Rivaling Affections

Authors Note: Many thanks to my beta for this fic! Robert has been a huge help to me on all the fics he works on and just turned 18 yesterday so yay Robert!

Chapter 12 hunger

Draco couldn’t stop himself from associating food with sex.

Every time he took a bite of even the most mundane dish he thought about sex, but not just any sex: no, it was always sex with Harry. No doubt that was the Gryffindor’s intention, or else he was trying to fatten Draco up so that no one else would want him so that Harry could have him for himself. Either way, Draco was growing weary of being buttered up –quite literally- and decided to turn the tables.

Perhaps Harry already thought of food and sex as synonymous, it certainly would explain his ability to easily bat away Draco’s many propositions and advances, but just in case, Draco was going to make certain that with every bite of cake, or roasted duck, Harry would think about fucking him, which in the end would solve all of their problems, he was sure of it.

It was those thoughts that found Draco Malfoy in utterly foreign territory early Saturday morning. Harry’s copper pots and pans hung above his head and sprawling hammered metal surfaces sprawled out around him. He searched high and low for a cookbook, a recipe card or anything else that might inspire him as to what one of Harry’s favorite meals might be but found nothing.

Apparently Harry was a true culinary genius and never even bothered with predetermined measurements or instructions. Draco used to think he could cook, but after only a week of Harry’s delicious meals he soon realized that spaghetti and grilled cheese couldn’t even be considered food next to Harry’s Ahi-tuna stack with red pepper pesto or his vine-ripened tomato and buffalo mozzarella salad. Harry was just in a league of his own when it came to his perfect use of flavors and technique.

“But really, how hard could it be?” Draco muttered to himself as he checked the icebox for his ingredient options. After some introspection he decided to make his own rendition of an apple pie, feeling it was appropriately poetic as Harry managed to snag him with that very dish his first day here.

He tried to recall the recipe that had been passed down through his father’s side of the family for decades and pulled out 6 large sour apples, a fresh lemon, sugar, flour and cinnamon and placed them on the large stone island.

Three slices into the first apple and Draco cut himself, wincing and cursing at the pain, but trying to keep quiet enough so as not to wake Harry. After getting another apple he decided to slice them with magic instead and was mostly successful in getting the thin slices he wanted.

As he moved on to stewing the apples, he knocked his head on a cabinet door, burned his palm on the stovetop, and squirted lemon in his eye. All of this before he even managed to add the apple slices into the saucepan.

“How is Harry such rubbish at potions and so good at this?” Draco mused with minor annoyance. Part of him hated the fact that Harry had him so thoroughly hooked on his cooking, something he would miss greatly when he finally moved out. Though the rest of him hated the fact that Harry’s cooking was not the only thing he would miss about the powerful Gryffindor; he knew that if it weren’t for the opportunity to see him at school, he might never want to leave.

Though if he wanted to be honest with himself – which he rarely was – he would know that despite the fact that he would still see Harry nearly every day, it just wasn’t the same as being here with him.

As he started to mix the dry ingredients the bag of flour began tipping precariously toward the edge of the countertop, threatening to spill its contents all over Harry’s rich hardwood floors. Draco dove for it, flinging his spoon to the side in his haste but was too late and ended up being covered head to toe in the fluffy white powder.

Utterly dismayed by the sheer mess he had made in the kitchen he just stared blankly for a moment at his half made pie and contemplated giving up. Finally he decided the least he could do after destroying Harry’s kitchen was provide him with a finished pie and continued with his mission.

After an embarrassing butter incident, one shattered glass pie pan, and a small oven mitt fire, Draco managed to complete his task and placed a slice onto a tray along side a cup of steaming hot blackberry tea and began levitating it back to Harry’s bedroom door.

He avoided knocking, planning on actually getting to see the room this time. He opted to cast a general unlocking charm that was a bit stronger than Alohamora and waited for the telltale click of the lock. As soon as he heard it he turned the knob and let the door swing open and started to levitate the tray ahead of him.

“Draco?” Harry asked, his voice laced with a mixture of grogginess and panic.

“I made you breakfast,” he announced proudly.

“Draco wait!” Harry shouted. “You can’t levit-“ he began to say before his words were cut of by the sound of shattering ceramics and the clatter of cutlery.

Harry sighed, shaking his head, but smiled all the same, as Draco looked dumbfounded at the mess all over Harry’s rug. He was single handedly ruining Harry’s house one room at a time. “I’ve never messed up that incantation. I’m so sorry, I have no idea what I did wrong!”

“It wasn’t you, Draco. It’s my room,” Harry said with a slow frown, the mirth from Draco making an arse of himself quickly fading.

Harry’s words didn’t make sense at first until Draco stepped into the room and started feeling as though his veins were being hollowed out and someone was replacing his blood with thick crude oil. “Harry, what is that?” he asked, hoping Harry understood and knowing instinctively he would.

“It’s your magic sapping away,” Harry told him, watching as panic flittered through the blonde’s eyes. “It’s not permanent. It’s only a ward I have on this room. It keeps me from doing any damage in my sleep. I’ve had a few dreams that sent it over the edge.”

“I’ve never felt magic dampening wards before, only heard of them. Harry, how can you sleep with this feeling?” he asked incredulously.

“It’s better than the alternative,” Harry defended. “I almost killed Ron when he lived with me at Grimmauld place. I blew up an entire floor in my sleep and the floor above it collapsed in, crushing Ron with rubble.”

Draco went to Harry’s side, crawling up onto the bed and pulling him into a hug. The Gryffindor professor looked near tears as he recounted his story, something that was clearly hard for him to talk about.

It was as he ran his hands through Harry’s raven locks that he realized where he was. In Harry’s room, on Harry’s bed and with an only partially dressed Harry no less. He pressed a kiss into Harry’s forehead, and more against his cheek, slowly along his jaw and then hovered just an inch away from Harry’s lips, so close he could feel Harry’s breath tickle his tongue.

He kissed Harry then, not really waiting for permission. Harry let himself be pushed back to the mattress, his hands splayed above him in submission as Draco raked his fingers down his side. He was going to have him, going to possess Harry once and for all and then he would finally be able to cast him from his mind.

Harry shifted beneath him, grinding his erection into Draco’s thigh and Draco pressed onward, tugging at the drawstring on Harry’s pants. A sharp gasp sounded from Harry’s lips, and the boy’s eyes were like green fire as he looked at Draco and shook his head.

“Are you really trying to take advantage of me when I’m vulnerable?” Harry asked, almost begging Draco to lie and say no.

Draco sighed and pulled his leg up to mask his own painful erection. “Clearly it didn’t work,” he muttered, trying for humor, but there was no humor in Harry’s eyes.

“Out,” he said firmly, pointing toward the door and Draco blanched.

“I thought I could distract you-“ he began but Harry cut him off with a sharp glare.

“I. Said. Get. Out,” he repeated, each word like a biting sting across Draco’s pale flesh.

“Harry, I’m sorry,” he called over his shoulder as the other boy shoved him toward the door.

He could tell as he reached the threshold, both by the magic rushing back into his body and by the sharp pain of Harry’s power digging into his arm, that he was outside of the power draining wards. It was like the spark of static electricity flicking into his flesh over and over.

“Ow,” Draco complained, pulling his arm from Harry’s grasp and looking to see if the other man had left a mark. Harry looked down too, his face mottled with concern and anger, but when he saw no residual harm on Draco’s skin he shut the door sharply in the blonde’s face.

Draco shuddered, wondering if he had ruined things once and for all with Harry. He had been hurting and Draco could only think of sleeping with him. It was disgraceful, and the very reason why he wouldn’t agree to date the Gryffindor professor. He was undeserving of the kind of love Harry wanted to dole out. Draco was often thoughtless, tactless and completely inconsiderate. He had never been able to make a relationship work, and failing at being with Harry was just something he couldn’t live with.

The man was perfect in nearly every way, and if Draco still managed to fuck things up, it meant there was no hope whatsoever.

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Harry stewed in his quarters for over an hour, first pacing back and forth along the wide expanse of rich red marble that was inlaid into his wood flooring, then showering in his open frosted glass shower before finally dressing and taking a deep breath to go and face Draco.

When he stepped outside he noticed faint white footprints leading away from and toward his door and he followed them into the kitchen, which was covered in a thick layer of white powder. Underneath it all, on his hands and knees was Draco, scrubbing at the floor and cursing under his breath.

“Draco?” Harry called, wondering what the boy was doing trying to clean up such a vast mess without the assistance of magic.

“Harry,” he squeaked, obviously startled. “I had hoped to have it all cleaned up before you came out.”

“You’re doing a great job,” he lied as he scanned the smoking oven and the flour-strewn countertops. He felt immediately guilty for throwing Draco out earlier, remembering that he was there in the first place to bring him a breakfast that he obviously had a fit while creating.

“Right,” Draco replied with a bark of harsh laughter.

“Can I ask why you’re not just using magic?” Harry asked.

“It serves me right to clean this mess up like a muggle after how I treated you. I’m really sorry, Harry. I just-“ but Harry cut him off with a shake of his head, his heart warming instantly to the blonde.

“No apologies,” Harry said firmly. Sometimes his attraction to Draco overshadowed his own good intentions, so he understood. It was just hard to take as it happened, knowing that he cared more for his body than his feelings. “So what did you make?” he asked, changing the subject.

Draco blushed and pointed to the partially blackened pie on the counter.

“Apple pie?” Harry asked, his eyebrow shooting up at the irony, but Draco shook his head.

“Not just any apple pie. Tart fine aux pommes,” he corrected. “It’s an old family recipe.”

Harry went over and poked it once with his finger, watching as a black chunk flaked off and crumbled to the counter. “Is it supposed to be burnt?”

Draco laughed, his whole body shaking with it. “No, of course not. I’m not as good in the kitchen as I had once thought, especially not next to you,” he offered. “I cut off the least burnt piece to give you but that slice is smeared across your floor,” he added.

How about I help you clean up this mess and then I make us lunch,” Harry offered.

With a nod and a smile, Draco agreed, happy that he hadn’t ruined his friendship with Harry at least.

Harry raised his wand and began swiftly taking care of the mess. He directed the flour and liquids into the sink, which slowly washed them down the drains and then started working on scrubbing up the pans.

He was washing a particularly heavy pot, lifting and scrubbing it with his magic, when he felt the first telltale sign of his magic growing out of his comfort zone. It began to tingle across his flesh and created an almost wind-like barrier around him, a barrier he knew from experience would protect him, and only him from harm.

“Draco, get out of here,” he ordered, his voice thick with panic for the blonde.

Draco took one look at him and obviously saw or felt the power trickling from Harry’s flesh and moved to flee the kitchen.

It seemed like slow motion, Draco slipped on some small mess left on the floor, his body flying backward and his head cracking sharply on the floor. Harry fell to his knees with a scream, his whole body hurting like it was on fire, and feeling no way to stop his magic from spilling out and killing Draco in the blast.

With fists clenched, Harry looked at Draco’s form and tried to reign in the magic. He brought it back inside himself like it was a blanket he could pull tighter around his body. He let it encircle him and brought the ring of power closer and closer until he could feel it dissipate inside his own skin. A feeling that could be likened to the biting sting of broken glass against fragile flesh, or salt being rubbed into an open wound assaulted him when the magic pulled back, but he fought past it with everything he was.

He gritted his teeth and bore down on the magic, shoving it deep down inside of him and locking it up tightly, Draco’s pale face still hovering in his mind. When, at last, the feeling of fire ants crawling around underneath his skin disappeared, he gave a weak sigh and looked at the mop of blonde hair not ten feet from him. He could have hurt or killed Draco, but he didn’t; he could have destroyed his house but he managed to control it, and though reigning the power back in was excruciatingly painful; it was worth it not to injure Draco.

As he crawled on hands and knees over to where Draco was laying on the floor, he let his eyes flicker around to see what Draco had slipped on and saw nothing at all. Then as his eyes trailed over Draco’s face, seeing the slight smirk curling on his lips and his eyelids fluttering as if trying to hold them closed, he knew why.

Draco had been faking.

“You are such an arse,” Harry shouted, a mixture of relief that he wasn’t hurt and annoyance that Draco had tricked him lacing his voice. “I could have killed you!”

“But you didn’t,” Draco replied, propping himself up on his elbows.

“You didn’t know that I wouldn’t,” Harry growled, his annoyance winning over his concern for the sneaky blonde.

“I did know it. You care for me too much to have let your power hurt me,” Draco said resolutely, his eyes sparkling as if challenging Harry to argue.

Harry could only sigh, knowing that Draco’s words were true, and it had been precisely that thought which kept him from destroying all that he saw. If it had just been him there and not Draco, the house would have been a smoldering ruin by now. “It was an awfully big risk,” Harry whispered, his body moving inexplicably closer to Draco’s.

“I want to help you,” Draco replied, his own voice a low whisper to match Harry’s. “I want to help you get it under control so that you won’t have to worry anymore.”

“Why would you do that?” Harry asked, but Draco merely shrugged, a small grin forming on his perfect pink lips and before Harry knew it, he was kissing that perfect mouth, the blood which had just a moment before been pulsing frantically through his veins, now sang out in delight at the blonde’s wish to help him.

All his life he had been the protector, the teacher, the savoir, but for once he would be the vulnerable one, the one who needed saving and Draco it seemed would be his hero.

Authors Note: In case you haven't already seen, I posted the first chapter of a new short story I'm working on called 'Poppet'. It was originally supposed to be a oneshot birthday present for Robert, and has since turned into a multichapter fic. It's still going to be short-ish, but no longer a oneshot. Please check it out and let me know what you think!