciding instead to go do some research into the Doppelganger Charm instead, in the hopes that for once he could manage something by himself.
:::::
After his talk with Hermione, Harry found himself watching Malfoy more than he had before. The more Harry watched him, the more he learned that Malfoy didn't always get things right. He watched as Malfoy failed to unpick a puzzle correctly, becoming distracted by a false clue, or how occasionally a well-placed insult ruffled him enough to make him mis-cast. But then Harry also watched him pick himself up each time, and try again. Knowing that he wasn’t actually perfect but that he still did well through sheer bloody-mindedness didn’t make Malfoy’s successes or Harry’s failures any easier to bear.
A combination of begrudging respect for his abilities and anger at his lack of remorse left Harry in a constant state of confusion. He was torn between watching Malfoy with undisguised fascination, and wanting to see him break down with guilt for what he’d done. How dare he be so bloody competent? Secretly, Harry knew that he also wished that he had half the confidence that Malfoy showed in each and every session they shared. He felt as if there was some kind of barrier between his desire to become an Auror – still burning strong – and his actual ability to fulfil half of what they covered in class.
On occasion Malfoy tried to offer to help him, but that just made him even angrier, and he always refused. He was going to do this on his own. He was going to get it right without having to ask for help from Malfoy. He sensed Malfoy’s annoyance with him, and saw him offering help to the other trainees. The growing friendships that grew up as a result just left Harry feeling that Malfoy was, in his own way, buying acceptance. It wasn’t enough, not in his books.
And then it became worse.
“Draco, please illustrate for us the correct way to restrain someone so that they cannot reach for their wand.”
Harry was already panting and red-faced, having been put through several attempts at being restrained. Each time though, he’d broken his wand arm free, and now there were two or three trainees sporting extra-large ears.
Malfoy approached Harry with a speculative look on his face. Harry, for once, felt confident about his ability to escape any kind of hold that Malfoy could try. Malfoy reached out for Harry, and paused before he touched him. Harry nodded, appreciating the gesture. Malfoy was always an impeccable opponent in any sparring or duelling. Even Harry could admit that he’d changed in that regard since Hogwarts.
Rather than reach for his arm, or grab his body, Malfoy neatly sidestepped then knocked Harry’s knees out from under him, sending Harry hurtling towards the ground. Instinctively, Harry’s hands came out to break his fall, and then the next thing he was aware of was Malfoy kneeling against his back, whilst pulling his hands up into the air in such an angle that his shoulders protested as his arms twisted. He couldn’t move his hands, or his arms, and his wand was still neatly holstered at his side.
The strain of the position, especially as Harry pushed against it, trying to escape, was making Harry hot, as his limbs began to tremble and sweat to dampen his hair. He felt trapped, and let out a low grunt, but it made no difference.
While Harry was held down, the teacher was talking – explaining something about Malfoy’s hold on Harry – but the words were a meaningless drone of sound. All Harry was really aware of, painfully so, was the pressure of Malfoy’s knees as Malfoy sank his weight onto Harry’s back. His ribcage was being crushed down, his chin and neck at an awkward angle to the floor, as surely as if Malfoy had a handful of his hair and was tugging. Suddenly, Harry wanted to feel that too, the pain of his hair being pulled, the sting of it across his scalp. He couldn’t explain why.
Malfoy’s grip on his hands was firm and unwavering, and that was all that Harry could think: Malfoy is solid, Malfoy is firmness, Malfoy is unmoveable.
“—yes, very good, Draco. You can get up now.”
The feeling of pressure disappeared as swiftly as it had arrived. Harry, sprawled across the floor, took in a long breath, feeling as if he might rise into the air with the sudden lightness of his body. And yet– and yet he almost missed the sensation of being pinned down, unable to move. It had been… more simple. Harry took another breath, shivering at the end of it.
He looked up, the teacher’s words still not really registering. All he could see was Malfoy, who was watching him, eyes bright and focus tight. Harry felt pinned again, trapped by the stare. It was only then that Harry became aware of another part of his body which had tensed up, ready for action. He was grateful for his robes, as he registered just how hard he was. He didn’t know what had done it, if it was being pressed against the floor like that, or what, but the shame of getting an erection because of anything to do with Malfoy…
Harry moved to return to his seat, aware all the time of Malfoy’s eyes following him. Panic shot through him: what if Malfoy knew, somehow? He focused on his hands, held closed, and the feeling of his fingers digging into his palms. Next to him, Ron leant over and whispered “Are you OK?”, and Harry nodded once before trying to pick up the thread of the teacher’s talk.
No matter how much he tried though, he just couldn’t make sense of any of it. His scalp still tingled with the imagined pressure of Malfoy’s hand pulling on his hair, and nothing made sense to Harry in that moment.
By concentrating on his breathing, Harry was able to calm down enough to know when it was time to stand and gather his things. He made his way out of the room as quickly as he could, and hid in his room for the rest of the day, trying but failing to forget the feeling of Malfoy: solid, firm and immoveable.
After that, as well as having to deal with all his resentment at just how fucking perfect Malfoy was as an Auror, he also had to deal with the way he was intensely aware of just how Malfoy’s body moved, how strong he was, how the determination in his eyes was part of what made Harry’s body react in such an unexpected way. Late at night, in the privacy of his own room, Harry absolutely did not imagine the pale hand grasping his hair, the firm weight pinning him down, as his own hand moved with desperation and a new-found self-hatred. Not once.
:::::
Tiny flakes of snow, almost too small to see, fell from the sky, and fleeting whispers of cold brushed across Harry's skin before disappearing. February was proving even more wintry than January; the air was biting cold, and Harry hugged his cloak tighter, thankful for his thick gloves, hat and scarf. They were maroon, a Christmas gift from Molly Weasley, and although they were nothing like Malfoy's refined grey cashmere, they were warm.
He cast his eyes at his fellow trainee. Malfoy's nose was pink in the cold, his breath misting in front of his face as he surveyed the space between the forest and the farm. They were supposed to be using Muggle techniques in Stealth and Tracking, to identify what kind of activity was taking place in the valley. So far all they had learned was that it was cold, and that Muggle clothes weren’t as good as warming charms.
“I do realise that this is a challenge for you, Potter, but do you think you could stay focused on the task at hand?” Malfoy said.
Anger flared in Harry at Malfoy's tone, and he closed his eyes for a second. “Of course,” he said, trying to maintain the semblance of civility. However he felt, he needed to score well in every test from now on, to stay on the course. Bitterness twisted every time he thought of Malfoy though, with his bloody prowess and strength. Something even darker flared too, but he ignored it. Despite everything he had to admit that Malfoy was indeed good at all of this. The sneaking around in particular.
“By my reckoning, the building to the left is where most of the activity is taking place, with the one on the right being used for storage,” Malfoy said, sweeping his hand in front of him. Harry nodded: he'd come to the same conclusion. “Now, we've been told to find out what kind of activity is going on here. While it is possible that the Ministry, in their wisdom, send trainees out to spy on farmers, I don't think that's why we're here.”
“What's the point? None of this is real.” They both knew that there were no real Dark wizards hiding in the valley: it was all Aurors and their teachers, aiming to give them a taste of ‘real’ life. Yet each of these exercises seemed so futile: compared to all the very real challenges Harry had faced with his friends, this felt like playing. Even this one – an exercise in combined Stealth, Defence and Physical (non-magical) techniques – just reeked of the pretend. He was frustrated, nothing so far quite matching what he’d thought training would be. But then he’d always pictured himself tackling training with a touch more success.
“It's real enough.” Malfoy returned to scanning the valley. “You really do need to focus, Potter. To be perfectly honest, I don’t care if you’re intent on failing or not, but I do intend on passing and becoming an Auror. So while we’re working together, I’d appreciate a bit more of an effort from you.” The words were staccato, each one jabbing at Harry with force. He could tell that Malfoy was pissed off, now, and somehow this was easier than them trying to be civil. More honest.
“I still don’t understand why you want to be an Auror.” The words came out before Harry was really aware of it: they had been bubbling away at the front of his mind all day.
“And I don’t understand why you want to be an Auror. Haven’t you had enough of this by now?”
Harry bristled, but answered anyway. He’d tell Malfoy if it meant he got his answer too. “I… I don’t want it to get as bad again. I want to help find Dark wizards before they become Voldemort.” Harry thought of Teddy. “Before more people die.” He always held on to this thought as he failed to dodge another curse, or bungled an antidote, or slipped up in Concealment.
“Very noble,” said Malfoy, still scanning the horizon.
Harry ground his teeth in frustration. Even if Malfoy wasn’t satisfied with his answer, Harry still wanted an answer to his own question. “Anyway, what about you?”
“My mother once told me that it would never matter what I did,” Malfoy said, turning to face Harry. “People would only see my name, my stupid hair, and this fucking mark on my arm.” Malfoy drew up his coat sleeve, and Harry caught sight of thick black lines against white skin, before Malfoy pushed his sleeve down again. It was horribly fascinating, and Harry wanted to look at again, and to reach out and find out how it felt beneath his fingers. He wondered if touching it would somehow make his own scar hurt, but then he remembered that Voldemort was dead and gone, and that nothing would make his scar hurt again.
Malfoy was still looking at Harry, eyes fierce. “I chose not to believe her. I chose to walk away from her, and my father, and everything I’ve ever known. And do you know what? She was right. No one wants to know me, not really, and I’m fine with that.” The bitterness in his voice said otherwise, but Harry didn’t say anything to challenge him. “I realised something, out here in the wilderness of the real world.” He stopped, and took a step closer to Harry. “I don’t care.”
Harry’s breath caught, as Malfoy, furious and pink-nosed, stood right in front of him. He couldn’t have spoken, even if he wanted to.
Malfoy’s voice was tight with anger as he continued. “I just want to be an Auror now. To be good at what I do. I’m going to be the one to define who I am, what I do, not anyone else. Certainly not you, with your little pity-party and fumbling half-arsed attempts at every task put before you. I don’t know why you don’t seem able to give a shit about trying properly, and quite frankly I don’t care. But you are not going to mess up my chances. Understand?”
It was all Harry could do to nod mutely. He hated to admit it, but Malfoy was right about the self-pity. But at the same time he wanted to shout that he was trying, it just wasn’t working, and he didn’t know why. He wasn’t going to, because he wouldn’t give that to Malfoy. It was too personal. Instead, Harry ground his teeth in frustration, knowing that somehow Malfoy had won this one.
A far-off crack drew their attention, and Malfoy swore softly. They began a slow descent towards the farm, taking care to stay out of sight. Harry was grateful that the snow wasn’t settling, as it would have made their progress more difficult, but he still wasn’t enjoying the way his fingers and toes were aching in the cold. Neither of them spoke, and Harry was determined that this time he would prove that he was trying, that he was worthy of the title ‘Auror’.
As they grew closer, moving along the low walls marking the lines between the fields, it became apparent that there were at least three or four people inside the main house. Their outlines could be seen at through the windows, arms raised in animated conversation. It still wasn’t any clearer to Harry what they were doing there. Malfoy’s arm shot out, holding Harry back and pulling him down, but his protest died on his lips as he saw why Malfoy had stopped: someone was standing by the barn, looking out as if searching for something. The woman’s eyes swept over them, and both Harry and Malfoy crouched, holding as still as possible. Her eyes moved on, and Harry let out a breath in relief.
They continued their slow progress, keeping an eye on the woman as they moved. She passed several times between the house and the barn, but always with empty arms. Finally, as they neared the buildings, she entered the farm and could be seen joining the conversation within.
“Let’s check out the barn,” whispered Harry, and to his surprise Malfoy nodded. He tried to hold onto the ‘I-can-be-an-Auror’ feeling, and led the way to the back of the barn. Both it and the farmhouse were built of stone, but while the house was painted a soft yellow, the barn was all bare stone, grey and solid-looking. There were no windows at the back, so they crept around the side until they found one. Peering in, Harry couldn’t help the small yelp of surprise at what he saw. The barn was full of Hippogriffs, strutting and idly flapping their wings.
Malfoy pulled Harry back with a hiss of annoyance, and had a look himself through the window. He recoiled when he saw the Hippogriffs, and Harry was sure he heard him mutter, ‘Of course,’ but before he could say anything they heard footsteps approaching, then stop. Malfoy began to pull Harry back around the corner, but Harry turned back, suddenly struck by the thought that he had recognised one of the Hippogriffs, that it was Buckbeak. He pulled free of Malfoy, and looked back through the window.
A hand on his shoulder pulled at him, and Harry batted it away.
“I’m coming, Malf—“ He turned to see that it wasn’t Malfoy at all, but the woman they had seen earlier. “Oh, fuck.”
She frowned, and grasped his arm tightly. The next thing he knew, he had a wand digging sharply into his neck. Harry was trapped, but this felt nothing like being pinned by Malfoy. Instead he felt a rising burn of anger, which burst forth when she tightened her grip. He twisted, reaching for his wand as he shoved her into the wall behind. A look of shock crossed her face, as he growled, “Don’t move.” Keeping his grip on her, Harry looked around for Malfoy, but couldn’t see him anywhere. His rage increased. Had Malfoy just left him to it? Cowardly toe-rag. But then he saw a flicker at the edge of his vision, and without thinking he turned towards it.
The next thing he saw was the red light come racing towards him, and he was dimly aware of another streak of red going in the direction he thought he’d seen Malfoy. And then, again, everything went dark as the Stunner hit.
The world swam into focus again, and white with light at first, and full of people. The woman who had, presumably, Stunned Harry pointed a wand to her face and Harry watched with a sickening sense of inevitability as the pink cheeks and dark hair of his mentor appeared. She did not look happy. Harry sat up, and saw Malfoy sitting on the ground, rubbing his head and also looking pissed off, a short distance away.
“I—“
“No.” There was no warmth in Hestia’s voice. Harry swallowed. “That was not good enough.” She crouched down to be at Harry’s level. “You have to do better than that, Harry. You forgot the most basic lesson. You didn’t listen to your partner, and failed to disarm me. You gave away his whereabouts. And I had hoped— this was supposed to be well within your capabilities.” She sighed. “For a while there, I thought that you and Draco were working quite well together.”
As Hestia stood up, everyone stopped and turned to face her. “We’ll reconvene at the training centre in ten minutes, and go over all the positives and negatives of this exercise.”
Slowly, everyone Apparated away, until just Harry and Malfoy were left, both still sitting on the ground. They stood, brushing off their robes, neither talking. Malfoy’s jaw was set in stiff lines, as if he were biting down hard.
“What were you thinking, Potter?” he said, barely moving his mouth as he ground the words out. He held a hand up. “Actually, I don’t want to hear your excuses: save them for Hestia. I told you how important this was. How dare you fuck it up? This should have been simple, and now I have a fail on my mark sheet. Thank you very much.” He kicked at a small stone on the ground. It rattled away and hit the wall. “Don’t you see? Don’t you get it? It’s been so fucking hard to get to this point, and now you just waltz in with your ‘I’ll do what I want’ attitude and mess it all up. Just because you’ve already got friends and you’re a fucking war hero, doesn’t mean the rest of us have it quite so easy.”
“Easy, you think it’s easy?”
“Oh, don’t give me your sob story, I’m in no mood to hear it. ‘It’s all so difficult and no one will let me just do whatever I want to do.’ Well boohoo, Potter.”
Harry didn’t even consider how to answer Malfoy. Instead, he launched himself at across the space between them, his hand already balling into a fist. Before he could do anything with it though, Malfoy had knocked him to the ground. Grabbing what he could – Malfoy’s robes, an arm, – Harry tried to push Malfoy down, and roll on top. But Malfoy, despite his slight-seeming build, was strong, and had probably spent hours practising every move covered in their Physical Defence classes. It didn’t take long for him to be straddling Harry, his hands pinned down beside him.
Malfoy’s hands were tight around his wrists. Harry tried to move his hands free, but he couldn’t. Cold stones digging into his back, he could see the anger in Malfoy’s eyes. Harry struggled for a moment more, but then he became aware of another problem. Malfoy’s weight, pressing down on him, was having the unfortunate effect of—
Thankfully at that moment, Malfoy chose to let go and stand up. Harry couldn’t bear to face him, not after the humiliation of being bested like that. And had Malfoy stood because he’d been aware of Harry’s growing… problem? Harry’s face flushed red at the thought, and he stood himself, grateful when Malfoy Disapparated, leaving him alone in a Welsh farmyard in the biting cold. He waited for his erection to subside, then Apparated before he got in trouble for being late, as well as everything else.
:::::
It was quiet, up on the roof. Quiet and cold, but no snow. Harry looked out over the roof tops of London. He’d really messed up this time, he knew that. His ears were still burning from the telling-off he’d got. Malfoy hadn’t spoken to him, just glared from the other side of the room.
The sound of someone clearing their throat made Harry turn, almost losing his balance from his perch at the roof’s edge. Malfoy was standing behind him.
“How did you find me?”
“Magic, remember?” Malfoy took a step towards Harry, who recoiled a little. He stopped and scowled. “Oh, don’t be an idiot, Potter, I’m not going to push you off!”
Harry was still holding on to the roof edge, fingers clasped tightly round stone, but he realised that yes, deep down he did know that he wasn’t about to be shoved off. He relaxed his grip a little, but was still wary as he eyed up Malfoy. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”
Malfoy visibly paused, taking in a large breath. “I would do, normally, but…”
“But what?”
“But you… you’re Harry Potter.”
Disappointment rippled through Harry, and he turned back to the anonymous bustle of London. “I don’t want to hear it,” he said, feeling cold inside. He’d had enough of people telling him who he was. Harry bloody Potter: not even his name felt like his own. Everyone in the wizarding world owned a piece of it.
“I don’t mean it like that.” Uninvited, Malfoy came to sit next to him. “I know I said I didn’t care, but maybe I do, a little bit.” They watched as a flock of pigeons flew off a nearby roof, turning through the sky before settling in the bare branches of some trees, a little further on. Harry wasn’t sure what to make of this version of Malfoy, gently-spoken and invading his space under the sky. “You do tend to mess everything up, and mostly I wonder why you even bother to stay on the course. But then I see something… almost familiar. You are one stubborn bastard.”
“Stubborn? Is that the best you can do?” Harry said, scornful of such a pathetic insult. Malfoy stared at him, eyes pale and light-filled.
“It’s almost a compliment, you idiot. In a strange way you remind me of me. Not as good at it all, obviously.” Harry scowled. “But not willing to give up. You refuse to quit, yet you never really manage to get anything right. Honestly? I don’t think that you’re about to throw away every bit of respect you’ve earned from the wizarding world. It looks like you just don’t care. But I think that you do.” He paused. “You could still be a good Auror. You just need to learn to trust your magic, to see a bit more clearly what’s happening around you.”
Harry didn’t want this: he didn’t want Malfoy to have a soft side. He didn’t want him to be human, or to understand what Harry was going through. He wanted to be able to keep hating him, because that was easier than having to consider anything else. Like just why Harry got so… hot and bothered when he thought of Malfoy on top of him, crushing him into the ground. He willed away the thought, focusing instead on the rough stone beneath his hands.
Up on the roof it was windy, and the noise of it seemed to fill Harry’s ears. He longed for silence, proper silence, and the image of a cool white waiting room flitted through his mind; he felt tired, all of a sudden. “I don’t need your opinion. Didn’t ask for it, either.” Harry just wanted to be left alone.
“Don’t be a fool, Potter,” Malfoy said, wearily. Harry still wouldn’t look at him, but he could feel the hum of Malfoy’s body, tense next to his own. Malfoy might be tired, but he was still pissed off.
“What does it matter to you?” Harry finally turned to face Malfoy. “You might be the teacher’s pet, but that doesn’t mean you need to be bothered with how other people are doing. Why should you care about what happens to me, when you obviously don’t care about anyone else?” Harry again saw the faces of the dead, the same faces he saw at night in his dreams. “I’m sorry if I don’t live up to your image of the great Harry Potter.” Harry felt his anger build again, and he laughed. “You’ve been playing us all. I see your plan now: get on the good side of Harry Potter. Good for your future career as the star of the Auror department. Well, sorry to have disappointed you on that one.”
Malfoy’s face was white, his lips pinched thin.
“Well, I don’t think you really care about what happens to me, and I certainly don’t care about you,” said Harry went on. “Somehow you’ve manage to just put everything behind you, like it doesn’t matter at all. Well, it does matter. Lavender matters. Fred mattered. Charity Burbage mattered.” He saw Malfoy’s shoulders tremble as he said their former Muggle Studies teacher’s name, and remembered seeing, through his connection to Voldemort, as Malfoy had watched her being tortured and killed. Harry, too, shuddered at the memory. “They all matter,” he added softly, putting his head in his hands, feeling the sting of tears as he pushed his fingers onto his closed eyes. Harry took a few deep breaths, still feeling the ache of all the senseless loss, still feeling it every day.
“You think I don’t think they matter? Of course they matter.” Malfoy spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s why I– I need to do this. To be a better person. And it hasn’t come for free. Do you really think I’ve got any friends? You’re probably the only here could actually understand anything of who I am.”
Standing up, Harry looked down at Malfoy. “I can’t just move on like that, so I’m sorry if that doesn’t meet with your approval. But don’t ever say that we’re the same again. And, personally, I really don’t care whether you have friends or not.”
Harry was swaying, and for a second he longed to feel a hand, tight on his arm again, keeping him grounded. But no, that was just wrong. It was easier, he told himself, to just focus on the twisting in his gut and call it hatred. He closed his eyes and remembered Ron falling to the ground after drinking poisoned wine, or the sick crunch as his nose broke, or the angry red lines marring Lavender’s face. He thought about how the look of defeat had haunted her eyes for months on end.
He walked away, leaving Malfoy to stare after him, his expression unreadable.
:::::
“So your role, young trainees, is to help the wizarding world maintain its balance. We can never see the rise of another Dark wizard again.” Robards gave Harry a significant look, and all eyes turned in his direction. Harry shrank back in his chair a little. Any hope he had that Robards would leave him alone soon faded. “Of course, we are lucky that in this very year are many who have personally fought and defeated Dark wizards, including the Darkest of them all.”
Robards had come in to give them a lecture. It was supposed to be a special event, having the Head Auror come in. Something to keep them going, halfway through their first year of training. So far though, it had been long-winded, and more than a little patronising.
Beside him, Harry heard a whispered “For fuck’s sake” from Ron, and a muffled snort from Neville. Robards finally turned to a topic other than Death Eaters or the war, and Harry chanced a glance around the room. No one was looking at him any more – no one except for Malfoy.
Their eyes met, and there was a spark of recognition – of understanding – which shocked Harry into turning away. He knew he’d seen it: the scorn for Robards’ empty words which he himself felt. It was the strangest of feelings. For a moment Harry saw that if there had been no war, no meeting at Madame Malkin’s, no Mudbloods and Purebloods, maybe they could have been friends. But then Harry realised that Malfoy’s scorn was probably based on exactly those things. Their experiences, and choices, had marked out different paths for them.
In fact, no matter how dull and irritating Robards was, Harry realised, there was something behind his words. There had been a war, and the threat from Dark magic was real, Harry knew that. He remembered the way Slytherin’s locket had twisted his thoughts and feelings, and he knew that it didn’t need a Voldemort to destroy life: it could happen on a person by person basis.
He stopped listening to the talk, instead thinking about Horcruxes, and how Ginny as a child had opened the Chamber of Secrets, and killed cockerels in her sleep. Harry shivered, despite the warmth of the room. He knew why he wanted to be an Auror. He didn’t want anything like that to happen again. And if it did, he wanted to stop it.
There was a bit of a crush to get out of the room after the talk. Harry found himself squashed into Malfoy’s bony side, and the rush of heat he felt turned into shame and anger. Harry pushed through a little more forcefully than needed, and their shoulders jarred as Harry barged past. A brief contact, a moment of pain, but worth it for the look on Malfoy’s face.
“Watch out, Potter!”
Harry considered pushing again, seeing what he could get out of Malfoy. It had been satisfying, that brief bump, but he turned away. He didn’t want any of it: the confusion; the heat which built in him with the memory of being pinned; the shame; or the anger. He began to walk away.
“Potter!” Malfoy called out, and he caught up with Harry, grabbing his arm to stop him. “I don’t know what your problem is. I’m not the person you think I am. And… I know you told me you weren’t interested, but I still think that you could crack your problems in training. I think maybe I could help you. With training, and,” Malfoy met Harry’s eye and tightened his grip on his arm, pushing it more towards the wall, “other stuff, too.” His thumb brushed hard over Harry’s skin, giving rise to goosebumps in its trail.
Harry pushed Malfoy’s hand away with the full force of his shame at how good that tight grip had felt. Shame turned to anger. “Look, just leave me alone! I don’t need your help, I don’t want to talk to you, and I’d be happy to never see you again. You might have impressed everyone here, but I know that you are pathetic. You are just a sad loser, and you know it.” He knew that he sounded like a petulant teenager, but somehow Malfoy always brought out the worst in him.
Fuming and slightly aroused, Harry walked off.
:::::
At three o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon in March, the Leaky was almost empty.
“You really have some issues with Malfoy, don’t you?” Ron said, once they’d settled down with their butterbeers. Harry sighed. He’d thought that his friends would avoid talking about it, but he’d obviously been wrong.
“You looked like you were going to get into another fight with him.” Neville shook his head. “It won’t go down well if you do.”
“It’s not like we’ve ever been best of friends,” said Harry.
“Well, yes, I know,” said Ron, “but you can feel it now when the two of you are in the same room. I thought you two were going to have another fight, the other day.”
Harry felt himself tense up. “Do we have to do this now?”
Ron didn’t say anything, looked over at Neville then took a sip of his drink. “I just really don’t think that Malfoy’s that bad,” he said in the end.
“Look, I’d really rather not, if you don’t mind. It’s probably just… that stupid talk Robards gave us got me wound up.” Harry knew this wasn’t the entire truth, but he really didn’t want to talk about it: he hadn’t said some of those things about the war before, not even to Ron or Hermione, and he hated that the first person he’d ever said them to was Malfoy.
Ron looked unconvinced, but then let out a low laugh. “Robards was a bit full of himself, wasn’t he?”
Neville puffed his chest out and deepened his voice. “There is dark, there is light. We stand between the two, casting long shadows—”
“Does that even make sense?” Ron said.
“—to keep the world safe.”
Harry groaned. “That speech was something else!” Neville quoted a few more choice lines and then the conversation moved on. Harry did not mention how he saved the memory of Malfoy’s body, shoved against his, for later in the night, alone in his room. He could still feel the steel-like grip on his arm. He hated his body, for liking it so much.
:::::
The weight pinned him down, crushing the breath from him. Harry writhed under it, but a firm hand shot out and held his arm down. Harry struggled for a moment more, then stilled. His heart beating fast, it was all he could do not to moan and arch into it. He knew though, that he had to be absolutely still, absolutely silent. Every part of his body strained against the weight, but welcomed it too. He was hard, his cock just as squashed as the rest of him, pressed up against the other body, and he had never felt more aroused. Before anything else could happen though, Harry awoke.
He blinked slowly in the dim light of his room, unable to help the sense of disappointment as he realised that he was alone, that it had been a dream. But then came the familiar and churning sense of shame. He hadn’t seen a face: it wasn’t a dream about Malfoy. It wasn’t. He groaned and lay back, knowing that he needed to go back to sleep, knowing that another busy day lay ahead. He refused to touch himself, and just waited for his erection to subside so that he could sleep.
But try as he might, Harry couldn't sleep. In the end he gave up and padded down the corridor to the empty kitchen, in search of a glass of water and a change of scene.
Empty corridors at night made him think of invisibility cloaks, and magic maps, and huge dogs with three heads, and Harry smiled. His smile fell though, as his thoughts returned to Malfoy. Sometimes he thought he’d seen Malfoy watching him, a speculative, almost hungry look in his eyes, but Harry wasn’t sure. If Malfoy came too near to him, Harry would often act overly aggressive, which seemed to keep him at bay. Harry wasn’t sure if he did it because Malfoy annoyed him, or because he wanted to be pushed to the ground again. He tried not to dwell on it, dreams excepted.
As Harry approached the kitchen, he could already see that it was filled with cool, clear moonlight. He stopped just inside the doorway as he saw out the outline of someone standing by the kitchen window, and he swayed slightly as he realised that it was Malfoy.
Seeing Malfoy here, in such a strangely domestic space, was unsettling. Unbidden, the image of Malfoy crying over sinks at Hogwarts came to mind. He didn’t want to, but Harry remembered that Draco had been under huge pressures that year.
When Malfoy caught sight of him, several emotions seemed to chase across his face, all too quickly for Harry to make sense of them. He put down the cup in his hand and straightened up, his body suddenly alert.
“What are you doing here?” Harry knew how belligerent he sounded.
“Drinking some water, Potter. I do use this kitchen too, you know.” His casual words belied the tension in his body.
Harry flushed red in the dark. Occasionally he’d bumped into Malfoy here, or in the bathroom, but it was so rare it was mostly as if they lived nowhere near each other, not at opposite ends of the same corridor. Suddenly he wondered whether that was just down to chance, or because Malfoy had been avoiding him. Or the other way around.
“Yeah, of course. Um, me too. The water, that is.” Harry moved to the sink to get himself a drink. Malfoy leant back against the window frame, watching him. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the scrutiny. He tried not to think about his dream, about the feel of a body on top of his. He was painfully aware that they were both standing there in just their pyjamas. Just a thin piece of cotton, between him and—
The cool water was a welcome distraction. He faced the sink, rinsing his glass out slowly when he had finished. Standing at the sink, he tried to calm himself with some long, slow breaths.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” Malfoy’s voice disturbed the quiet of the room. Harry turned to face him.
“I… I haven’t.”
“No? It seems to me that you have. Ever since Wales.”
Harry didn’t know what to say, because it was true, he had been avoiding Malfoy. Nothing but the barest of civilities in class, and then avoiding anywhere public where they might meet.
“I told you before, I’m not interested,” Harry said, trying to push Malfoy away with his words, if he could. He knew they were half a lie though: the way his body longed to close the gap between the two of them was enough to tell him that.
“In what? I think that’s the question here.”
An unexpected tingle of anticipation rose up his spine, as Harry remembered the strength of Malfoy’s hands, his memory mixing with his dream. But Harry knew that this feeling wasn't right. Not now, not here: not ever. He clamped down on the rekindled feelings of desire, curling and licking inside of him, and tried instead to focus on the ever-present anger he felt when he saw Malfoy. If he thought about Malfoy’s lack of apology since the war, or even back to the sneer in Malfoy's boyish face as he called Hermione a Mudblood, then it was easy to pretend that the flame he felt was hatred, pure and simple.
The breath caught in Harry's throat as Malfoy took first one, then another step towards him. Each step increased the sense of danger in the room.
Now he caught the look on Malfoy’s face, and it was one of pure emotion. There was no thinking about appearances here. Yes. Finally, somehow, he’d made Malfoy snap. How, he wasn’t sure. Finally, something was going to happen. His body thrilled at the thought, but his mind was reeling in panic.
Hot breath touched his face, then warm lips were pressed to his. They were hungry and fierce, seemingly ready to devour him. Overcome, Harry froze, but then he pushed Malfoy away with his hands, because… because this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Malfoy though, didn't push back. He just deepened the kiss, his hands moving into Harry's hair and pulling Harry closer. It was excruciating: the way his scalp tingled and his body sang to be finally pressed up against Malfoy like this, the way a shiver of lust wrapped around him. But it was the ball of hate he always carried with him which twisted within Harry, and somehow he managed to push Malfoy away.
"What the fuck?" Harry was furious now. Damn his stupid body, aching for more. He gritted his teeth and took that feeling, tightening it into a hate-filled fire. His breath came fast and quick. How dare Malfoy do that, after Harry had told him he wasn’t interested? Malfoy was still staring at him. Self-disgust flooded Harry as his body responded to the naked look of lust dancing with along with the traces of hatred in Malfoy's eyes, narrowed and filled with emotion. Damn him for his sneering, kissing ways! The fire reached Harry's face in a sudden flush of heat, and he looked away.
“You can’t fucking do whatever the hell you want, Malfoy!”, Harry said. He couldn't bear to look at Malfoy. The smarmy, beautiful bastard that he was. All this time Harry had been so very sure that he just hated Malfoy, that the other thing was just something accidental. But now… it was all too much to take in, and Harry fell back, retreating to the small table lit by the window overlooking a world pale and colourless, buildings bright with moonlight but the streets hidden in deep shade. Harry felt safer somehow, in the squares of light coming from outside, with a table between the two of them. He still watched Malfoy, who touched a hand to his lips, then took a step forward. Feeling trapped, Harry felt his senses sharpen and he raised his hands without thinking about it. Malfoy stopped, and Harry calmed a fraction, relieved, and lowered his hands.
But then Malfoy did the most infuriating thing possible: he smiled, that confident smirk which always made Harry want to reach over and wipe it clean away. The fire of Harry's rage flared at the sight, and his hands locked into fists, held tightly at his sides.
“Scared, Potter?” It was the echo of so many schoolboy taunts, but this time the voice was deeper, the words laced with suggestion. A different challenge to any offered at Hogwarts.
The edges of everything went white, as Harry's anger grew. He just wanted life to be simple. Malfoy had messed everything up. “What do you think you’re doing? Kissing me like that.” Harry’s mind was whirling, the words in his head making no sense. “Why?”
Malfoy began to move again, his feet tracing a slow line towards Harry. Hairs rose on the back of Harry's neck at the sight of Malfoy, the predatory smile still on his face.
“I don’t know, Potter. Perhaps I’ve realised just how much I’ve missed your company.”
As if they’d ever spent any time together. Harry stared at Malfoy. The bastard. It was as if Malfoy knew some secret that Harry wasn’t privyparty to, and it was infuriating. Well, he’d had enough of feeling one step behind. This time, Harry was going to be the first to act. All of sudden he knew what to do. He took a step forward, watching as Malfoy's eye's widened, and something – hope, fear, desire? – filled his gaze. And then Harry pulled back his fist, and swung with all his might until it connected with Malfoy's jaw and a sickening crack filled the room. Malfoy's eyes lost their focus, and for a moment everything stood still, and then his body flew back as he collapsed on the floor.
>>Part 3
