Ten Steps

Author's Note: Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work on this chapter and thanks to all who have reviewed so far.

Chapter 10 Friends

The house was as immaculate as Harry thought it could be, and he tried to concentrate on the food as Kreacher went about behind him, somehow still finding things to tidy. When every sofa cushion had been properly fluffed, every wooded surface properly polished and every bit of exposed floor shining and clean, Harry sighed with relief and could finally focus on his canapés.

As if on queue, the fireplace flared and Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye, his blond friend emerging and glancing around the sitting room. “In here,” Harry called from the alcove that separated the kitchen from the main room and Draco strode quickly to his side. HarryHe picked up one of the finished canapés and shoved it unceremoniously into Draco’s mouth as he opened it to greet the brunet. “Taste this,” Harry ordered, nearly gagging the man in his haste to get an opinion.

Draco managed to chew and swallow it without choking, and delighted smile curved his lips. “Delicious,” he commented and Harry grinned. “What is it you just forced down my throat?”

“Duck, goat cheese, fig and puff pastry,” Harry explained as his agile fingers began working again.

Draco’s hand went to his neck while his mouth made choking and sputtering noises. Harry dropped all of his ingredients and rushed to Draco’s side, wand raised at the ready. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“I’m allergic to fig,” Draco rasped and all the color drained out of Harry’s face.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry cursed as he pressed against Draco and searched his own mind for any spell he knew that could help in this situation. “What should I do?” he pleaded, desperate to fix his Slytherin friend.

“You need,” he replied, breathing shallowly between each word, “to kiss me,” he spluttered.

Harry narrowed his eyes and took a step back from Draco as he folded his arms across his chest. Draco couldn’t keep the act up any longer and laughed, pulling himself back up to his full height. “You’re a prat,” Harry muttered. “And now I’m behind on the food.”

“Oh, stop being so sullen. You need to loosen up or else all of Wood’s friends are going to think you’re an uptight git,” Draco informed him through a deep smirk.

“I thought…I thought you were going to die,” Harry confessed, staring down at his still shaking hands as he accidentally squished a fig between his fingers. “Don’t. Ever. Do. That. Again,” he bit out angrily.

“I promise,” Draco replied, running his hands up and down Harry’s arms soothingly. His chest was pressed firmly into Harry’s back and he enveloped the other man into a hug from behind, wrapping him up tightly until Harry stopped shaking. “Would you have missed me?” he asked playfully against the shell of the brunet’s ear.

“More that I should, you wicked prat,” Harry sighed, leaning into the warm embrace until they heard a sharp clearing of a throat and ripped away from one another like they were on fire.

“Luna!” Harry greeted with a startled blush. “You’re early.”

“Just in time, I’d say,” she quipped, her eyes flicking back and forth between a flushing Malfoy and an equally pink Harry.

“He was choking,” Harry muttered lamely.

“Ah, yes. That certainly explains why you two were practically spooning in the kitchen. Oh, are those figs?” she asked, her attention diverted at once. Harry sighed in relief and bustled to her side without a glance at Malfoy. He was too embarrassed to look at the other man just then.

What would have happened if it had been Oliver who had shown up early? Harry shuddered at the thought of the scene that would make. He hadn’t even told Olli about his classes with Malfoy, and it looked bad enough without having to tack an omission of truth to the top of it like a rotten cherry atop a melted sundae.

“I’m going to inspect your place for anything Oliver might find off-putting,” Draco murmured and left the kitchen at Harry’s dismissing nod while the brunet cast his focus back on his canapés and Luna’s dreamy questions.

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Draco’s heart thudded violently in his chest as he made the rounds of Harry’s living room and dining area. Aside from a photo of an old boyfriend, which Draco deemed acceptable since it was also simply a photo of Fred and George, Draco found nothing incriminating in Harry’s flat. He was a little disappointed with that fact, but then he reasoned he hadn’t visited the bedroom or any of the bathrooms yet.

The thought of sneaking into Harry’s bedroom had a bit of Slytherin appeal. He hoped to find out some weird kink in the man’s bureau, but entering the master suite without a naked and sweaty Harry in tow didn’t seem worth the effort.

Draco shook his head and tried to quell his pounding heart. Luna had interrupted them in the nick of time, because Draco was closer to turning Harry around in his arms and kissing the oblivious Gryffindor than he’d ever been before. Holding him, touching him – it had been sweeter than anything Draco could speak of. For those brief moments, Draco had felt so complete, so blissfully happy that he was willing to ignore the vows that were placed upon his head and his life. He wanted Harry more than he wanted to live, which terrified him and rendered his situation rather hopeless. He could either try and win Harry, and die the moment he succeeded, or he could help him woo another and potentially die of grief from the loss.

He shook his head more sharply this time, trying to imagine his father’s voice as he chastised himself for being melodramatic. No one ever died of heartache. Draco would live, and he’d find himself a partner that he could be content with and as soon as this nonsense with Potter and Wood was behind him, he could move away and never be troubled again.

It would be fine so long as he kept a professional distance from Harry in the future. Not that he seemed capable of doing that. Harry left himself open to flirtation far too often. It was difficult, if not impossible for Draco to resist.

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Oliver arrived with four other men in tow, and Harry greeted all of them in turn before passing them off to mingle with his friends. There was Jacque, Countius, Rupert and Logan, all fellow teammates for Puddlemere United. Oliver explained that he didn’t often get out much to meet new people, and he got on just fine with his team, so why not think of them as friends outside the pitch. Harry was secretly pleased about this, and the fact that Oliver didn’t have a sordid past with tons of flings and exes for Harry to worry about.

Still, it didn’t escape Harry’s notice that Logan Bradford seemed interested in Oliver as more than friends. In fact, the Seeker seemed downright enamored with every word that left Oliver’s mouth. Harry tried to stifle his jealousy, knowing that he had no reason whatsoever to suspect that Oliver would be unfaithful, even though this bloke got to spend significantly more time with his boyfriend than Harry did. In fact, he was eerily close to rethinking his position on staying with the Ministry and wondered if Oliver’s offer to join as Seeker was still on the table. Harry would be pleased to see the obviously leering man sacked from the team altogether.

Harry slipped his arm around Oliver’s waist, a bit more possessively than he might have if left unchallenged, and leveled Bradford with an even glare. He was proud when he decided the look was neither friendly nor menacing. Let the prat make guesses to how Harry felt about him, or let him suspect Harry hadn’t even noticed his overt flirtation with Oliver.

“He’s rather good looking,” Draco pointed out, whispering against Harry’s ear. Oliver didn’t seem to notice Draco moving closer, still wrapped up in a conversation with Ron and Logan about last week’s practice game.

“He’s alright,” Harry quipped. Logan was a bit taller than Harry, which put him closer to Oliver’s height. He had dark blond hair that was far tamer than Harry’s but it was cut unflatteringly and made his ears look a little bigger than they were. He was trim and agile like a Seeker needed to be, and his clothes fit nicely on his thin frame, but Harry didn’t think there was anything too remarkable about the man.

“Well, I’ll admit he doesn’t have the innate Potter beauty but-”

His words were deftly cut off by Harry’s snort of amused protest. “Yes, I needed a sarcastic remark about my looks to make this even more awkward. How did you know?”

“Well, I only want what’s best for you, after all,” he told Harry starkly. “And anyway, who said I was being sarcastic?” he asked before slipping away to his post where he could watch Potter from a distance and take notes on his behavior with Oliver.

Harry rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the conversation that had gone on without him.

“-Should have seen his face as that Quaffle whizzed by his head,” Logan was saying. “Olli looked so surprised I thought he was going to fall off his broom.”

A twinge of rage flittered through Harry at the use of Oliver’s nickname by a man who was decidedly not his boyfriend, but he tried to suppress it. “Logan would make a fine Chaser,” Oliver agreed. “No one has ever gotten one by me like that before.”

“Probably because you were too busy staring at him to notice the Quaffle,” Harry muttered under his breath. No one seemed to hear but the arm around his waist tightened slightly and Oliver glanced over, leveling Harry with an intensely satisfied gaze.

“What was that, Hon?” he asked and Harry shook his head, a brilliant flush coloring his cheeks.

“Nothing important. I was just wondering aloud whether Bradford had Confunded you or something. It does seem unlikely that someone like him would be able to score against you,” he mused.

“Someone like me?” Logan sputtered, obviously upset about the insinuation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry smiled innocently and stuffed his jealousy deep down in his gut. “A Seeker,” he replied diplomatically. “You’re not trained to make goals, you’re trained to catch the Snitch.”

“I would love it if you would come play a practice game with us, Harry.” He didn’t know if Oliver was changing the subject because he could sense his animosity, or if it was merely for Logan’s sake, but the shift concerned him.

“But you already have a Seeker,” Harry pointed out.

“You play that position?” Logan asked.

“Not professionally, obviously, but I did in Hogwarts,” Harry replied with a guarded smile.

“He was the youngest Seeker in over a Century,” Oliver boasted and hugged Harry tightly against his side.

“Is that right?” Logan queried, though he looked a tad ill. “Why don’t you play for a team then?”

“I found a different calling,” Harry replied. “I didn’t find buzzing around in the air in search of the Golden Snitch as rewarding as keeping Death Eaters off of our streets.”

“I can’t believe you’re knocking Quidditch,” Oliver remarked, shaking his head as if his world was imploding around him. The comment made to throw off Logan had inadvertently injured his boyfriend’s pride.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way, Olli,” Logan said, and shot a pitying look in Harry’s direction. “He’s probably just not as good on a broom these days and wanted to boost up his pride.”

Harry seethed and narrowed his eyes at Logan, his gaze, he knew, was as menacing as the one he’d leveled on Voldemort in his final hours. “I’d take you on any day of the week, Bradford.”

The man’s lilac eyes lit up as Harry fell into his trap. He wanted to groan at the ease with which he’d been tricked, but it was too late to back down now. “How about tonight then?” Logan challenged, and Harry flinched but nodded.

“Yeah, alright.” His voice was curt and Oliver spent a moment glancing between him and his teammate before shrugging to Ron who whooped dramatically and took over from that point.

Ron handed out Apparition coordinates to the regulation pitch the Weasley’s used for family games in the yard behind the Burrow. It served as neutral ground for the battle as neither Harry nor Logan had ever flown it. Within minutes the entire dinner party was waiting for Harry and Logan to launch their brooms into the sky. Harry felt more nervous than ever as he allowed his gaze to flick to Oliver, who was standing on the sidelines with his arms crossed and his mouth pursed cutely. He couldn’t figure out what Oliver thought of the testosterone driven match, and Wood was keeping his face carefully neutral so that Harry had very little chance of deciphering it.

Malfoy on the other hand stood a few paces away and appeared livid with Harry’s macho display. Nothing but those calculating, gray eyes betrayed the intense emotion, but Harry could see it clearly enough. Although sensing it and understanding it was two very different things.

A whistle blared through the silence and Harry shot up like a bat out of hell, chasing the tiny glimmer of gold already receding into the distance. He only vaguely noted Logan’s position, intent on beating the man; he couldn’t spend more time checking his rival’s whereabouts than he did the Snitch. Oliver taught him that.

Although, he realized only too late that Oliver probably taught Logan that as well. Logan rushed by him in a burst of speed, his robes flapping in a way that cut of Harry’s sightline, so he feinted to the right and with gritted teeth, launched himself forward until they were neck and neck. He could hear the low rumble of Logan’s growl as they both caught sight of the Snitch zooming right at them. Harry readied himself to yank the blasted ball out of the night sky, but the little, golden orb had better ideas and instead, it fell into a steep dive.

Harry matched it with ease. If Logan thought chasing after the Snitch was a challenge, he should try chasing after a flying Death Eater. At least the Golden Snitch couldn’t launch Unforgivables over its shoulder as it flew away. They dove, Logan a hand’s breadth behind him, and they were both angled to smash into the ground.

“Are you crazy, Potter?” Logan shouted at last, but Harry paid no attention and kept on course when Logan fell back. Victory was his as he reached out and curled his fingers around the shining ball, pulling out of his dive sharply enough to avoid a crash.

Logan wasn’t so lucky.

Even though he’d slowed his broom’s trajectory, he hadn’t slowed enough, or pulled out of the dive quickly enough to avoid the harsh impact of the ground. Logan grunted as he tumbled head over feet to land at the edge of the field furthest from the crowd.

Harry was left to stare out over the pitch, the Snitch clutched victoriously in his palm, as Oliver ran to Logan’s side to see if he was okay. Obviously Harry hadn’t been injured in the game, or else Oliver would have come rushing to his side, not Logan’s. Or at least, those were the silent words Harry thought over and over as he watched his boyfriend kneel over Logan’s prone form. If Harry hadn’t known any better, he would have suspected this was Bradford’s plan all along.

Some of the other party joined Oliver on the other side of the pitch, mostly his teammates, while the rest hung back with Harry. Draco was at his side at once, asking if Harry was okay, and all Harry could do was nod. It seemed there was a vast rift between he and Oliver, one that he had caused without any help. “You should have told me not to do this,” Harry whispered at last and Draco sneered at him.

“Would you have listened to me?” he asked snidely and Harry merely shrugged.

“Probably not.”

“Then why bother wasting my breath,” Draco replied, his voice more gentle, but still a sharp, reprimanding hiss.

Harry rounded on him then. Ready to take his anger out on the first available target. “Because you’re supposed to be my friend!”

“None of your other friends warned you off this path, Potter. So, why give me that blame? If you’re too shortsighted to see the traps placed right in front of your feet, I can’t help you,” he argued and Harry glared at him for as long as his conscience would permit. Draco was right. Harry was better than this. He should have seen the man’s challenge for what it was, a chance to discredit Harry while making himself the object of Oliver’s attention. Perhaps it hadn’t been the man’s plan, but it was the result of it nonetheless, and that’s all that truly mattered in the end.

Harry finally dropped his gaze and marched off the field, Apparating back to his own flat. A few people followed him, Malfoy included, but Oliver never did. No doubt he was promising to nurse his teammate back to health, even if it took late night visits and sponge baths. Harry shook away the images, knowing deep down that wasn’t true. Even if Oliver were pissed at Harry for his teammates injury, he wouldn’t stray like that. He wouldn’t be unfaithful, not even in the innocent way Harry had done earlier that day with Draco wrapped around him like a comforting blanket.

He placated his friends with stories about being tired and wanting to retire early, but even as they all left, he wondered when Oliver would contact him again – if he would contact him again – or if Harry should extend the first olive branch. He didn’t even know if Oliver was angry, or just concerned for his teammate, and that made him hesitate.

Eventually he decided to leave it until morning, and slumped boneless to the sofa, letting his head loll into his hands. When another weight pressed into the sofa beside him, Harry started and looked over to see Draco’s pale and beautiful face beside him. The fact that he would have liked to bury his face into the man’s neck and seek comfort in those pouting lips made Harry turn away and sigh. He was no better than Logan Bradford, chasing after something that wasn’t his to pursue.

“Are you happy with the conclusion of your little power play?” Draco asked, a sneer planted firmly on his lips at Harry’s reaction to him sitting there.

“I won, didn’t I?” Harry spat, not in the mood to be lectured by Draco Malfoy of all people. He got up and paced the room before stopping next to his banister. Part of him wanted to invite the blond git up, offer him the shag of his life just to calm the queasy quakes that echoed his jealousy of wondering where Oliver was in that moment, but he knew better. As much as Ginny tried to goad him into sleeping with the blond, Harry just wasn’t interested in casual sex with anyone, least of all this man who smelled like the sweet death of his relationship with Oliver. He hated that he felt the urge to wrap himself around the blond, and he hated Draco for inciting the feeling to start with.

“Does one merely have to dare you into something to get their way?” Draco replied, his lips pursed in curiosity from his position on the sofa.

“Apparently,” Harry muttered in half-sarcasm. He felt like a prat having goaded Logan into the match, and it hadn’t worked anyway. Oliver left with him and his teammates and Harry was here alone, or worse than alone as it were. He’d much rather his home be empty than have to stare down into the seductive gray eyes of Draco Malfoy.

“Well, then I dare you to kiss me,” Draco challenged, launching himself from the couch to stand a few paces away from the brunet. Harry gave him such a glare it might have imploded a lesser man, but Draco remained steady and smoldering.

“Would you come off it, Malfoy. I’m aware of your interest in me, but I also know it’s shallow and loveless. Now, if you’re done rubbing my face in my failures, I’d like to go to bed,” he huffed and angled toward the stairs.

“You’re an ignorant little twat, Harry Potter,” Draco seethed and marched to plant himself right in front of the brunet, breathing him in through flared nostrils. Harry’s stance didn’t change, his arms stayed rigidly folded across his chest and his gaze remained detached and angrily unseeing. Draco let out a strangled growl and turned away from him before marching to the door.

Without a second glance, Draco left Harry alone in his self-imposed misery, dead set against risking his life anymore for this fruitless endeavor.

Author's Note: I have nothing witty to say at the moment so I'll give you all sulky Draco lollipops and cranky Harry cookies. I hope you all liked the upda