Ten Steps

Author’s Note: Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for looking this chapter over for me, and thanks to all who have reviewed so far!

Chapter 12 Tangled

Trying to navigate Diagon Alley on a Sunday so close to the Solstice was a terrible idea, but Harry was persistent in his task of finding the perfect gift for Oliver. His first stop was to Flourish and Blotts, but he quickly exited when he remembered that only Hermione truly enjoyed being gifted with books. He could imagine Oliver’s falsified grin if Harry handed him one of those best selling detective novels or even a book about Quidditch. Besides, knowing Oliver, the man probably already owned all of those.

He didn’t know the Keeper’s measurements, or what colors he preferred to wear, so he skipped over Malkin’s and Twilfit and Tattings. If he wanted to give Oliver a joke or a prank, he could just ask George, as awkward as that might be, but that wasn’t the kind of message he wanted to send at all, neither was candy, or potions, or anything else he saw while strolling the cobbled streets of the little wizarding town.

It wasn’t until he reluctantly entered Quality Quidditch, thinking that Oliver would surely have everything worth having in that shop, that Harry found it. After perusing rows of handsome gear, racks of custom accessories and memorabilia, Harry was about to leave the shop when he turned around and was met with the solution to his gift dilemma.

Rotating in a distant corner, a brilliant glow seeming to light it from within, was a broom, but not just any broom. No, this broom wasn’t being released to the public yet, and even once it was, only twenty-five were being made. They were calling it the Stratus X, and it was the kind of broom that could induce an instant orgasm. That wasn’t actually a selling point, but it should have been according to the way Harry lovingly stroked the polished walnut handle and the platinum coated bristles. If he’d been alone, Harry might have licked it, but thankfully he refrained.

“Can I get this?” he asked the clerk when he heard the man come up behind him.

“The Stratus X?” he laughed. “I’m afraid not, only celebrities and –oh. Mr. Potter, terribly sorry, Sir. I didn’t realize it was you,” the man stammered, dropping into a low bow. Harry used the opportunity to roll his eyes while the man couldn’t see his face and then made a quick, waving gesture to insist the man stand back up again. It was ridiculous the way some people still prostrated themselves at his feet even after all these years.

“So, I can purchase it?” Harry asked, trying to clarify what it seemed the salesman had been on about.

“Well, we don’t have any here in stock, Sir, but I could have one sent to you straight away from the warehouse,” he assured him. Dollar signs seemed to flash in the man’s eyes – another reaction Harry was used to people having around him – and the man blurted out a figure. It was less than Harry had expected, but he didn’t show his hand.

“How much to have it personalized?” Harry asked, pursing his lips as though he thought the price of the broom was preposterous as it was, which wasn’t too far from the truth.

“I’ll include it,” the man said. “What would you like it to read? Your full name or initials?” Harry was already following the salesman to the counter as he fetched a notebook and quill.

“Not my name at all,” Harry replied. “I’d like it to read ‘Oliver Wood’.”

“Oliver Woo-” the man stopped short, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. “That’s a very handsome gift, Sir.”

“Is it?” Harry mused, not really caring what the clerk had to say on the matter. He knew by the way the man licked his lips, as if he’d just eaten a delicious meal, that it made no difference what Harry said now, the story of him and Wood as a couple was going to be front page news by morning. He hated the fact that he couldn’t even shop for his boyfriend without it being everyone else’s business.

The clerk seemed to sense Harry’s annoyance and wisely finished writing up the sale. Harry paid the man and left without another word. It was to be delivered to his flat by the end of business, and Harry was giddy to wrap it and send it along to Oliver. He hoped his boyfriend liked the broom as much as he did.

On his way out of the shop, another item caught his eye, but he couldn’t imagine Oliver wearing them, so he didn’t know why he was attracted like a magnet to the leather gloves by the door. They were a deep, olive green, and they must have been turned that way by a dye that was almost metallic because they had a pearly sheen to them that Harry thought to be a bit feminine at first. But the cut of them eliminated that idea, as did the matte gray straps that wove around to create an interesting pattern that reminded Harry of storm clouds over a lush Irish grove.

Harry snapped them up and ran his fingertips over the supple leather before slipping them over his hands, flexing his fingers to get a feel for the fit. They were too tight for his hands, and he tried to think of who might like them before gasping at the revelation that he’d picked out the perfect gift for Draco Malfoy. He swiftly removed them, shoving them back onto the rack they had come from and stepped away, eyeing them as if they were poisonous.

“Mr. Potter? Can I help you with anything else?” the same clerk asked as he watched Harry’s reaction to the gloves. The salesman picked them up and held them reverently. “These are our newest brand, Charmed to repel water and most common Hexes, all while maintaining a firm grip on one’s shaft.” The man smiled at his own joke, but Harry only swallowed thickly at the images it conjured, images of a certain blond wearing those gloves…and nothing else.

“They’re very nice,” Harry admitted and backed further away.

“Would you like me to ring them up and send them along with the broom?” he asked hopefully and Harry nearly shouted a refusal, but something stopped him. The next image to float unbidden to the forefront of his mind was Draco’s smiling face as he opened a box and found those gloves inside. It was perfectly friendly to purchase gloves for someone. It didn’t have to be romantic; it didn’t have to mean anything at all. Besides, Harry had yet to properly thank Draco for all his help over the last few weeks. The play he’d invited Harry to that evening was just another example of how the blond went above and beyond to keep his promise that he would do everything he could to get Harry and Oliver to the altar. Surely that was worth more than a pair of handsome gloves? “I could even have them embroidered to match the broom?” the clerk suggested, pulling Harry out of his inner turmoil.

“I’ll take them,” Harry replied, “but I don’t need them altered. I’ll just take them with me now.” It was bad enough that the salesman was compelled to complicate Harry’s life by telling the Daily Prophet about his gift for Oliver. The last thing he needed was to compound the issue by having Draco’s name added to the article.

“Of course,” he replied and smiled as he bustled over to the counter once more after collecting even more of Harry’s Galleons.

Less than an hour later, Harry arrived back at his flat to find the broom elegantly packaged and sitting on his dining room table. The shop had spared no expense with the wrapping - a heavy platinum paper with embossed Golden Snitches that flew around the box in haphazard patterns – even the large, crimson bow was perfectly puffed and curled. A tag dangled from one edge of the box, with the Quality Quidditch logo on one side and a blank expanse on the other for Harry to write his own message.

Harry didn’t know what to write just yet, so he left the task for later while he puttered about the house getting ready for his not-date with Malfoy. He still had to wrap the man’s present and knew he stood no chance of making it look anything like the one the shop had wrapped for Oliver. Shaking his head, Harry headed up to his room to pick out robes for the theatre and pondered over what he would say on his note to Oliver.

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The ink had barely dried on his signature before the doorbell rang and Harry was face to face with a well-dressed blond. “Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked as he scanned Harry’s attire. Harry was only wearing pressed, gray trousers, and nothing else, so clearly the blond thought he was being funny.

The brunet simply rolled his eyes and ushered Draco inside. “No, of course not,” he muttered and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Draco in the living room to stare after him. And stare he did. Draco took the opportunity to appreciate Harry’s well-toned back and the way his hair curled a bit more than usual at the ends while the man fled up the stairs. Was it a good sign that Harry felt perfectly comfortable around him without his shirt on, or was it a bad sign? Perhaps it indicated that Harry considered him a trustworthy friend and was just as comfortable as he would have been showering together with Weasley after Quidditch practice. It certainly would explain why he’d only rolled his eyes, not even the barest flush to his cheeks, when Draco commented on his state of undress.

With a shrug, Draco turned away from the now empty staircase and his eyes landed on a shiny box in on the dining room table. The mysteries of Harry’s thought processes couldn’t possibly be unraveled in a lifetime, so he certainly wasn’t going to figure it out tonight. He strode over to the box and inspected the tag. It was for Oliver, of course it was, and Draco tried to squelch and ignore the feeling of nausea that threatened to overtake him. It was his suggestion for Harry to get Oliver a gift, after all, and he had no business being jealous anyway.

To: Oliver From: Harry

Please accept this as a token of my affection for you and my intentions to further this relationship.

Draco groaned aloud at the bland words and tore the tag away. It sounded like something Potter would write on one of his official Ministry documents, not a love note to someone he cared about. He’d have to start looking over Potter’s correspondences with Oliver over very closely if Harry stood a chance of not botching everything up. That was all he needed. It would be just his luck that after all of Draco’s sacrifices, that Harry would ruin the whole thing with a shoddy letter and set the magic of the Unbreakable Vow upon his neck.

He found no fault with the packaging, and carefully lifted the box’s top so that he could see what Harry had picked out for the man he was determined to marry one day. What met his eyes had them nearly bulging out of his head. He’d know the Stratus X anywhere, because he’d been coveting that broom for months. It was a tad extravagant for the gift Draco had in mind as this first token, but it was clearly thoughtfully chosen and Oliver would be daft not to understand how Harry felt about him after receiving this broom. It brought reality screeching to a halt just in front of Draco’s vision, and he was unable to look away.

Harry was falling in love with Wood, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“How did I do?” Harry asked from the end of the stairs. He was fully clothed now, in perfectly tailored robes in a green so dark it bordered on black. Brighter green leaves wound up the sleeves and followed the hem, drawing attention up to the crisp gray shirt he wore underneath. When Draco raised a delicate eyebrow at the ensemble, Harry merely shrugged. “I thought I’d pretend to be Slytherin for the night,” he teased.

“I see,” Draco replied with a smirk. “Well, you’re certainly handsome enough to be one of us, but I don’t think there is a scheming bone in your body to back up the personality of a Slytherin.

A deep flush colored his cheeks, but Harry shook his head. “You might be surprised.”

The words seemed to hold a promise that Draco could not discern, but he tried not to think on it too long. This wasn’t his date, this wasn’t a man he was trying to bed, this was his soul mate, and he was promised to another man. “Your package is exquisite,” he remarked and laughed when Harry’s eyes went wide and glanced down at his robes to make sure he’d buttoned and snapped everything properly. “The gift, Potter,” he clarified and Harry blushed even darker.

“Right,” he murmured. “It’s okay then?”

“The note was rubbish, I threw it away, but the present is magnificent. I’m sure Oliver will cherish it,” he replied.

Harry bit into his bottom lip and sighed. “I knew the note was bad. I had no idea what to say though,” he admitted.

“You need to say what you feel,” Draco pointed out. “What were you thinking of when you purchased it?”

“Well, Olli likes to fly, obviously,” Harry murmured. “And he probably owns everything else at the bloody Quidditch store.”

“Well, that’s hardly eloquent,” Draco quipped.

“I can’t help it!” Harry shouted, throwing his hands up. “Maybe I’m just not romantic. Maybe that’s been my problem all along.”

Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and twined his fingers through it, drawing the brunet’s emerald gaze up to his own. “Stop chastising yourself,” he whispered, “that’s my job.” That earned him a smile, but Draco wasn’t finished. He needed Harry to see that he was perfectly capable of a romantic gesture, to show him that the words were there, but they were being shielded from him by his fear. “Think about Oliver and tell me what you feel.”

Harry shut his eyes and let out a deep breath. “I care about him,” he said. “He’s funny, charming, handsome, clever.”

“Okay, now think about yourself, and how you think those traits relate to you,” Draco prompted, and to that request, Harry frowned.

“It doesn’t relate. I have no idea what he thinks of me,” Harry replied.

“You don’t need to,” Draco protested. “Okay, so let’s just say that I was purchasing this gift for someone special to me,” he began.

“Like who?” Harry interrupted, snapping his eyes open at the suggestion.

“Like…I don’t know,” Draco grumbled. “Like you, okay? Hypothetically speaking, of course,” he added with a wink that made Harry roll his eyes again – a favored gesture of the Gryffindor. “So, I would think about what the broom symbolized, and then think of what that meant to me.”

Harry ran his free hand through his wild mane and glared back at Draco. “So, what would you write?”

Draco gave an exasperated sigh and scribbled a note on a little sheet of paper he’d pulled from his pocket. It was the first thing that came to his mind when he pictured Harry soaring through the air on the same broom he’d gotten Oliver.

“You make me fly,” Harry read and smiled softly. “Aw, who knew that deep down you’re just a sentimental Hufflepuff?” he teased and Draco yanked the note out of his hand and stuffed it back into his pocket.

“If you’re going to make fun of me, I’m not going to help you,” Draco huffed and let Harry’s hand drop so he could fold his arms petulantly across his chest.

“Don’t be that way,” Harry whined, clambering at Draco’s hands, trying to get him to loosen up. “I was only teasing. I thought it was sweet,” he assured the blond. “I would just melt if someone gave me a note like that.”

“After you made fun of them,” Draco pointed out.

“No,” Harry whispered. “I’m sorry. I was only joking with you because I knew you didn’t mean it. It wasn’t as if I was trying to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t,” Draco replied, his face set with his trademark sneer. He turned away and headed for the door. “Are you ready to go? We’re going to be late.”

Harry sighed, unsure what he could do to make things better, and nodded. “Let me just get this on its way and I’ll be ready. He scribbled Draco’s note verbatim on a newly conjured tag and sent the heavy package off with his owl and a promise for double the treats when he returned. When he turned around to meet Draco at the door, he remembered why his robes were a bit heavy on one side and smiled, hoping it would fix the rift he’d caused between them.

“I almost forgot,” he mentioned, and reached into his pocket for a thin, ebony box with a simple silver bow. “I got you something too.”

“You what?” Draco asked, still sounding annoyed until his eyes landed on the tiny package in Harry’s outstretched hand. “For me? Why?”

“I thought of you when I saw them,” Harry admitted. “And I’d been wanting to thank you for all your help.”

Draco hesitantly took the box and noticed a similar tag dangling from the bow. He looked down, expecting it to be just as protracted as the note to Oliver had been, but just stared at it in confusion.

Draco,

I’m sure you’ll agree that a Malfoy should never have calluses.

Harry

It didn’t make any sense until he opened the box to find the most spectacular pair of Quidditch gloves he’d ever set eyes on. “Harry, these are….” His voice trailed off and he couldn’t find the words to explain how much he loved the gift, especially since he hadn’t been expecting anything from the brunet at all.

“If you don’t like them, I can exchange them for another pair,” he replied hurriedly. “I mean, I just thought they were beautiful and they made me think of you instantly, and well, I hoped you would like them but if you don’t-”

“Harry,” Draco interrupted sharply, “you’re babbling, and I love them, so stop.”

“Oh,” Harry replied and smiled. “I’m glad.”

Draco had to stop looking into those gorgeous green eyes or else he was going to do something he’d regret, so reluctantly he held out his hand and clasped it around Harry’s and pulled him to the door. “Come on, we’ll be late if you hold us up with any more of your sappy Gryffindor moments.”

Harry laughed and held onto Draco’s hand tighter than he needed to for Side-Along Apparition, and he didn’t let go until much later.

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The play had been surprisingly enjoyable. Draco had a private box, and he’d seen the play a few times before, so he didn’t seem to mind explaining to Harry what the actors were singing about, or what was going on. Every time Draco would lean in, whether whispering about what Mimi was asking when she arrived at Rudolfo’s door with an unlit candle, or commenting on the way Musetta was obviously still infatuated with Marchello, Harry would feel content and electrified all at once.

Several times throughout the night, he found himself trying to move closer to the blond, absorbing his scent and warmth. He knew it was wrong, and that knowledge was the only thing that halted him from pulling Draco’s face to his and snogging the man senseless. Suddenly the box felt too cozy, too intimate, and Harry was worried that his Gryffindor morals would falter if he didn’t reign in his lust for Malfoy.

But it wasn’t for Malfoy, he reasoned. It was just that Harry had kept a purposeful distance away from anything physical with Oliver and his sexual frustration was merely willing to attack the most convenient outlet. At one point, he even tried to justify giving into his craving for Draco, figuring that would help him hold out for the right moment with Oliver instead of just grabbing the Keeper and having his way with him the next time they were alone together. But, he quickly dispelled the thought as poor advice being given by the little devil on his shoulder, which always seemed to speak for the brain inside his trousers.

Draco didn’t seem to notice Harry’s tenuous grip on his hormones. In fact, the man seemed only to want Harry to have a good time, which only made things worse. If only Draco had been rude, or moody or even mean, Harry could have easily doused the fire that was burning in his groin and remain impassive to Draco’s presence.

When the play finally ended, Harry practically leapt out of his seat, but Draco was at his side within moments, his hand resting firmly at the small of Harry’s back as they navigated through the exiting crowd. “Let me escort you home,” Draco insisted when they made it back out into the cool night air.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Harry replied nervously, eager to get away before he did something foolish.

“Nonsense,” Draco replied, and gripped Harry’s waist possessively, before Apparating them both to Harry’s doorstep. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Very much,” Harry breathed, trying to squash the ill feeling he always got after Apparating. Draco’s hand was a steadying presence and Harry found himself leaning into it. “You’ve really changed, Malfoy,” Harry commented. “The man you choose to be with will be lucky indeed.”

A smile quirked the edge of Draco’s lips and he reached into his pocket to finger the gloves Harry had bought him. He couldn’t deny his want for this messy-haired man that stood in front of him, but he had to. He certainly couldn’t allow himself to lean in and capture those moist lips, but his mind and his body didn’t seem to be communicating very well that evening, because that was precisely what he was doing.

And better yet, it seemed as though Harry was going to let him.

Those ebony lashes fluttered shut as Draco leaned in, tilting his head for the best angle to taste Harry thoroughly. His mind screamed at him to think of the consequences, but Draco could think of no better way to die than while kissing Harry’s sweet mouth. In that moment, Draco didn’t care if the magic caught him right there and struck him down.

But it wasn’t dark magic that kept Draco from closing those last few inches and capturing Harry’s waiting lips. It was the sound of someone clearing their throat sharply from a few paces away. Harry pulled back at once, looking both dazed and frightened as he took in the frowning face of his boyfriend, Oliver Wood, staring up at them with suspicious eyes.

Author’s Note: My beta informs me that I’ll be strung up for this cliffhanger, but really, what did you expect? On a separate note, I'm looking for an artist to pair with for a superhero Drarry project....if you or someone you know would be interested please email me. (address is on my profile)