Smokin' Hot

*


The next couple weeks passed slowly. Harry was still angry with Hermione, and had refused all her advances. He didn’t want to talk to her. She had insulted his intelligence and Draco. He had no desire to listen to her halfhearted apologies. Knowing her, she didn’t want to apologize; she wanted to try to convince him once again that Draco was merely using him.

Instead, he had steered clear of Hermione as best he could. Poor Ron was left confused and torn between two friends. He had tried to approach Harry, only to be rebuffed angrily.

Since then, Ron hadn’t tried again, sticking with Hermione. Harry suspected that Hermione might have told him about Draco because he caught Ron glaring angrily at Draco during class a few days after their fight.

Harry had spent those weeks on his own, devoting most of his time picking up extra hours at work in an attempt to keep Hermione off his mind. He spent hours feeding snakes and cleaning mouse cages. He didn’t mind it. At the very least, he didn’t have to spend that time at home with the Dursleys, who were still upset about the display Draco had put on a few weeks ago.

Harry could barely move in the house without receiving a disgruntled noise or glare. He tried his best to ignore them, but it was difficult with uncle Vernon’s vein pounding in his forehead and aunt Petunia’s sour face staring at him wherever he went. When he was at home, he kept to his room, doing homework and fantasizing about the next time he might see Draco.

He and Draco had been meeting more frequently as the weeks went on; in broom closets, after school in empty classrooms, in the boy’s rooms. Harry was glad for the increased time they spent together. He found that he liked Draco more and more the more time he spent with him.

He learned things about Draco he never knew. Draco was far more school oriented than anyone knew. Surprisingly, he spent a lot of time doing schoolwork. Harry thought even Hermione might be envious of the time Draco dedicated to his studies. Harry didn’t know why Draco tried so hard, but he thought it might have something to do with Draco’s parents.

Draco didn’t talk about his parents much. He would mention them in passing but Harry never found out any more about them.

Though their meetings still centered mainly on sex, and occasionally their English project, Harry found that they spent a bit more time talking than they had before. He enjoyed this time. It was time he could use to learn about Draco and understand his personality.

He noticed that as much as Draco smoked, it seemed to be calculated. He wasn’t constantly smoking, but he savored the moments he was. He’d offered them to Harry on occasion, but since that first one, Harry declined. He’d decided that smoking wasn’t for him.

Harry thought maybe Draco smoked to compensate for something else, but he couldn’t tell. He just knew that Draco always kept a pack with him, ready to light one up when the situation deemed necessary.

They had spent a particular amount of time on the English project, finding and analyzing poems by Edna. Draco wanted the presentation to be good and Harry found himself dragged along in the wake.

Three weeks from that fateful day in Lupin’s classroom found Harry in front of Draco’s large front door, staring up at the huge house. It was the first time he’d been to Draco’s house, or ever seen a house that big.

Their project was due in less than a month, and the end of school was fast approaching. Harry was starting to get nervous. Once school was over, he was on his own. He’d been accepted to the University but was still working on paying for it. His job paid well enough, but still not enough to get him through four more years of schooling.

His main concern at the moment, though, was finishing the English project. As he stood on the front porch, he steeled himself and rang the doorbell.

A few moments later, a short woman opened the door. “May I help you?”

“Uh, I’m here to see Draco,” Harry said nervously. “We have a—“

“One moment,” the woman replied blandly, showing him into the foyer and then retreating further into the house.

Harry stood awkwardly in the marble entrance way. He glanced around at the expensive-looking vases sitting on pillars. He stood perfectly still in the middle of the hall, fearful of touching anything.

“Hello,” came a deep voice from Harry’s left, causing him to jump. He turned to see a tall man with blond hair just like Draco’s. Harry assumed he was Draco’s father.

“Hello, sir,” he said carefully. “I’m here to work on a project with Draco.”

“Ah, you’re Harry Potter?” Lucius asked curiously, his eyes sizing him up.

“Y-yes,” Harry stuttered, not liking the way Lucius was looking at him.

“You know, Potter,” Lucius said, “I belong to a men’s club and we’re always looking for new, intelligent members.”

“I…” Harry said, not sure what to say. He had heard of the men’s club, but it had not been very good.

“You’re perfect for what my Lord is looking for, after all—“

“He’s not interested,” interrupted another voice.

Harry looked over, relieved to see Draco striding toward them, his expression angry. He was glaring at his father.

“Harry’s here for our English project,” Draco informed his father coldly. Harry felt his heart jump at Draco’s use of his first name. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’re going upstairs to work on it.”

He reached out and grabbed Harry’s wrist, tugging him in the opposite direction through a cavernous living room. Harry felt a little dazed by the meeting with Draco’s father, though he could already tell he didn’t like the man.

His wrist was let go as they reached the bottom of a winding stair and Draco started to climb. Harry followed quickly, occasionally glancing over the banister to the living room below. He saw Lucius enter and was met by a tall, graceful woman Harry thought must be Draco’s mother.

He didn’t have time to watch them, though, as Draco led the way off the stairs and to a door to their left.

Harry stopped as he walked in Draco’s room. It was about five times bigger than his room at the Dursley’s. A large, comfortable looking bed stood against one wall with a bedside table on either side. A desk stood against the opposite wall with a laptop on top.

“Don’t just stand there, Potter, come in,” Draco said impatiently, walking over to the balcony doors and throwing them open, letting the warm spring breeze float into the room.

Harry quickly stepped in, shutting the door behind him. He watched Draco step onto the balcony and sigh, taking a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one. Harry walked quietly to the balcony, slipping out the doors and next to Draco, gazing over the green fields and woods that separated the next house.

“So that was your dad?” Harry asked quietly, not sure if it was alright to ask.

“That’s him alright,” Draco replied, not sounding at all amused. He took a drag of the cigarette and let the smoke stream out gracefully. It hovered for a second before being whipped away by the westerly breeze.

“Are you in the me—“

“No,” Draco said, cutting off Harry before he could even finish. “I’m not interested in that.”

Harry nodded silently and sank into the chair next to Draco. Draco glanced sideways at him but said nothing, flicking the end of his cigarette casually.

Harry watched the sun dangle in the sky. It was nearly five in the afternoon as Harry had had to work all morning. He knew they needed to work on their project, as they had one more poem to choose and analyze.

“How are things with Granger?” Draco asked suddenly, still not looking at Harry.

“She’s being difficult,” Harry muttered quietly.

“She doesn’t like me.”

“No, she does,” Harry said quickly, even though he knew it was a lie.

Draco took a drag of his cigarette. “Don’t lie. I know what she thinks about me. She thinks I don’t deserve to be president of NHS. She thinks I get by on daddy’s credit card.”

“Well…” Harry said hesitantly.

Draco scoffed and smashed his cigarette a bit more forcefully than necessary against the balcony railing. “What does she think, Potter? That I’m a rich, lazy snob who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but myself?”

“I—I don’t know,” Harry said quickly, sensing Draco’s anger. “I don’t think that.”

Draco had been about to say something more, but he paused. “Of course you don’t. You trust everyone.”

“What?”

“Nothing, Potter, nothing.” Draco turned from the rail and to Harry. “We need to work on the project.”

“Okay…” Harry said slowly, wondering what that had been about. He followed Draco back into his room and followed suit as Draco took a seat on the overly fluffy bed.

“Alright,” Draco said, reaching over for a book lying on the floor near one of the bedside tables. “We only need one more poem and then I think we’ll be done. I wonder what Lupin was on when he assigned this project.”

Harry frowned. “You shouldn’t say anything about Lupin. How would you like it if you had cancer?”

Draco looked at Harry, a calculating expression on his face. “You really care about Lupin, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry said simply.

“Why?”

“Why?” Harry repeated, surprised. No one had really asked him why before. He’d never had to explain it. “Because he’s a good friend and he’s the only one who really knew my parents before they…” He trailed away, not really wanting to talk about it.

“Before they died,” Draco finished for him.

“Yeah.”

“Listen, Potter,” Draco started, sounding apprehensive, like he didn’t really want to talk about it. Indeed, he didn’t.

He’d been thinking about Harry’s reluctance in Lupin’s classroom a few weeks ago and how he had pushed Harry into it. Somehow, it had been weighing on his conscience and he didn’t like it. He hardly ever felt bad for doing something to someone.

“I… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable back in Lupin’s room. I… wasn’t really thinking clearly.” Draco was trying to apologize without actually apologizing, a difficult feat.

Harry stared at him for a second, unable to believe what he was hearing. He’d never heard Draco apologize for anything. “It—that’s okay,” he said finally. “It wasn’t that bad. We didn’t get caught at least.”

Draco nodded shortly, avoiding Harry’s eyes and opening the book in his lap. They took a moment in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Harry thought that Hermione had been completely wrong about Draco. He wasn’t a self-centered brat. He actually took other people’s feelings into consideration. He deserved to be president of the National Honor Society.

Harry looked at Draco, ready to say something to the effect that they should pick the last poem, when another voice interrupted the peaceful silence.

“Draco!” A female voice came up from the stairs and floated into Draco’s room. Draco’s head shot up at the sound. There was a knock on his door, but the knocker didn’t wait for an answer. It swung open. “Draco, your dad’s being a bastard and the maid said you were up he—“

Eva stopped suddenly as she stepped into the room, her eyes landing on Harry. “Harry.”

“Eva?” Harry asked, then turned to Draco. “Draco?”

Draco was silent for a second as he thought what to do. “Eva,” he said finally, “why don’t you wait outside for a minute.”

Eva nodded, wanting to get out. Harry, however, stopped her. “Wait,” he said. “How do you know each other?” He stared at Eva, noticing the roll of her eyes and the annoyed stare she fixed on Draco.

She looked different than he remembered. Before, she had looked like the epitome of a good girl, wearing nice clothes, the proper length. Now, she was clothed in a skirt that looked far too short and a shirt that barely concealed her pierced belly button.

“Are you going to tell him?” Eva asked, placing her hand on her hip and looking at Draco expectantly.

Draco scowled at her for a second. “Harry, Eva is Blaise’s twin sister.”

“Twin…?”

“Yes, but she goes to the private school.”

“But…” Then Harry’s eyes widened as he realized. “Wait a minute!”

“Eva, I think it’s time you go,” Draco said quickly, standing up and placing a hand on her back, steering her to the door. “I am going to kill you later,” he whispered in her ear as he brought her to the door.

She looked back at him and smirked. “You might just be thanking me.”

“Shut it, you,” Draco growled, pushing her out the door and shutting it behind her. He turned back, giving Harry a fleeting smile.

“She was… You were the one she was talking about!” Harry exclaimed, staring at Draco.

Draco sighed and walked back to the bed, sitting down a few feet away from Harry.

“So you do care,” Harry said quietly, looking at Draco closely.

“Uh,” Draco said, not sure how to stop it. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but he was sure whatever he said now could ruin it. “Listen, Potter—“

“Draco,” Harry interrupted him, “will you kiss me?”

“What?” Draco asked, panicked.

Harry scooted closer, hoping he wasn’t reading the signs wrong. “Kiss me.”

“Potter, I—I can’t.”

“Why not? If you care then you can.”

“I just don’t think that it’s the best idea,” Draco said carefully, watching Harry closely. He wasn’t sure if he was prepared for that. Sure, it was only a kiss, but it would mean so much more.

Harry was confused. “I don’t understand.”

“I just don’t want to,” Draco said, feeling uncomfortable.

“Maybe Hermione was right,” Harry muttered to himself.

Draco looked at him sharply, his expression calculating. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Harry said quickly, realizing he shouldn’t have said it out loud.

“No no,” Draco said, his tone growing more serious. “What does that mean? What does Granger really think about me, Potter?”

Harry sighed, knowing it was no use to back out now. “She thinks you’re using me.”

Draco sat in shock for a moment before he stood up. “Get out.”

“What?” Harry asked, also standing and wondering what was wrong.

“Get out, Potter. I can’t believe you believe that bitch.”

“I don’t, I—“ Harry tried to defend himself but could see he was too late.

“You obviously do if think she was right just because I don’t want to kiss you,” Draco growled, angrier than Harry had ever seen.

“Well, why won’t you kiss me?” Harry demanded. “It’s just a kiss!”

“No, Potter, it’s not just a kiss,” Draco snarled, moving towards the door. “But you wouldn’t understand that, and it wouldn’t matter since I’m just using you.”

“No, Draco, wait!”

“And stop calling me Draco!”

Harry was silent for a moment, feeling that the emotions were running far too high. “I don’t think you’re using me.”

“It doesn’t seem that way to me,” Draco snapped.

“I’ve been trying to tell Hermione she was wrong, but she wouldn’t listen!”

“Seems like you’ve been listening. If you want to believe her over me, that’s fine.” Draco stormed to the door and yanked it open, waiting for Harry to leave. “But I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Harry stared at Draco, lost for words. He didn’t know how to tell him that he had somehow fallen for the guy he’d sworn to Hermione he didn’t like. He’d ruined his own plan, gone farther than he ever thought he would, and somehow ended up with the short end of the stick.

“Draco,” he said pleadingly, and Draco’s expression only darkened. “Don’t do this. Please, I don’t want this to end.”

“Well, I do,” Draco replied coldly,

Harry gave him one last sad glance before obeying his wish and leaving Draco’s room. He heard the door slam shut behind him and winced. He hung his head as he walked down the stairs and out the front door.

Looking up at the large, white house, Harry wondered if there was anything he could do or if this was the end.

~~**~~



A/N: Someday this will be finished, I swear. In the meantime, please review!