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Cover Design by Dysonrules and Winter_June, respectively
The truth is rarely pure and never simple.
― Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
This had to be, without a doubt, the weirdest party Harry had ever been to. From the moment he walked in and saw the room decorated as the Hogwarts lake, complete with waiters dressed as giant squid, he knew it was going to be a strange one, but it had surpassed even his wildest expectations. Luna, the birthday girl, was gliding about as a glittery mermaid, her legs Transfigured into an elegant tail. The guests were a bizarre mishmash of old friends from Hogwarts, the, er, interesting people that Luna worked with at the Sanctuary for Misunderstood Creatures, and on the whole, a collection of people Harry had never expected to be socialising with.
Gregory Goyle, for a start. He seemed to be exceptionally friendly with Luna, spending the parts of the evening when she wasn’t near him following her about with puppy dog eyes. There was even an interval where they both disappeared together; Harry had seen Luna moving about perfectly easily even in mermaid form, but Goyle had decided to carry her upstairs for some reason, her tail swishing happily from side to side as she perched in his big arms. Harry couldn’t help noticing that Goyle came back down looking decidedly glittery around the edges.
Harry had also not expected to be offered a blow job by an impressively drunk Draco Malfoy in the toilets. Perhaps the most surprising part of the whole evening was the way Harry’s cock leapt with definite interest – Merlin, more than interest, positive enthusiasm – at the sight of Malfoy lolling against the wall and telling him that sucking him off would fulfil one of his favourite fantasies. It was pure surprise that had Harry hypnotised by the slow passage of Malfoy’s tongue around his lips after he spoke. The whole thing was corny and sleazy and it was ridiculous to have considered agreeing even for a second. OK, several seconds.
Harry knew from the papers that Malfoy had initially gone into research after leaving Hogwarts, but was now a successful dealer in potions ingredients. They very occasionally crossed paths at work, or occasionally at social functions. He just wasn’t used to seeing Malfoy all messed up like that, his shirt undone several buttons, his hair sticking up on one side, and his voice slurry and slow, a glass of whisky dangling from his fingers. Harry just stared for a long moment before turning away abruptly and going to find another toilet, his heart thumping against his chest and Malfoy’s drunken laughter following him all the way down the corridor.
Harry kept half an eye on Malfoy after that – he was bound to be up to something, and it always paid to know what – but all he saw was Malfoy being obnoxious to everyone. He wished, not for the first time, that Ron and Hermione were here so he could discuss it with them, but they were visiting the Grangers in Australia. Meanwhile Malfoy told Seamus loudly that he’d always wondered whether he bottomed for Dean or vice versa, called Charlie an armpit-scratcher, and told one of Luna’s colleagues that he had a face like a disgruntled troll. Unfortunately the truth of this last could not reasonably be denied, but it was less than diplomatic.
People were mostly ignoring Malfoy’s behaviour, for the sake of keeping the party cordial, but things came to a head after he called Luna a ‘dear, daft, deluded bint’ and only narrowly avoided being flattened by the newly-glittery Goyle. Harry would never have expected such a heavy-set person to move so fast. Malfoy obviously didn’t either, for he dodged the punch by luck alone, accidentally swaying sideways at the crucial moment. After this incident he was escorted home by a comparatively sober Theodore Nott, leaving the party a temporarily quieter and less exciting place, but as Moaning Myrtle began to dance the can-can, flanked by Neville and Professor Trelawney, Harry mostly forgot about Malfoy, resuming instead the pastime of people-watching, and idly wondering whether his life would ever resemble anything approaching normal.
***
Harry slept in on Monday morning, then took his time to shower and dress in his work tunic and trousers before Apparating to the home of Artemis Mendel, the renowned artist. Several of her paintings were being transported from her studio to the gallery that exhibited her work. Having been the target of art thieves in the past, Mendel had insisted on extra security in addition to the usual protective spells, and her agent had therefore arranged for Harry to be present.
Harry had been working as a security specialist for four years now and could honestly say he had never been happier. The unpredictable nature of the work suited him down to a T, he was able to pick and choose clients at will, and he had travelled to many interesting countries accompanying his clients as a bodyguard. He sometimes wondered if he should feel guilty about how much he enjoyed the occasions when he had to put his skills into practice; however, as he did his job so well, his clients were seldom, if ever, in any real danger.
Best of all, there was no-one to answer to at the end of the day except himself. No Kingsley breathing down his neck about ‘unorthodox methods’. No evenings spent poring over a training manual, worse than detention with Snape. No Auror partner whining on tediously that he had nearly got them both killed. They weren’t killed, were they, so what was the point of going on about it? If he didn’t like the job or the client, he turned it down. There were plenty more people queuing up for his services.
The valuable paintings were delivered without a hitch, and Harry was soon back at Grimmauld Place changing into his workout gear. Whenever possible, he liked to spend at least a couple of hours each day in the basement, which he had magically expanded into a large training room, practising defensive spells and maintaining his strength, speed and stamina with various routines. He finished off with a nice fast flight on his broom, whipping across to Brighton and back in just under an hour. He was about to strip off his clothes for the second shower of the day, when he heard a noise at the window, and turned to see a handsome eagle owl tapping for his attention. The bird was carrying an ostentatiously large scroll of parchment on which was written in flowing script:
Potter,
Please call on me at my offices today as early as convenient. I have a proposition for you.
Draco Malfoy
Harry shook his head, even as his mouth went peculiarly dry at the memory of Malfoy’s previous proposition. He turned to chuck the scroll straight into the bin, but was checked by an indignant squawk from the owl.
“OK, OK.” Harry reached for a quill and scrawled on the back: Not interested. He offered it to the owl, who glared at him, but took it nonetheless. “There you go.”
He had not quite reached as far as the shower before he heard a second bout of imperious tapping. By this point he was naked, and he experienced the disconcerting feeling of being checked out by the owl as it handed him another scroll.
I can assure you that you will be interested. Kindly call as soon as possible.
DM
Harry sighed and summoned the quill.
I’ll decide what interests me. You don’t.
HP
The owl scowled at him disapprovingly down its vicious-looking beak, and Harry had to fight the temptation to squirm. He knew he wasn’t being entirely honest with Malfoy – he was interested, both in why the other man was owling him, and also why a thriving businessman had been as pissed as a fart and behaving outrageously at what was quite a public and well-attended party. Finally, if Harry were to be more honest than he was really comfortable with, he was also interested in that memory of the drawling, suggestive words that had slid from Malfoy’s lazily smirking mouth.
“Off you go, then!” Harry told the owl, and banged the window firmly shut behind it. Stepping into the shower at last, he cleaned himself as efficiently as possible, making sure not to think of whisky-plumped lips, or sleepy grey eyes, as he rubbed the soap over his wet skin.
He was towelling himself dry when the next interruption occurred. “Hairy bollocks, Malfoy, what now?” Harry growled to himself. He summoned his glasses to be sure, but, yes, that was the owl at the window again. The latest parchment had been rolled rather carelessly and the handwriting was less precise.
For god’s sake, Potter, I’ve been cursed. I need your help. Will you come or won’t you?
DM
Harry’s pulse quickened as he reread the words. Cursed! What had happened to Malfoy? Who would want to curse him? His mind raced through the numerous possibilities, and he reached for his work clothes without thinking, his senses alert and body primed as if ready for a split-second reaction. He tied the short tunic at the side with its kimono-style fastening, not caring that his hair was still dripping onto the mandarin collar, and pulled on his boots over the close-fitting trousers. He slotted his wand firmly into the holster at his thigh, and spun on his heel, wincing as always at the unpleasant feeling of Apparition, his skull tightening disconcertingly around his brain.
Malfoy’s offices were in a prestigious building not far from Diagon Alley. Harry Apparated into the foyer and addressed the young wizard sitting behind the reception desk.
“I’m here to see Draco Malfoy.”
The wizard seemed flustered and unhappy. “Ah, no, sorry, he can’t see anyone today. Apologies, Mr Potter. I’ll tell him you were here.”
Harry frowned. Trust nothing about this to be easy. “He just this minute owled me and asked me to come straight away.”
“Did he? Oh, gosh, I don’t think – He specifically said no visitors –”
Malfoy himself appeared in a doorway, looking royally pissed off.
“Damn it all, Herbert, I know you’ve never been the fastest broom in the shed, but can’t you see Mr Potter’s not an ordinary visitor? You must have seen his bloody face grinning at us all from the front pages often enough, looking like a feeble-minded –” Malfoy broke off and bit his lip furiously, then after a pause continued, speaking slowly, as if struggling to find the right words.
“Ignore that, Potter. Look, have the rest of the day off, Herbert. In fact, take the rest of the week off – I’ll Floo you when I want you again. Ward all the doors and go home, have a good time with some of those magazines I know you read under the desk when you think no-one’s around.”
Herbert’s mouth gaped in horror as Malfoy turned to Harry. “Twenty years old and his idea of getting off is looking at pictures of middle-aged witches dressed in Hogwarts uniforms. Tragic. I only hired him because his father got hold of some interesting photos of me from when – MERLIN!” he shouted, hitting himself on the forehead in a way that put Harry in mind of Dobby. “Herbert, go home! Now!”
He gestured tightly at Harry, before striding ahead through the doorway. “Potter, this way.”
Harry followed him, astonished by his odd behaviour. Had the stress of being cursed sent Malfoy mad? Malfoy was almost as bizarre as he had been at the party. Perhaps he had a drink problem?
Malfoy’s office was spacious and airy, the ceiling spelled to show a sunny sky, complete with wisps of cloud and birds flying overhead. Harry couldn’t help thinking that it was as far from the décor of the Slytherin dungeons as it could possibly be.
Malfoy waved at Harry to take a seat, and sank into a comfortable looking chair himself, running his hands through his hair distractedly.
“Bloody hell, bloody hell. I never thought I’d be begging you for help, Potter, but my usual man’s in St. Mungo’s – fight with a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Believe me, you would never be my first choice – Salazar, no— In fact— Oh, fuck my life!” He got up from the chair abruptly with a pained expression, screwing his eyes shut.
Harry’s hand went to his wand in alarm as Malfoy took a few deep breaths. “What I mean is... thank you for coming.” Malfoy waved his hand weakly. “Just forget about anything I say that seems unusual. I... can’t help it. I’ve been cursed.” He sat down again heavily and put his head in his hands.
“So you said in your letter.” Harry leaned forward. “What happened?”
“It was at that… that celebration of utter lunacy, Lovegood’s birthday! Someone slipped a potion in my whisky... At least, I think so... I left there steaming drunk, anyway, although I’m pretty sure I’d only had a couple of glasses, and at some point they must have taken the opportunity to do this to me. I was so out of it I don’t know what actually happened.”
“Do what to you? What curse was it?”
A secretive expression came over Malfoy’s face and his lips pressed together thinly. “I don’t wish to say.”
“I can’t help you unless I know what’s going on, Malfoy. You need to be honest with me.”
Malfoy shot a startled glance at Harry, then burst into high-pitched laughter with an edge of hysteria. “Honest? Oh, Potter, if only you knew. You don’t need to worry about that.”
Harry looked around as if for help. Malfoy seemed quite deranged, and he was no nearer finding out anything about what had happened. “Look, I don’t think I’m the right person for this job. You need a Healer... or a Curse-Breaker.”
“No,” Malfoy snapped. “It’s you I need. Someone has got it in for me, and I must have your protection.”
Harry felt his skin prickling with interest despite himself. “Who do you think cursed you? Do you have many enemies?”
Malfoy laughed again, short and bitter. “Oh, just a few dozen. People aren’t exactly delighted to see a former Death Eater doing well at anything. And then of course there are the evil bastards who’d like to get back at me for testifying against them. They didn’t all end up in Azkaban, more’s the pity.”
Harry’s eyebrows knotted together. He watched as a seagull wheeled across the charmed ceiling, then made a snap decision. “If I’m to work with you, you’ll have to trust me, tell me everything. Otherwise I’m out of here.”
Malfoy frowned in irritation. “It’s up to me what I tell you, surely? I’m your client and I give the instructions.”
“It doesn’t work like that. We do this how I say, or I leave now. It’s your choice.”
Malfoy squirmed in his seat, but did not speak.
“OK.” Harry got up to leave.
“No! Wait!” Malfoy rose too and put out a hand to stop Harry. “Sit down. Please. I’ll talk.” He waited for Harry to settle himself again. “It’s the Veritas Curse.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“No. Me neither. It’s old magic, used to be common amongst merchants or traders. It ensures fair dealings, because a person affected by it can only tell the truth.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a curse.” Harry wrinkled his forehead.
“Oh, doesn’t it? So you think it’s a pleasant thing, to prattle out all your secrets, to tell everyone exactly what you think of them, to be unable to tell the smallest white lie for the sake of being polite, and to have the nearly unbearable urge to tell everything you know on any particular subject, whether you like it or not?”
Harry’s eyes widened. “At the party... you’d been cursed, then? I thought you were just drunk.”
“Oh, I was drunk as well. I told you, the bastard who did this spiked my drink first. They made sure I wouldn’t notice how it happened, or be able to defend myself... and that I would be completely bamboozled by the effects of the curse. Sober, I can control it, to some extent, if I’m concentrating hard. I can change the subject, or sometimes just say part of what I’m thinking. At the time, I was just blurting out every single thing that came into my mind.” Malfoy looked nauseated. “Some of the things I said... my god.”
A smile twitched at Harry’s mouth. “You certainly were an interesting guest.” He thought back over all the things Malfoy had said and done. Realisation was slowly dawning. “Hold on... when exactly were you cursed? When we met, in the bathroom...?”
Malfoy’s cheeks flushed red. “God, Potter, don’t hold anything I said that night against me, I beg you. I wasn’t in control of myself at all.”
Harry was still thinking hard. “But if you’d been cursed... what you said to me was true? Merlin, I thought you were just drunk and... a bit horny!”
Malfoy’s face was turning the most extraordinary colours. “Potter, please.” He spoke slowly and carefully, as if picking his way across broken glass. “I’d... had my drink tampered with, remember? People... do say... stupid things, sometimes, don’t they, when they’re drunk? They say things... they don’t mean. I expect you’ve done it yourself.”
Harry felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. It would have been way too weird to hear that Malfoy had really been fantasising about... that, he told himself. But for a minute there, part of him had been, frankly, very interested. It was just good for the ego, that was all. Malfoy was a, well, Harry supposed he was an attractive and powerful man, and it was natural to feel flattered at the thought that he had been interested in him. He sighed without realising it.
“Well, that’s a relief.” He laughed, but it sounded a little false. “I’m glad we cleared that up, anyway. Would have been awkward working with you, thinking that you –”
“Yes, yes. Very awkward,” Malfoy interrupted. “Shall we move on? I’m sure I did a lot of other things that night that are equally hilarious to you.”
“Well, I did enjoy Zacharias Smith’s face when you called him a mewling peasant.” Harry grinned. “But insulting the hostess was a bit much. Luna’s not, what did you say? ‘Daft and deluded.’”
“She most certainly is, Potter, however, I've been reliably informed that I also said 'dear'. I’m rather fond of her, believe it or not. And you’re not telling me you believe all of that Nargley-Blimpy rubbish?”
Harry looked uncomfortable. “Well, not exactly believe...”
Malfoy snorted. “Moving on, yes? You are agreeing to take this job, is that right?”
Harry nodded. He had the feeling he was going to regret this, but it was too intriguing to turn down.
“And your confidentiality is assured?”
“Of course.” Harry frowned, offended that Malfoy had to ask.
“About... everything? I might blurt out absolutely anything, Potter. I have to be able to trust you.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. This certainly was one of the more interesting cases he taken on. “What kind of things are you involved in, Malfoy? If you’re still up to––”
Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “What, you think I’m torturing Muggles in the back room, or something? Listen, Potter. I’m no angel. You can probably guess that.”
Harry’s mind flashed back to slurred suggestions in the men’s toilets.
“Not in my private life, or the way I do business. But I’m not into anything...” Malfoy paused and looked up at the charmed ceiling as he searched for the right words. “I’ve put the dark and dangerous stuff behind me. You’ll have to believe me. I literally can’t lie.”
Malfoy stared at him intently. His eyes were a very light grey, almost silvery, and his hair shone pale and bright in the sunlight streaming in. Hairs lifted on the back of Harry’s neck and he realised that he did, indeed, believe Malfoy implicitly. It was a curiously novel feeling.
Malfoy cleared his throat and broke eye contact to look at Harry’s still damp hair. “Did you know your hair’s most odd when it’s floppy and wet like that? You look like Oscar Wilde.”
“Who’s Oscar Wilde?”
“A very queer Muggle.”
“Queer? You mean strange, or...?”
Malfoy snorted. “Both.”
“You have Muggle friends now?”
Malfoy laughed. “He’s not a friend of mine. He was a writer. He’s dead now, poor old bugger. They put him in prison for doing pretty boys up the arse. They don’t like you doing that, Muggles. Well...” His face took on a sly expression. “Some of them don’t mind, in fact some of them— Salazar— Just ignore that, Potter.”
Harry sniggered. He couldn’t help it: Malfoy spilling out all these inappropriate thoughts was just bloody funny. Merlin, if he could only tell Ron – but that would be completely against client confidentiality. Harry would just have to remember all this for his private amusement instead. He also tucked away the information that Malfoy seemed to have an active and interesting sex life, and that he didn’t seem so biased against Muggles these days – not as sexual partners, anyway. Sex seemed to be coming up far too often in this conversation, though. Harry needed to concentrate on finding out more about the whole situation.
“So I presume you’ve been to the Aurors already?”
“Heavens, no. I don’t want them poking around. The last thing I need is— Oh, Merlin, you needn’t look like that. I’ve told you I’m not calling up the Dark Lord’s shade or anything. It’s just that very few businesses run completely above board, Potter. Nobody wants the DMLE putting their beaks in. And I want this completely hush-hush. If this gets out, my competitors will make minced boomslang out of me.”
“OK, OK. So when do we start? What exactly do you want from me?”
“I need 24-hour protection until this is resolved. I’ve got Curse-Breakers working on this and they’d better be able to fix things soon. The Veritas Curse – well, it used to be classed as a Charm. It was only temporary, designed to be used for the duration of one business transaction, for instance. What’s been cast on me must have been a modified version: it’s much more long-lasting and would possibly be permanent, if I didn’t have enough money to pay the best people to come up with a Counter-Curse.” He shivered at the thought. “Meanwhile, I have some very important functions to attend.”
Harry laughed. “That’s going to be interesting.”
Malfoy screwed up his face. “Yes. That’s possibly an understatement, but... anyway. I need constant security, day and night, for at least the next few days. Can you provide that?”
Harry braced his shoulders and nodded confidently, but he was not without misgivings. The prospect of working with a strangely truthful Malfoy had its appeal, but being in such close contact with him for an extended time was going to be a challenge, Harry suspected. As Malfoy came round to Harry’s side of the desk with his diary, and leaned over to point out the relevant parts of his schedule for the next few days, Harry’s eyes were drawn again and again to the curve of Malfoy’s arse in the tailored trousers he wore. Perhaps this was going to be a challenge in more ways than one.
***
Back at Malfoy’s place, in the leafy streets of Hampstead, Harry turned things over in his mind while Malfoy tried to catch up with a bit of correspondence.
“You said our first event is this bash for St. Mungo’s.”
“Yes.” Malfoy put down his quill. “Their new hospital is opening next month – a smaller unit, specialising in Spell Damage, and this is some affair to pat themselves all on the back, or something.”
“I see. I’d imagine it won’t be too long before I have the chance to test the new place out.” Harry smiled wryly. “We’re staying overnight at the hotel where this is being held?” he asked.
“Yes; so tedious, but it’s traditional at these affairs. Most people sit around getting well-oiled on the hospitality budget, then drag the first willing body upstairs for a drunken roll on a hotel bed. If you’re lucky, you might even remember it the next day.”
“You do know you keep bringing up sex all the time, Malfoy? You’re practically obsessed.”
“I can’t bloody help it! What’s that statistic: men think about sex every seven seconds or something? The only difference between me and the average person is that I feel compelled to mention it every time it crosses my mind. I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking.” He slid his eyes slyly to Harry. “Be honest, Potter, how often do you think about it?”
Harry shrugged, colouring a little. “Point taken. But how are you going to get through this event without insulting some bigwig, or, I dunno, asking the speaker what colour knickers his wife has on, or something?”
Malfoy shuddered. “I can assure you that’s not likely to come up. As for the rest: luck, and cunning. Those two things have seen me all right so far and I have hopes that tonight will be no exception. I also can’t afford to risk more than a very small drink for politeness’ sake, though. Alcohol would be my downfall. I hope there’s not dozens of toasts or I’ll have to start chucking the champagne over my shoulder or something.”
“So, tonight is the gala dinner, and then tomorrow an awards ceremony, right? What award did you win, anyway?”
Malfoy looked uncomfortable. “It’s not important. The main thing is that I get through this without major— Ah. The wards are twanging. It should be Flanders, my head Curse-Breaker. Can you check it’s him, and just...” he waved his hand vaguely, “you know, earn your keep?”
Harry bristled. He was proud of his work, but it wasn’t pleasant being reminded that he was currently in Malfoy’s employ. He strode to the door and threw it open with more force than was strictly necessary. A tall, rugged-looking wizard stood outside, his collar turned up against the wind.
“Security,” Harry explained, in response to Flanders’ questioning look. “Place your wand and your bag on the table, here; I’ll just need to...” He gestured with his own wand. Flanders was used to such situations, and raised his arms so that Harry could pass his wand over and around his body, frisking for concealed weapons and detecting his recent magical activity. Flanders had pleasant, strong features, but Harry couldn’t help noticing that he had only one ear, and a few fingers were missing on his left hand. It was a drawback of the job, in Harry’s experience – Curse-Breakers were often losing bits of themselves and it seemed Flanders was no exception.
“It’s Harry Potter, isn’t it? I was two years below you at Hogwarts. Silvius Flanders.”
Harry smiled in recognition. Silvius had been a cheerful soul with a healthy disrespect for authority, and Harry could see the similarities between the impish fourth year he remembered and the imposing man before him.
As Harry traced around Flanders’ head and shoulders, his wand hummed with a bright, bell-like tone, rather than the crackling or whining sounds which would indicate traces of dark magic, but when he reached the wizard’s left arm, there was a loud burst of piercing static which had them both flinching.
Harry frowned. “You’ve had contact with Dark magic today – within the last hour, at a guess.”
Flanders grinned. “I’ll say I have. I was called out to a place in Buckinghamshire; their kids were digging in the garden and unearthed some weird doll. Called their granddad out to have a look and suddenly the old man’s talking in Parseltongue.”
Harry eyebrows lifted in surprise, while Flanders nodded.
“Yeah, the doll was cursed. Nasty-looking thing, it was. I managed to sort the old bloke out, and get rid of the curse on the doll, but not before I spent a few minutes hissing away like a snake myself. Bonkers, or what? Anyway, that’ll be it. I do most of my work with my left hand, even after...” He flexed his remaining fingers wryly. “The rest of me should show up clean enough; it’s been a quiet week, except for doing research for Malfoy, of course.”
Malfoy called through from the other room, bitchy and impatient. “What’s taking you two so long? It sounds like a coven meeting out there. Can you please stop feeling up my Curse-Breaker and let him in, Potter? Or have you not finished checking out his wand, yet?”
“Just a minute, Malfoy,” Harry replied. “Shut up and let me do my job.”
Flanders grimaced as he leaned in to speak quietly to Harry. “Merlin, he’s a handful, isn’t he? Even worse than normal. Can’t wait to break this one and get the job finished, but it’s a toughie, all right.”
Harry finished his checks and waved Flanders through to where Malfoy was sitting at his writing desk, flicking irritably through a book.
“So, what news?”
Flanders shook his head. “I’ve a couple more things to try, but don’t get your hopes up. I told you this one’s tricksy, and it’s my opinion you’ll be stuck with this a while yet.”
Malfoy banged his hand on the desk. “I’m not paying you for your opinion; I want this fixed. Look, I got one of the house-elves to dig out more books from the library at the Manor. What about this?” He brandished a burgundy-bound book at them. The title filled the cover: Curses and Counter-Curses: Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges by Vindinctus Veridian.
“No use. I told you we’ve checked all known Counter-Curses.”
“But there are some very rare volumes in the Malfoy library.” Malfoy took the next book from the stack, a green leather edition that looked as though it had been set on fire at some point. “Here – Nightmarish Curses from the Dark Ages.”
Flanders shook his head.
“Vexatious Voodoo? Jinxes for the Jinxed? Cure Your Woes with Salamander Toes?”
Harry and Flanders both burst into snorts of laughter at the last title. Malfoy glared at them. “Merlin, it’s like a Gryffindor reunion in here. Do you two have to practise laughing so idiotically, or does it just come naturally to you?”
Flanders rolled his eyes. “Just leave the research to my team, Malfoy. We’re doing OK without any salamander toes, thanks very much.” He shot a grin at Harry, then reached for his bag. “I’ve brought a couple of things to try. Shall we get started?”
“Can I just interrupt for a minute?” Harry asked. Intrigued as he was to watch the Curse-Breaker at work, he had his own job to be getting on with. “I need to check this whole place over, Malfoy; can I do that while you’re busy down here? I reckon you’ll be safe enough with Flanders.”
Malfoy gave Harry the go ahead, and as Flanders laid out his instruments on the table, Harry began to work his way around Malfoy’s home, searching for potential security problems. It was about as tightly warded as a private home could be, and moving around the ground floor, he found no areas for concern except for a dubious-looking package on the kitchen table that gave off traces of Dark magic. He made a note to ask Malfoy about.
Heading upstairs, he checked the bathroom over and then found himself entering what must have been Malfoy’s bedroom. The rest of the house had been furnished in quite a minimalist way, with wooden floors, bleak colours and few possessions on display. To Harry’s eye it looked stylish, but stark and unfriendly.
Malfoy’s bedroom, however, was a different story. It was a large room, but made cosy through the use of soft colours and comfortable furnishings. An oversize bed laden with squashy pillows and blankets took up a large part of one wall, while a fat armchair sat near the window, next to a stuffed bookshelf overflowing with all kinds of titles. Gauzy curtains fluttered at the window, filtering the sunlight into dappled puddles on the floor and across the thick cream-coloured rug.
Overall the effect was completely enticing. Harry had an urge to curl up on the bed and rest his head on one of those pillows. He could smell a subtle but unmistakeable fragrance which he presumed was Malfoy’s personal cologne. He bet the sheets would hold many intriguing smells of Malfoy, as well as those black silk pyjamas he could see peeking out from under one of the pillows. A vivid image of Malfoy’s long, lean body, clothed in black silk and stretched out on top of the smooth white sheets, his hair spilling across the pillow, sidled into Harry’s mind and took up residence there.
Harry shook his head as if to clear it. He was meant to be working, not prowling round his client’s bedroom indulging in weird fantasies. This had to be the one of the oddest jobs he had ever done, but he mustn’t let the pressure get to him. He quickly checked over the room, ignoring the fact that his breathing became more rapid as he leant over the bed and swept his wand above it. There was the cologne smell, fresh and mouth-watering, just as he had imagined, but he didn’t linger over his task, and left the room as fast as he could, uncomfortable at what had seemed like an intrusion into Malfoy’s personal space.
A sweep of the other rooms revealed nothing out of the ordinary, and Harry jogged down the stairs to find Flanders and Malfoy in the hall. He could see by the slump of Malfoy’s shoulders that they had made no progress.
“We’ll be away until Thursday night.” Malfoy opened the door to see Flanders out. “Owl me if you have any leads, otherwise call early Friday morning and we’ll see how things are.”
“Whatever you say, sir,” said Flanders with a touch of sarcasm. “See you, Harry,” he added, and, winking, turned on his heel and Disapparated from Malfoy’s front step.
“Well, didn’t you two get on beautifully?” Malfoy was thin-lipped and sounded jealous. Harry wondered whether he perhaps had a thing for Flanders.
Malfoy shut the door smartly. “It’s pretty clear what his mind was on, and it wasn’t breaking my curse. Breaking and entering that tight little arse of yours, more like.”
“Bloody hell, Malfoy!”
“Damn it! My apologies. I’m tired... It makes it trickier not to...” He shut his eyes briefly. “It’s time we thought about getting to the function.”
“OK, but first, what’s that package in your kitchen? Giving off a nasty whiff of Dark magic.”
Malfoy coloured. “That’s none of your fucking business.”
Harry scowled. “You’re forgetting, Malfoy, I told you that if I work for you, everything you do is my business. No secrets between us.”
“It’s... rather an interesting book. For my own personal use. Collectors are allowed to keep Dark artefacts, it’s quite legal.”
“OK, let’s have a look at it, then. What kind of book? What ‘personal use’?”
Malfoy looked about in discomfort. “It’s for a private matter, Potter; for Salazar’s sake, can I not keep anything to myself?”
Harry shook his head. “Not if you want me to do this job.”
“All right – if you must know, I wondered whether it might help with getting rid of this.” Malfoy flung back the sleeve of his robes with a violent motion to bare his Dark Mark. He looked defiantly at Harry. “Is that OK with you?”
Harry wasn’t sure what to say. He knew Malfoy had to be telling the truth, and it did feel like he had crossed a line by forcing Malfoy to share this with him. He stared at the Mark for a minute. It was still ugly as ever, even though it had faded a little, giving Malfoy’s arm a dingy, marred appearance.
“Yeah. All right.” Harry looked away and Malfoy covered his forearm in silence.
“Can we get going now?” Malfoy asked, two spots of colour still high on his cheeks.
“Fine. But what will I need for the dinner tonight? Formal robes or something?” Harry’s heart sunk at the thought of it.
Malfoy thought for a minute. “I can’t spare the time for you to go home. I’ve got plenty of suitable robes you can borrow.”
“Hmm. OK, but I’ll need to go home at some point, pack some stuff. If we get to the hotel, maybe after dinner I can ward the room strongly enough to keep most threats out, and then quickly grab my things. Does that sound feasible?”
Malfoy nodded. “Yes. Let’s get going. My case is ready upstairs; I’ll just make sure I’ve got everything and quickly shrink it now.”
Harry was strangely unnerved at the thought of Malfoy getting his belongings together. Would the silk pyjamas be joining them on their trip? He heard movements from upstairs and pictured Malfoy moving about in the airy, light-filled room, perhaps relaxing on the bed for a moment, letting his head fall back against the soft pillow, his shirt open and throat bared... Harry blinked to try and regain focus. It occurred to him that both Malfoy’s bedroom and his office were completely unexpected – not how he would have pictured them at all. Perhaps Malfoy himself would surprise him during their stay. Stranger things had happened.
***
“Merlin, Potter, you look like a complete and utter idiot.”
“Wow, thanks, Malfoy. It’s not like I just took half an hour to get ready, after all. And they’re your bloody robes, anyway.” Harry looked down at his neatly-pressed robes, immaculate bow tie, and glossy shoes.
“You simply don’t suit that sort of formal clothing. You look like a twat. A twat who just wasted half an hour getting ready. I’m only being honest.”
Harry glowered and stepped closer to Malfoy, his chin jutting. “What you call ‘honest’ is what other people call ‘fucking rude’. This is making you extremely difficult to work with.”
“Of course.” Malfoy frowned. “That’s why the bastard who cursed me did it, I’m sure – to make it almost impossible for me to pursue my business affairs. It’s not easy clinching a deal when all I want to do is blurt out the truth – the truth in this case being that Lord Pendleton has the worst breath I’ve smelt since my mother’s pet Crup stole a pound of garlic sausage and woke me up in the morning by licking my face.”
“Ugh!” Harry flinched, imagining it. “This is the Director of St Mungo’s, right? Does he really have breath that bad?”
“Perhaps a little worse,” Malfoy said, his nose wrinkling at the memory.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I look like.” Harry decided to be the better person and ignore Malfoy’s insults for now. “It’s you who has to impress everyone at this dinner.” He looked up and down at Malfoy’s elegant, embroidered robes. The cut skated over his body, revealing his trim waist and the breadth of his shoulders.
“What deal are you trying to clinch, anyway?” Now, thought Harry, he would find out what dirty doings Malfoy was up to.
“St. Mungo’s have a contract with Slug and Jiggers – you know, they’re the biggest supplier of potions ingredients in the country, and own the Diagon Alley potions shop. The contract runs out at the end of the year. I can offer the hospital a much better deal than the one they have now.”
“I knew you were up to something! You just want to make sure you get the contract!”
Malfoy curled his lip. “Er, yes, obviously. I want to sell more potions ingredients. That’s what I do. I’m so mortified the great mastermind Harry Potter has discovered my evil plot to sell potions, so that a hospital can cure sick people.”
Harry glared at him, his hands bunching into fists. “Isn’t it just like you, though, to try and schmooze your way into a deal? I bet you’ve greased some palms to get this meeting set up.”
Malfoy sneered down his nose. “It’s just business, Potter. That’s how the world works. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” He turned away, but not before Harry had noticed that he was turning pink in the face.
“What are you hiding, Malfoy?”
Malfoy turned back with a bitter look. “Just do what you’re being paid for, Potter: stand around looking impressively brawny, and don’t tire out your little brain trying to understand complex matters of commerce.”
“This is not going to work,” Harry snarled, and his wand hand twitched, but they were interrupted by a knock on the door. A white-haired witch in embroidered velvet robes stood outside, her eyes wide and darting around the room until she spotted Harry.
“Mr Malfoy? Ah, good, I see you are both quite ready. I’m Seraphina Waxwing, assistant to Lord Pendleton. His Lordship would be so grateful if you would pop along to his rooms, just so he can chat before dinner. He’s especially keen to welcome your companion, Mr Potter, to the occasion. Such a striking pair you are!”
“I’m not –” Harry began.
“He’s not used to being referred to as Mr Potter,” Malfoy interrupted. “People usually just call him Harry. Don’t they, Harry?”
He leant towards Harry’s ear and whispered, “Please, let's not fight now. I really am anxious to make a good impression.”
Harry was completely taken aback by the combined surprise of his name on Malfoy’s lips and the soft warm breath tickling across his ear. It left him speechless for a moment.
The witch looked like she was blushing a little. “Oh, well, Harry it is, then. Please, do call me Seraphina,” she said, the feathers on her hat fluttering as she bobbed her head happily. “Follow me to Lord Pendleton’s suite, gentlemen. It’s just along the corridor here.”
Malfoy steered Harry through the door with a firm hand in the small of his back. He spoke softly so only Harry could hear. “It’s only for a short time. You can go back to pulling my pigtails as soon as this is over.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up and he had to suppress a snort. The image of Malfoy wearing pigtails, and the Hogwarts uniform that Harry’s mind had helpfully supplied to go with them, was just too good.
“Oh, you young men, whispering away to each other!” Seraphina shook her head. “You’ll have to behave yourself during the dinner, won’t you? No footsie under the table, now!”
Harry realised with horror that she thought they were together. When she’d said companion, she’d meant—
“Tell me, Mr Malfoy, is Harry as fiery as they say in all the magazines? You’re a lucky so-and-so, there’s many a wizard – or witch—” she broke off to giggle to herself, “who’d give a lot to be in your shoes.”
Malfoy’s face was a picture. “I can well imagine.”
“He’s just as handsome in the flesh, isn’t he?”
Malfoy’s eyes flicked to Harry’s scowling face. “He certainly is.”
“And forgive me for prying, but did I hear you having a little bit of a tiff as I knocked on your door? You can tell old Seraphina, I’ve seen it all before, boys. Now let me give you some advice: don’t go to bed on a quarrel, make sure you have a good old kiss-and-make-up session tonight before you turn in—”
Harry couldn’t listen to any more. “There’s some kind of mistake. He’s not—”
Malfoy was too fast for him. “I’m not... I’m not so silly as to let a quarrel ruin things, don’t worry. In fact, I’d dearly like to take him back to our room right now and spend some time between the sheets making it up to him.” He looked wistful for a moment, but then gave Seraphina a sly smile.
Seraphina’s eyes were wide. “Oh, Mr Malfoy! You are terrible.”
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Seraphina was opening a door and ushering them in to Lord Pendleton’s suite. It was larger and plusher than the one Malfoy and Harry were occupying, with a generous seating area, and comfortable upholstered armchairs.
“Well, do have a seat, gentlemen. Lord Pendleton will be with you in a moment. Such a lovely pair. One so dark and brooding, the other blond and charming – well, I never!” She fanned herself coquettishly with a hand, and left in a swirl of velvet. Malfoy bowed courteously as she went.
Harry hissed. “You deceitful bastard. What was all that about?”
Malfoy shrugged. “I didn’t want to spoil her fun. She certainly was very keen on the idea, wasn’t she?”
“And what was that about wanting to take me back to the room. I thought you couldn’t lie!”
Malfoy flushed a deep red.
Too right he’s embarrassed! Harry narrowed his eyes. To stand there and lie about me while I’m right next to him. He’s got a bloody nerve!
“I... er... hmm.” Malfoy ground to a halt and looked very uncomfortable. He seemed to be searching for the right words, then began again hesitantly, a frown of concentration on his face. “Do you think... maybe these kind of spells wear off a bit? After a while?”
“Looks like it.” Harry gave him a hard stare. “Anyway, no more lies about us, OK?”
Malfoy nodded, biting his lip.
“Malfoy!” Lord Pendleton reminded Harry of a walrus. He was portly, with sagging jowls, and a copious, bristly moustache. “Good to see you, young fellow!”
He turned to Harry. “And the revered Harry Potter.” He smiled. “My assistant has a bit of a crush on you, I believe. A pleasure to meet you.”
Harry shook his hand, while trying to lean back without appearing to be doing so. Malfoy’s description of His Lordship’s breath had not been an exaggeration.
“Come and have a drink.” He waved his wand at a decanter of sherry which began to dispense into generous glasses.
Harry put a hand up. “Not for me, thank you.”
Malfoy’s forehead creased. “A small one, thank you, Lord Pendleton.”
“So, how’s your father? Haven’t seen him at the club for a while.”
“No, he had a – a bit of bother.” Malfoy lifted his glass and took a gulp of sherry.
“Bit of bother? What do you mean?”
“He got drunk and tried the grope the cloakroom girl in the vestibule. She’s the owner’s grand-daughter. She agreed not to press charges, at least. But then her boyfriend came to have a – a discussion with him about it, and my father called him a Mudblood,” Malfoy blurted.
“Eh? What’s that?” Lord Pendleton looked dismayed. “Dear boy!”
Malfoy winced. “Father’s membership has been suspended for six months. The problem was that he’d already been overheard a month before discussing how he thinks the Ministry are too soft on blood status.”
A sour taste rose in Harry’s throat. He hadn’t heard such terms used in years. Pendleton shook his head, setting his jowls wobbling. “I thought all that kind of thing was behind us.”
“Perhaps further behind for some people than for others,” Malfoy answered rather weakly.
“Dear, dear me.” His Lordship poured himself another sherry and topped up Malfoy’s glass. Malfoy looked highly uncomfortable, but sipped at it politely.
“So, Potter, how’s life treating you?” Lord Pendleton seemed to have decided a change of subject was in order. “You’ve been a guest of mine, or I should say ours, at St. Mungo’s on a few occasions before, am I right?”
Harry nodded, thinking of the numerous occasions he had needed a stay at St. Mungo’s. “It’s not my favourite destination, I’m afraid to say.”
“No, indeed! Food’s bloody awful, for starters! Ha ha! So, Malfoy. Potions, eh?”
Harry was fighting the desire to yawn. Malfoy’s ill-advised confessions apart, this was absolutely tedious. If this was how business meetings were usually conducted, Harry was gladder than ever that he and Malfoy had such different lines of work.
Malfoy’s cheeks were stained pink. He did his best to stick to the topic of potions, and answered Pendleton’s enquiries pretty well as far as Harry could judge, but the damage seemed to have been done. Lord Pendleton kept the conversation brief and then excused himself, saying he always liked to lie down for half an hour before dinner.
“Good of you both to drop by. Best of luck with the saving people business, Potter. And I do hope your father can sort out this... unfortunate incident, Malfoy.”
“Thank you, Your Lordship. At least it’s not as bad as the time he was caught trying to slip poisoned wine to someone he’d quarrelled with. That was all hushed up, luckily, but—”
Harry began a loud and unconvincing coughing fit. Malfoy broke off and shot Harry a grateful look.
Lord Pendleton’s face was pained as he shook hands goodbye. “Well, enjoy your dinner. I’ll see you at the ceremony, of course.”
Malfoy made a low bow, and they returned to their room in silence.
***
Harry paced up and down the thick carpet of their suite. “Why didn’t you tell me your father was still set deep in his old ways? I said no secrets between us!”
“Yes, but it only goes one way, doesn’t it? I have to put up with you knowing virtually every humiliating and private thought I have, but you’re not exactly reciprocating, are you? I bet there’s plenty you’re keeping from me. I don’t know what you think of me, for instance, and I bet you’re not going to tell me, either.”
Harry willed the flush that he could feel creeping up his neck to die down again. He certainly did have some private thoughts about Malfoy, ones which he would go to some lengths to keep secret, and not the sort that Malfoy expected, either. It was an uncomfortable thought that at the moment Harry was even guiltier of dishonesty than Malfoy.
Harry longed to look away, but kept eye contact despite Malfoy’s searching gaze. His eyes were piercing at close range, and Harry felt like a butterfly pinned on cork. After long seconds Harry exhaled and grudgingly nodded. “Fair enough. There are things we’d both rather keep to ourselves. But your father’s political beliefs could have a bearing on this whole affair, Malfoy; you’ve got to tell me relevant stuff like that. God only knows what you were going to spill out to Pendleton if you’d carried on.”
Malfoy pressed his fists against his eyes as if to block everything out, almost as if struggling to control sudden tears.
Harry swallowed uncomfortably. “Come on, Malfoy, it wasn’t so bad.”
Malfoy looked up at him with weary, red eyes and raised an eyebrow.
“OK. It was pretty bad,” Harry conceded.
Malfoy wrapped his arms around himself, and pressed his lips together. “This fucking curse! I swear I’ll flay whoever did this to me. The amount of work that’s gone into setting up my attendance at this event... you’ve no idea. And yes, money has changed hands over it, although not quite the way you think.”
Harry nodded. There was a grim satisfaction in knowing Malfoy was still up to no good.
“But it’s not just about that,” Malfoy continued. “I really fucking wanted this! Slug and Jiggers’ ingredients are cheap – but shoddy. The potions don’t work as well as they could do. I’m not just saying this out of spite: we’ve tested them, extensively, and compared the results with our own products.”
He got up angrily and paced across the floor. “Some of Slug and Jiggers’ stuff isn’t even fit to sell, but people keep on buying it because all they care about is saving a few Sickles. Ineffectual potions mean people are staying ill for longer... perhaps dying, all because of poor quality ingredients. It drives me crazy!” Malfoy did look a little mad at the moment, wild-eyed and passionate, his hair in disarray.
Harry frowned. He still didn’t trust Malfoy, but his instincts, as well as the curse, told him Malfoy was telling the truth. “Perhaps if you speak to Pendleton at the dinner... tell him all this—”
“What, and spill a load more stuff about my father and his continuing obsessions with blood purity and the Dark Arts? Merlin, I’ll be lucky if I get through this shindig without getting chucked out, at this rate.”
“You could explain what’s happened with the curse – be honest. You could make a virtue out of this, I reckon. People would say, You can trust Malfoy; he always tells the truth. Like Luna! People always know she’s being straight with them, and—”
“Yes, and people think she’s batshit bonkers!” Malfoy flopped down onto the sofa. “I might as well leave now. This is all hopeless. I should never have let my father talk me into...” He trailed off and covered his face with his hands once more.
Harry patted Malfoy on the shoulder. His instinct was to sit closer and put an arm round him – he would if it were Ron, for instance – but it felt too awkward, somehow. “Well, it’s up to you. We can leave now if you want. But personally, I would never give up so easily on something that was important to me.”
A muscle was jumping near Malfoy’s eye. “Everything is always so simple for you, Potter. No nasty moral subtleties to contend with, no inconvenient instinct for self-preservation. You always know exactly the right thing to do, and then you just jump in and do it, no matter how imbecilic or risky...”
Harry rolled his eyes, all thoughts of sympathy gone. “Have it your way, Malfoy – it’s not like I care. We can go down, eat posh food and I can watch you schmoozing up to everyone, or we can go back to yours and spend the evening twiddling our thumbs and staring at one another in silence. It’s all the same to me.”
Harry could see Malfoy’s Adam’s apple bobbing. “That would be almost harder than... Oh, for Salazar’s sake. Let’s go downstairs. I’ve got this far, I might as well go the whole hog.”
***
They survived dinner – just – although Harry found himself most distracted by Malfoy eating the starter of steamed asparagus with his fingers. The long firm stalks slipping into his mouth, accompanied by a generous coating of hollandaise sauce, was a horribly compelling sight. Seraphina caught Harry staring, and gave him a delighted wink, which didn’t exactly help matters. Harry was grateful for the large linen napkin in his lap, which he adjusted under cover of wiping his hands. Malfoy, however, slipped his thumb into his mouth when he thought no-one was looking, and hollowed his cheeks to suck off the buttery sauce.
Harry was pleased to see plenty of familiar faces at the tables, and after dinner he was able to speak with friends and acquaintances. Malfoy said it would look more natural if they mingled a bit, so with a rather wooden Malfoy looking on, Harry was given a warm embrace by Lavender Brown, who was now a Healer in the Creature-Induced Injuries Ward; had a quick chat with Terry Boot, who headed the Potions Dispensary; and managed to catch up with Luna, who was swaying to the lilting music from the live band.
“Luna! It’s good to see you. What are you doing here?”
Luna smiled. “St. Mungo’s are thinking about opening a ward to treat creatures, isn’t it wonderful? I’m advising them on the proper care of Heliopaths and Dabberblimps. Apparently no-one has ever actually seen them, so it’s an important role.” She nodded seriously.
Harry had that familiar feeling of mystification that he often experienced when talking to Luna. Hearing the band strike up a cheerful tune, he jumped at the opportunity to change the subject. “Do you want to dance?”
“No, thank you, Harry. You’re really a terrible dancer, and I’d rather not risk it.” She turned to address Malfoy, who was smirking into his drink. “It’s surprising, really, because I’ve heard he’s very good in bed, but there you have it.” Malfoy spluttered and choked, his pumpkin juice spattering the front of his robes. Luna calmly cleaned him up with her wand.
“Don’t try to dance with anyone, Harry,” she continued. “Just watch the others; you might learn something. He’s very good, isn’t he?” She gestured at a tall wizard who was dancing with a very pretty red-haired witch. “That big one with the nice arse.”
Harry grinned to recognise Silvius Flanders, Malfoy’s Curse-Breaker.
“What the devil is he doing here?” Malfoy said irritably. “He should be hard at work researching—” He broke off abruptly as he realised Luna was still standing with them.
Silvius noticed the three staring at him and, whispering to his dance partner, broke away from the dance floor and walked towards them.
“Well, hello there! What a surprise, seeing you here.” Silvius ran a hand through his thick shaggy hair, revealing the scar where his ear used to be.
“How exactly did you get an invitation?” Malfoy asked.
“I know a few people, know what I mean? When I heard you two were coming, I thought it sounded like fun, so I owled a mate of mine. I’ve done work for St. Mungo’s loads of times, most people here know me.” Silvius rested his arm casually on Harry’s shoulder. “So, Harry, fancy a dance?”
“He’s working,” Malfoy snapped.
“All work and no play makes Harry a dull boy, eh, Malfoy? You can let him off the leash for five minutes, can’t you?”
“I most certainly cannot. He needs to be focused, not cavorting around like an idiot. Anyway, I have it on good authority that he can’t dance for shit.”
Silvius grinned. “Is that so? Well, I’m a good enough dancer for both of us.”
“Be off with you.” Malfoy flapped a hand at him. “Potter is not available.”
“Shame.” Silvius shrugged. “Catch up with you another time, Harry, when Malfoy’s not got you on his ball and chain any more.” He turned to Luna. “What about you, then, my lovely?”
Luna accepted and was soon throwing some unique shapes in the centre of the floor.
Malfoy seemed in a rage, muttering to himself under his breath and glaring in Silvius’ direction. Harry remembered his previous hunch that Malfoy was possessive about the Curse-Breaker. “Do you fancy him, Malfoy? Is that what’s bugging you?”
Malfoy turned to Harry with a look of surprise.
“Come on, be honest.” It came out a little more roughly than Harry intended. “Your cup of tea, is he?”
Malfoy pulled the kind of faces Harry was beginning to realise meant he was fighting against the curse. “He’s... no. Well, that is to say... I am attracted to his type, yes. The... hair, and...” Malfoy looked pained. “I like fit blokes with dark hair. Is that OK with you, Potter?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Harry frowned. “Try not to get your knickers in such a twist about him, though, Malfoy, you’re making it pretty obvious.”
Harry was irritated. It would be totally stupid to feel jealous of the interest Malfoy showed in Silvius. His eyebrows lowered and he looked around the room, feeling surly.
Lord Pendleton passed by with a group of hangers-on. “Dear Merlin, you both look like a wet weekend! Not enjoying yourselves, fellows? Go and have a dance, for goodness’ sake, you’ll depress us all standing there glooming like that!”
Malfoy twisted his mouth into a polite smile.
“Go and have a dance, I say! You’re only young once. Go on, go on.” Pendleton ushered them onto the dance floor where Harry stood awkwardly looking at Malfoy.
“What do you want to do?” he asked quietly.
“Dance, I suppose. Oh, blow that old bugger! Are you going to break all my toes for me? That will round the evening off nicely.”
Harry laughed. The band finished one tune and segued into the next, a formal number.
“You might be all right, Malfoy. This is a less lively one; I promise to try not to break anything.”
Malfoy looked doubtful as Harry held his hands out invitingly, but stepped into the circle of Harry’s arms and began to move to the music. They stood at a little distance from one another, barely touching at first. It seemed odd to be holding hands, even though Malfoy’s fingers were pleasantly cool and smooth. Malfoy took a step forward and Harry promptly stumbled and tensed up.
“Put your hand on my shoulder and try to relax,” Malfoy told him. “I’ll lead; your job is merely not to tread on anyone important.”
Malfoy was stiff and on his guard as he began to steer Harry around the room, but quickly relaxed into it. Malfoy was obviously an experienced dancer, and Harry found that once he had got used to the feeling of someone guiding him, it all went a lot more easily than normal. In fact, as Malfoy’s hand rested with warm, firm pressure on his back, he would almost say he was enjoying it. Perhaps that had been the trouble in the past: he just needed the right partner. He attempted to share this with Malfoy, but the other man shushed him.
“Don’t talk – this is wonderful. I’m concentrating so much on the music that I don’t feel the need to speak at all. It’s like the curse has lifted for a while.” Malfoy looked so very relieved, his face smoothed out for the first time since Harry had seen him under the curse. His feeling of ease transferred itself to Harry, and as they both let their bodies unwind, Malfoy pulled Harry in a little closer. Harry found he was very aware of the strong shoulder beneath his hand, the slim frame under Malfoy’s robes, moving next to his.
The music changed again and became slower and more wistful. Some couples left the dance floor, but those who stayed moved into clinches, or laid their heads on one another’s shoulders. Over Malfoy’s shoulder, Harry saw Lavender approaching Silvius hopefully. He seemed a very popular dance partner. Silvius laughed and enveloped Lavender in his big arms; she only came up to his chest, but looked up at him, her mouth curving into a smile. When Harry turned his attention back to Malfoy, he was looking at Harry with a question in his eyes.
If you had asked Harry this morning how he liked the idea of slow dancing with Draco Malfoy, he would have laughed. But now he found he did like the idea, very much, so much he didn’t even allow himself to think before putting both arms on Malfoy’s shoulders and, with a slow smile, stepping closer so that their bodies were almost touching. Malfoy looked slightly startled, but allowed his hands to snake around Harry’s waist.
Merlin, Malfoy’s cologne was fresh and inviting. Harry had to fight the impulse to bury his face in the other man’s neck. As far as Harry was concerned, standing here pressing himself up against Malfoy’s lean body was by far the best thing that had happened all day. He let his hands drape over Malfoy’s neck and brushed his fingers along the soft skin there.
“So, how’m I doing with the dancing?” he asked.
He felt Malfoy’s body stiffen. “Don’t. Don’t ask me – anything,” he said tightly. He drew back a little way from Harry.
“Come on, Malfoy,” Harry said teasingly. “I want to know what you think of me. Am I as bad as Luna said?”
Malfoy pulled his hands away from Harry’s waist. “You’re― You’re as full of yourself as ever, I do know that.” He turned his head away, chewing at his lip.
The music ended and applause broke out around them. Harry and Malfoy stepped apart, Malfoy looking a little dazed and Harry feeling like something precious had been abruptly snatched from him. It seemed that the band had finished for the night, and guests were drifting off back to their rooms, or out into the gardens for a stroll in the fresh air.
“You said you were going to go home after dinner,” Malfoy said coldly.
Harry nodded sadly. He felt like they had been getting on well, almost felt he was getting to know the real Draco. But Malfoy clearly wanted to keep things on a professional footing only.
“I’ll ward the room and then go, yeah?” Harry sounded all business, but his fingers tingled with the urge to reach out and just stroke slowly across that soft place at the nape of Malfoy’s neck again.
“Yes. Hurry up.” Malfoy turned his back and stalked off with his robes flowing behind him, leaving Harry to catch up.
He didn’t speak again as Harry set layers of protection around their room, instead burying his head in the notes for his speech, his mouth clamped shut, and Harry only broke the tense silence to assure him he would be back soon, before heading down to the hotel’s Floo.
***
It was the work of minutes to gather his clothes and toiletries, and Harry decided to take Sirius’ motorbike to the hotel instead of returning via Floo. It had taken Arthur a few years, partly due to his attempts to keep Molly from noticing what he was up to, but eventually he had managed to repair Sirius’ old machine. Barely keeping a lid on his pride and excitement, he had presented it to Harry as a present fo his 21st birthday.
If truth be told, Harry had never fully grown used to wizarding methods of transport other than flying, and still had to brace himself when Apparating or Flooing. The motorbike, however, was a constant source of joy to him. Almost as much fun as travelling by broom, it had the added advantage that it was perfectly safe to use around Muggles, as long as he concentrated on remaining on the ground. It also held an indefinable mixture of associations, holding as it did memories of Sirius, Hedwig, and Moody, which pleased Harry greatly. He enjoyed his pleasures best when mixed with a little pain, these days; it was more authentic, somehow. He hardly needed an excuse to take the bike out for a spin, but he told himself that it was because he and Malfoy might need an unorthodox means of escape, you never knew.
After stowing his belongings safely in a large rucksack, Harry shucked off Malfoy’s robes with a feeling of relief, changed into his biking gear, and headed out the back of Grimmauld Place to where he kept the bike. He didn’t bother with a helmet, instead using a mild Disillusionment Charm so as not to upset any Muggles who might see him en route. Giving the bike a decisive kick start, he grinned to himself as the engine roared into life, then, remembering Malfoy waiting at the other end, he swung his leg over the seat, and nosed the bike out of the gate, off along the street, allowing it to soar up into the air with a growl of the motor. It was a fresh and sparkling night, and Harry switched the headlamp off, allowing the stars to light his way instead as he sped across the sky back to the hotel, heart racing with the freedom of it.
The bike had never had the quietest engine, but since receiving Arthur’s loving attentions it was at times damned noisy, and this was one of those times. Harry arrived back at the hotel grounds in a snarl of sound, the engine working furiously and juddering to an abrupt halt as he landed under a tree. The resulting silence seemed almost louder than the noise of the bike itself, and Harry noticed several annoyed faces peering out from their hotel rooms to find the source of the disturbance. He took a minute or two to tinker around with the engine, liking to check the workings of it, and make sure everything was as it should be, but as usual there was nothing that could be done about the volume. The bike was simply a loud beast and, to be quite honest, Harry liked it that way.
Harry took the stairs two at a time and knocked at the door of their room. “It’s me,” he called to reassure Malfoy as he dismantled the wards to allow himself entry.
Malfoy looked most peculiar, almost as if he were struggling for breath.
“What is it?” asked Harry, worried. “Are you ill?”
Malfoy’s voice was faintly strangled. “No, no. Just, that was quite an entrance.” He waved towards the window.
“Oh, you saw?” Harry laughed. “The old bike’s a bit loud sometimes. Probably pissed a few people off.”
Malfoy swallowed. “Are those... dragonhide trousers?”
Harry looked down at the form-fitting leather, running his hand over where it stretched across the muscles of his thigh. “Yeah, course. I need them, for the bike.”
Malfoy nodded, his eyes a bit wild. “Of course you do... of course. And the boots and jacket just happen to go with them, do they?” Harry had chosen his knee-high boots with the buckles, and his oldest and most comfortable dragonhide jacket. He felt confused. Was Malfoy vegetarian, or against animal products or something? No, surely he’d just seen him tuck into a plate of beef with Madeira sauce a couple of hours ago.
“Are you OK, Malfoy? Are you sure nothing happened while I was gone?”
Malfoy laughed, an odd high sound. “No. Nothing happened. I just sat here and thought about – I couldn’t stop thinking about –” he swallowed hard and then spat the next word, “things, while you were gone.”
“Things?”
Malfoy nodded. He was staring at Harry’s face now, just by his mouth. “Yes. Things. For instance – I was thinking – I kept wanting –” Malfoy swallowed again and seemed to clamp his lips together, gazing all the time at a spot on Harry’s face.
“Is there something wrong?” Harry was feeling quite self-conscious now.
“You’ve got a – There’s a bit of –” Malfoy gestured.
Harry rubbed a thumb across his cheek and looked at it. Bike oil. He must have got some on himself when he was playing around with the engine.
“No, you’ve smudged it now.” Malfoy was staring as if under Imperius. “You... you look –” He broke off and began again quite abruptly. “Merlin, Potter, you’re a messy bugger. You look as if you’ve been rolling around in the dirt or something.”
Harry was looking in his pockets for something to wipe his face. Malfoy drew his wand and stepped towards him.
“Here...” Malfoy’s face was pinched as he touched his wand lightly to Harry’s skin. “Tergeo.”
Harry shuddered at the harsh sensation of the spell and Malfoy lowered his wand. “Sorry.” He lifted his hand to Harry’s face instead. His fingers rested against Harry’s jaw, cradling it as he swiped his thumb across the streak of oil, once, twice, three times. “You have the most –” He broke off again. His eyes burned into Harry’s, unblinking, his fingers catching against Harry’s stubble, sending heat curling into Harry’s groin, making the dragonhide trousers feel uncomfortably tight.
Malfoy’s hand slid into Harry’s hair just above his ear. “So soft...” It was barely a whisper.
Harry was reaching up to grab Malfoy’s wrist, turning his head to get his lips on Malfoy’s skin, wanting to taste him, needing to know if that pulse he could see jumping at Malfoy’s wrist would feel as good against his tongue as he thought it would, when Malfoy snatched his hand away as if scalded, and turned, making an unhappy noise in his throat as he strode away to the bathroom.
Harry screwed up his face as he heard the key turn in the lock and, almost immediately, the sound of the shower running. Merlin, he had almost made a move on Malfoy. Malfoy, who he was supposed to be protecting. Malfoy, his client. This was so unprofessional, and clearly Malfoy was horrified by his behaviour, but Harry had honestly thought that –
Harry shivered, thinking about Malfoy’s eyes on him, silvery and intense. He could still feel his fingers as if his touch had branded Harry’s skin, the fleshy pad of Malfoy’s thumb brushing across his jaw with what had felt like tenderness. A groan escaped from Harry’s lips. My god, he was hard as a rock for Malfoy; he was aching with it. He felt like he had been hard ever since they had danced together.
Listening carefully to the noise of running water, Harry ripped open the fly of his trousers and yanked his cock free of his underwear. As he knew it would, it only took a few strokes, dirty and desperate, before his body was jerking and he was spilling hotly into his fist. He barely gave himself time to finish before reaching for his wand to cast a cleaning spell, and stuffing his still erect cock back into his pants. It was some kind of madness, wanking like a schoolboy when Malfoy was in the very next room and could return at any minute, but Harry hardly knew how else he was going to get through the next day or two, unless he took his relief where he could.
The shower noise went on and on, and Harry paced the room, feeling ashamed and angry with himself. He hadn’t even checked the room since his return, and he did it now, using more of his magical strength than was necessary, just to vent some of his feelings. He was just reinforcing the wards on the windows when Malfoy came out of the shower, looking pink and annoyed and wearing a loose night robe which tied around the waist. Harry forced himself to meet his eye, even though he felt like hiding. Merlin, did he hear me? Malfoy gave him a grim little smile and busied himself with his notes for his speech the next day.
Harry scowled to himself and warded the window so strongly that nothing short of a hurricane would get through. He was disgusted with himself. He would lock himself in the loo and rub one off five times a day if he had to, but he was not going to let himself get carried away and risk that look of discomfort on Malfoy’s face again. It wasn’t as if Malfoy could even sack him; he needed Harry there if he wanted to remain safe at this event. Harry would just have to take himself in hand – literally if necessary – and keep things on a purely professional level from now on.
***
Wanking quietly while lying in the next bed to your employer wasn’t exactly business-like behaviour, Harry thought, but it was better than the alternative. Announcing it was time to turn in, Malfoy had removed the night robe to reveal the dreaded silk pyjamas, but instead of black, these were a cream pair, riding low on his hips and exposing sharp, lickable hipbones and a dusting of blond hair which trailed beneath the waistband. Harry had dashed into the bathroom to change into his own night things, and then dived out and under the bedclothes before Malfoy could so much as blink. Malfoy was now lying slightly curled, on his side with his back to Harry. His breathing was deep and relaxed. Harry told himself it was good to be aware of the little movements and sighs that Malfoy made as he slept. It was his job to monitor such things, and his hand was near to his wand in the thigh holster and would remain so all night.
Sweet Merlin, what was he going to do? Malfoy was fucking divine and he had to spend the whole night lying here in the bed next to him. Harry’s hand crept into his shorts like a thief in the night. He reassured himself that it wasn’t creepy to be listening to Malfoy’s breathing, while stroking himself from base to head and back again, lightly brushing his bollocks at the one end, gently twisting the foreskin at the other. He took his time, making his body tense and his toes curl with every stroke, sending sparks of pleasure along his spine. He was just looking after a physical need, and making sure he kept his ears open – for potential danger – while he did it. Harry was good at stealth, at being silent. The only sound he made was a hot huff of breath into the pillow as he came, but in his head, he shouted Malfoy’s name with each pulse of his orgasm.
***
Harry was up early and in the shower while Malfoy dozed on, but as he was brushing his teeth he heard noises from the main room and looked out to see Malfoy looking through his notes again, a look of extreme discomfort on his face.
“Are you nervous? Having to speak in front of all of those people?” Harry rubbed his hair with a towel, leaving half of it standing on end.
Malfoy looked up. “Nervous doesn’t begin to cover it. This was all an abysmal mistake. What am I going to do?”
Harry shrugged. “You’ll be fine. I hate these things, too, but how bad can it be? Just say you’re very honoured – or whatever the curse will let you say – and get off the stage before you can start telling anecdotes about your father.”
“You don’t understand...” Malfoy was looking queasy. “I don’t know how I thought... Merlin. I think I need to speak to Lovegood.”
“Luna?” Harry wondered if Malfoy had finally flipped. “I thought you said she was—”
“Yes, yes, I know. I need her, though. I wish I’d listened to her properly before. Can you get her, do you think, Potter?”
Harry, mystified, sent his Patronus cantering along to Luna’s room, and shortly afterwards, there was a soft knock at the door. Luna hugged first Harry, then, to Harry’s surprise, Malfoy. She bent down and looked into his eyes. “So many Wrackspurts. You haven’t been drinking your Gurdyroot tea, have you?”
Malfoy made a sound which indicated that he hadn’t. “It tastes of centaur piss.”
“Oh, Draco.” Luna sighed. “What are we going to do with you?”
Malfoy looked round at Harry. “I know you need to be nearby for obvious reasons, Potter, but, could you maybe go in the other room for a minute, or try not to listen, or something? I need to talk to Lovegood for a bit.”
“Of course. I’ll, erm, just be in the bedroom. Shout if you need me.”
For want of anything better to do, Harry lay on the bed flicking through the hotel brochure. Apparently they could provide a complete package for weddings, including twenty-thousand white doves to be released after you made your vows, which would then turn into rose-scented confetti and float down on the happy couple and their guests.
He heard Malfoy raising his voice from the other room; he sounded unhappy. Perhaps Harry would just check everything was OK.
“I can’t fucking do this! There’s no way I can accept it, but it’s far too late to pull out now. There are going to be five hundred people sitting in that hall to watch me say how bloody pleased I am and what reformed characters we Malfoys all are.”
He shouldn’t really be listening. The hotel grounds cover two hundred acres, and contain ancient woodland suitable for a traditional outdoor service. Umbrella charms can be provided for up to three hundred guests, and— Luna’s voice was quieter than Malfoy’s. Too quiet to hear, damn it. Harry jumped to his feet and pressed his ear to the door until he could hear her lilting tones again.
“You must follow your heart, Draco. Nothing truly bad can happen if you stay faithful to yourself.”
“My heart!” Malfoy laughed bitterly. Harry cast a quick Amplifying charm just to be on the safe side. He was only thinking of his client’s well-being.
“It will work out in the end. Just tell the truth and be yourself. Anyone who doesn’t want to know the real you is not worth bothering with anyway.”
“If only I could believe that...” Malfoy lowered his voice until it was almost inaudible. “But the one person I care about most would be appalled if they knew the truth.”
There was a silence, and Harry held his breath. Perhaps Luna would ask who that person was? He knew he shouldn’t be listening, but he couldn’t resist the chance to hear who Malfoy meant by that... He flattened his ear hard against the door, but heard only music. With a sinking feeling, he recognised it as Luna’s special song to ward off depression, which she said was caused by Whistling Gofflers. He wondered how many verses she would feel necessary on this occasion, and was just reading about how the hotel could provide – a buffet of Muggle food, for that exotic touch – when Luna spoke again.
“Follow your heart, and if you can’t do that, follow your cock. One or the other will probably lead you right, and if not, you’ll have got a shag out of it, at least.” She raised her voice and Harry got the impression she was addressing her words directly towards the bedroom door. “This is good advice for anyone who wants to listen to it.”
There was a final anti-Goffler chorus, then Luna came into the bedroom.
“You can come out now, it’s all over.” She smoothed her hair behind her ears. “Draco needs some time to think, but I’m sure he’s going to do the right thing.”
Malfoy was staring blankly at the wall. He hardly seemed to notice as Luna ushered him into the bedroom and helped him to lie down. “Have a rest, Draco. And try not to worry too much. It’s probably going to be quite appalling, but this time tomorrow it’ll all be over.”
She tiptoed back to the sitting room, and, after Harry followed her, closed the door to the bedroom.
“I hope you both follow my piece of advice, Harry. Dumbledore told me that, a long time ago, and it’s been a great help to me.”
“Dumbledore told you to follow your cock?” Harry’s face twisted in horror.
“No, he told me to follow my heart. I made the rest up myself, but I think it works. And it got your attention.” She wandered to the window and gazed out at the hotel grounds.
“You knew I was listening?”
“Ah, Harry, you’ve always been a terrible one for listening at doors, you know you have. Particularly where a certain person is concerned.”
Harry looked serious. His eyes darted towards the door. “You know how I feel about him, don’t you?”
“Yes. It’s quite obvious, really.”
“Are you going to say anything?”
She watched a flock of starlings fly past the window. “Some truths aren’t mine to tell. I’m sure you’ll tell him yourself, when it’s the right moment.”
“Yes, well.” Harry felt quite flustered by Luna’s placid statements. “I don’t think it’s ever going to be the right moment for that.”
“There’s a right moment for everything. The trick is knowing when it is.” She turned to look at Harry, her silvery grey eyes reminding Harry of Malfoy’s. “And then having the balls to do it.”
Harry’s lips twitched.
“You’ve got plenty of balls, Harry. No problem there. I’m not worried about you, but I am worried about Draco.”
Harry frowned. “I’ll be with him. He’ll be quite safe.”
“Draco is his own worst enemy. Can you protect him from himself?” Luna’s eyes were wide. “I’ll see you both at the ceremony. Bye, Harry.”
***
Harry could see from his seat in the front row that Malfoy’s fists were in his lap, his knuckles white against his clenched fingers. He sat on the stage next to Lord Pendleton, looking as if he felt ill.
Harry was puzzled; surely Malfoy had spoken at such events plenty of times before? Obviously he had the Veritas Curse to contend with now, but he had his carefully memorised speech, and as long as he didn’t deviate too far from what was written on his pieces of parchment, Harry couldn’t see what the big deal was. He could see Malfoy’s nails digging into his palms, leaving indentations, and he had to fight the impulse to get up on stage, to take hold of Malfoy’s hands and run his fingers over the marks, to smooth them out.
Lord Pendleton was waffling his way to the end of his introductory address now. “...for all the tireless work done by our whole team here at St. Mungo’s, in preparation to open the new unit.”
People applauded and the witch sitting next to Harry gave a cry of: “Hear, hear!”
“And now we come to the most pleasant part of this morning’s ceremony: the awards. I will hand over to my colleague, the eminent Professor Marshcroft, head of our training facility, to present these tokens of our regard.”
Professor Marshcroft was a middle-aged witch with her dark hair scraped back into a severe bun, giving her a surprised look. She had a loud and rather booming voice, and made large gestures with her hands as she spoke.
“We have a young man here with us today who is well-known in the field of potions. His study and research have benefited our medical knowledge immensely, and many of our past patients here have his advances to thank for their recovered health. You may know of his recent ventures into the world of commerce, and his vision to bring affordable potions to the wizarding community.”
There was a smattering of applause and Malfoy rearranged his robes with unsteady fingers.
Professor Marshcroft smiled. “We’re currently discussing the possibility of future partnership between St. Mungo’s and his company, Malfoy’s Materials.”
“But what you may not be aware of,” Professor Marshcroft went on, “is that he has made contributions to our history that have not been previously recognised. For instance, not many people know, with the exception of course, of the esteemed Harry Potter, who we are lucky enough to have with us today...” She paused to allow another burst of applause. “Not many people know that it was with Draco Malfoy’s wand that Harry Potter defeated Tom Riddle, the so-called Lord Voldemort.” There were surprised noises from the crowd.
“Yes, indeed!” Professor Marshcroft nodded at them all from the lectern. “Draco Malfoy’s conduct during the war has been allowed to remain sadly unremembered by the history books.”
Yes. Harry frowned, very unsure about where this was going. Not many people know how he let Death Eaters into Hogwarts, how he tried to Crucio me, how he stood on the Astronomy Tower and―
“I would wager most people here are also none the wiser about the time he saved Harry Potter’s life.”
Harry’s heard a rushing in his ears and felt as if everything was going in slow motion.
“Harry Potter was being held at Malfoy Manor; although in disguise, he had no wand, and Death Eaters were about to summon Voldemort. Yes, The Boy Who Lived was about to die!” Professor Marshcroft, who obviously had a penchant for the theatrical, was warming to her theme.
Harry looked at Malfoy, but the bastard wouldn’t meet his eye.
“Draco Malfoy was called upon to identify Harry, and instead, although his own life was at stake, he managed to persuade the Death Eaters that this was not the boy they sought. In the ensuing confusion, Harry Potter managed to escape, and it was armed with Draco Malfoy’s own wand, that he went on, as you all know, to face Voldemort and lead all of us in the wizarding world back to peace.”
Harry was struggling to concentrate on what was being said. His head was full of noise.
“Little acts of bravery, such as these unrecorded moments,” Professor Marshcroft continued, “were vital to the eventual outcome of the war; indeed it could be said it was upon the foundations of such small, courageous acts that the ziggurat of victory was built. And so I would like to present this award to Draco Malfoy, on behalf of St. Mungo’s, in recognition of the debt that we all owe him.” She proffered a gleaming trophy in the shape of a cauldron.
Some people looked dubious, but most were clapping dutifully. Malfoy was looking down at his shoes, which were polished to a mirror shine. The shoes Harry had watched him spend time casting charms upon that morning, to make them perfectly clean and glossy, knowing he was going to be walking on stage with everyone looking at him, accepting an award for fucking bravery during the war. It wouldn’t do to have dirty fucking shoes, would it, when you were such a hero and all? Oh Malfoy, you filthy, lying bastard.
Harry wanted to speak, but his throat was dry and choked. He wanted to get up, but his feet had turned to lead. He wanted to shout, to yell, to Disapparate, to punch Malfoy’s fucking smug Death Eater face in. Malfoy was standing up and walking to the lectern. His face was downcast, and either Harry was imagining it, or he looked bloody ashamed.
Good. Bloody right. Fuck you, Malfoy, fuck you, and fuck your lousy, lying heart.
Malfoy was speaking now. “You’ve all heard how I’ve been given this award because of my contribution to the victory against Voldemort.” Harry finally found the use of his legs and managed to stand. Malfoy glanced at him, startled, and when he saw Harry’s face he stopped dead and flinched as if he’d been struck. Harry gave him the full force of his anger and disgust in one look. Malfoy clutched the lectern as if for support, and his face screwed up, but he managed to continue. Harry drew his wand and prepared to Disapparate. He wasn’t going to listen to another word of this bullshit.
Malfoy’s voice was wobbly, but he spoke with conviction and the words were heard right to the back of the hall. “Well, I’m sorry to say that none of that is true.”
Harry froze in mid-turn. For a moment he thought he’d Splinched himself; there was the most peculiar feeling inside his head, like a mass of buzzing bees, but looking down it seemed everything was still in place.
There was a rustling, a whispering all around. Harry stayed where he stood and regarded Malfoy soberly.
“I’ve been given this award because my father is appallingly rich and recently donated a frightening sum of money to the fund for the new unit. He made it clear that some gesture towards repairing the name of Malfoy would not go amiss, and that further sums might be forthcoming if such gesture was impressive enough.”
The whispering became a muttering. Malfoy looked directly at Harry with an expression that pulled at his heart. It was such a raw mixture of shame and misery, yet there was a flicker of determination there too.
“I’m no hero.” Malfoy swallowed hard. “We all know that.”
Harry sank back into his seat. The crowd had now become quiet and were waiting, listening to see what Malfoy would say next, but there was restlessness on the stage as Professor Marshcroft leaned towards Lord Pendleton and whispered to him, looking furious. His Lordship called one of his assistants over and gestured crossly towards Malfoy.
Malfoy spoke more loudly, determined to be heard over the disturbance. “The fact that people were prepared to say that I was, for money... well, it probably says more for my father’s dubious skills of persuasion than the moral probity of those giving the awards, but I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions on that subject. I’m not sure exactly who cobbled this tale together in the first place, from half-truths and things that would really be best forgotten, but I think they might want to have a good look in the mirror tonight.”
Lord Pendleton’s assistant marched smartly over to Malfoy, a burly uniformed security wizard at his heels. “I’m afraid we’ll have to stop you there, Mr. Malfoy.”
Harry got to his feet again. “Let him speak!”
Pendleton shook his head disapprovingly, and his eyes flicked toward the security wizard, but Harry glared and moved his hand to his wand.
“We want to hear what he has to say. Let him speak!”
There were distinct sounds of agreement from the crowd. Lord Pendleton frowned, but after a few moments, waved his hand at Malfoy in permission.
Malfoy looked at the papers on the lectern. “I wrote this speech... well, I’m not going to insult you with any of that rubbish.” He screwed up the parchment and flung it onto the floor. “That’s where that belongs.” He looked around the room at all of the expectant faces.
“Instead I’ll tell you a story.” He took a quick drink from the glass of water that had been placed for him on the lectern.
“In December of 1997, a young witch named Luna Lovegood was taken to my family home, Malfoy Manor. She was held in the dungeons, as punishment for her father’s support for Harry Potter. A man called Tom Riddle – although he didn’t call himself that at the time – was living there too. He... he committed atrocities, and there were many of us there who were... entangled in his actions.” Malfoy swayed a little on the stage but he set his shoulders and continued.
“Sometimes I would be the one to take Miss Lovegood such food and drink as she was allowed. We had been at school together, but I had never treated her with anything other than contempt: in fact I mocked her and bullied her, and now my family were holding her captive at the command of a genocidal maniac. It wasn’t the most fortuitous situation in which to strike up a friendship.”
There was a smattering of laughter, quickly suppressed, as if people were unsure what the appropriate reaction to all this was. Harry looked around and found Luna’s head of bright hair sitting about halfway back, on the other side of the hall. She was looking at a spot near the ceiling, as though watching something Harry could not see.
“Miss Lovegood was held in our cellar for nearly three months.”
Malfoy stopped to take another drink of water. His Adam’s apple bobbed and his tongue moved across his dry lips. The hall was hushed now, expectant.
“During this time she was always in discomfort: often hungry and cold; deprived of magic, natural light, fresh air, and the company of her family and friends. What sleep she got was to be had on the bare floor, and I can assure you that the food provided was not of a cordon bleu standard.”
Malfoy swallowed. “She was treated roughly. She was... injured at times – I won’t dwell on details – both by my family and other Death Eaters. Sometimes I myself treated her roughly. I...”
He looked at Harry with an anguished expression, then at Luna, who smiled back at him peacefully. Malfoy set his jaw and continued even though his hands were shaking.
“I am very ashamed of my behaviour. I was frightened... very frightened. For about a year, I spent all my waking hours, and to be honest, most of my sleeping ones, scared out of my wits. But I am sure Miss Lovegood was also frightened, and yet she did not behave as I did.”
He looked at the floor. People were muttering to each other again and there were sounds of disapproval.
“I don’t want to harp on that terrible time for too long. There were trials, as you know, and thanks to the testimony given by Harry Potter and others, I was not sent to prison but served a suspended sentence under house arrest. The Wizengamot was influenced, they said, by the fact I did not identify Harry Potter when he was brought to the Manor in March 1998.”
He smiled wryly. “It’s true, I did say I couldn’t be sure it was him. But even that – my one contribution to the victory over Voldemort, and the thing that probably kept me from Azkaban – even that was a lie. I knew perfectly well who it was; I would have known him anywhere.” He looked at Harry, his face pinched with unhappiness.
“Miss Lovegood – I’m lucky enough to know her as Luna – not only kept her head, but was able to act as a great comfort to Mr Ollivander, who I’m sure you all know, and who was similarly being held prisoner at the Manor. She also comforted me.”
Malfoy looked around, letting his words sink in.
“Yes, you heard that right. Luna offered me comfort... gave me solace, although she was the prisoner, and I, one of her jailers. She talked to me... told me she believed that people were essentially good, but sometimes they did bad things. She said... actually, I can’t tell you everything that she said, because they were private moments, moments I will remember for the rest of my life. I couldn’t quite accept all that she said, and I can’t even now, but somehow, from that abominable cellar, she gave me just a little spark of hope and brightness in the middle of what was the darkest hour of my life.” His eyes were sad, but he turned to Luna and gave her a wry smile. “The dear, daft, deluded bint.”
There was some outraged murmurings, but Luna beamed contentedly and blew a kiss in Malfoy’s direction.
Malfoy’s smile became more brilliant. “And so, I hope you understand the reasons that I am going to accept this award...”
Harry leaned forwards in fresh indignation as Malfoy held the trophy aloft “...on behalf of Luna Lovegood.”
He offered the trophy in Luna’s direction and gestured for her to come up on stage. “I’m hoping she’ll come and say a few words to us all. In fact, I can’t wait to hear what they might be.”
Luna made her way serenely along the line of seats, then ran lightly up the steps. Malfoy took her hand and kissed it, and she quirked a smile at him.
“Well, this is very pleasant.” Luna gazed around the hall. The audience gazed back, entertained by this new development. “It’s nice to have a trophy; I don’t think I ever won anything before. I’ll probably put it in the Heliopaths’ stable so they can see it every day; they like shiny things.”
Malfoy turned to leave the stage, but Luna stopped him.
“Just stay a moment, will you, Draco? Because I do want to say something.”
She shook her hair away from her face, letting it ripple down her back.
“Being in Draco’s cellar was not very nice, but it was great talking to Mr Ollivander; I learned a lot, and Draco did help me, too. He sometimes brought me extra things to eat, and once, a book, and he told me stuff about how my father was getting on, which was very good to hear.”
Malfoy was looking exhausted, but managed a smile.
“Draco’s a lot nicer than people seem to realise.” Luna’s sing-song voice rang out across the hall. “He does lie an awful lot, usually, and he doesn’t like himself very much. He also spends too much time having sex with people that he doesn’t care about, in the hope it will make him feel better, but he is actually a caring kind of person and could make somebody very happy.”
Another ripple of surprise and amusement ran through the audience. Luna’s wide eyes rested on Harry for a few moments, then she turned back to Malfoy. “Everybody should give him a chance.”
There was some confused applause and laughter, mixed in with sounds of protest, as well as frowns from His Lordship and his entourage. The witch next to Harry was telling her neighbour something in an animated way, but all Harry could concentrate on was Malfoy’s mouth as he whispered something in Luna’s ear. Malfoy looked decidedly pink, and a charming mixture of cross and pleased, as he started to step down from the stage. Harry found himself on his feet, not sure what he was doing. Malfoy’s hair was golden in the lamps which poured light onto the stage. Every word he’d said was straight from the heart, thought Harry, no-one could hear him and doubt it. Malfoy caught sight of him and his eyes lit up; he seemed to Harry to shine like the trophy which Luna was clutching. Harry moved towards Malfoy as if propelled, feeling as if he, too, would claim his prize.
From the back of the hall, a cry of, “Lying scum!” cut through the hubbub. Harry heard the crackle of the spell even before he spun round, wand already drawn, to see the orange sphere of light rushing through the air in an arc towards Malfoy. It missed, dissipating instead with a sickly fizzing sound against the wood of the stage, but a second sphere followed with barely a pause.
Harry moved without thinking, shouting, “Expelliarmus,” as he sprang into the path of the spell. A small, sunken-faced wizard yelled in surprise as his wand was ripped from his hand with such force that it hit and shattered a window.
Harry hurriedly cast Protego, but the Shield Charm had hardly left his wand before the second ball of light reached him amidst chaos and screams from the crowd. The glowing ball slowed slightly, and dimmed, hampered by the half-formed Protego, but Harry took most of the impact full in the chest and staggered against the stage, blown backwards by the force and by the biting pain of the curse gnawing through his body.
He hit the floor, doubled up from the pain which cramped his muscles and made it hard to draw breath, but still desperately trying to use more magic, his wand hand twitching uselessly. All around was a clamour and an uproar, but Harry heard only the rushing of blood in his ears. It was as though the room was being filled by a strange heavy liquid; he felt it numbing his fingers and paralysing his limbs. As he struggled to keep from slipping further down, he was aware of somebody lifting his shoulders and saying his name over and over with a heart-breaking urgency.
With a monstrous effort, he opened his eyes to see Malfoy bending over him. Harry could see his lips moving, and heard the words as if from underwater.
“Harry, Harry! Don’t you dare die, you idiotic fucker, I think I’m –”
Then blackness washed over him and he knew no more.
***
There was a blackbird singing somewhere in a fluting, conversational tone, and a sweet fresh breeze played across Harry’s face. He turned his head to one side and felt cool, crisp cotton against his skin. He opened his eyes and instantly regretted it – the pain which jabbed into his eye sockets and across his forehead made him wince and screw his eyes closed, but not before he had seen the shape of a person sitting by the bed.
“Merlin! We need someone here! He’s waking up!” The voice was familiar and Harry had the impression he had been hearing it in his dreams. He frowned, trying to remember.
“Come on, you lazy arseholes! He’s in pain. Get someone here now or I’ll hex the lot of you into next week!”
Ah yes, of course; it was the unmistakeable tones of Draco Malfoy. Harry cautiously cracked one eyelid and saw the flash of blond hair bobbing about furiously. Footsteps approached and another shape leaned over him.
“Mr Potter? Can you hear me?” The witch sounded kind but brisk.
Harry tried to answer but his throat was full of gravel. He nodded instead, then groaned as more stabbing pains behind his eyes, radiating out across his skull, let him know that movement was a very bad idea.
The female voice called out, “He’s conscious! Fetch Healer Medlar right away.”
“Yes, fetch the bastard! Fat lot of use he’s been,” Malfoy added.
“Mr Malfoy, please sit down. Healer Medlar is our top Spell Damage expert and he’ll be along shortly.”
Waves of warmth travelled across Harry’s body from his scalp, moving down towards his feet.
“Are you properly qualified to do... whatever that is?” Malfoy asked. “Wait for Healer Medlar, if he’s the dog’s bollocks, then. His face looks like a dog’s bollocks, come to think of it, but—”
Harry wanted to laugh, but everything hurt too much.
“Mr Malfoy! Calm down or leave the room immediately. I need to scan Mr Potter and check his responses. The curse could have left him with any number of difficulties that we couldn’t fully examine while he was unconscious.”
Harry heard an exhalation followed by a rustle and presumed that Malfoy had sat down.
“Mr. Potter. I’m Nurse Borage; you’re a patient at St. Mungo’s. Do you remember anything of what happened? If you are able, squeeze my hand for yes.”
Harry thought carefully. It felt as if it had happened to someone else a long, long time ago, but he remembered everything. The award ceremony. Malfoy’s speech. Luna laughing and blowing kisses. The orange light with its poisonous glow, hitting his chest...
He squeezed the witch’s fingers.
“Ah, good. We were concerned about your memory, but that’s excellent news. Just lie still now while I check your magic levels.”
Harry let himself lie limp as a peculiar tingling circled up and down his spine. He thought he could hear Malfoy breathing; it had a particular rhythm to it which Harry supposed he must have got to know over the last few―
Hold on. There was that other memory, the one just before he was overpowered by the spell. The one where Malfoy had been holding him in his arms, and had said...
His thoughts were interrupted as a third person joined them, this time a rumbly-voiced wizard who prodded various parts of Harry with his wand. “Good morning, Mr Potter. Had a good rest, I trust?” He laughed wheezily at his own joke. “You’ve been quite bashed about, so I’d expect you’re feeling none too chipper at the moment. Not to worry, not to worry.”
“Is he going to get better?” Malfoy’s voice had a hysterical note to it. “Why haven’t you fixed him yet? It’s been days.”
“All in good time, Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter here is doing very nicely, considering he was hit full on by an Infirmus. Now let me examine my patient properly and in peace, and we’ll see where we are.”
“Hit by a what? Why didn’t you tell me you found out what the spell was? I shall take legal advice if you keep withholding information from me—”
“Mr Malfoy.” The witch’s voice broke in. “This is not helping anyone. I know you are the next of kin, but I shall have you removed if you are impeding my patient’s recovery.”
Next of kin? Harry thought. The world had gone mad. Maybe war had broken out following Malfoy and Luna’s insane speeches, and all of his friends had been killed, and there was only him and Malfoy left―
Healer Medlar prodded Harry again, this time at the pulse point in his neck. “He’s getting agitated, nurse; fetch a Calming Draught and some Pain-free Elixir, and have someone check on him every ten minutes. I’ll see you again in a couple of hours, Mr Potter, but all is looking good for the moment. It was a very nasty Infirmus Curse, but the fact that you are now conscious leaves me optimistic for your full recovery.”
He made a note on Harry’s chart. “The Infirmus Curse saps all strength, and if one survives, as you have been lucky enough to do, leaves one utterly exhausted and magically feeble – not something you will be used to, I’ll warrant! Just rest, for now, and don’t try to move or speak if you don’t feel up to it yet.”
He turned with a frown to Malfoy. “As for you – behave yourself or face the wrath of my nurses. Understand?”
Malfoy muttered agreement, and managed to wait until both the Healer and nurse were out of earshot before adding bitterly, “I understand that you’re a rancid old fuckwit.” Harry’s stomach shook with silent and painful laughter.
Nurse Borage returned briefly, Harry was helped to sit up, and he drank the potions gratefully. A pleasant warmth spread through his body and smoothed over all his aches and tender places. He could open both eyes without pain, and took in the clean and comfortable room, with fresh flowers by his bed, and the open window with sounds and smells of the outdoors drifting in. And Malfoy, sitting on a hard chair, looking pale, haggard, a little dishevelled, and somehow divinely welcome to Harry’s eyes.
“Thank the founders. I thought you’d finally gone and got yourself killed.”
Harry found he could smile and that his throat, although croaky, did still work. “Not this time.”
“What on earth prompted you to cast Expelliarmus before a Shield Charm, for fuck’s sake? I suppose you think it’s your signature spell or something? Or was it just more bloody infuriating heroics?”
Harry frowned. “Did they catch him?”
Malfoy’s shoulders slumped. “No. He got away.”
“Oh, shit.” Harry closed his eyes.
“Left his wand behind, though, so it shouldn’t be long before they track him. Also, your pal Silvius knows a few nifty curses, doesn’t he? He managed to lay a couple of good ones in before the bastard escaped, so it’ll be a while before he can sit down comfortably, I’d imagine. I only wish I’d had a crack at him myself, but I was distracted at the time... The Aurors had better find him before I do, that’s all I’m saying.”
Harry felt a stinging disappointment, only slightly muffled by the sedative potion. He should have – If only he’d – He shook his head, furious with himself, and his eyebrows drew down into fierce knots.
“Do you... want me to go?” Malfoy asked. “You probably don’t want―”
Harry frowned, anger at himself still pulsing through him. “What are you doing here anyway, Malfoy? I thought I was meant to be your bodyguard, not the other way around?”
Malfoy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I wanted to – to check that you were all right.”
“That nurse... she seemed to have the strangest idea that you were my next of kin.”
Malfoy looked around slyly and pulled the chair nearer before confiding, “I bribed someone at the desk to falsify the form for me.”
Harry was shocked. “What?”
Malfoy’s face creased with annoyance. “I had to do it, or they wouldn’t let me stay here.”
“But the Weasleys –”
“Yes, yes, I know they’re officially your next of kin. Nobody’s stopped them coming. They’ve all trooped in, day and night; bloody hell on earth it’s been in here, some days, with them yattering away, weeping and wailing and all that crap.”
“Some days? How long have I been here?”
Malfoy’s mouth drooped miserably. “Nearly a week.”
“Merlin! I took that spell bloody hard, then?”
“They said anyone else but you and it would probably have killed them straight away.” He gazed into Harry’s eyes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You saved my life, Harry.”
Harry swallowed, soaking up the sight of Malfoy’s deep grey eyes, the movement of his mouth, the sound of his name on Malfoy’s lips...
“You’re still a fucking idiot, though,” Malfoy continued. “Next time you want to get yourself a week in bed, you can do it on someone else’s Galleon.”
Harry gaped. “A week! No wonder I’m starving. But – you said they wouldn’t let you stay here, otherwise?”
“No.” Malfoy tilted his chin up.
“You mean you’ve been here the whole time?”
Malfoy’s eyes darted about. “I might have been.”
Harry tried to sit up, but felt too tired. “Fuck, are you still cursed? Can you tell lies now, or not?”
Malfoy sighed. “I can’t. I’m still cursed.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. He felt a strange tingle of something in his stomach. A teasing, tickling curl of something like hope, something like mischief, something like... “OK, Malfoy. If you have to tell the truth, tell me this: what are you doing here? Why are you sitting by my bedside watching me lie here like a big, helpless –”
“Lump of meat?” finished Malfoy. His mouth drooped, again. “Oh, Harry.” His name, once more. The sound, so intoxicating; the shape, on Malfoy’s lips, like a breath, like a sigh. “I wish you wouldn’t ask.”
“I am asking.”
“It’s pointless even talking about it. I know there’s no chance in hell.”
A buzz of pleasurable anticipation danced along Harry’s spine. “No chance of what, Malfoy?”
“Merlin. You’re like a Crup with a bloody bone. If you must have it, I’m here because –”
They both jumped as the door opened with a bang. Nurse Borage looked at Harry’s flushed, animated face and frowned.
“What’s going on here?” She passed her wand over Harry’s chest. “Heart rate right up! Breathing accelerated...” She called to another nurse passing the room. “We need Healer Medlar in here, now!”
“No! I’m fine―” Harry tried to sit up, but it was no good. The nurse was stronger than she looked, and promptly evicted Malfoy, despite Harry’s protests. She gave instructions that Malfoy was not to come back until the evening, and not to over-excite poor Mr Potter for as long as he remained her patient, or she would call security.
“You don’t understand – I just need to know―” Harry didn’t need a nurse to tell him that his heart was pumping faster than usual.
“What you need is rest, and I am here to make sure you get it.”
Harry wanted to argue, but with Malfoy safely out of the way, and another, stronger sedative potion administered to calm his mysteriously elevated heart rate, Harry found all he was able to do was lie peacefully in silence, his thoughts aimless and wandering.
Strong arms holding him up. “I think I’m―” I’m what? He had to know. The fact that Malfoy would be compelled to tell him the truth was immensely gratifying. Harry wondered if it was wicked to be glad that Malfoy was cursed, but he couldn’t seem to worry much about anything at that moment. He lay there and thought about the guts it must have taken. What it must have cost Malfoy, to get up on stage in front of all of those people, and talk about what had been some notably shitty behaviour, knowing that you could only be honest.
After that exhausting bout of contemplation, with the sedative travelling merrily through his veins, all he felt inclined to do for a few hours was to gaze out of the window, smiling at the leaves waving gently to and fro on the trees, and dozing off and on. Thus, by the evening, Harry was well rested, had colour in his cheeks, and according to the young nurse who had just come on duty, was doing very nicely indeed.
“You can have your visitor back in a minute, Healer Medlar says. He’s outside pacing up and down.”
“Who, Healer Medlar?”
“No! That Draco Malfoy.” She raised her eyebrows. “Together now, are you? You and him?”
Harry blinked. “Er...” All he could think of was that he was glad he wasn’t the one under the Truth Curse. If he had to blurt out everything he thought about that particular subject...
“Sat here all week, he did, mooning over you and looking like a kid what’s had his broom taken away.” She looked at Harry slyly. “Reckon you could do worse.”
Malfoy strode into the room, his eyes alight. “They caught him!”
“What? Oh, that’s brilliant!” Harry sat up straight.
The nurse wagged a finger. “Not going to get him all wound up, are we? You’ve caused enough trouble this week, already!”
Malfoy lifted his chin defiantly, but the nurse only smiled.
“Oh yes, quite a few of us who work here heard your speech...” she said. “Set a few cauldrons bubbling, didn’t you? But I say, good luck to you. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of... There’s not many as have the decency to own up to it.”
Malfoy dipped his head, his neck flushing.
“Anyway. I’ll leave you in peace. Reckon you’ve got fifteen minutes or so before anyone bothers you again.” She shut the door firmly as she went.
“The attacker...?” Harry asked impatiently
Malfoy sat down but could hardly keep still. “Yes, yes! They got him all right. Found him in South America. A little shit called Frotwinkle, who I had the misfortune of doing business with a few months ago.”
“A customer of yours?”
“That’s right. Amongst other things, he wanted Ashwinder eggs, to brew Amortentia. He was most annoyed when I told him that since the Ministry finally outlawed Love Potions, they’re illegal to supply, dangerous to get hold of, and that I wouldn’t sell him the blasted things even if I did have a source. I know I’m no paragon of virtue, but I’m not in the business of abetting that kind of creepiness, thanks very much.” Malfoy wrinkled his nose with distaste.
“He didn’t believe me – said I had to be lying, everyone knew Malfoys would do anything for the right price. Who did I think I was to judge him, that kind of thing. He became irritatingly persistent... and quite abusive. I told him I’d be dropping a hint to the Aurors if he didn’t leave it alone. I thought he’d given up, but clearly not. They’ve questioned him briefly: it was him who set the Veritas Curse on me, as well.” Malfoy’s face was pale and lined, but alive with emotion. Harry supposed it had been quite a week for him.
“Was he at Luna’s party, then?” Harry tried to remember if he’d seen the scrawny wizard there.
“Yes! Would you believe, he was in disguise as one of the waiters – dressed as a giant squid. He went to considerable lengths to plan his revenge; I feel almost flattered I meant so much to him. I wonder what compelled him to attack me that day?” He barked out a short laugh. “Perhaps my speech tipped him over the edge... it was a uniquely stupid thing for him to have done.”
Malfoy made a dismissive gesture. “In any case, he won’t be seeing daylight again for a while. And once they question him further, they can get the details of the curse, and then―” His eyes glinted. “I can’t tell you what a relief it will be. I think I’ll go straight out and tell so many lies that my tongue turns blue.” He laughed.
“I’m glad they found him.” Harry leaned back on the pillows, feeling confused and irritable. The fact that he had been unable to put the assailant out of action himself was always going to bother him. At least he had protected Malfoy from injury. However, the idea of the curse being broken... He wished he could feel as happy about it as Malfoy did. His legs twitched restlessly and he threw the covers off them.
“They say I have to stay in bed, but I want to get up,” Harry grumbled.
“You’ve been unconscious for six days, of course you need to stay in bed.”
“But it’s boring. I want to go home, and do stuff.” His hands clenched uselessly against the sheets.
“You’re like a big hairy child, lying there pestering for things.”
“Entertain me, Malfoy. Talk to me. Tell me something.”
“Oh, don’t start that again.”
There was that tingle in Harry’s stomach, back again. It felt devilishly good. “Ah, but I want to. Tell me, Malfoy... tell me again what it is you keep turning up here for.”
Malfoy looked at him, his face a mixture of misery and annoyance. “I have a feeling you know perfectly well what I am doing here.”
Harry was feeling like he might want to smile, to laugh, to run around like the fool that he was, but he kept his face serious. “No, you tell me, Malfoy. You tell me, now.”
“Why do you live to torment me? I’m here... I’m here because...”
“Yes. Tell me why. Tell me the truth.”
“I’m here because I’m in love with you.”
The tingling in Harry’s stomach became a wild flare of joy.
“You are?”
“You fucking know I am, you wanker.”
Malfoy’s face was furious, but he seemed unable to stop himself letting it all out in a glorious stream of words. “I bloody adore you, in between thinking of ways to throttle you. I’ve always thought you were sex on legs, but when I saw you leap out and block that spell for me, without even thinking, like you were... catching the Snitch or something, I thought my heart was going to leap right out of my fucking chest.”
He scowled at Harry. “I can’t stop thinking about you, all the time, and when I thought you might die, I couldn’t eat, or sleep, so I sat here for days on this abominable chair, listening to your blasted Weasleys and Grangers and whoever, trotting in and out with their knitting and tins of ruddy flapjack, all wringing their hands and hugging each other all the time, and I’m honestly amazed I didn’t actually try out a few Unforgivables...”
He stopped to take a gasping breath, but had still not quite finished. “In fact it was only the thought of being sent to Azkaban, and not ever seeing your stupid, scruffy self ever again, that stopped me.”
Harry’s eyes darted all over Malfoy’s face, beaming with the delight of it all.
Malfoy snarled, “And now I’ll probably have to Obliviate you, before you make the rest of my life a living purgatory. Why couldn’t you leave things as they were?”
“Oh, Malfoy.” Harry felt he might never stop grinning.
“Or I could kill myself, of course. Which would be preferable to another week stuck like this, being made to answer moronic questions such as, “What are you doing here?” then having to spill my entire guts out on the floor and watch you beaming inanely like someone just gave you a present.”
“There is a third option.” Harry closed his eyes for a moment and savoured the happiness swirling through his body.
“Imperio? Yes, I’ve thought of that as well. I’m chagrined to admit that somewhere along the line I seem to have developed this annoying fucking thing called a conscience.” Malfoy sank his face into his hands.
Harry laughed. “No. I mean, you could kiss me.”
Malfoy was tugging at his hair, but stopped stock still at Harry’s words. He looked up at Harry slowly. The blackbird was still piping joyously outside.
“I presume this isn’t your idea of a joke?”
Harry shook his head. “Nope.”
Malfoy licked his lips. “I – ah.”
“Come here, Malfoy. I can’t come to you at the moment.”
Malfoy looked strangely nervous. “Is it— I mean, what if—”
“I feel fine, Malfoy, I promise you. I’ll tell you if anything starts to hurt.”
Malfoy dragged his chair even closer, making an unpleasant squeak along the floor. He grimaced.
“Bloody hurry up and kiss me. I’m dying here.” Harry tried to sit forwards from the pillows, but found his head felt wobbly and strange.
Malfoy rolled his eyes, but reached towards him and gently took Harry’s face in his hand. He rubbed the pad of his thumb along Harry’s chin, staring into his eyes, though whether challenging, or searching for answers, Harry could not say. He parted his lips, longing now for the feel of Malfoy, desperate to know his taste and touch.
Malfoy bent his head and gently, very gently, touched his mouth to Harry’s, the merest brush of skin on skin. A growl of frustration rose in Harry’s throat, and he wound his hand into Malfoy’s hair, to pull him closer. Their lips met with a soft press and Malfoy’s features blurred into a haze of light and dark. Harry closed his eyes, moving his mouth against Malfoy’s, wanting it all, wanting to feel everything. Malfoy himself seemed to be holding his breath, semi-paralysed, his body thrumming with tension.
Harry ran his fingers across the back of Malfoy’s neck and stroked along the nape where soft skin met silky hair, teasing his tongue against Malfoy’s lips and willing them to open. It was like kissing a lump of wood, albeit a heavenly-smelling, soft-haired lump of wood, and Harry was just about to give it up when Malfoy groaned against his mouth and started to kiss him back. The taste of Malfoy made Harry’s head spin, and when he felt the sweet answering slide of tongue against his, his fists clenched in Malfoy’s hair, gripping tightly.
“Merlin, are you trying to leave me bald, you ham-fisted wretch?” Malfoy’s words spilled out in warm breaths against Harry’s lips. “Just lie there and leave this to someone who knows what he’s doing.”
Harry choked back laughter and let Malfoy explore his mouth at his own pace, somewhat cautiously at first, but quickly growing in confidence, as Harry made small sounds of encouragement and pleasure at the languorous dance of their lips and tongues. Trust Malfoy to be fucking brilliant at this.
Harry wanted to put his hands all over Malfoy, to pull him onto the bed, to have him sit straddling Harry, to grab his arse and move against him and let Malfoy feel how hard he was, until he was in no doubt about exactly how good his kisses made Harry feel. To prove to Malfoy that this was in no way a joke, that this was deadly serious and that Harry had to, just had to, know him all over, inside and out. But his body felt quivery and strange, so instead, he let Malfoy push him against the pillows and kiss him slowly and thoroughly, as though he would never stop kissing him.
Malfoy was really getting into his stride, using a lot more pressure, dipping his head to deepen the kiss, using his hands in Harry’s hair, and leaning forwards, almost as if he would climb up onto the bed in a minute. Oh yes, do climb up on the bed, thought Harry, making approving sounds. Malfoy was, in short, behaving entirely as if there was nothing else in the world but the two of them alone together somewhere secluded, and Harry was praying to all the deities he could think of that Molly and Arthur didn’t choose this moment to drop by, when the door handle gave a loud rattle, and Malfoy pulled back abruptly.
Nurse Borage came in, her shoes clicking smartly across the floor. “Has someone been tampering with that door? It seemed to be stuck.”
Harry remembered the young nurse and sent her a grateful thought. He could feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest, but made an effort to conceal it as Nurse Borage made the customary passes with her wand.
She tutted. “Your heart rate is well up again. Have you had any calming draught yet this evening?”
Harry tried to think. “I don’t know. I don’t like that stuff. I’ve had enough of feeling calm.” He looked at Malfoy but could not catch his eye. “I fancy some excitement instead.”
“Mr Potter.” She sighed. “You are not an easy patient.”
“Won’t you call me Harry?” He grinned at her. “I always think I’m in trouble when you call me that.”
“Well, Harry, you will be in more than trouble if you keep letting Mr Malfoy here...” she looked daggers sideways at Malfoy, who was looking out of the window with great concentration, “...over-stimulate you like this.”
Harry laughed. “It’s like being back at school.” Except at school he had never been caught doing anything quite so thrilling as kissing Malfoy. “When can I go home?” He looked beseechingly at Nurse Borage.
“When you’re better, and not before.”
“I feel better now. You’ll never know how much better.”
“Yes, but you haven’t got anyone at home to nurse you and care for you twenty-four hours a day, have you? I bet you’d forget to take all your potions, and be charging around on a broomstick again—”
“Or his motorbike, probably,” Malfoy cut in.
Harry glared. “Shut it, Malfoy, you’re no help. OK, so if I go home, and don’t fly my broom – or ride my bike – and remember to take all my potions and things, then that would be fine, yeah?”
Nurse Borage shook her head. “You need constant care! And rest. I’m limiting you to three visitors this evening. All those crowds will do you no good, either.”
Malfoy was looking thoughtful. “So what Harry needs is to be somewhere peaceful, and be looked after, and kept quiet with no visitors, and given his potions at the right times...”
“Exactly. I’m glad you at least can see sense, Mr Malfoy.”
Malfoy beamed. “Oh, good. So that’s settled, then. We’ll leave right away.”
“What?” Harry and Nurse Borage both spoke together.
“I’ll take him to my place. You can pack up all his potions and whatnot and send them on.”
Harry’s eyes were shining and he sat up straight, looking very much his old self.
“No, no, no!” Nurse Borage pursed her lips. “That will not do at all!”
Harry swung his legs round and started to get out of bed. “It sounds like a fantastic idea to me.”
“Stop this now, both of you! I’m going to fetch Healer Medlar.” She hurried out of the room.
Malfoy turned to Harry. “Shall we do it?”
Harry nodded and held out his arm.
“I don’t know how to Disapparate from here.” Malfoy looked worried. “The wards are―”
“I can do it.” Harry stood up, wobbled once, and grabbed Malfoy round the waist. He closed his eyes, focused, mentally prodded his shaky magical energy, and decided to do it anyway. There would be a gap somewhere... a weak spot, the join where the wards had been sealed. He found the place, slotted them both between, and they were in darkness, rushing through space with the unpleasant pressure gripping them, and then falling onto Malfoy’s deliciously soft bed in a warm and tangled heap.
Malfoy was gasping and laughing. “Oh Merlin. We just kidnapped you from hospital. The Aurors’ll be after me.”
Harry’s head was spinning from the unaccustomed exertion, and he lay back on the bed. Malfoy was lying half on top of him, his body surprisingly solid and strong.
“Why did you bring us here?” Malfoy demanded.
“I’ve only been to your place once.” Harry shrugged. “The bedroom was the bit I remembered best.”
Malfoy threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, is that so? If I wanted to, I could read quite a lot into that, you know.”
“I just thought your bed looked really comfortable.”
Malfoy propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at Harry with an intense look. “It is. It’s incredibly comfortable. And... sweet Salazar, you’re actually here, in it. I think you should stay here for a long, long time, until you’re entirely well.”
Harry lifted a hand to play with Malfoy’s hair. The strands were like pale golden silk. “I feel brilliant already, just thinking about it.”
He tugged Malfoy down towards him, greedy for another taste of his lips. Malfoy met his mouth eagerly and returned the kiss with an enquiring tongue. Merlin. Harry’s body felt like it was waking up after a long sleep.
He ran his hand along Malfoy’s back, stroking the dip of his waist and then the curve of his arse. Harry groaned. It was as if he was parched and Malfoy was cool clear water. He could feel the muscles and the firm swell of flesh through Malfoy’s trousers, and Malfoy’s hot mouth, bolder now, moving against Harry’s. Harry arched upwards, wanting Malfoy to feel how aroused he had made him, but instead of the answering pressure he craved, Malfoy pulled away, looking wild-eyed.
“We have to owl someone... let them know you’re safe and that you’re here of your own free will.”
“God, Malfoy, it can wait.” Harry gripped that delicious arse and squeezed it, pulling Malfoy’s body towards him—
“No. I’m serious. That Healer will be livid, and when your fan club arrive for their evening visit, all hell will break loose.” He broke away and got up to scrabble about in a drawer for quill and parchment.
“Come back...” Harry whined. “I need you, Malfoy. Bring your gorgeous bum back here.”
Malfoy actually flushed the most delightful shade of pink, and fumbled with the quill. “Merlin, Potter, you’re going to be the death of me. Look at you lying there in my bed... Fuck. Just write something on here – anything. Sign it. We’ll owl the hospital. Then... fuck. I want you more than I think I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”
Harry scrawled some words across the parchment and added an even more scribbled signature than usual before passing it to Malfoy. “That should do it.”
“Demeter!” Malfoy called sharply. “Where the blazes is she?” He flung open the door and shouted for his owl again, then looked back at Harry on the bed.
Harry smiled lazily at him and started to unbutton his pyjamas. Malfoy groaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his groin. “Do you have any idea how good you look, with your hair all over my pillow and those bloody smouldering eyes of yours?”
Harry smirked and took off the pyjama shirt, watching Malfoy’s face as he did so.
“I’m going to wring her neck if she doesn’t― Oh, at last! Have you been making eyes at next door’s owl again, you little tart? Take this to― I don’t know, someone important at St. Mungo’s. Go. Now!”
Demeter was gone with one silent flap of her enormous wings. Malfoy was with him on the bed again in an instant. “Potter... Harry...” He ran his hands over Harry’s chest, greedy, ardent touches that sent thrills dancing across Harry’s skin. “I can’t believe I can finally touch you. When we talked in my office that first day, I couldn’t stop thinking about it what it would be like if I just pressed you up against the desk and...” He nuzzled his face against Harry’s throat, taking deep breaths.
“Go on. What did you think about?” Harry was surprised to hear his own voice pitched so low and intense.
“When I’ve been bored at work, I’ve actually fantasised about having you, like that, bending you over my desk, and there you were, standing there, looking so…” Malfoy’s face screwed up. “You’ll never know how difficult it’s been not to just blurt out everything. My lips have been in tatters from biting them.”
Harry tasted the maligned lips. They were soft, plump, with hints of coffee, toothpaste, and something indefinably Malfoy.
“You’ve thought about me before? Thought about us... like this? Tell me.” Harry spoke in between kisses. “Tell me everything.”
“I never thought we’d actually do this,” Malfoy said, looking at Harry through half-closed eyes. “I always wanted to know what you’d taste like... your skin... the smell of your hair. Fuck, you make me feel... Merlin.” He pushed against Harry, letting him feel the hard, hot swell of his erection.
Harry sat up and tugged at Malfoy’s shirt. Malfoy’s words were having the most extraordinary effect on him. He couldn’t be bothered to mess about with what looked like a million fiddly buttons, so he just took hold of the two sides and ripped. Malfoy gaped as buttons flew about.
“Don’t tell me that was your favourite shirt, because I don’t give a shit.” Harry ran his hands over Malfoy’s shoulders, feeling the shifting muscles below the skin. He pressed his mouth to the hollow between Malfoy’s collarbones, letting his tongue and teeth drag over the perfect skin. Malfoy tasted of spice, heat; the promise of pleasures both sweet and dark.
Malfoy tossed his head from side to side as Harry licked down his chest towards his nipple, taking his time. Malfoy groaned. “You bastard. I think you might drive me insane. You make me feel like I’m going to lose it right now. I wish you’d—” He broke off and screwed his eyes shut.
“Keep talking... I like it.” Harry was trying to ease Malfoy’s snug-fitting trousers off while pulling him onto his lap. He had to have Malfoy naked, preferably naked and sitting on him.
“I can’t help talking, can I? It’s the blasted curse. I’m so stupidly turned on that I can’t control it – I just have to tell you everything. The things I want to do to you... what I think we could be together. Fuck, Harry, I want this to be perfect, but I’m going to mess it up...” He turned his face away.
“You’re not going to mess anything up.” Harry looked at his unhappy expression. “Do you want to stop or something?”
“No, fuck, no! What am I doing? I wish I could shut the fuck up; you’re every bloody thing I want, you have to believe me, Harry.”
“Easy, Malfoy, I believe you. I like it. I like you talking. Tell me more stuff; I want to know.”
Malfoy looked at him and swallowed. “You like it.”
“Fuck, yes, I love it. Feel this.” Harry pushed up against him. “Feel what you’re doing to me.”
Malfoy shifted in his lap, his eyes fluttering shut and mouth falling open a little. “A-aah. Yes. This is better... it’s better than I dreamt.”
“Yes. What do you want?” Harry asked, his voice throaty.
“I want... I want to do what I said.”
The memory of Malfoy’s drunken laughter echoed inside Harry’s head. Yet more blood rushed to his groin, making him painfully hard.
“You mean... what you said at the party?”
Malfoy groaned. “Fuck, of course.”
“You were telling the truth.”
“Of course I was.”
Harry’s head felt light, his mouth dry. “How long have you wanted to...?”
“Harry... don’t,” Malfoy warned.
Harry couldn’t take it all in. He looked at Malfoy, his clothes half off, the way his hair was falling in his face, his lips wet and parted. “Holy fuck, Draco.”
Malfoy swallowed hard. Harry rubbed his cheek along Malfoy’s jaw, enjoying the rasp of stubble. “I want it, too. I want your mouth all over me. Please.”
Malfoy bent his head to taste Harry’s lips, gently swiping his tongue along the line of his mouth, then pressing fervent kisses along his face.
“You taste like summer: all warm and fresh...”
Harry laughed. “I thought I’d be pretty gross after a week in that hospital bed.”
Malfoy shook his head. “They used cleaning charms. But they didn’t take away the taste of you.” He kissed Harry’s neck, his shoulder, then licked and bit his way across Harry’s skin, stopping now and again to kiss a scar, a mole, a nipple, keeping up a stream of words as he went. “Delicious... too much... I want you... fucking heaven, Harry.”
Harry had had other lovers with clever tongues: men and women who told him tales of his body’s beauty, who whispered filthy promises in his ear as he came. But these – these awkward, sweet, intense words that were nothing more or less than absolute honesty – these were more meaningful to Harry than any eloquent declarations of love, more erotic than the most skilled dirty talk.
Malfoy ran his tongue over the ridges of Harry’s stomach, then pulled off his pyjamas in one smooth motion. The air was cool against Harry’s cock, and the proximity of Malfoy’s mouth made it throb.
“Merlin, fucking Merlin and all of his descendants. Your prick is a work of art, Potter. I’ve seen a lot of cocks in my time and this is, sincerely, the most― Are you laughing at me?”
Harry dug his teeth into his lip. “Maybe just a little bit.”
Malfoy looked furious.
“I’m sorry. I love you talking like this. Seriously, it’s incredible.” And it was. Knowing that there was no falseness, no deceit in what Malfoy said... nothing held back... it was intensely arousing.
“It’s not bloody fair,” Malfoy complained. “I can’t stop myself.”
Harry thought about this. “OK. Listen to me for a bit, then. Let me tell you something, instead. Er.” Harry hesitated, then dived in. “I think your mouth is about the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. I’m feeling like the luckiest bloke alive right now.”
Malfoy stared at him.
“I’ve been thinking about it ever since Luna’s party,” Harry went on. He placed a finger against Malfoy’s mouth, then moved it slowly, dragging over the soft plumpness of his bottom lip. Harry slid the finger in and Malfoy sucked it eagerly down to the knuckle, stroking it with his tongue and hollowing his cheeks as Harry let it slide in and out of the incredible heat and wetness. Malfoy’s mouth was something else – the suction, the smooth glide of it, made Harry’s head spin with desire.
Harry’s eyes flicked from Malfoy’s mouth, to his eyes, and back again. “The only thing I’m worried about is that the way I’m feeling, I’ll probably come as soon as you touch me.”
Malfoy pulled off from Harry’s finger. “You probably will. I practise a lot.” His tongue slid over his lips as if searching out the traces of Harry’s taste. He hesitated. “I like you talking, too, Potter. I really want you to...” Malfoy flushed.
“Yes― What?” His breath was catching in his chest.
“...tell me to do it. When I thought about it... that’s what I always thought about.” He looked at Harry more boldly. His cheeks were pink, but there was a gleam in his eye. “Want to see if you can make me?”
Oh, yes. Yes, he liked the sound of that. Harry clenched a fist in Malfoy’s hair and looked at him questioningly. Malfoy nodded, and Harry pulled him down firmly until his lips were skimming the head of Harry’s erection. “Do it.” His voice was husky from the dryness in his throat. “Do it, Malfoy.”
Malfoy inhaled sharply and licked a long, firm line from base to tip, then darted his tongue out to lap at the opening with its gathering of salty fluid. Harry hissed at the sensation, a rush of heat blazing along his spine. It took all his self-control not to push into the hot, silky mouth and let himself spill down Malfoy’s throat right then and there. He sat up onto his elbows and stared.
“Was that what you wanted?”
“Merlin, yes. Keep telling me. Your body is just... You should be naked, all the time. You shouldn’t be allowed clothes. Except maybe those motorbike boots. I want you in those boots, with your legs wrapped round my neck, and you telling me just what to do―”
“Do it, Draco. Fuck, do it now. If you keep talking like that it’ll all be over before you’ve even―”
Malfoy didn’t hesitate, but sucked Harry down deep, making a long moan in his throat, and Harry fell back against the pillows, his back arching, his mind emptying of everything except the divine mouth of Draco Malfoy, and the aching need to come. He felt his magic coiling in his core, ready to unleash itself, wanting to―
“Draco... I’m not going to last. I’m tired... I can’t... it’ll be better next time.”
Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly at the words ‘next time’.
“Do you need to stop?”
“Godric, no. Don’t stop. I just want... I want it to be good for you, as well.”
Malfoy laughed. “There’s no problem about that.” His eyes swept over Harry hungrily. “You look so hot lying there. Unbelievable. Do you top or bottom? Some nights I’d lie awake wondering which would be better. I never could decide.”
“You might be in luck. I’m very adaptable.” Harry grinned.
Malfoy groaned. “I’ll take you up on that another time. I want... I want you to stay like that. While I do everything.”
Malfoy’s voice seemed to have a direct line to Harry’s cock. “Yes.”
“Just lie there looking all loose and... like you just saved the bloody world. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Malfoy propped himself up on one arm, and pushed his own half-open trousers down around his thighs, slipping a hand into his underwear to free his own cock, wrapping his fingers around it with practised movements. Harry tried to sit up, to get a better view, but Malfoy pushed him back and dipped his head down to take the crown of Harry’s cock between his lips and suck.
Harry found himself making the most ridiculous noises, sounds that under any other circumstances would have left him hot with embarrassment. Here it merely seemed to spur Malfoy on, who sucked him down with intent devotion, stroking himself in time with the movements of his mouth, making his own noises around Harry’s cock and looking as if he never wanted to stop.
There was no point trying to make it last, not with Malfoy’s mouth doing that and the glimpses Harry could catch of Malfoy pleasuring himself, his legs tangling in the sheets. Harry’s balls tightened, and his magic rejoiced and did victory laps up and down his spine as his orgasm romped through him. It went on and on, pumping what felt like an extraordinary amount of come into Malfoy’s mouth, leaving him breathless and trembling.
Malfoy carried on sucking, swallowing it all and making a long rumbling moan in his throat, his hand moving with urgency until he, too, came, his body jerking against the sheets.
Harry lay with his eyes closed as Malfoy moved up the bed towards him. He would have liked to hold Malfoy in his arms, to taste his mouth again, but he was beyond that. Shudders of exhaustion radiated along his limbs and he let his weight flop against Malfoy.
Malfoy’s breath came in long pants, tickling near Harry’s ear. His hand smoothed along Harry’s back, stroking along his shoulder blades. “Your cock is perfection. I knew it would be.” He sighed in satisfaction, then examined Harry’s face. “Do you need me to get someone... do you need potions?”
“No. So good. Just need rest.” Harry was drifting, as if he were on a boat and the waves were rocking him to sleep. But there was something important, first, something he needed to know.
“Draco. How long have you wanted...?”
“Harry...” Malfoy was pressing open-mouthed kisses along his shoulder. “It’s not fair...”
“Tell me. How long?”
Malfoy sighed. “Too long.” He sounded sad, and Harry wanted to comfort him, but he was drifting too far away.
Malfoy lay close to Harry, nuzzled against him, spoon-like, his arm wrapped carefully around Harry’s chest. Malfoy was quiet at last, with no need for words. Harry could feel his lips soft against his spine as he let the motion of the waves lull him into a deep and healing sleep.
***
The aggressive jab of beak against glass made for a very rude awakening. Harry squinted towards the window, where he could see the indistinct shape of an owl waiting. Shifting his body enquiringly, Harry found that not only had most of his aches and pains evaporated, but that he felt like he had slept for a week. More importantly, at some point during the night, the person lying with their arm wrapped around his chest had transformed from Malfoy into Draco.
Draco sat up, leaving unwelcome cold air on Harry’s skin where they had been lying pressed up against one another.
“Leave, it, Draco. It’ll just be the hospital.” Harry reached for Draco’s warm body. Merlin. Draco was wearing the silk pyjama bottoms, the black ones, and he, Harry, was deliciously naked, all ready for—
“No, they sent all the potions and things last night while you were sleeping. Look, I’ve got them laid out there by the bed. Drink that purple one, now, while I see to the owl... and the deep blue one, too, if you’ve still got any pain.”
“No pain. I feel great.” Harry flashed Draco an appreciative grin, then sat up and unstoppered the purple potion.
“It’s a Ministry Owl.” Draco hesitated at the window, his eyes wide. “My contact at the Auror Department... the curse...” He swallowed. “I wonder if this is it... It could all be over soon.”
“Yeah.” Harry swallowed the contents of the vial, grimacing at the vinegary taste, as Draco took the scroll from the owl’s grasp.
Draco scanned the parchment, his eyes darting across the writing. He got to the end, blinked, then read it again.
“They’ve finished questioning him.” His voice was flat.
“And...?” Harry sipped at some water, ridding himself of the sourness in his mouth.
“He doesn’t know... couldn’t say.” The scroll dropped from Draco’s fingers and he sat down on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. “They Veritaserumed the hell out of him, used a double dose, even. He was babbling, told them everything, the whole sorry story. Hah! I hope he enjoyed that, see how he likes it.” Draco’s hands clenched in the sheets. “The bastard still couldn’t tell them how he modified the curse, or how to counter it. The fucking idiot! He must not have fully understood what he was doing when he cursed me.”
“Maybe they can try something else―”
“He doesn’t know, Harry? Do you realise what this means?” Draco’s voice shook.
Harry moved towards him and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s bad, but you’ve still got Silvius working on it―”
“He’s finished with the job. Says there’s nothing more they can do without any information about the modifications. This was my last hope. And now it’s gone.”
Harry’s heart was full. Draco looked so defeated. Defeated and frightened.
Harry thought for a minute. “What is it about it that scares you so much?”
“I’m― Fuck it, I want to say I’m not scared, but of course I bloody am.” Draco’s voice cracked as he spoke. “You see what it’s like? I’m just― It’s just a complete fucking disaster, OK? I can’t live like this!”
Harry pulled him closer. He could feel Draco’s breathing speeding out of control. “I dunno. It seems to me you’re doing a pretty good job of living with it.”
Draco stuttered, his face a mask of panic. “It’s― It’s impossible! How can people respect me, how can I protect myself, when I can’t hide the smallest thing from them? Everything I think and feel is out there, the whole time, for everyone to see.” He pounded his fist uselessly against the bed. “Fuck! I can’t do this!”
Harry frowned. “You’re scared of letting people see the real you. It’s just like Luna said.” He pulled away and looked him full in the face, gripping him by the shoulders. “But I like the real you, Draco. I like it a lot.”
“Yeah, right.” Draco sneered. “I can’t even go to bed with you without blabbing the whole time like some pathetic schoolgirl with a crush.”
“Hell.” Harry wanted to bang his own head against the wall. Or maybe Draco’s. He had to find the right words. “Last night – that was seriously the fucking hottest thing that’s ever happened to me in my entire life.”
Draco looked at him. “What are you talking about?”
“The way you spoke to me, when we― I can’t describe it. Everything you said was true. I knew it. And I felt it. I – I’ve never experienced anything like it. And I didn’t even get to be the one to make you come.”
Draco shifted on the bed. “No.”
Harry risked an eyebrow waggle. “Imagine what it would have been like if I had.”
A smirk teased the corner of Draco’s mouth. “You’d be weeping tears of pure joy at the experience, I can assure you, Potter.”
Harry let his fingers card through Draco’s hair, to gently coax him nearer for a kiss. His mouth was still the best thing ever. “I probably would.” Harry was more than half hard again, just from thinking about it all, and Draco looked down at his lap.
“Look at you...” Draco said. He reached for Harry, leaning their foreheads together to watch their growing erections, Harry’s bare and shameless, and Draco’s beginning to strain at the silky material of his pyjamas. “Fuck, that’s just... incredibly hot.”
It was as if Harry could feel his arousal, not reflected, but magnified through Draco. He felt his own desire for Draco, aching with it as he was, but he could also feel Draco’s longing for him, as if they were connected. He had been aware of his partners’ passion for him in the past, but compared to this, it had been only dimly, as through fog – after all, words could be exaggerated, spoken merely for effect, to impress, seduce, excuse or deceive. This was palpable, unquestionable; he could feel it in the marrow of his bones. This was the pure and simple truth, as he had never known it before, and it blazed through him like Fiendfyre.
He lay them both down on the bed and tugged the pyjamas off impatiently. Draco’s cock sprang free and Harry ghosted his palm over it, loving the hard, eager press of it against his fingers, straining upwards, long and perfect, from a tangle of pale curls. Draco bucked against him and Harry gripped his arse and pulled him in bruisingly close. This was what he’d been burning for: his hands on Draco’s bare skin, and the fierce heat of their erections making his blood surge through his veins. Their bodies fit together just right, each movement from Draco sending jolts of pleasure along his nerves.
“Talk to me, Draco. What are you thinking?”
Draco smirked. “I was thinking I bet we look bloody amazing together. How did you ever turn from such a runty little scrap into this?” He dug his fingers into Harry’s arms. “Merlin, the power that’s in your body. I want some of that. Let me...”
“Yes. Whatever you like. Just tell me.”
Draco crawled over Harry until he was straddling him. “Could we... could I...?”
Harry was short of breath, his heart stuttering in his chest. “You can do anything. Just tell me what you want, we can do it.”
Draco reached for his wand and muttered to himself: a preparation spell, one Harry wasn’t familiar with. It was like him, to know something fancy.
Draco shivered as the spell took effect. “I want this like― Do you remember the first time you ever did magic? It feels that good, like you can’t live without it. I would even beg for it.”
Harry reached to steady Draco as he positioned himself over Harry. He looked up at the lines of Draco’s body; at his face, alight with pleasure and longing. “I can promise you there’s never going to be any need to beg me.”
“Just lie there. Just lie there and look at me. Don’t move... not yet. ” Draco gasped as he felt the head of Harry’s cock pushing at his entrance. Harry tensed his muscles, aching to thrust upwards, to be inside him, but holding back to let Draco sink down gradually, letting him control it. Harry felt every inch of Draco’s tight heat as he slipped further down, his thighs juddering with the strain. Draco’s face twisted once and then Harry was all the way in, joined to Draco with a sweet ferocity that took his breath away.
Draco’s face was slack, his eyes fluttering shut. “That’s... just... nngggh.”
Even more than the thought that this was Draco surrounding him – this heat and pressure, gripping him tight, it was the deepest, most intimate part of his body – even more than this was the realisation that Draco was temporarily beyond speech. Harry closed his eyes and let out a long guttural moan.
Draco gripped Harry’s face with panicky fingers. “Are you OK? Have I hurt you? Should we get the―”
“Draco.” Harry’s eyes snapped open and he held Draco’s hips and pulled their bodies even closer, so their skin stuck together in a sweaty press. His body was surging with energy. Maybe he would pay for this later, but at that moment he didn’t care. “I am fine. If you get anybody here at this moment, then... I really won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
Draco looked startled, then grinned, flashing white teeth, his eyes crinkling in sudden amusement. “I keep having this idea that you might change your mind.” In that moment Harry saw the boy he could have been at seventeen. His face looked young, open, beautiful.
“There is no fucking way I’m going to change my mind.” Harry ran his fingers along Draco’s thigh, where the muscle was firm and the skin was smooth. “Now, will you let me have you, I mean properly have you, or not? Because I can’t stay still for much longer.”
Draco smirked and shifted a little, slowly, teasingly, just enough for them both to feel the blissful, achy, slide and drag of their bodies against one another, just enough to feel what it would be like if he really moved. That’s all it took, and then there was no place for teasing, none at all. They were both striving, their muscles taut, slick skin pressed together, Harry driving deep into Draco again and again.
Harry was reminded of the dance they had shared: Draco led, and he followed, and it felt so startlingly right to move together like that, instead of constantly duelling, that it swept everything else away. There was a week of pent-up tension in Draco’s needy movements, and his face was something glorious to watch as he satisfied himself on Harry’s body.
“You... you... so... ohh.”
The combination of Draco’s heat squeezing around him, his transported, intent expression and the babble of words was about to tip Harry over the edge. He reined himself in enough to reach for Draco’s cock and slid his fingers around the head, letting Draco fuck the circle of his fist as he moved up and down.
“Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes... yes, yes,” crooned Draco in triumph, and spurted long strands of come onto Harry’s hand and chest. Harry sat up, grabbing Draco’s hips tight, and thrust hard, his jaw rigid with the need for release, as Draco clenched around him. Harry’s magic gathered in a wild burst of energy, beginning in the pit of his stomach and surging out along with his own orgasm, making him shout, filling them both with an intoxicating rush and swirling over their skin in great roaring waves. He panted out the last of his orgasm against the damp, salty skin of Draco’s throat, suddenly trembling and weak.
Draco drew back to look at him, his face a knot of concern, his chest still rising and falling with exertion. “Are you all right?”
Harry couldn’t speak, but he nodded, slumping against Draco, who wrapped his arms around him.
“What the bloody hell was that?” Draco raised his eyebrows. “Is it always like that, for you?”
Harry’s magic was still eddying over his skin, surrounding them with warmth and flickers of light. “No. Maybe some after-effect from the curse?”
Draco helped him lie down on the bed. “I thought maybe that was what happened when you get fucked by the Chosen One.” He stroked his thumb along the sharp stubble of Harry’s cheek. “Do you need anything?”
“No.” Harry let Draco’s face swim in and out of focus. His clear, grey eyes were shining like water on glass. “Just you.”
Draco kissed him, then, and whispered tender, dirty, beautiful secrets into his ear until he fell into another restorative doze.
***
They raced through the streets, on the ground for now, but as fast as flying, and as exhilarating, too. Draco sat flush against his back, unwittingly gifting Harry a new bittersweet pleasure. Riding Sirius’ bike, he could now savour the memory of a schoolboy Malfoy pressed up against him: his body trembling, flames licking all around them, the heat, the insane speed. He added it to his collection of those things which brought him the deep, satisfying mixture of joy and mourning. At that moment, Draco’s body was pressed boldly against him and his hands round Harry’s waist held them together like two parts of a jigsaw. Harry could feel Draco's breath hot and fast against his neck, and the hard length of Draco's body against his spine.
They took a left into Charing Cross Rd. Harry could only imagine what a picture they would make to Muggle bystanders if it weren’t for the Disillusionment Charms: Draco with his bright hair streaming behind him, his sleeves rolled up as they usually were those days, to display his Dark Mark. Harry half-suspected him of doing this to upset people, but Draco claimed it was just part of his new-found honesty.
“If I can’t live with it, how can anyone else begin to? I am who I am, Harry, and this is part of me – I’m not ignoring it, or hiding any of it, any longer.”
The Veritas Curse was still very much a feature of their lives. Some days Harry despaired of it. Draco, however, was beginning to embrace it in an unexpected way, although Harry regularly accused him of enjoying it far more than was healthy or kind.
“There’s nothing I can do about it!” Draco protested. “The rest of you are welcome to go on grubbing around in the dirt with your lies and your cheating. If you knew what’s good for you, you’d all get cursed the same as me, but it’s your look out. And that bloke did smell of turnips, you can’t deny it, Harry.”
Trust Draco to somehow twist it into something superior. “You’ll get yourself worse than cursed, one of these days,” Harry warned, after the day when Draco asked the cashier in Flourish and Blotts whether she knew she had a really odd-shaped head, then cheerfully added, “Veritas Curse, sorry!”
Harry found a spot to park the bike, and they headed through the Leaky Cauldron and out into the courtyard entrance to Diagon Alley. As Harry tapped on the third brick up, Draco took the opportunity to slide his long fingers into the back pocket of Harry’s trousers, to caress and squeeze the flesh of his arse. Harry didn’t think he would ever get tired of Draco’s delightfully honest and uncensored reaction to his leathers. He was hatching a surprise for Draco, too... He thought Draco would look pretty fabulous in leathers himself, and had taken the liberty of ordering some in buttery-soft, Swedish Short-snout dragonhide of a rich blue, which would fit Draco like a glove. Harry’s stomach tightened pleasurably at the mental picture this inspired. We’ll probably never leave the house again.
In Diagon Alley, their paths diverged, not without some reluctance on Draco’s part, who was attempting to follow up the bum-fondling with a little light kissing and mauling in a side street, but Harry promised to let him have a thorough grope later on, after they had both finished their business. Draco headed for his office, while Harry browsed at Obscurus Books. He always kept one eye out for any title that might shed light on the Veritas Curse, although he sometimes questioned what he would do if he actually found one. After paying for his purchases, he then strolled over to Rosa Lee’s teashop to meet Luna.
He couldn’t spot her at first, and was about to take a table in the corner, when he spied some of her blonde hair peeping out from where she was almost completely covered by the large and imposing shape of Gregory Goyle. Goyle appeared to be trying to devour Luna whole, starting with her face, and Harry’s hand went to his wand for a moment until he realised this process was consensual. Luna giggled and sighed, and Harry decided the best course of action was to beat a hasty retreat, but then Luna noticed him, and, with a wave, beckoned him to their table.
The prospect of sitting and drinking tea with Mr G. Goyle was not quite how Harry had planned to spend his morning, and it was with a heavy heart that he sat down, but Goyle merely gave Harry a friendly pat on the shoulder (the kind of friendly pat, Harry thought, that was going to leave a bruise tomorrow) and negotiated his way through Rosa Lee’s narrow doorway and out into Diagon Alley.
Harry was hungry, and Luna liked to indulge her sweet tooth, so they ordered what proved to be a ridiculous amount of cakes and pastries. Luna poured the tea, a good strong brew, and Harry took his cup gratefully and selected an apple tart to go with it.
“You’re looking very well, Harry. Life seems to be agreeing with you. And no lasting problems from the Infirmus Curse?” Luna passed Harry the milk.
Harry shrugged. “No, I shook that old thing off. A few days in bed saw me right.” He smothered a grin at the thought of the days and nights spent in Draco’s delightful, soft and rumpled bed, his energy returning in more and more gratifying ways, before Draco reluctantly pronounced him well enough to get up.
“You look well, too, Luna. Are you... having a thing with Goyle, then?” Harry took a bite of tart; it was delicious, with melting buttery pastry and just the right amount of spice. The tea was almost too hot to drink, but Harry liked the scalding feeling at the edges of his mouth, washing away the sweetness.
Luna looked at him calmly. “Yes, I am, Harry; I’m having quite a few things with him. Friendship, and romance, and also some rather nice fucking.”
Harry spat a bit of tea back out into his cup. He looked around but Rosa Lee’s was almost empty and no-one else seemed to be listening.
“He’s a peaceful person to spend time with.” Luna tasted her tea thoughtfully. “He says I talk enough for both of us.”
Somehow Harry could easily imagine that to be the case.
“I like his body,” Luna continued. “It’s so strong. I find that very arousing. And he’s extremely good at oral sex. Is Draco good at oral sex?”
Harry felt his face heating. “Er... yes. Yes, he most certainly is.”
“That’s nice. It must be a Slytherin thing, don’t you think?” She stirred another spoonful of sugar into her cup. “You’re feeling embarrassed now, aren’t you? People are uncomfortable with the truth, Harry, but truth isn’t a curse; it’s a blessing. The truth will set you free.”
The bell over the door jangled and Draco came in, shaking drops of rain from his robes. Harry’s heart made a little secret leap in his chest at the sight of him.
“Merciful Merlin, look at that great pile of cakes you two porkers are stuffing down you! Luna, I can see you ending up the size of Goyle if you aren’t careful, my girl.” Draco looked around for a waitress. “The service in here is very patchy. I sometimes think we only put up with it because there’s bugger all places to go near here.”
He raised his voice in the direction of the counter. “A pot of Darjeeling when you’ve quite finished owling your boyfriend, or whatever it is that’s so fascinating. And some éclairs – although the last ones I had here looked as though someone had licked them. Only bring them if they’re fresh.”
Draco hung up his robes on the rack, and slid into the seat next to Harry, slapping down a copy of the Prophet with a flourish.
“Seen the news this morning?” Draco asked. “When they searched that creepy fucker Frotwinkle’s place after he was nabbed, they found Ashwinder eggs. They’ve been working to trace the supplier, and yesterday they got some new information showing the trail leads back to our old friends Slug and Jiggers.”
“Slug and Jiggers? The shop over the road?” Luna asked.
“Yes. It seems they’ve got no scruples about supplying illegal ingredients under the counter.” Draco broke off to laugh. “Who’d have thought Malfoy’s Materials would turn out to be the ethical choice? Anyway, I had Lord Pendleton’s owl arrive at my office just now. Looks like the St. Mungo’s contract might be mine, after all.”
He bent forward, eyes alight, and ran his fingers through the soft hair curling behind Harry’s ear. “Didn’t I tell you honesty always paid off in the end? Now, where are those éclairs?” He twisted round to address the waitress loudly. “If it’s that fellow I saw you with last week, with the purple boots, quite frankly he looks like a queer to me. Harry here would have a lot more luck with him.”
Harry sank his head into his hands. When he felt equal to peeping out through his fingers, he could see Luna chatting away cheerily, while Draco bit into one of his beloved éclairs and licked the sweet cream from his lips.
The truth will set you free. Was this what freedom felt like, then? The feeling of never quite knowing what would happen next? It was a little like running the motorbike on full throttle with the headlamps blazing, just speeding off into the unknown, in a swooping, dazzling roar. Like the roar in Harry’s chest that clamoured to be heard whenever Draco was in the room.
If this was freedom, Harry thought he could quite happily get used to it.